Designed for Murder (Killer Style 4)

“This is nuts,” he mumbled as he shuffled his feet to the beat.

Stiffening in his arms, she glared at him. “You’re the one who asked me. I can just go sit back down and you can go back to your no-neck friends.”

He tightened his grip, pulling her closer. “Whoa, slow down there.”

Too late. Annoyance, embarrassment, and something a little too close to hurt for comfort had put her on the fast track to pissed off. “Why should I?”

“How else would I prove I’m not a total asshole if I don’t finish this dance?” He jerked his chin toward his table in the back. “See the idiots over there?”

Like they could be missed. “Yeah.”

“I lost a bet.”

Heat beat against her cheeks as her feet turned to concrete. “You’re dancing with me because you lost a bet?”

“No.” He pulled her closer and slid the hand on her hip to the small of her back. “I’m dancing with you because I’m the luckiest guy in this bar.”

“Smooth.” Mika rolled her eyes but began to sway to the music again. For a muscle-bound guy who made stupid bets, he moved well on the dance floor, which boded well for how he moved elsewhere—like the bedroom. “So what else do you have to do to settle this bet?”

“You have to buy me a beer.”

If he’d looked away when he’d said it or tried to be all flirty, she would have said thank you and good night. Instead, he looked her straight in the eye—unabashed honesty got her every single time. Her stomach did a fluttery shimmy and she almost lost a s

tep.

Pull it together, girl.

“I don’t know, it’s supposed to be an early night for me.” And maybe for him, too, if he played his cards right.

He put her hand on his hard chest and dropped his to her other hip, bringing them into perfect alignment. “Big meeting tomorrow?”

“Sort of.” The police weren’t going to do anything about the attacks, so she would do something herself, which was why she had an early appointment at one of the best investigative firms in Harbor City.

“I’ll take you home later, if your friends are skipping out soon,” he said.

Temptation, thy name is Carlos.

He had a hard body, hot moves on the dance floor, and an underlying, panty-melting confidence that promised he knew what to do with both in other more private locations.

“Who said I wanted to go home?” She looked up at him through her lashes.

His lips curled in a slow smile as his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Who said it would be your home?”

The song ended, leaving them standing with their arms wrapped around each other in the middle of the nonexistent dance floor. She’d come to Feeny’s to forget for a few hours and pretend that her world hadn’t gone crazy. What better way to do that than with Carlos?

“So…” She stepped out of his embrace. “Can I get you that beer now?”

Two hours—and the longest six-block cab ride ever—later, Carlos fumbled to unlock the front door of his apartment. It wasn’t normally a difficult task, but right now he was more focused on Mika’s lips and filling his hand with her ass than putting the key in the deadbolt, literally speaking. Finally, the metal slid home and the door swung inward, propelling them forward as they stumbled into his apartment.

He wrapped his arm around her middle and held her close, righting them both. He wished he could blame the alcohol for the bumbling entrance, but he hadn’t had a drink since she agreed to join him on Feeny’s nonexistent dance floor. She’d bought him that beer, but he’d never had a sip. If he was drunk on anything, it was the taste of Mika’s lips.

“My hero.” She steadied herself before stepping back out of his embrace.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, but Mika looked around his utilitarian space—couch, TV, table with two chairs, neither of which got used often, since most of the time he ate standing up in the kitchen. Thank God the cleaning crew had been here this morning, otherwise she’d probably run screaming just from the recycling bin proof of his Mountain Dew habit, one of the few keepers from his past gamer habits.

She turned on one of those super-high heels, spinning back into his orbit, and tugged the hem of his black T-shirt from his jeans. “Is this when I tell you that I’m not usually this kind of girl?”

Her small hands snuck under the cotton and across his stomach, raising the material. It had been a while, but he knew where this was going and he was done dancing around it. He reached behind his head, grabbed his shirt collar, and yanked it over his head. Her quick intake of breath as she bit down on her bottom lip had his dick twitching to be let free.