Sinful Desire (Sinful Nights, #2)(5)

Sophie Winston was a certified flirt. She hadn’t always been one. Growing up, she was one hundred percent geek. But those days were gone, and now she could be this woman. The one who finally flirted. Flirting was like champagne to her—it gave her a rush, and she loved it. Besides, it let her bide her time. Until it could be more than flirting. Until it could become the real thing.

Maybe someday she’d meet someone who she’d want to do more than flirt with, who’d want her in the same way. She wasn’t entirely sure what that would feel like, but she knew she craved that kind of connection. She wanted it all the way…but she’d also happily take the physical side of the equation for now, if the opportunity arose.

She’d had a mere two lovers in her life, but she knew what she wanted.

She knew what turned her on.

As she returned to her car and started the engine, an image of that man in the green tie slipped into her mind. Of the way she’d felt when he’d stared at her—as if she were being hunted. How she loved that kind of hungry gaze. How she longed to be the prey.

A man who stared at her that way was enough to make her get down on her knees, and that was exactly where she wanted to be.

*

As Johnny Cash leapt high to catch a Frisbee in midair in his backyard, Ryan scrolled through the search results. The sun inched closer to the horizon, pelting bolts of pure summer swelter from the sky. He’d already taken a dip in his pool to cool off when he’d arrived home a few minutes ago, and the blue water had done the trick…momentarily.

After quickly tracking down the gala details on his phone in the parking lot, and snagging a pricy ticket for a benefit to raise money for a new children’s wing at a local hospital, Ryan had headed to the gym for a quick workout. With five miles on the treadmill as he answered emails from clients, and several rounds of weights under the belt, he had some time now to dig deeper about his possible date tonight.

To learn more than simply the name of the event.

His black and white Border Collie mix raced to his side, nudging Ryan’s bare leg with the purple Frisbee, which was etched with teeth marks around the rim. Johnny Cash was addicted to this Frisbee. Ryan understood deeply the dog’s single-minded focus. His intensity. His drive.

“Ready for another?”

The dog thumped his tail on the emerald-green grass. From under the relative cool of the big yellow umbrella on the deck of the pool, Ryan cocked his arm and Johnny Cash took off racing, barreling to the far corner of the yard, around the water, and past a cluster of palm trees that shaded the edge of his property. Ryan tossed the Frisbee then glanced down at the iPad again, hunting for any clue that might yield a name for the bombshell.

She’d said something on the phone about raising money, so perhaps she worked for the hospital, heading up its fundraising, maybe. He scanned the event page more closely. Tonight’s fete was a silent auction with drinks and hors d’oeuvres, as well as a performance by a well-known Vegas torch singer. All the town’s glitterati would be there. Probably even some of Ryan’s clients, since the security firm he and his brother ran had contracts with many of the city’s top spenders.

Those were the only details he found.

He shrugged as he reached the bottom of the page and came up empty-handed in the information department. But he didn’t need her name to know he wanted to see her again. He’d already plunked down his cash for the entrance fee in the hope he’d spend time with her tonight. He was rolling the dice big time, but he had a feeling, just from those fifteen seconds on the street that the—

Wait.

There it was. In small print. On the bottom of the page.

The gala had been organized by…noted Vegas philanthropist Sophie Winston.

His dog returned to his side, depositing the Frisbee demandingly at Ryan’s feet, but he couldn’t pull his eyes off that name, wildly rolling and rattling around in his brain like pinballs bouncing off flippers.

Could she really be related?

Nah.

He was getting ahead of himself.

“It’s just a common last name, right?” he said to the dog. Johnny Cash panted, then eyed the Frisbee. A reminder. Didn’t matter to the dog what the woman’s name was. Throw the damn Frisbee.

He picked up the purple disc, chucked it across the yard once more, and peered again at the screen through his shades. His fingers tingled, itching with possibility.

Winston.

Sophie Winston.

Showing up at the same building where John Winston worked.

The same John Winston who knew why his father’s murder investigation had been reopened but wouldn’t pony up the details.

Winston. Winston. Winston.

Take a deep breath. Maybe the detective just happened to have the same last name as the woman Ryan wanted to get his hands on.

He popped open another browser window, plugged in her name and John’s together, and soon the all-knowing Google revealed that the woman who’d invited him to the fete was the detective’s sister.

“Huh,” he said, staring at the screen in a sort of awed silence. As his dog scurried back to him, Ryan kneeled down and patted his head. “What kind of lucky son-of-a-bitch am I?”

The dog panted and Ryan imagined he was saying, “The luckiest.”

He scratched the dog’s chin. “I can’t be that much of an * to hope she might know something, can I?