High Voltage (Ramsey Security #3)

“This is my room. You are next door.”


“I’ll unpack and shower before we have dinner and start trouble,” Dino says, weaseling his way into my room. “Make sure to wear something hot. Red is good.”

I shove him out of my room. After grabbing his card key, I open his door and shove his crap inside.

“I’ll wear red if you’ll shut the fuck up for an hour and leave me alone.”

“You’re so easy,” he says, laughing. “I would have given you two hours for a shot at seeing you decked out in red. Gotta learn to negotiate better, Apples.”

I shut the door and lock it. Just to be safe, I prop the chair against the knob to keep him out. The guy is driving me crazy and not only because he’s dangerously hot.

An hour without his mouth running will be a blessing. With a little time away from Dino, I can pull myself together. Set up the security in my room. Catch up with my emails. Change my panties after having him pawing at me on the way up in the elevator.

Soon I’ll have no problem handling dinner and troublemaking with him afterward. Yes, I just need an hour without him bugging me.

Dino isn’t wrong that I should learn to negotiate better. In fact, just to show him I’m a quick learner, I won’t wear red tonight. Dino needs to learn that his smooth moves won't work on me.





5


Dino

Honky-tonk Hell

Country music plays everywhere we go. Even at the damn Italian restaurant, the radio is stuck in a Johnny Cash loop. I ask the girl serving us if she can put on something else, and she looks at me like I’m fucking nuts. When I ask if she’s even heard of Dean Martin, I think she hurts her brain trying to decipher the words coming from my mouth.

“They’re not changing the music for you,” Minka says, eating a big serving of twice-baked lasagna. “They listen to country music here. Just accept it.”

“Doesn’t hurt to ask,” I explain before shuddering as a new horrible song twangs itself out of the speakers and into my unsuspecting ears. “What in the hell is wrong with Johnny Cash in this song?”

“That’s not Cash,” Minka says, avoiding eye contact like a sassy bitch. “It’s Hank Williams.”

“Don’t tell me you listen to this trash?”

“No, but my dad did.”

“Did? Past tense as in he’s passed on?”

“Yes.”

“Mine too.”

“I’m not hugging you,” she mutters, but I catch her fighting a smile.

“I’m looking for more than a hug, and you know it. Besides, now ain’t the time. I’m eating.”

Wearing black rather than red like she promised, Minka studies me with the sultry, dark eyes of a nymph stalking her prey. “Big fan of spaghetti, huh?”

“My mama makes the best spaghetti. When I was sick, she made it for me every day. If I were ever on death row, spaghetti would be my last meal. So, yeah, I like spaghetti.”

Minka nods, glances around, and frowns. “I was thinking about how to cause trouble.”

“Your big brain is extremely sexy.”

Mouth tightening, she continues talking about work. “That strip club where the prostitute complained sounds like a good place to ask questions and see if anyone gets nervous.”

“How did your dad die?” I ask, not giving a crap about this job.

“He was a fool. Doesn’t take a lot to get them killed.”

I wait to see if she’ll ask about my father. She stares into my eyes, knowing I’m waiting. She doesn’t ask, and I realize I don’t want to tell her. Not when she’s still playing this temptress game. Later, once she’s wrapped around my little finger, and big cock, I’ll share my personal stories with her. She’ll tell me her secrets too. Soon Minka will open herself to me as she’s never done with anyone else, and I can’t wait to see what I discover.

“So the strip club is our next destination?” I ask when she falls silent and eats.

Tomato sauce at the corners of her mouth, she only nods while reaching for a napkin. I’m desperate to lick off the sauce, except if I taste her lips, I won’t be able to stop. Minka will end up on this table with her tight ass in the air and my cock drilling into her until we’re both spent. Though tempting, this scenario seems inappropriate for a family restaurant.

“I like the chase,” I say, giving her a wink, “but eventually I’ll catch you. I’d suggest you prepare for that.”

“Don’t worry. My Taser is set to stun, the safety on my gun is off, and my knee is ready to smash your balls. You feel free to catch me, Sausage.”

Smiling, I can think of many ways for this conversation to end. Her black shirt looks flimsy, while her jeans aren’t too tight. I bet I could get Minka naked in thirty seconds and fuck the frown from her grumpy face. Once again, the family restaurant setting douses my hard-on with ice-cold reality.