With his free hand, King reached under her tank top and circled her beaded nipple with his index finger.
“What’s up, boss?”
“There’s somebody here lookin’ for you. Says it’s important, but won’t tell me what it’s about. Are you and Lyric on your way?”
“Sure enough,” King answered as Lyric climbed off his lap, moved away from him, and folded her arms.
“The nightmare continues,” she barked at him after he tossed her phone on the seat next to her. “Guess somebody’s lookin’ for your DNA now. I knew it,” she huffed. “I knew you were lettin’ those bunnies polish your buckle.”
There was no point responding to her until he knew exactly who was looking for him, and why. He could explain that he
hadn’t had sex with anyone but her since the day they met, but why bother. She wouldn’t believe him even if he decided to be enough of a pussy to admit it.
The limo pulled up in front of the Hyperion Hotel, and before the driver could get around to the other side of the car, the valet had their door open.
“Welcome back, Mr. West,” the kid said, moving out of the way so King could offer Lyric his hand to help her out.
Instead of taking it, she slapped it away. The valet was standing close enough that King could hear his sharp intake of breath.
He just laughed. Lyric Simmons, all five feet two inches and not much over a hundred pounds of her, was a force of nature. She reminded him of the tornadoes that ripped through Oklahoma—the kind that you didn’t see coming, but tore the landscape to pieces a moment later.
She was pacing in front of the elevator doors, probably willing one to open quick enough for her to jump in before he reached her, but none did until he stood next to her. He followed her in and, when it closed, leaving them alone, pushed her up against the back wall.
“Don’t,” she snapped, trying to move away from him, but he was too quick and too big for her get away. After all, he wrestled steers weighing six hundred pounds to the ground in under five seconds. Did she really think she had a chance to get away from him?
When he held tight, he felt her exhale her fight and let her soft body cushion his. He was almost disappointed.
“Someday you’ll give me the benefit of the doubt, baby.”
She huffed again, but not like before.
“That’s him,” Ben pointed when they walked into the banquet room where Flying R Rough Stock was hosting the party to celebrate the end of a very successful National Finals Rodeo.
The man shifted away from the wall where he’d been leaning and walked toward King. Ben came to stand by his side, and so did Lyric.
“Mr. West?” the man asked as he approached him.
“Yes, sir,” King answered.
“Can we have a moment alone?”
King shook his head. “Whatever you have to say to me, say it here and now.”
The man pulled an envelope out of the inside pocket of his sport coat. It didn’t look like a subpoena to King, but he’d never received one himself, so he wasn’t sure.
Ben nudged him. “Open it,” he said.
King turned his head. “What are you grinnin’ about?” he asked him.
“Just open the damn thing, would ya?”
He slid his finger under the seal and pulled a card out of the envelope. He looked between Ben and the man who had handed it to him. “What the hell?”
“What is it?” Lyric pulled the card out of his hand. “Holy shit! You’ve been invited to audition for Edge. Damn, King!”
Lyric almost knocked the wind out of him when she threw herself against his chest like a linebacker trying to tackle a quarterback.
Her arms were around his neck, her legs around his waist, and her lips were plastered against his before he realized what was happening.