Fast Burn (Body Armor #4)(37)
“Damn, that’s rough.”
Miles came down the steps just as they were ready to start up. “Took the tour, huh? What do you think?”
“It’s pretty awesome.”
“An understatement,” Miles said. “Blew me away when I first saw everything. And so far the jobs have been terrific. Plus Sahara works with me so that I don’t have to be away from Maxi too often.”
Maxi was Miles’s soon-to-be-wife, and in fact, they would probably beat Justice and Fallon to the altar. After Fallon’s very sheltered and secluded upbringing, Justice was determined to make up for all she had missed. The big lug made it his life’s mission to wine, dine and woo his fiancée. Since Fallon, who was no longer insecure, beamed with happiness, they all figured Justice—at least in this instance—knew what he was doing.
“When’s the wedding?” Brand asked.
“She’s still remodeling the kitchen, so who knows?” Miles smiled. “She wants the wedding on the farm.”
Since Maxi had inherited the property from her grandmother, it had a lot of sentimental value. Miles had worked it out—with Sahara’s help—so he could be a bodyguard, and live with Maxi there.
“We’re all going out there next Sunday to build a gazebo by the pond,” Leese said. “Want to join us?”
Brand asked, “Will Sahara be there?”
Miles shrugged. “Not sure it’s her thing, you know?”
Two days ago, Brand would have thought the same. But not now. “Text me your plans and I’ll ask her. If she’s not interested, she’ll say so, right?”
They both stared at him.
Miles was the first to crack, grinning widely. “A-ha. So you two are involved. I knew it.”
He didn’t mind saying “Maybe. I’m still figuring it out.”
Leese asked, “So are you going to join the agency?”
“I’m not sure about that either. I can’t see me being involved with my boss, you know?”
Leese chuckled. “That’d be different, wouldn’t it? Especially with a steamroller like Sahara.”
Exactly. Brand rubbed the back of his neck, then admitted, “I have other things to consider, too.”
“MMA?” Leese guessed.
“Yeah. There are some...family issues I have to figure out.”
“If I can help, let me know, okay?”
That was nearly identical to what Miles had told him. Damn, he had good friends. “Think you could show me the suite before I head up there with Sahara? I’d like to get an idea of the layout.”
They knew now that he’d be staying the night with Sahara. Only Justice had complained, mostly because he’d rather be the one to guard her. They all respected her a lot, and more than that, they were fond of her.
Steamroller or not, Sahara was a very endearing woman.
To Brand, she was also sexy as hell.
*
ROSS MORAN WALKED through the posh club to a private meeting room in the back. Loud music vibrated against his skull and rattled in his chest. Strobe lights pricked at the periphery of his vision.
He fucking hated clubs. The monotonous techno beat, the writhing press of too-warm bodies, the overt sexuality. He liked seduction. He liked the hunt.
Give him a quiet dinner, an idle walk in the park, a secluded boat ride on the river any day over the chaos of a club’s let’s-hook-up atmosphere.
Sahara didn’t like clubs either. In all his research on her, he hadn’t found any instance of her indulging in the singles scene. No, she was more about business meetings, business dinners and swanky business parties.
The woman was all business—but he planned to change that.
One way or another.
Without knocking, Ross turned the doorknob and entered the room, his gaze sweeping over the occupants and the exits, gauging the situation in a single glance.
About what he expected: decadent perversion.
In the mere seconds it took him to make that assessment, a thick, no-neck goon moved to block him. Big mistake.
Ross landed a heavy punch to his gut and, before the man staggered back, easily took the gun from his hand.
“Call him off,” Ross ordered, “before I do real damage.”
Alarm flashed in the eyes of US District Attorney Douglas Grant. He clasped the narrow hips of the young lady grinding over his lap and shrugged off the other who stood at his side, her tongue in his ear.
“It’s fine,” he said quickly to No-neck, who’d already recovered only because Ross hadn’t wanted to maim the lesser man for attempting to do his job, and Grant knew it. To the others in the room, he said, “Leave us.”
One suited guest stood with prudent speed and made a beeline for the door, veering off only to move cautiously around Ross. Another refined fellow, more curious than wise, was a little slower but still gave him a wide berth.
The women, stripped down to their lingerie to show off enormous fake boobs and skinny butts, appeared too young for such world-weary expressions.
Ross opened his wallet and pulled out a few hundreds, passing them over to the girl still straddling Grant’s lap.
“Sorry,” Ross explained, “but I need at least a half hour.”
Grant sputtered, “But...”
One dark look silenced him. “Thirty private minutes.”