Into the Fury (BOSS, Inc. #1)(53)
Her mind went back to the men Ethan had subdued. He’d made it look easy, just thrown a punch or two and had them in handcuffs. But security wasn’t an easy job, and the incident could have turned out far differently. Pete’s fat lip and possible concussion attested to that.
She reminded herself that Ethan was on the side of right, not wrong, the way Bobby had been.
Val let the thought settle in. Determined to shove images of the fight out of her head, she changed back into her street clothes, black skinny jeans with rhinestones on the pocket, an ivory satin blouse, a rhinestone belt, and killer, open-toed high black heels.
La Belle was throwing a celebration party back at the hotel. She would have to make at least a brief appearance. After an evening of interviews, the show itself, and Ethan’s fight backstage, she wished she could simply go up to her room and fall asleep.
Then she remembered that Ethan would be sleeping on her sofa. Chances were she’d lie awake thinking about him, aching for him until the wee hours of the morning.
Val sighed. She was facing another sleepless night. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about being murdered.
Chapter Twenty
By the time the Friday night performance was over and the cast and crew were loaded into buses for the ride back to the hotel, Ethan’s mood was black.
Sitting in the back of the bus, he leaned against the plush velvet seat and scrubbed a hand over his face. He kept remembering Val in the diamonds, seeing the predatory gleam in Jason Stern’s eyes as he fastened the necklace around her slender throat.
Stern was on the hunt. Val didn’t seem to realize that, but Ethan did. Stern had plans for Val that included her warming his bed. She’d said she wasn’t interested. Ethan believed her. Val wasn’t the kind of woman to sleep with a married man.
But Stern was clearly on the prowl, which made Ethan wonder if the man was looking for a replacement for his last lover—possibly the woman who’d been murdered in Seattle.
Along with her job at La Belle, Delilah Larsen had represented David Klein Jewelers. Had Stern given her the diamonds missing from her safe?
And what if he had?
Bruce Hoover was convinced Delilah’s lover wasn’t involved in her death. Even if the man was Stern, the way he was eyeing Val made it clear he wasn’t in mourning. If he’d murdered Delilah, jealousy likely wasn’t the motive.
And the diamonds?
Ethan had checked the financials of Paul Boudreau, along with all the La Belle and David Klein top execs. A half million in diamonds—much less at cost to Stern—wouldn’t mean squat to him.
Still, Ethan made a mental note to find out whether Delilah had been Jason Stern’s mistress.
He glanced around the interior of the bus, saw Val sitting next to Megan O’Brien. With a killer still on the loose, he’d be spending another night on Val’s sofa.
Inwardly, he groaned. Since the day he’d seen her scrubbing a wet dog at the Perfect Pup, he’d wanted her. Aside from her physical beauty, he’d come to respect her, admire the way she’d conquered her dismal youth to make something of herself.
After watching her help Heather and Pete, he was drawn to her compassion. Little by little, he was becoming completely obsessed.
It had never happened to him before, not this deep, primitive feeling that somehow she belonged to him. Not this burning need to drag her off somewhere and ravage her beautiful body until neither of them could move.
Sweet Jesus, he was in trouble.
Last night had been hell. Half the night, he’d been hard for her, aching to stride through the bedroom door and have her. The rest of the night he’d worried about the murders, wondered if the copycat would strike again, if he’d go after one of the models instead of a stripper or some other, more easily accessible prey.
Wondering if the first guy would crawl out of the woodwork and follow them, try to claim another victim.
As the bus pulled up in front of the Ritz, he glanced back at Val. He’d be protecting her again tonight, suffering more endless hours on her sofa. No way could he touch her. Rules were rules, and he had a job to do. He’d lost control and taken advantage of her the last time. It wasn’t going to happen again.
Not unless Val came to him.
His jaw clenched. If she did, and she wanted him half as much as he wanted her, he wouldn’t give a fat rat’s ass about the frigging rules.
The La Belle after-party in celebration of the successful Dallas show was in full swing, the music from a five-piece orchestra filling the dance floor with models, TV personalities, top brass, and invited guests. Beneath a crystal chandelier suspended from the molded ceilings in the Ritz-Carlton’s elegant ballroom, Val stood at one of the high round tables, each draped in a gold, floor-length cloth that matched the opulent decor.
Still wearing her black skinny jeans and killer high heels, shoes that were, ironically, now actually killing her feet, she took a sip of champagne from the half-empty flute that dangled from her fingers. Having managed to slip off by herself, she tried to pretend she wasn’t exhausted. That the insanity of the evening hadn’t set her nerves on the ragged edge.
She glanced around, searching the room for Ethan, saw him against the wall, legs splayed, arms crossed over his chest, watching her with his hawk-eyed, never-miss-a-thing, intense dark brown stare.
For an instant, his gaze locked with hers and a tremor of heat slid through her. He was armed, she knew, beneath the black blazer he wore with his T-shirt and jeans. Tall and imposing, drawing flirty glances from a dozen beautiful women, he was the sexiest man in the ballroom. Or anywhere else, as far as she was concerned.