Page 2 of Detective Daddy Next Door

"Thank you."

I hold the card between my fingers and struggle with my carry-on bag and handbag. I'm looking down trying to balance the two bags on my left shoulder when I run into someone. I feel the thick chest against my arm, and its force pushes me back, making me almost lose my balance. But I'm stopped by something firm and strong on my arm. It's a hand. A large, strong hand holding me, preventing me from falling. A hairy hand with tanned skin. I rock on my heels as I steady myself and look up at the person holding on to me.

He's tall, at least six feet tall, I’m guessing as I look up at him. He has a phone to his ear and a frown on his face. He doesn't say anything, but releases my arm from his grip and steps aside. I want to say sorry to him for not watching where I was going but his back is already turned to me as I turn around. It's big, broad, well-formed, and he walks as though he's the most self-assured person on earth. I watch him as he walks away, lost in wonderment over his body when I'm jolted back to consciousness by the ringing of my phone. Oh my God, my appointment! I rush toward the elevator and soon I'm in my room, changing my clothes and touching up my makeup. I order an Uber and a few minutes later I'm out to see our client.

When I get back to the hotel, it's a few minutes past 3 p.m. I could head to the airport and be back in Long Beach in a few hours, but I don't feel like it. Las Vegas is calling to me, and I want to see more of it. I go up to my room and reschedule my flight for the next day. I lay in bed after a quick lunch brought up by room service just to rest a little before going out to see the city.

To my dismay, I wake up four hours later. I sit up in bed, confused for a minute. Then I look out of one of the wide windows—it’s dark outside. I groan and yawn then get out of bed. I know it's late, but there must be something I can do tonight. This isn’t my first time in Las Vegas. The last time I was here with Micha, we worked all day in our hotel room. I've heard a lot about the city, and if there's one thing I know, I know it's a city that never sleeps.

I slip out of the pants I wore to the appointment and peel off my white shirt. I go to the bathroom to clean up, making a mental note to take a warm bath in the oversized tub when I come back later. I toss my carry-on bag on the bed and search for something to wear. Although I'd thought I'd be leaving today, I never travel with just one outfit. On this trip, I packed three different outfits. Well, the one I changed into when I got here earlier and two others for my flight back home. I like to have options. I pull out a purple sleeveless top with ruffles bordering the center buttons and pair it with black shorts that hug my thighs. I pull the pin from my honey-blonde hair and watch it cascade down my shoulders in the mirror. I comb it from the tangled mess it became while I slept. I apply more eyeshadow, then darken my lash line with a black pencil and put on dark red lipstick. I don't know where I'm going yet, but I'm ready for the night.

When I get to the first floor, I'm amazed by how transformed the hotel is. Its wide hallways are lit by bright yellow lights that bounce off the polished black and white marble floors. My heels squeak as I walk from the elevator. I immediately regret not doing my research before leaving my room, because everyone seems to know where they’re going except me. I clasp my handbag to my side and try to look as normal as possible. Then I hear music coming from my left.

I'm about to continue walking toward the big swinging front door, but the music keeps pulling me, so I turn to my left instead. The music is faint, but then I see a door open, and someone comes out of it. The music is loud now but is quickly muffled again as the door swings shut after the man who just stepped out. He has a giggling woman on his arm.

I decide to ask him a question so I know what I'm walking into. "Erm. Excuse me. Are they having a private party in there?"

The man shakes his head. "It's the hotel bar."

"Thank you."

He doesn't respond as he walks away with the woman.

When I reach the door, I push it open. It's surprisingly big inside; bigger than I'd imagined, with a bright riot of multicolored lights blazing all over. There’s a huge bar in the center of the room. A mixologist works his magic, a shaker in his hands, and a man sits in a chair at the bar. A couple of people are on the dance floor. The door swings shut behind me as I step in. As I walk closer to the bar in hopes of getting a drink, I realize that I recognize the man sitting at the bar. His back is turned to me, but I know that back. I was staring at it this morning in the lobby. I contemplate turning back and going out to the city, but it's late and the man might not even recognize me, so I walk toward the bar until I'm standing a few feet away from him.

"Hi. Can I get an apple martini, please?"

"Sure thing," the bartender says as he slides a drink to the man, who doesn't even look at me.

I pull a stool close and hop on it. As I'm settling, the man looks sideways with disinterested eyes, but just as he’s about to peel them off me, they glue back on. Now I have to apologize to him. I look at him and open my mouth to speak. But he turns away sharply.

He looks dangerously hot tonight. He’s wearing a t-shirt with sleeves that stop right on his upper arm. Now that I get a good look at his face, I realize he's way older than I am. But Lord, he's so fit. He looks nothing like the other older men. Even as he’s sitting, his abs look rock-hard through his fitted shirt. His fingers are wrapped around his drink. My mind flashes to this morning when they were wrapped around my arm. How warm the touch of his hand felt, and for some reason I begin to imagine it massaging my breast. I shake my head and look away from him. But I can't look away for too long before my eyes wander back to him. I’m staring at his toned arm when he turns. He does it so swiftly that I don't have enough time to look away before he catches me.

I clear my throat. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he drawls. His voice is deep and reverberates through my body.

"For bumping into you this morning." I expect his expression to soften as I say, "In the lobby."

He stares at me with cold eyes, then nods just once. "Yeah. That was you. I figured."

Something about him pulls me in. Maybe it's the toned arms or the deep voice, but I get off my stool and sit on the one next to him.

"I'm Bria," I say as I settle and offer my hand to him.

He eyes it with a look of distrust. He’s so sexy with the expression on his face. He takes my hand and holds it. His giant hand is so gentle, I melt inside. There's something about men with big hands. Now I want to find out if what they say about large hands is true or a myth.

"Myles," he replies, and slides his hand out of mine.

I'm determined to make him talk. I’m intrigued and I always get what I want, so I press on. "I'm in Vegas for work. Do you live here?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Could you show me around?" I ask, hoping he’ll say yes.

He sighs and looks at me squarely. "I'm in town for work too."

"So, you only said that to get rid of me?"

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