Page 1 of The Huntress and Her Hound

Chapter One

The Huntress

“I once studied Black Widows in college,” I tell him, leaning casually against the counter and flipping my raven hair over my shoulder. I sip my Shirley Temple like I’m shy—like I don’t belong in this high roller Vegas bar.

“You studied spiders, huh? Why would you do that?” He asks, his hazel eyes trained on me with a tinge of intrigue—but mostly mocking amusement. That’s the way they all are. They look at me like I’m a little toy, one they can have their fun with and then discard into the waste bin when the novelty is gone.

“Entomology major in college for a brief time.” I sip on my red straw, batting my thick, very fake lashes. “I thought it was so interesting. But you know, then I realized I had to hold bugs.” I fake a laugh, a stupid one.

He grins, his gaze sweeping over my tight black dress. It’s long-sleeved to hide my tattoos, though the deep V leading to my belly button is covered in sheer fabric, giving him the illusion that I’m still trying to show off. In the mind of someone like him, he probably thinks I’m dressed this way to capture the male gaze...

And well, he’s right. But the reasons are all wrong.

“You seem too pretty to play with bugs.” He leans forward, his fingers brushing the top of my hand. Some delicate, sophisticated pop song plays in the background, and his tongue darts out of his mouth, running along his bottom lip.

“Mmm, you think?” I play dumb as I swallow the bile rising in my throat. I have to endure the little touches to reap my reward at the end of the night. Though I have to admit, it’s something I have to remind myself of constantly. This guy—Dylan, I think his name is—is the epitome of what the world doesn’t need. Rich, loose, and arrogant.

Probably a trust fund baby.

“You know,” he begins, running his fingers across the expensive fabric covering my arm, “I’m staying here at the hotel.”

“You are?” I feign excitement, smiling so hard my cheeks burn. “This is such a nice place. I don’t think I could afford it.”

“I guess it’s a good thing you met me then.” He takes a step closer, and I inhale the repulsive scent of his designer cologne. It’s strikingly familiar, sending a wave of nausea through my body. My skin prickles, but I steady myself before I panic.

You’re in control, Cher. You are in control.

“I don’t mind ordering room service in the morning.” He’s murmuring in my ear now, his hot breath tanged with the whiskey in his hand. The fingers that were once on my arm are now on my waist, but as much as I want to, I don’t stiffen. I know the drill. I’m a professional now.

Well, I wish. No one pays me for this. I’m not like Henry.

“Cat got your tongue, baby?” His lips brush against my earlobe, his hand slides a little lower.

“Sorry,” I say in a sultry tone. “You’re just so...” My voice trails off as his erection presses into my lower stomach. This asshole is tall, even with my five-foot-seven frame in a pair of four-inch heels.

“So ready to get this dress off,” he drawls in the nape of my neck. “I thought I was going to spend the night betting, but I think I’ll just bet you sitting on my cock.”

How fucking romantic is that. Sitting on his cock. What a good girl.

“Let’s go.” He intertwines his fingers with mine, and I let him, despite feeling ill at his touch. This is the worst part of my hunt. But I’ll get my satisfaction. I always do.

I sit the still-full drink on the bar and smile up at him. He winks at me as he leads me out of the dark lit area and toward the elevators of the modern, luxurious hotel. There are people everywhere. Some are dressed to the nines, and others look like they haven’t changed clothes in weeks. But this is Vegas for fuck’s sake. It never sleeps, and the bodies are fleeting.

Which is perfect for me.

Dylan smashes the button to call the elevator, still holding my hand—and his glass of whiskey, awkwardly. He downs the rest of it as the doors slide open, and then has the audacity to set it on top of a trash can. I make a face when he’s not looking.

God’s gift to mankind right here, ladies, in the flesh.

I keep my eyes down in the elevator, staring at my feet. The camera footage might be viewed if something goes awry tonight, though I doubt it. I’ll watch the news for information, and when the time is right, I’ll see if Liam is available for lunch. He’s not my favorite person in the world, but he’s at least nice enough not to push boundaries, despite wishing he could. And in his case, confidentiality lifts with a few drinks.

“You’re so quiet now.” Dylan—or was it Devon?—is on me again. This time, he’s more brazen, pressing me into the wall of the elevator. “Are you wet for me already, baby?”

“Very, baby. Very.” I bite down dramatically as I tip my head back to look up at him. I nearly snort. He’s only calling me ‘baby’, because he doesn’t know my name.

“Fuck, it’s either the whiskey, or you’re just really actually this hot.” He leans in to kiss me, and I turn my head last minute, his lips planting on the side of my jaw. There are some things I just won’t compromise and tasting his saliva is one of them.

I might catch a disease. Or worse. Actually get turned on.

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