Las Vegas: Scandals: Prince Charming for 1 Night

“Please. This is really not a good idea.”

“No damn kidding,” he shot back. But then his mouth was on hers and she couldn’t turn him away if her life depended on it. She moaned in surprise, opening herself to him, and wound her arms around his neck. This was so not a good idea. He swung her down so she was sitting on his forearm, and her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

The elevator doors opened, and they kissed madly, all the way across the square marble foyer to the penthouse entrance. Her back slammed up against it, and a moment later the door swung open and he followed the solid wood around with her, keeping her back pressed up to it as he devoured her mouth.

The sound of Velcro ripping apart was followed by a whoosh of cool air on her legs and bottom. A billow of white floated to the floor. Another rip and her breakaway top joined it. He groaned, pulling away to look at her spilling out of her lace corset, then his hands found her bare flesh.

They kissed and kissed, and he touched her everywhere. They ground their bodies together in a frenzy of desire. His fingers slid between her legs and parted her blossoming folds. She cried out as he found the center of her need and touched her there.

“That’s right, give it to me,” he whispered into her mouth. His fingers circled, driving a moan from her. “I want it all.”

“Conner,” she cried. “Please, I—Nhh…”

It was no use. He was too skilled, too perfect, and she was too aroused to stop the tidal wave of pleasure that crashed over her. She arched, her body shuddering over the edge, and surrendered to the sensation.

He drew it out as long as it would go, playing her flesh like a professional gambler caressed his cards.

By the time he let her slide to her feet, she was trembling so hard she could hardly see straight. So at first she didn’t even notice.

But when he demanded huskily, “Where’s your bedroom?” and they turned into the living room, both of them halted dead in their tracks.

The place was in a complete shambles.

“Omigod,” she whispered, barely catching her breath.

Someone had broken in. And ransacked the apartment.

On the wall, big sloppy letters had been scrawled in bright red paint.

GIVE IT BACK BITCH OR YOU’LL DIE NEXT.

Chapter 6

Conner took one look at the destruction in front of him and instantly visions of Candace’s murder scene slammed through his brain. The wreckage. Her pale face lying in a stain of blood.

Oh, no, please not another victim.

He grabbed Vera and whisked her back out the door and pushed her against the foyer wall.

“Don’t move,” he admonished as he whipped out his cell phone and Lex Duncan’s card from his pocket. “Someone may still be in there.” Like Darla. Sprawled dead on the floor as Candace had been. Though he hadn’t seen any blood or body in the quick visual scan he’d done. Thank God.

Vera looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “Someone like who?” she asked in a strangled croak, grasping his suit jacket sleeve with both hands.

“Whoever did this,” he answered, punching buttons on the phone and trying not to think about what he’d just done with those same fingers. What he’d been about to do with them. Damn.

“Duncan.”

“It’s Conner Rothchild. Vera and Darla’s place has been broken into,” he told the FBI agent. “It looks bad.”

Duncan swore. “Darla?”

“Not here that I could see.”

“Exit the apartment and wait for me outside,” he ordered, then hung up.

“I don’t understand,” Vera said, her voice cracking. Her eyes filled as he pulled her fully into his arms. “Why would anyone write something that horrible on my wall? Give what back?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. Though he knew damn well. Silver had received a nearly identical message scrawled on her mirror about being the next one to die—just before someone maliciously brought a scaffolding down on her head. That someone must still be after the Tears of the Quetzal. And didn’t know it was now in FBI custody. Until the culprit was found, Vera could be in danger.

Conner gathered her up in his arms again, heading for the elevator. “Let’s get you away from here.”

For a second she looked like she wanted to object. But then she just put her arms around him and clung to him. Not in a sexual way—despite the fact that she was nearly naked and just moments ago had all but given herself to him—but like a frightened woman would hold a man who made her feel safe.

His stomach roiled into a clot of opposing emotions. Anger at whoever had done this. And a strange, completely alien sense of wanting to protect her from all harm.

Okay, that and a gnawing sense of panic.

Something was going on deep inside him, in his heart, that he did not understand. Did not need. Definitely did not want.

The elevator opened and he swept in, pushed the button for the ground floor.

“Vera,” he said. “I know you didn’t want me as your lawyer, but I’m hoping you trust me as a friend, after—” He stopped, suddenly feeling awkward. Damn. If not for the break-in, they’d be in bed by now, naked, and he’d be deep inside her. Making love. He was still aroused, still aching for relief. Still wanting her like she was the last woman on earth and he hadn’t had sex for at least a decade.

He cleared his throat. “In light of…what happened between us, I’ll be turning over your case to my assistant in the morning. Meanwhile, I hope you believe I have your interests as my top priority in this incident.”

For once she didn’t argue. She bit her lip and nodded. It obviously hadn’t occurred to her that her sister might be inside hurt—or worse. He didn’t intend to enlighten her. But there were also other issues at hand.

“Here’s the thing. The FBI is on its way. Vera, think hard. If there’s anything, any reason at all, they shouldn’t go into your apartment, you need to tell me now. Before they arrive.”

She gazed up at him, her green eyes wide and uncomprehending. Man, she was guileless. Did that mean his instincts were right about her?

“You mean…like drugs or something?” she asked.

Again he cleared his throat, not understanding why it was so damn important to him that she be innocent. “For example, yeah.”

She continued to worry her lip. “Um. Darla might not want them in her room. There could be…some illegal substances.”

He nodded. No shock there. “They’ll probably look the other way on that, this time. Anything else?”

“Like…?”

“Did Duncan tell you any of his suspicions about your sister?” he asked carefully.

“Suspicions of what?”

Okay, apparently not. “I’m not really sure how much I should be revealing to you, but since you’re still my client, I feel I should be up-front and warn you. That ring you were wearing isn’t the only thing Darla is suspected of stealing. There may be more.”

“Stolen jewelry?” she asked, her jaw dropping. “That’s not possible. Darla is rich! An heiress. Why would she ever…” Vera’s words trickled to a stop.