She clasped her hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. Uh-oh. He must have said something wrong. “Oh God. I’m so sorry,” she said when she opened her eyes. “I didn’t mean to imply David was killed. I should have been more clear. David’s paralyzed, though, which is still pretty sad.”

“Yeah. Definitely. And all because of a drive-by shooting,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. No faking emotion there.

“It was some kind of retaliation shooting over territory. That’s what really drove John to become a detective. Our dad was a fruit salesman, of all things,” she said with a laugh. “Fruit salesmen don’t usually have cops for sons. But then this happened to John’s best friend, and it led him to want to clean up the streets.”

Ryan couldn’t help but wonder if John had a personal stake in the investigation of his father’s murder, if the gang connection had caught his eye because of his own goal to rid the town of street gangs. If that was the case, John must be betting on his dad’s murder having deeper threads to the Royal Sinners.

Shit.

His gut churned, his emotions yanked in too many directions. Desire to know more warred with the need to backpedal from this discussion.

“That is some heavy stuff,” he said, staying vague. Even if he wasn’t poking and prodding, he should know better than to try to pry. Than to try to glean a little bit of intel about the detective.

But when your mom’s in prison, and your dad’s in the ground, and the men in charge think someone else might be involved, you don’t always do the right thing. Sometimes you poke. “I bet he has some stories about what he’s seen,” he said then wanted to zip his mouth closed for having led the witness.

“He hardly tells me anything. But when he does it’s usually laced with skepticism,” Sophie said, tucking a strand of hair that had fallen loose behind her ear. So strange to have this conversation there in the tourist attraction wheel circling the city, surrounded by people chattering and watching the night fly past the glass windows.

“Why’s that?”

“Detectives are naturally skeptical. It’s their job.”

“Ah. Of course,” he said, and a bead of guilt gathered in his veins as he let Sophie continue to talk freely.

“Think about it. They spend their days getting lied to. Lied to by suspects. By criminals. Even by family members. Almost all of the people they interact with hold back. No one ever offers a full truth to a detective. If someone rolls over, for instance, he’s only ever doing it to protect himself, because he has information that might lessen his own crime. Not for altruism.” She pinned him with a sharp gaze as she made her point, and the guilt inside him stirred. “Or take the case of the drive-by shooting. When detectives questioned the people who lived in the house that was the target, they said they knew nothing and heard nothing, even though there were bullet holes in their window. But the gang guys, they protect each other, and they fight their battles with each other, not with the cops. Even witnesses who have some key piece of information will usually only offer it up if it helps them. It happens all the time. Just the other night John mentioned he’d talked to someone who he was sure knew some key details, but the guy wouldn’t tell him.”

Was John talking about him? Giving Sophie details of the case? The possibility was so damn enticing. He was dying to know. But guilt knocked louder inside him, telling him to stop hurtling down this path of deception with Sophie. She hadn’t a clue that he was likely one of those witnesses her brother didn’t trust.

He needed to focus just on the woman, and forget this tenuous link between brother and sister, woman and cop. Besides, he had friends in the District Attorney’s office. His hockey buddy Marshall from high school was now an assistant D.A., and now that Marshall was back in town from his vacation, Ryan didn’t need to sniff around this gorgeous woman and take advantage of her open heart.

He stared off in the distance, the city turning blurry as his eyes went out of focus, and he shoved off the questions about Stefano, and people his mother associated with, and anyone else who might have been involved in the murder. He blinked, refocusing to the here and now. To the best second date he’d had in ages. To the only one in a long time that made him want to have a third date.

“Do you like it up here?” he asked.

“The view is amazing,” she said, as she gazed at the endless sea of neon and night.

“I fucking love Vegas,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder, drinking in the aerial show.

“You do?”

He nodded. “Yeah. This city will chew you up and spit you out or it will embrace you and lift you up. Vegas always gives you the choice—to crawl in the gutter or soar in the sky.”

“I choose soaring in the sky,” she said softly.

“Me, too.”

They soared, high above the city they both called home, hovering in the summer night sky as stars winked on and skyscrapers raced to the heavens. He loved this city. He loved his home, with all its troubles, and problems, and crimes. Maybe he wasn’t that different from Sophie’s brother. He wanted Vegas to be all that it could be.

He did his best to make that happen, too.

She craned her neck to look up at him. “Would it be too bold to say I wanted you to kiss me again right now?”

“Kissing you is becoming a favorite habit of mine.”

And so he kissed her. A lingering, luxurious kiss as the capsule swooped down toward the ground. But soon the kiss climbed the heat scale, and by the time the observation wheel had completed its rotation, lust had camped out in his body, and desire was ruling the rest of the night.

Good thing he’d booked a limo simply to drive around town. He needed to get her in it, stat, and get her naked. Then, he’d regain some of the control he’d felt slipping away during all that talking.

Chapter Ten

The gleaming white limo waited in the portico. The driver wore a black cap. A soft blue light glowed along the wood paneling of the bar where the champagne chilled.

That was all Sophie saw in the three seconds after he shut the limo door before he pounced on her.

There was no other way to describe it.

She was pinned on her back on the leather seat. His palms were planted firmly by her sides, and he stared at her hungrily as sexy techno music played from a speaker near the bar.

“Are you still mad at me about the jeans?” she asked, her breathing coming quickly. The car began to hum as it pulled away from the hotel, vibrating gently as it rolled along the Strip in Sunday night traffic.

“Do I look mad?”

“A little.”

“Does it turn you on if I’m angry with you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not mad. Because you have this,” he said, lowering his hand between her legs and fingering the hem of her pink skirt. “If you hadn’t brought it I wouldn’t do what I’m about to do. I’d send you home hot and bothered. Instead, I’m going to reward you.”

“How will you reward me?” she asked, as anticipation flared through her nervous system. This moment was the cusp—the tantalizing precipice before they ignited. The way he gazed at her like a predator sent her temperature rising. She wanted him so much. She wanted whatever he planned to give her.

“This,” he said, crushing her mouth in a kiss that scorched her body. He lowered himself onto her, and she moaned loudly, ready to offer a prayer of thanks to the universe for the delicious weight of his body. He was strong, and cut, and she hadn’t even seen him with a shred of clothing off, but she knew from the feel of his arms and the firmness of his ass that his body was going to be the most fuckable one she’d ever laid eyes on.