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He knew all this from Google. Fuck, after the first night seeing her, he couldn’t get her tits, firm ass cheeks, and electrifying eyes out of his mind. He’d Googled her like a horny teenager, and decided she must have been a local Asher had taken a liking to.
Were they romantically involved? Was Asher tapping that?
And why was he even thinking about Sie
Do I want to?
Unfortunately, Carson had developed a nasty habit of heading to the Tu
He might as well have been in high school all over again, lusting after the prom queen, not knowing what to do about it other than rub one out.
This evening was different, though, because he had felt Sie
It was disturbing on so many levels. He was a private eye. He should be able to read people. Yet she seemed to be reading him, looking deep within him.
He couldn’t begin to figure out Sie
He needed to get laid, stop coming back to Vegas, and leave his thoughts of Sie
Of course, he knew he’d be back at the same place tomorrow night with his eyes homed in on one stripper, his dick standing at attention. Weeks ago, he’d paid the concierge at his hotel extremely well to keep him on the weekend list for the Tu
Leaving his rental sports car at the front of his hotel with the valet, Carson bypassed the gaming tables and slot machines and went straight to his favorite bar for a drink. He grabbed a seat at the far end of the bar and nodded at the bartender, Victor, who now viewed him as a regular and brought him a drink without his even needing to order. Top-shelf scotch on the rocks.
Fuck, he was officially a Vegas groupie. The valets knew him, the bartender knew his drink and had it ready as soon as he stepped foot in the lounge, the front desk gave him the same room each weekend, and he was lusting after a woman who starred in Lord only knew how many other men’s fantasies.
If his FBI buddies caught wind of this, they’d never let him live it down. Most of them were settling down, either resolving themselves to living double lives, or trading in their FBI badges for white-collar jobs. Not Carson, he was living the dream. Fast cars, motorcycles, big money, booze, high-end escorts—or dancers, depending on how you looked at it—and his current bullshit case.
He needed to relax and get a handle on all this shit. Carson caught Victor’s eye and then lifted his chin, smiling when Victor made his way over to him.
“Hey, Vic, how’s it shaking? You got any cigars back behind the bar, or do I have to move my ass to a special bar to smoke one?”
Victor chuckled as he wiped his hands on a bar rag. “You’re in luck, buddy, this is Vegas, where anything goes. I just happen to have a few select ones in a humidor under the bar. Let me grab it and you can pick your poison.”
Moments later Carson inhaled deeply, scotch in one hand, a fresh cigar in the other, his view on the casino floor. Actually, he was relaxing for the first time all week, coming down from his dark mood, and found himself not wanting another woman. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to take care of himself either, which was new.
Surprised at that revelation, Carson decided he was content to only finish his drink and cigar before heading upstairs to go straight to sleep.
There was always the promise of tomorrow night, and Sie
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These thank-you lists keep getting longer and longer. In an effort to not write another book, I’d like to thank a few people, none of whom I could do any of this without . . .
My editor, Pam Berehulke, and her swift red pen.
Sarah Hansen and her way more than Okay Creations.
Neda Amini, the sweetest everything to me, chief hand-holder and master-minder.
Robin Bateman, Terilyn Smitsky, Je
Milasy Mugnolo, Michelle Rodriguez, Erin Noelle, Christy Pastore, Fabiola Francisco, and Debra Doxer, for my daily dose of confidence or commiseration.
Emily Tippetts, Tia
Extra-special thanks go to . . .
My family. Seriously, you never know what you’re going to get with me. I may be showered and ready to leave the house or holed up in my robe for days. I love you.
You too, Mom!
Nicole Snyder, who keeps me from going over an unorganized cliff.
My other mother, Susan Ward, who entertains me with her analysis of sales trends and hysterical quips.
My “F the noise” girls. Keeping it real, all day, every day.
The wonderful members of The Electric Readers group on Facebook for their energy and tireless support.
The bloggers who tirelessly sit behind their laptops, helping books find new readers.
Stacey, who has the patience of a saint when it comes to the alpha males in my head.
And my friends at home who hold my hand, allow me to cry on their shoulders, and drink California chardo
Rachel Blaufeld is a social worker/entrepreneur/blogger turned author. Fearless about sharing her opinion, Rachel captured the ear of stay-at-home and working moms on her blog, BacknGrooveMom, chronicling her adventures in parenting tweens and inventing a product, often at the same time. She has also blogged for USA Today’s “Happy Ever After” feature, The Huffington Post, Modern Mom, and StartupNation.
Turning her focus on her sometimes wild-and-crazy creative side, it only took Rachel two decades to do exactly what she wanted to do—write a fiction novel. Now she spends way too many hours in local coffee shops plotting her ideas. Her tales may all come with a side of angst and naughtiness, but end lusciously.
Rachel lives around the corner from her childhood home in Pe
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Absolution Road
Copyright © 2015 Rachel Blaufeld
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-0-9915928-8-3