James just laughed and snagged a wine spritzer or some other girlie drink from the cooler next to me before walking off.
“You know I’m tough, right?” I asked my wife as I plopped down in the chair next to her, running my hand over Tabitha’s back under Aly’s shirt.
“Yeah, babe. You’re big and tough on the outside, but neither of us were survivors until we met each other. We’re our own little fairy tale, meant to be together. Beauty and the Beast.”
Isn’t that the truth? I leaned in to kiss the top of her fiery red hair, trying to get a quick look at those gorgeous tits of hers.
Maybe later.
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Read more from Rachel Blaufeld in Electrified, Book One in the Electric Tunnel Series.
CARSON GRAHAM shifted into fourth gear as he hightailed it away from the club toward his hotel. Why did he keep coming back to Vegas? Who the hell knew. If there was one thing he didn’t have any trouble finding or getting, it was willing women.
He knew women weren’t really “things.” They were interesting, often complicated creatures, and he both appreciated and respected them. He just happened to like women in his bed who came with no strings. It was the twenty-first century, after all, and there were plenty of women who liked that kind of deal.
He had never settled down, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to start now. At closer to forty years old than thirty-five, he felt the bachelor life suited him just fine. Or maybe it was that he only deserved the single life. His particular circumstances hadn’t exactly set him up for success in the relationship department.
Picking up a little speed, he changed course and steered toward the mountains, needing more time to clear his head.
It would be great to be on his motorcycle right now, to be able to lean into the steep and winding curves, but it was back in his garage on the East Coast, grounded—just like his life at the moment. The sports car he’d rented here in Vegas would have to do.
As he shifted the engine into fifth gear the car jetted forward, allowing the tension to bleed from him with the increased RPMs. He was trying to drive away from the pull as fast as he could; the pull coming from an insanely gorgeous stripper he was lusting after in a big way.
There was something magnetic about Sienna Flower, dragging him in deeper and deeper. More than her sleek, toned body and her sensual moves when she wrapped herself around the pole, there was a draw deeper than the physical. Carson wasn’t a hard-up kind of guy. He never got like this over a woman. Ever.
Growing up without a mom, he was fairly certain there was nothing lasting about “love.” If a mother could actually up and leave her child without any notice, like his did, there was no such thing as forever. His dad had done the best he could to be everything to Carson, but the fact remained: When a six-year-old’s mother left and never came back, that fucked with a kid.
It fucked with a grown man too. As a result, Carson never considered love an option.
Lust, a few cocktails, dinner out, and then a good roll in Egyptian cotton sheets—that was Carson’s modus operandi. He definitely didn’t have any delusions of long-term love.
In reality, his thoughts on the subject of love didn’t really matter. His lifestyle and career didn’t allow for love; at least, that was what he told himself. After joining the FBI, he traveled all the time, leaving at a moment’s notice on any number of classified assignments. He was wise enough to know the FBI lifestyle didn’t lend itself to successful relationships, so he never pursued them. If he were honest with himself, he might admit maybe that was why he originally chose to take the FBI job, but who wanted to look that closely at their own motives?
He certainly couldn’t be hunting down a suspect in a different time zone while pretending to be at a sales conference in Orlando when he called home in the wee hours of the night . . . or morning, depending on where he was.
Eventually all the lies, fibs, or whatever you wanted to call them caught up in a field agent’s relationship. As a man who avoided conflict in his personal life for fear of being deserted, he knew the lying would eat away at him.
After cracking a high-profile missing person’s case at the FBI a few years ago, Carson had struck out on his own. Going solo, he built his own firm, still traveling and having a grand fucking time doing what he did best, which was remaining uninterested in a long-term relationship. Now he was an independent private investigator, making his own rules, and it suited him just fine. His reputation followed him and he took the cases he wanted—except for this current bitch of a case—which allowed him to have a good time living life.
To most people, he introduced himself as a bounty hunter or some shit like that. No need to have every Tom, Dick, and Harry asking him to take this or that heartbreaking case. Carson worked, traveled, and enjoyed the finer things life offered. He liked getting paid too much to take on pro-bono cases.
Although his recent case was starting to feel like one . . . that and a big, annoying crock of shit.
A vibration in his pocket partially dragged him out of his funk. Holding the wheel steady with his knee, Carson pulled the phone out of his pocket and hit IGNORE. Speak of the devil who got him involved in this crap. His best friend, Alex. He should have answered; the guy’s family had practically raised him. He owed him that but he wasn’t in the mood, since it was Alex’s fault that he’d taken this damned case.
Guilt overtook him as he traveled the long, dark desert road, and Carson dialed his friend back.
“Hey man, what’s up?” He focused on the open road ahead of him, the mountains bleeding into the skyline, the moon lighting his way.
“Not much. Just checking in. Making sure my oldest friend is still alive and causing trouble wherever he may be at the moment.”
“Yeah, yeah. All good here. Kicking around out west, trying to solve that shit case you sent me. Taking a much-needed break in Vegas as we speak.” He pushed his speed a little more, feeling the car purr.
“Way to make me jealous. I’m stuck at home watching the baby while my wife is out on a girls’ night out, and you’re probably on your way to getting laid. What’s wrong with this picture?”
“Nah, Alex. You go be with your baby and let your wife have a good time. You’re not missing anything. Except for a few strippers.” He laughed out loud.
A small chuckle came from the other end. “I’m gonna get you for that one. Have some fun for me, will ya? Keep me updated on the case. I know I can’t be much help, but if you need anything, let me know.”
Carson chuckled. “I wish you could help with the case. It’s turning into one hell of an adventure. I’m trying my best to help out your relative’s friends, but for the first time I just don’t know. Hell, listen to me rambling like I’m a spoiled bitch. Forget it, man. Go love your baby.”
“Okay, but stay in touch, Carson. Don’t go MIA so often.”
“I hear ya.”
As he disconnected, he thought about Alex’s comment. Going MIA, doing his own thing, was part of who he was.
His current personal life lined up with his new career perfectly. He had a few women around the country who knew the 411 when it came to him. Lavish times with no commitment; that was how he rolled. Period.
Now here he was, rushing back to Vegas every weekend. Why? What the hell was the draw? Carson sighed because he knew damn well.
Sienna Flower, adult entertainer with moves that would ignite a dead man, and eyes like a virgin, making him feel like a young kid all over again.
Christ, he had a problem.
The case he was currently working was burning him up and playing with his mind, besides displacing him to the West Coast. Although the job was lining his bank account—even at his lowest rate—it was taking much longer than he expected. He needed it to be over.