Her 24-Hour Protector

Lex tried not to flush. Crap, he didn’t even know where to look for a moment. She was flat out, shamelessly, seducing him. Or mocking him.

How far did she really want to go? He glanced down at her hand, her slender fingers splaying slowly over his, and perspiration prickled under his dress shirt. The idea he could have sex, tonight, with this intensely gorgeous young heiress—if he so chose—lodged hot and fast and sharp in his very male mind. And Lex knew he wasn’t going to get the image out of his head any time soon. His gut turned molten, and his brain felt thick. Quinn’s words crawled into his mind.

The legal stuff will be in the clear as long as you keep your hands off her.

Yeah, sex was the last thing he needed.

“Look, I don’t know what game you’re playing, Rothchild, but I’m not buying the fact you just felt like raising money for an arbitrary charity, for fun.”

She made a moue. “You are angry.” She feathered the back of his hand softly with her long red nails. “But you do look rather cute when you’re worked up.” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “I knew there was a fire buried somewhere inside that buttoned-up suit of yours.” She slipped her manicured nails gently between his fingers as she spoke.

Heat arrowed straight to his groin. “I don’t like being played, Jenna,” he said, his voice thick. “You know what I think? The real reason behind this whole auction gig is to have my case thrown out of court down the road, when Rothchild lawyers start pointing out I was having a relationship with the victim’s sister. Maybe you want to see my career tank right along with the case, too?”

Her eyes flared.

He leaned forward. “And what I want, is to know why? What’s in it for you, Jenna Rothchild? Is it because you’re trying to hide some personal involvement in Candace’s murder by obfuscating things like this? Because this is not some party trick, some amusing distraction for a bored young socialite. This is serious. This, Jenna, is life and death, because there’s still a killer out there.” He paused. “One who could very well strike again.”

Her eyes flickered sharply, and a blush started to rise up her neck. Lex went for the gap. “Do you not want to find your sister’s killer, Jenna? Do you not want a murderer punished?”

She withdrew her hand, glanced away for a moment. “I’m not trying to hide anything,” she said very quietly. “Of course I want Candace’s killer brought to justice.”

Lex zeroed in on the crack forming in her facade. “What is it with you people anyway?”

Her eyes shot back to him. “What do you mean ‘you people‘?”

“You people who live in this rarefied Vegas air,” he said with a wave of his hand, indicating the extravagance of the empty restaurant. “You people have none of the touchstones normal, everyday folk do. You live in your daddy’s casino castle, Jenna, playing with your glittery toys, fancy parties, little dogs. You’re immune to the world. To reality. I don’t think Candace’s death means a whole lot to you.”

Jenna’s cheeks went red, his comments cutting to the quick and infuriating her. Lex clearly didn’t like a single thing about her or her family. And quite honestly, when her father had asked her to come up with the auction shenanigan, Jenna hadn’t thought of the ripple effects—the very real and dark implications down the road. Like having Lex’s case thrown out of court and a killer walking free because of her. Or him losing his job.

Jenna couldn’t help wondering what her dad had been thinking when he persuaded her to mess with Lex Duncan. Harold was renowned for his sharklike business acumen—he used people. God, was her own father using her, too? And why wouldn’t he come clean about the provenance of that damn ring?

Jenna was convinced he wasn’t telling her everything he knew about the history of that stone.

She suddenly felt scared and small. And stupid.

Like she used to as a kid.

Lex was right—she didn’t have normal touchstones. She’d never had them. She’d been born into a family that always led her to believe the same rules that applied to everyone else did not apply to them. They were the Rothchilds, special, above it all.

“Wow, you really do have a problem with my family.” She reached for her glass, took a deep sip of champagne, trying to hide her hurt. She’d be damned if she was going to let him see how badly he’d rattled her.

Guilt pinged through Lex.

He was lashing out at Jenna, making it personal, mostly because he was irritated with himself for being so damn attracted to this woman. For being weak. For falling under her bewitching spell.

He moved uncomfortably in his chair and suddenly felt the hard shape of The Tears of the Quetzal in his pocket. His pulse quickened at the reminder he still had it. What the hell had possessed him to take it? He had to get it back into lockup ASAP. Never mind Jenna and her games—if he lost a piece of evidence, a rock worth millions, he’d tank his own career all by himself.

The ring began to burn a hole into his conscience—and into his pocket—and an insane thought suddenly struck him. What if the ring had made him pocket it?

That was absurd. He was losing it. His body temperature elevated as the urgency to get out of this place and return the darn thing wound him tighter.

“You read me wrong, Lex,” Jenna said sweetly, feeling anything but. He’d taken a mean jab at her, below the belt and personal. And now in her mounting anger, Jenna was growing even more determined to win. Because now this went straight to the core of her self-image, her secret vulnerabilities. There was just no way she was going to accept she couldn’t seduce this man. And she sure wasn’t going to leave here empty-handed, either. She was going to get the information her daddy wanted.