Read Online On Thin Ice by Susan Andersen - Free Book Online Page A

this the same young woman who just three days ago had read him the riot act for using obscene language in her presence? When it came to shock value, not much could beat having her grab his crotch out of the blue. It did the trick, absolutely, stunning him nearly speechless.
    Heads turned at his involuntary exclamation and Mick did something else he hadn’t done in years. He blushed. Karen’s head was still averted, but it was turning in his direction as he grasped her wrist and yanked her hand away from his lap. Her fingers stretched to administer one last surreptitious stroke even as she instructed him coolly, “Kindly don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”
    â€œHoly shit, lady,” he whispered hoarsely. “What’re you, crazy? ”
    â€œMr. Vinicor,” she reprimanded him frigidly, “I will not tell you again. Watch your language.” Then in an undertone, as the plane’s engines whined with the change of altitude, she murmured without even bothering to turn her head in his direction, “You’re the man in charge of room assignments so I assume that means you know what my room number will be.” Her head turned briefly to meet his astounded blue eyes and she passed a delicate tongue over her lips. Her voice was contrastingly crisp when she instructed, “Come see me.”
    Mick was jumpy and unnerved the rest of the flight. He’d been an agent with the DEA for nearly twelve years and had dealt with many diverse personalities. It was an aspect of the job he’d always taken for granted; it simply came with the territory and was an accepted part of the job description. Hell, he’d broken bread with sociopaths and conned psychotics; he’d partied with conscienceless killers and out-lied pathological liars, all without breaking a sweat. Bringing one small-time dealer to justice should be a piece of cake in comparison.
    So then why did it feel as if this were shaping up to be the screwiest goddam case he’d ever had the misfortune to be assigned to?
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    It was edging on six by the time Mick had straightened out all the room assignments and distributed every last hotel key to the Follies’ performers and other personnel. Whose bright idea had it been for him to take over the managers duties anyway?
    There was more work to this job than he’d expected. He couldn’t neglect it or people were going to wonder why he’d been hired in the first place, and the objective here was to bring as little attention to himself as possible. Yet he wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to keep an eye on Sasha Miller, worm his way into her confidence, and deal with all this shit, too.
    He pretended not to notice when Karen Corselli pressed discreetly up against him as he handed her the key to her room. Having failed to elicit a reaction, she stood looking at him a moment longer, an invitation in her eyes, before she finally stepped aside to make way for the next person in line.
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    Karen let herself into her room, slung her overnighter on the bed, and kicked off her shoes. She rummaged in her bag until she found her little night-light, plugged it into the socket next to the bed, ordered up room service, and then searched the television for something not totally vulgar that she could watch while she ate. After dinner she took a long bath, freshened her makeup, and donned her most alluring nightgown.
    By ten o’clock that evening it had registered that Mick Vinicor wasn’t going to come knocking on her door.
    Prowling the room, she whispered furiously to herself, frustration burning hot in her veins. Unbearably familiar, a sense of powerlessness infused her, and like an irritant lying just below the surface of her skin, like an itch beyond her reach, it mocked all her accomplishments. Drat him. Drat all men.
    She stood in the center of the room, chest heaving with the deep breaths she took in an attempt to regain