Read Online The Naked Detective by Vivi Andrews - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vivi Andrews
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casino downstairs while she and Nate were trying to find the right bank of elevators to take them up to their room. In the window of one boutique, a mannequin in a sexy red sheath dress had caught her eye.
She would look like eleven kinds of sin in that dress. Nate would never turn down a quickie if she were wearing that.
Two hours later Ciara had discovered there were very few things at the Borgata which could not be charged to your room—designer dresses, cosmetics, a haircut at the spa salon, even poker chips were just a signature away. Charge it to the FBI, darling. They could take it out of her fee.
Strutting from a blackjack table over to the noisy excitement of the roulette wheel, Ciara heard people whispering and pointing, mistaking her for a celebrity. She added a little extra swivel to her hips, managing not to trip over her new three-and-half-inch heels. She felt like Tom Cruise in Risky Business , living out every fantasy as fast as she could before reality came crashing down.
The men at the roulette table sidled aside to make a space for her, leering appreciatively, and Ciara smiled to herself.
She felt powerful. She was a goddess tonight. A vampy starlet who took whatever she wanted.
Ciara leaned against the rail and casually flipped a chip onto the table, smiling at the man next to her. He was Jersey from head to toe. Italian, a little heavyset, wearing a dark suit over a brightly colored, partially unbuttoned shirt of some slippery material.
He wasn’t appealing in the visceral way Nate was, but the idea of putting her hands on him was almost narcotic in its appeal.
She could touch him if she wanted. Hell, she could kiss him senseless. She was adventurous. She was wild. What was stopping her?
Doubt. Doubt was stopping her. Those damned what ifs. What if it went away? What if she couldn’t kiss anyone but Nate? Sure, in the last few hours she’d had other people’s hands on her hands, her arms and her scalp, but that didn’t mean her lips wouldn’t trigger a nuclear meltdown. Really, she ought to test it. In the interest of scientific discovery.
Ciara met Joe Jersey’s eyes and gave him a flirty little smile.
She’d leave it up to chance. Ciara stacked three chips on top of the number seventeen. If she won, she’d kiss him. If she lost…she’d play again until she won.
Was this how most gambling addictions started? As an enabler to nymphomania?
The ball spun in a dizzying whirl around the wheel. Ciara watched it intently, excitement bubbling up to a rapid boil inside her. The ball rattled off a series of slots, bouncing erratically, then settled suddenly.
Seventeen.
Ciara squealed, jumping up and down, clapping her hands and playing the lucky winner to the hilt. She pounced on the man beside her, wrapped her arms around his neck and planted one full on his mouth.
After Nate returned to the room to find Ciara had vanished, he panicked and began searching the hotel. The last place he expected to find her was at a roulette table in a juicy lip lock with a perfect stranger.
“Ciara.”
She sprang away from her new friend, flashing him a bright, unapologetic smile. “Nate! There you are. Look, I won!” She pointed to the roulette table, bouncing in her spiky heels.
“Congratulations,” he said grimly. Nate turned to the bastard who’d taken advantage of her excitement.
Who took one look at the expression on Nate’s face and immediately held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, buddy, she kissed me. How was I to know you had a prior claim? Am I right?”
Ciara bent over the table, blithely gathering up her chips. She looked cheerful and bright-eyed and not at all like someone who’d just been kissed against her will.
“You kissed him?”
Not that it mattered who’d kissed whom. It was none of his business. She was none of his business. Just an informant. So why did he feel like he’d just discovered his favorite puppy played with other little boys when he wasn’t
She would look like eleven kinds of sin in that dress. Nate would never turn down a quickie if she were wearing that.
Two hours later Ciara had discovered there were very few things at the Borgata which could not be charged to your room—designer dresses, cosmetics, a haircut at the spa salon, even poker chips were just a signature away. Charge it to the FBI, darling. They could take it out of her fee.
Strutting from a blackjack table over to the noisy excitement of the roulette wheel, Ciara heard people whispering and pointing, mistaking her for a celebrity. She added a little extra swivel to her hips, managing not to trip over her new three-and-half-inch heels. She felt like Tom Cruise in Risky Business , living out every fantasy as fast as she could before reality came crashing down.
The men at the roulette table sidled aside to make a space for her, leering appreciatively, and Ciara smiled to herself.
She felt powerful. She was a goddess tonight. A vampy starlet who took whatever she wanted.
Ciara leaned against the rail and casually flipped a chip onto the table, smiling at the man next to her. He was Jersey from head to toe. Italian, a little heavyset, wearing a dark suit over a brightly colored, partially unbuttoned shirt of some slippery material.
He wasn’t appealing in the visceral way Nate was, but the idea of putting her hands on him was almost narcotic in its appeal.
She could touch him if she wanted. Hell, she could kiss him senseless. She was adventurous. She was wild. What was stopping her?
Doubt. Doubt was stopping her. Those damned what ifs. What if it went away? What if she couldn’t kiss anyone but Nate? Sure, in the last few hours she’d had other people’s hands on her hands, her arms and her scalp, but that didn’t mean her lips wouldn’t trigger a nuclear meltdown. Really, she ought to test it. In the interest of scientific discovery.
Ciara met Joe Jersey’s eyes and gave him a flirty little smile.
She’d leave it up to chance. Ciara stacked three chips on top of the number seventeen. If she won, she’d kiss him. If she lost…she’d play again until she won.
Was this how most gambling addictions started? As an enabler to nymphomania?
The ball spun in a dizzying whirl around the wheel. Ciara watched it intently, excitement bubbling up to a rapid boil inside her. The ball rattled off a series of slots, bouncing erratically, then settled suddenly.
Seventeen.
Ciara squealed, jumping up and down, clapping her hands and playing the lucky winner to the hilt. She pounced on the man beside her, wrapped her arms around his neck and planted one full on his mouth.
After Nate returned to the room to find Ciara had vanished, he panicked and began searching the hotel. The last place he expected to find her was at a roulette table in a juicy lip lock with a perfect stranger.
“Ciara.”
She sprang away from her new friend, flashing him a bright, unapologetic smile. “Nate! There you are. Look, I won!” She pointed to the roulette table, bouncing in her spiky heels.
“Congratulations,” he said grimly. Nate turned to the bastard who’d taken advantage of her excitement.
Who took one look at the expression on Nate’s face and immediately held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, buddy, she kissed me. How was I to know you had a prior claim? Am I right?”
Ciara bent over the table, blithely gathering up her chips. She looked cheerful and bright-eyed and not at all like someone who’d just been kissed against her will.
“You kissed him?”
Not that it mattered who’d kissed whom. It was none of his business. She was none of his business. Just an informant. So why did he feel like he’d just discovered his favorite puppy played with other little boys when he wasn’t
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