Read Online Desert Exposure by Robena Grant - Free Book Online
Authors: Robena Grant
Tags: Suspense, Contemporary
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reached for the martini shaker.
“The girls are starting early,” he said, and inclined his head toward two busty blondes at the end of the bar.
She knew them well. The “ladies” worked the bar scene with ease. She noticed one of them checking out Michael and felt a twinge of annoyance. Not that it would be her business if he decided to take the woman up on any offer of sharing a drink, meal, or a bed. She pressed her lips tight. One woman pulled a barstool closer, and slid onto it exposing a long length of thigh.
Michael glanced down.
She couldn’t blame him. The woman was young and she had everything going for her. Rachel grimaced. Her legs were a bit short. And the boobs, she looked down. Lucky if they were a 36B. Cleavage was all dependent on the bra. She put the beer down in front of Michael a bit hard, and some of the liquid sloshed and trickled down the side of the glass. He raised his head and there was a glimmer of amusement in those fake eyes.
“My friend would like a—” He glanced at the woman and raised an artificially darkened eyebrow. Then he smiled.
“Appletini. Thanks, but I’ve already ordered.” She leaned her boobs on the bar and yelled down the length of it. “Manny, honey, I’ll take my drink up here.”
Something is wrong with Michael’s teeth.
Rachel looked from Michael to the woman, back to Michael, but he’d stopped smiling. She turned to her barman. Manuel hated being called Manny. His name pin spelled his full name.
If this woman gave him the slightest annoyance, she’d already been tagged as one who would be easily cut off. And if he sensed she was a prostitute he’d have her skanky butt out of here before the woman knew what was going on. That pleased Rachel. She made eye contact with Michael again. He and the woman had their heads close together talking softly.
Rachel attended to customers and then moved back up the bar toward Michael. For a skinny guy he sure did have well developed biceps. And this disguise of his made him look older, more weathered. He looked up, his eyes alert. She gave a tiny shake of her head. There was nobody in the bar that she didn’t know, and nothing suspicious going on—except for him and the skank. She was under surveillance for no reason at all.
But damn it, she still had his Hummer parked in her garage. Thinking about that made her feel better. She smiled. He was going home with her.
Chapter Four
The following morning, Michael settled into the car seat. It felt good to let someone else do the driving, plus the cooking. Rachel had made a damn good breakfast.
He’d done surveillance of her house and neighborhood, after he’d explained his need to get to know the local women. Rachel had looked skeptical on that subject but had finally conceded he might be right. He knew the local women had a wealth of knowledge on anyone new in town. It tickled him that she’d seemed jealous; interesting, but totally the wrong time.
Refusing the offer of the couch, he’d instead had her leave the Mustang parked at the curb beneath a shady tree. He’d taken a blanket and a pillow and spent the night there.
This morning, after driving her car to his place and cleaning up and switching back into his standard day job attire of slacks and a blazer, he’d returned. The only thing he had not done was shaven. Tonight he’d be under cover. He’d be the drugged out guitar playing bad boy. Then somewhere between returning her car and car keys, a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon had been slid across the table. They’d eaten, and talked, and argued, and then talked some more, and he’d decided to accept her offer of checking out Henry Copeland’s cabin.
“I don’t look the part for our fake fishing expedition,” Michael said, averting his gaze from the speedometer and concentrating on his neatly pressed slacks. “You do.”
“Yeah,” Rachel said. “I always dress crummy to go down there.”
He watched in the side-view mirror, checking for a
“The girls are starting early,” he said, and inclined his head toward two busty blondes at the end of the bar.
She knew them well. The “ladies” worked the bar scene with ease. She noticed one of them checking out Michael and felt a twinge of annoyance. Not that it would be her business if he decided to take the woman up on any offer of sharing a drink, meal, or a bed. She pressed her lips tight. One woman pulled a barstool closer, and slid onto it exposing a long length of thigh.
Michael glanced down.
She couldn’t blame him. The woman was young and she had everything going for her. Rachel grimaced. Her legs were a bit short. And the boobs, she looked down. Lucky if they were a 36B. Cleavage was all dependent on the bra. She put the beer down in front of Michael a bit hard, and some of the liquid sloshed and trickled down the side of the glass. He raised his head and there was a glimmer of amusement in those fake eyes.
“My friend would like a—” He glanced at the woman and raised an artificially darkened eyebrow. Then he smiled.
“Appletini. Thanks, but I’ve already ordered.” She leaned her boobs on the bar and yelled down the length of it. “Manny, honey, I’ll take my drink up here.”
Something is wrong with Michael’s teeth.
Rachel looked from Michael to the woman, back to Michael, but he’d stopped smiling. She turned to her barman. Manuel hated being called Manny. His name pin spelled his full name.
If this woman gave him the slightest annoyance, she’d already been tagged as one who would be easily cut off. And if he sensed she was a prostitute he’d have her skanky butt out of here before the woman knew what was going on. That pleased Rachel. She made eye contact with Michael again. He and the woman had their heads close together talking softly.
Rachel attended to customers and then moved back up the bar toward Michael. For a skinny guy he sure did have well developed biceps. And this disguise of his made him look older, more weathered. He looked up, his eyes alert. She gave a tiny shake of her head. There was nobody in the bar that she didn’t know, and nothing suspicious going on—except for him and the skank. She was under surveillance for no reason at all.
But damn it, she still had his Hummer parked in her garage. Thinking about that made her feel better. She smiled. He was going home with her.
Chapter Four
The following morning, Michael settled into the car seat. It felt good to let someone else do the driving, plus the cooking. Rachel had made a damn good breakfast.
He’d done surveillance of her house and neighborhood, after he’d explained his need to get to know the local women. Rachel had looked skeptical on that subject but had finally conceded he might be right. He knew the local women had a wealth of knowledge on anyone new in town. It tickled him that she’d seemed jealous; interesting, but totally the wrong time.
Refusing the offer of the couch, he’d instead had her leave the Mustang parked at the curb beneath a shady tree. He’d taken a blanket and a pillow and spent the night there.
This morning, after driving her car to his place and cleaning up and switching back into his standard day job attire of slacks and a blazer, he’d returned. The only thing he had not done was shaven. Tonight he’d be under cover. He’d be the drugged out guitar playing bad boy. Then somewhere between returning her car and car keys, a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon had been slid across the table. They’d eaten, and talked, and argued, and then talked some more, and he’d decided to accept her offer of checking out Henry Copeland’s cabin.
“I don’t look the part for our fake fishing expedition,” Michael said, averting his gaze from the speedometer and concentrating on his neatly pressed slacks. “You do.”
“Yeah,” Rachel said. “I always dress crummy to go down there.”
He watched in the side-view mirror, checking for a
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