Sin on the Strip by Lucy Farago Page B

as you kissed your way down smooth skin.
    This was his cue to leave.
    â€œWould you mind if I talked to your staff again? Maybe tomorrow? With the funeral behind them they might remember something more.”
    â€œAs I told you before, if there is anything I can do to help—but the FBI have already talked to them. They asked for everything in Heather’s locker, including her old phone. I’d just bought the one she had.”
    He made another mental note to ask his contact if they’d found anything. “That was generous of you.”
    â€œIt was an early graduation present. The police have it now,” she said, swallowing so hard, he saw her throat work.
    â€œI’m sure they’ll return it when they’re done with it.”
    She nodded, tension visible around the eyes that minutes earlier had sparkled. “I’ll walk you out. This way’s faster.”
    She showed him to a side gate hidden behind lush greenery and then down a granite staircase that led to the driveway. Halfway down, she stopped, placed a warm hand on his arm and surprised him by pulling off her high heels.
    â€œMuch better,” she moaned. Seeing where her hand had gone, she yanked it away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to lean on you.”
    He checked out her red toenails. “Wow, and to think you looked right at home in those things.” He nodded toward her shoes.
    She shrugged. “Deceiving, I know. The stupid stuff women do to look good.”
    â€œYou could have worn flats,” he observed.
    â€œAre you telling me I’m too tall to wear heels?” she asked as she continued down the stairs, her back to him.
    Without the shoes he guessed her at five eight. “No, ma’am. Simply that your legs don’t need heels to look good.” As soon as the words left his runaway mouth, she stopped. He braced himself so as not to run into her. Had he offended her?
    â€œLook,” she said and turned, her hands perched on a pair of slender hips. “Stop calling me ma’am . I’m no teenager, but I’m not a ma’am either.”
    Christian laughed then stopped when she frowned at him. She was serious. “I’ll make you a deal. I won’t call you ma’am . . .” Without thinking, he pushed away a stray hair caught in her lipstick. Her skin pure silk beneath his fingertips, he’d have been tempted to tuck that strand behind her ear had she not gone suddenly still. “I won’t call you ma’am,” he repeated, “if you call me Christian.” Normally he liked formalities. It kept his clients at arms’ length. But she wasn’t a client and he’d better dump those formalities. They’d only serve to remind her that she should be on her guard.
    He didn’t understand what the big deal was, but she took her time considering his offer before answering. “I’ll meet you half way, Beck .” Heels in hand, she made her way down the rest of the stairs.
    Beck, it was.
    He had to remind his professional side to remember what she did for a living, what paid for the fancy digs. Why the hell did she have to walk him to his car? Or look so hot in that tight black skirt? It hugged her ass and made him forget she wasn’t his type. Money bought her one great house; it couldn’t buy her scruples. Great boss, great friend, great whatever, she still made cash off these women. So she talked some of them into going back to school. Great. What about the ones she put at risk?
    Maggie could hear him close on her heels, or bare feet. She’d chosen to walk him out in an attempt to keep things casual between them. When his fingers had touched her face, she’d regretted the decision. A woman could melt under those chocolate eyes, and around Mr. Beck, she needed to be on her guard.
    She had to maintain her cool. He already knew too much about her. How far into her past had he gone snooping? Did he know who her father