Page 15 of Kissing Danger

Putting my motorcycle helmet over sweaty hair wasn’t a pleasant experience, but while I enjoyed thrill-seeking activities, I had no intention of actually risking my life. The helmet was absolutely required whenever I rode my bike, so I sucked it up and dealt with the unpleasant sensation of sweaty hair being crushed against my scalp.

The climbing area I’d chosen that day was on the opposite side of the city from my studio, which meant I had to either drive all the way around the city, or dive straight through it. Spring in Las Vegas wasn’t the busiest time for tourists, but the city could never be called quiet. Even during the off-season, the streets were packed with traffic and people were bustling about shoulder to shoulder.

Some locals hated the chaos that tourists brought, but I didn’t mind. That constant thrum of life was the reason I’d moved to Las Vegas in the first place. Everywhere I looked, there were new possibilities for creative inspiration. The flashing neon lights of the casinos that lined the main street lit up the night sky like an artist’s brush as I weaved my bike through the dense traffic.

Maybe I should try catching some of those colors in my new creations. Adding metallic or shimmery fabric would mean having to change some of the designs I’d already planned, but it would be worth it in the end. I wasn’t afraid of a little more work if it meant creating the art exactly as I wanted.

Night had fully settled over the city when I finally pulled into the little parking lot outside my studio. It wasn’t in the busiest part of the city, and you wouldn’t even know it was a design studio just by looking at the outside, but it was mine. Every penny had been paid for by my own hard work.

Kiki met me at the front door. “Ugh. You’re a mess.”

I looked down at myself and grimaced. Not only was there obvious sweat soaking through my clothes, but the desert clay had left a film of fine red dust coating every inch of me.

“I’ll shower before I even step foot in the studio. Don’t worry.”

Kiki sniffed, offended by the very idea of dirt, and clearly not understanding my need for strenuous outdoor activity.

“Whatever. Just hurry up. We’ve got a lot to get done in order to move to the new studio.”

I was in the process of opening the door to the building when I froze with my key still in the lock.

“Wait. New studio?”

Heaving a heavy sigh, Kiki finished unlocking the door for me and pushed her way inside to escape the desert heat, which she detested.

“Yes. Did you actually read any of the information Sterling sent over to us about your new job? You’ll be getting a studio withintheir building. For a job like this, you can’t just be off designing things on your own. You have to be part of the whole production process.”

“Oh. Right.”

I’d known all that information, but it hadn’t really registered to me what that meant. We were moving to a new studio.

Did that mean I would have to leave this one behind?

Sure, the new studio would probably be much larger and grander, but it wouldn’t really feel like mine. It would just be a space that someone else gave me.

There wasn’t time to process this as Kiki hustled me off to the studio’s bathroom for a shower, making sure I didn’t even look at the work area where half-finished outfits lay spread out over the tables and floors. I almost felt insulted.

Did she really believe I would risk getting dirt on any of the expensive fabric after all the effort I’d put in to select it?

Such a thing would practically be a sacrilege to my designer’s heart.

My shower was quick and thorough. Not the luxurious relaxation I would prefer, but needs won out over wants. If we were moving to a different studio, then there was a lot of work we really needed to get done.

I was still drying my hair when I stepped into the studio, naked except for a towel wrapped around my waist. My spare clothes were in a drawer on the other side of the room, and Kiki wouldn’t care about the sight of my bare chest. She was as gay as I was, and nothing about the male physique interested her.

Being greeted by a woman’s voice upon entering the room didn’t surprise me. The fact that I didn’t recognize the voice, however, did.

“Mister Deacon Millar,” the woman standing in the middle of my studio said, with barely any inflection in her voice.

The towel I’d been using to dry my hair dropped from my hand, and I clutched the one around my waist to make sure it stayed in place. “Who the hell are you?”

“Agent Belden of Interpol.” She flashed her badge so quickly I barely knew what I was looking at, not that I knew what an Interpol badge was supposed to look like anyway. “I have a few questions for you.”

“Fine, I’ll answer yours if you answer mine. I’ll go first. What the hell are you doing here?”

The agent came closer, her heeled boots creating a decisive sound against my floorboards with each step.

“You’ve got attitude. It’s no wonder Sterling likes you.”

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