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)
Okay, yes, I’d been in the same sleazy bar, but that was different—I was there to work. The fact that I’d told this guy I was in acquisitions made me grin. Uh, no. I was a thief, plain and simple, and I’d been out looking for my next score.
It never ceased to amaze me how many men were perfectly willing to allow strangers into their home. Forget bypassing alarm systems or breaking and entering—all I had to do was find some douchebag with a hard-on, and I was in. We’d have a few drinks, and then I’d tell him I was going to use the bathroom. Instead, I’d pluck a few valuables and slip away before he had a clue what was happening.
I didn’t even feel bad about it, because fuck rich people and all their excess. Hell, I’d make like the Grinch and rob them of every single thing they had if I could, right down to their last can of Who Hash.
This guy—Reno, of all things—was different, though. For one thing, he was fucking gorgeous, and that was a problem. I didn’t think clearly around men I was attracted to, and he had that whole tall, dark, and Italian thing going on, which was my kryptonite.
I’d decided as soon as I spotted him that this was just going to be about sex, and not a score. And why not? It’d been a while since I’d gotten laid, even though I’d claimed it had been twenty-four hours.
Well, what was I supposed to do after he told me about that BJ, admit I hadn’t gotten any in months? Hell no. I should have said I’d had a cock in my ass two hours ago, just to one-up him.
But even if he was a total player, deciding to fuck him instead of robbing him was a good call, and it let me relax a little. Not that he wasn’t loaded. I knew what collector cars like this land yacht went for, and that suit was clearly custom-made, given the way it fit his big, muscular body.
He was hard to figure out though, because that black wool number was the most understated suit I could imagine, while the car was anything but subtle. Then again, a vintage ride like this was all about a certain image and lifestyle rather than the flash, and it was a lot more interesting than, let’s say, dropping a hundred grand on a new Mercedes-Benz.
But then I didn’t know what to think when we got to his place. What he called an apartment was actually a two-story townhouse. It was expensive, immaculate, and utterly generic. What it reminded me of was a hotel, from the beige-on-beige color scheme to the completely unremarkable artwork on the walls.
In fact, it was so strikingly bland that I had to ask. “What happened here? Did you hire an interior decorator, or maybe a design student, and tell them you hate color?”
Reno smirked at me as he took off his suit jacket and tossed it over the back of his beige sofa. “If you’re asking whether I chose any of this boring shit, the answer is no. This place came furnished. It’s one of those by-the-week executive rentals, since I don’t know how long I’ll be staying in San Francisco.”
“So, you’re in town for work?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
He took off a pair of cufflinks and rolled back the sleeves of his impeccably tailored white shirt as he told me, “I needed to get out of Vegas for a while, and this was as good a place as any to pass the time.”
“What’d you do, piss off a mob boss?”
I’d been kidding, but Reno shrugged his broad shoulders and muttered, “Something like that.”
“Do you think the trouble might follow you here, since you’re giving out fake names?” Not that this was any of my business, but I was nosy.
“Actually, no. I have relatives here, and I don’t want to draw their attention.”
“Now that I get,” I told him. “Aside from my mom, all the rest of my relatives can fuck right off.”
He went over to a bar cart in the corner of the living room and changed the subject with, “Can I make you a drink?”
“Sure. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
He unfastened the top button of his shirt and loosened his tie before pouring two shots of something from a decanter. Then he crossed the room and handed me one of the glasses. It was heavy cut crystal. I wondered idly if it had come with the furnished townhouse.
Reno lightly tapped our glasses together and said, “Salut,” before tossing back what proved to be a high-quality scotch. After I finished mine, he took the glass from me and put it with his on the coffee table.
When he moved a little closer, my heart started pounding. Why was I nervous? It wasn’t like one-night stands were new to me.