Read Online Runaway Model by Parker Avrile - Free Book Online

the corners of that teasing mouth twitched upward.
    "What?"
    "You've been staring at me since I walked into the place."
    "I thought I recognized you."
    "Ten points for originality."
    Their love of sarcasm wasn't Bryce's favorite thing about the British. But he took his bottle of San Pellegrino® and came over to sit at the boy's table.
    Up close, Kyle smelled as expensive as he looked. The name of the three hundred dollar an ounce men's cologne tickled the tip of Bryce's tongue. He could almost remember what it was called. It hadn't been that long since he'd smelled fragrances in that price range for the very first time.
    "Let's start over. Can I buy you a drink?"
    "You already are, mate. Muchas gracias ."
    "What?"
    "The bartender may be laboring under the impression you're a good friend of me and mine. Maybe a bit of the jealous type but still enough of a good sport to pay for our adult bevvies."
    "Don't I have to sign the tab?"
    "You don't know what you were signing whilst you were staring down me blouse."
    So much for the hyper-alert Bryce Auburn. While he was on the lookout for kidnappers, he should have been watching for the common Vegas drinks hustler.
    "You tip very well," the boy was saying. "The mark of a kind man." He placed his hand on the side of Bryce's face, making his skin tingle at the contact. "Nice eyes. Light blue. I like that. I can see into your soul."
    Bryce wondered how often the boy had used that line. He told himself he could still back out. Then he remembered he'd paid three hundred dollars for a professional trim of his sandy-blond hair—all the better to frame the blue-gray eyes in question.
    If you put out bait, you had to expect the fish to bite. What was he running away from? He wanted—he needed—the fish to bite. All work and no play wasn't a life.
    "I'm Bryce. I'm from North Dakota."
    "Nice to meet you, Bryce from North Dakota. I'm Kyle from the UK. Except I really am from the UK, innit? You can tell by me accent."
    "I didn't say I was born in North Dakota. Nobody is, I guess. I... my business... I work there."
    "Cool story, bro." Kyle, if Kyle was in fact his real name, was openly laughing now.
    Bryce had a short brutal fantasy about what he'd like to do with that teasing mouth.
    The mouth of a model. Quirky little smile. It wasn't the kind of face Bryce usually met on the oilpatch. Men among men weren't shy. But their boldness could be cheap. This one's boldness... it was anything but cheap. You felt as if you were the only person in the room.
    Kyle's right hand, the one that featured the garish pink star sapphire, had somehow slipped into Bryce's lap to brush him very high on the thigh. A brief whisper of a touch that was there and gone. Almost Bryce might have imagined it.
    "We could have some fun, couldn't we, mate?" Kyle's left hand brushed a sandy curl out of Bryce's eyes.
    Bryce swallowed hard. "There are too many cameras here. Let's take this discussion upstairs."
    "Thought you'd never ask."
    As they approached the private bank of elevators that went directly to the penthouse floor, Kyle wound a sinuous arm around Bryce's waist. The security guard, who probably recognized Bryce from an alert about the hotel's premium guests, held an elevator specifically for the two of them.
    "There will be no stops until the car reaches your floor, sir," the man said. He seemed not to register Kyle's existence.
    "Did he get a memo about your elevator blowie fantasy?" The door hadn't quite shut when Kyle asked that question.
    "My... what?"
    There was a camera in the elevator too. A very round and very conspicuous one probably designed to deter evildoers from robbing the hotel's elite guests. Kyle blew a kiss in its direction and then knelt smoothly on the gleaming gilt floor. For the benefit of the hotel's claustrophobic visitors, the walls were made of mirrors, so that Bryce could see endless images of Kyle using his gifted lips and long fingers to unzip his fly.
    "We can't. What if they're