Page 5 of Finding Denver
“What do I get in exchange?” the man asks.
My eyeroll almost has me tipping over. “I’m married, buddy.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of a drink.”
I chew slowly, a little embarrassed at the assumption he wanted sex. Maybe being famous has inflated my ego. “But the drinks are free.”
“The drink I want isn’t.”
Fine by me. At this point, I’d give him my purse. I shrug. “Go right ahead.”
I hand the bartender my credit card and finish the chocolate, washing it down with a glass of champagne as he pours the man a short tumbler of something I likely don’t want to know the price of. “Why do you carry chocolate around with you?”
“To lure in beautiful women.”
Now, I’m intrigued. “What else is in your pockets?”
“Gift cards for bookstores.”
“A man well prepared,” I say, leaning against the bar. “So, if I’d come over here desperate to read a good thriller?—”
“I’d be your guy.”
My smile is real. “Well, thank you for rescuing my stomach.”
“Anytime. But before you go …” I pause, and it’s now I realize the shade of his eyes—a deep, sapphire blue. “How married are you?”
“Very,” a rough voice says from behind me, and a strong arm circles my waist, pulling my back to his chest. “But you’re welcome to shoot your shot. See how that ends for you.”
I bite my lip but fail to hide my smile. The stranger seems undeterred. In fact, his amusement doubles in the presence of Ranger Luxe.
“This is my competition?”
My eyes must widen to a comical size, because the man laughs. Ranger, on the other hand, lowers his lips to my ear and says, “One murder. I promise I’ll be quick.”
“Not on my big night,” I respond.
The man watches with quiet interest, his lips tilted into a handsome smirk as if almost giddy at the idea of battling my husband.
Despite his eyes dancing with challenge, he lifts the crystal tumbler and says, “I’ll stick to my drink.”
“Wise choice,” Ranger says as he turns me away from the bar and back to the crowd. “Flirting with men while I’m still in the room?”
“He gave me chocolate,” I say, examining my nails. “I’d have forgotten your name if he’d offered me a sandwich.”
Ranger tugs me roughly into his side. “I’m angrier that you didn’t fucking share any with me.”
“I considered it,” I say with a shrug, and he playfully pinches my hip.
I laugh, and we rejoin the crowd of people we can barely stand.
Ranger’s arm stays around my waist this time as we endure more long conversations and ass-kissing. I’m used to seeing people fall at Ranger’s feet, but it’s taking some getting used to when people do it for me.
In the last almost ten months of my foray into the business world, I’ve made a name for myself. Not a DeLuca, not a murderer, not even Ranger Luxe’s wife—Denver Luxe, Deluxe, businesswoman. I reopened Pulse along with two more clubs, six bars, and twelve coffee shops—all with a legitimate face; all hiding a dark heart. I tried to go legit, I really did, but Ranger’s constant reminders of “that isn’t who we are” were hard to fight. So, one coffee shop washing money became three, then three became six, and it snowballed from there.
I quelled my conscience by donating to charities, funding schools and medical research. I volunteer at shelters, something my publicist drooled over when she found out. I didn’t do it for photos or press, but it soon trended when she leaked it to the tabloids. And while the world gushed over my growing businesses, my name was whispered by the men I’ve tried to avoid being associated with. Men like my father. Men like Ranger.
And then one interaction at the newly opened Pulse changed everything.
