 by Alexa Land.jpg)
Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80014 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80014 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
It started as the hottest hook-up of my life. Jack was gorgeous, and the spark between us was intense. But the night ended with me chasing him through the streets of San Francisco half-naked, after he stole my late father’s watch. Awesome.
Days later, I finally tracked him down, just as I got the news that all hell was breaking loose back home in Las Vegas. Now I have to bring Jack along while I deal with the mobster who’s targeting my family—as if a road trip with that little thief is even sort of a good idea. But what choice do I have? If I let him out of my sight, he and my most prized possession will disappear forever.
I can’t deny it, I’m still drawn to Jack—but how can I trust him?
Jack:
I like to think of myself as a modern-day Robin Hood. I rob from the rich and give to—well, to me. I’m poor, so that counts. Not that I’d planned to rip off Adriano Dombruso when he picked me up in a bar, but that vintage Rolex was just too tempting to pass up.
It sucked when he managed to track me down. Then, before we could retrieve his watch, an urgent call from home set him in motion. Now I suddenly find myself in Vegas. The bad guys are closing in, and the smart choice would be to escape and save myself—after all, self-preservation is what I’m best at. Somehow though, I hate the thought of leaving Adriano to deal with this on his own.
Am I actually falling for that big, burly gangster?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
Adriano
The blond at the bar was trouble. I knew it the moment I saw him.
There was mischief in his smile, and in this coy game he was playing. Two men were vying for his attention, and even though he’d been encouraging them and letting them buy him drinks for the better part of an hour, his gaze kept straying to me.
He had my full attention as I circled like a shark. The bar was a free-standing island in the center of the room, so I did a slow lap all the way around, weaving through the Saturday night crowd while closing in on the only man in here who’d captured my interest. It allowed the anticipation to build, so by the time I reached him it was palpable.
I slid in between this guy and one of the douchebags in a cheap suit, who’d been trying and failing to seal the deal. Finally, I got a good look at my quarry. He’d been cute from a distance, but up close he was perfection. He had the face of an angel and was almost too pretty, but his short, scruffy beard provided some balance.
Just because I liked figuring people out, I tried to guess his age. I would have said late twenties, except for those big, green eyes of his. It wasn’t the delicate lines at the corners that drove the number up. Instead, it was that tinge of skepticism, which suggested he’d been around the block a few times and learned some hard lessons along the way. I placed him at maybe thirty-three, thirty-four.
A flirtatious smile curled his full lips and drew my attention. That was one hell of a mouth. Luscious, that was the word for it. I really wanted a taste, but not yet.
I looked away long enough to order two shots of top shelf tequila from the bartender before turning back to this guy and asking, “Want to get out of here?”
This amused the blond and annoyed Cheap Suit Guy in equal measure. Blondie asked, “Just like that? Aren’t you going to buy me a drink first?” Meanwhile, the second douchebag who’d been hitting on him—probably with a pipe dream of a three-way—had already given up and wandered off.
I handed him one of the shots and said, “I just did.” Then I picked up the other one and clinked our glasses together before tossing it back.
He downed his without so much as a flinch and smirked at me, holding my gaze so steadily that it felt like he was issuing a challenge. I grinned at him and tossed a hundred-dollar bill onto the bar top, then turned toward the door and held my arm out.
My kid brother would call dropping that C-note a flex—needlessly showing off, in twenty-something speak—and he’d be right. But I figured this guy would notice and appreciate it. He seemed the type, someone who didn’t grow up wealthy but was ambitious and looking to upgrade his station in life. It was written all over him, from his expensive haircut and artfully subtle highlights to that aspirational blue suit—probably the very best quality he could afford, but not quite in the big leagues.
Sure enough, he glanced at the hundred and reached some conclusions about me, the same way I’d reached some conclusions about him. Then he linked his arm with mine.
Cheap Suit Guy wasn’t giving up easily, though. He got in our way and asked me, “What do you think you’re doing?”
He had balls, I’d give him that. At six-two and with my big build, it was obvious I could crush him like a bug, but his arrogance and sense of entitlement bolstered his courage. I shot him a look that a smarter man would have heeded as a warning and said, “I’m taking doll face home with me. What does it look like I’m doing?”
Cheap Suit turned his attention to the blond and tried another tactic. “You’re leaving with this asshole, just like that? After I bought you three vodka tonics?”
The blond bristled at that and growled, “What the fuck did you think, that you were buying me for the price of three cocktails? That’s not how this works, you self-important, entitled prick! Besides, I paid for those drinks—not with money, but with the hour of my life I spent listening to you droning on and on about yourself. Newsflash, investment banking isn’t that interesting, and if you were any good at it you wouldn’t be wearing that polyester atrocity you’re trying to pass off as a suit. Want some advice? Stay away from open flames, because that cheap-ass fabric would go up like a fucking dumpster fire.”
I was grinning ear-to-ear as we stepped around the shell of a man Blondie had just eviscerated. Cheap Suit Guy muttered, “You two assholes deserve each other.”
“It’s your fault, you know,” my companion told me, as we headed for the exit. “If you hadn’t taken for-fucking-ever to make your move, I wouldn’t have had to spend my evening listening to that douchebag talk about himself.”