Page 28 of Royal Flush

“Yes, Mr. Royal. What can I do for you?” the young girl asked.

“Can you check to see if Jasmine Sinclair is still registered in the resort? Wait. She was listed as Jane Smith.” Why did I have a feeling she’d fled, using her feminine wiles to do so? Granted, I hadn’t put a lockdown on her ability to leave. Then again, I honestly hadn’t thought she’d run after the night we’d shared.

“Certainly, sir.”

I heard her nails clicking on the keyboard as I rubbed my eyes. The crazy thing was that I’d had a damn good time, the best I’d experienced in years.

“I’m sorry, sir. Ms. Smith checked out very early this morning.”

Fuck. Perhaps I should have guessed. For all her brave actions, and her insolence that seemed to be her signature, I’d sensed a vulnerable woman under the charade.

“Did she take a plane out already?”

“From the notes, it appears she grabbed the last seat on a flight to Miami.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She’d escaped. It was also the one Steve Plunkett was supposed to be on. Was that coincidental? The question crossed my mind.

“Thank you, Angel.”

“Anything else I can do for you, sir?”

“Not a thing.” I hung up the phone and hissed. The fact she’d walked away from me meant she had more to hide. The question remained.

Would I attempt to find her? Or maybe a better question was—should I?

The woman was beautiful, beguiling in every way, but I had no business fucking her. Everything about her reeked of danger.

Not that I’d ever shied away from that. I laughed softly, my mind filled with lurid thoughts, which kept my cock aching.

As I headed back to the bathroom for a shower, my mind remained conflicted.

Yet the taste of her I had a feeling would remain for some time to come.

Perhaps our paths would cross again.

Jasmine

While Australia was my home, I adored America.

The sights.

The sounds.

The remarkable cities from coast to coast, both big and small.

And the food. Gah, the food was to die for. Being required to spend an entire year in Washington, DC could be tough on the waistline.

Unless I indulged in the same kinky acts I’d enjoyed three nights before with Braxton.

I had to stop thinking about him.

It was odd that I was twenty-seven years old and my parents still expected me to remain in the mansion they’d been provided. Hell, no. I’d already primed my resume, my two degrees in business administration and marketing with a minor in accounting hopefully sought after by employees. Dear old Daddy had wanted me to be an attorney but the thought made me sick. Yet here I was, doing my best to sneak out of the massive estate without my bodyguard noticing.

I liked Dugger Abbott. He was big and strong, considered eye candy to just about every woman I’d met in the last ten years, but he’d been in my father’s employ for at least twelve years. He’d seen me go from a gangly, very awkward teenager to a wild child, as my father liked to call me.

The truth was I’d sowed my oats, including heading to the Royal Players Club, but after the initial pass through of duties, I would mostly be off the hook with my father and his demands.

Mostly was the key word.

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