The Missing Millionaire. Dani Sinclair
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of the scantily clad servers appeared to mop up the damage, fluttering eyelashes that nature had never designed. His gaze drifted to the bar. He had the distinct impression that his bartender was disgusted. Their gazes locked briefly in sympathetic accord before she turned away and handed a new drink to one of the servers. The woman promptly headed in his direction.
Harrison abruptly realized what he should have known from the start. The woman wasn’t merely a bartender. He’d stake good money she was one of Artie’s rent-a-cops for the evening. That explained her constant scrutiny of the crowd. The only way security could mingle was to pose as one of the bartenders, waiters or dancers. Of that group, only the bartenders and Artie’s live-in housekeeper were fully clothed.
Harrison surveyed the room with a more jaundiced eye before gazing at his new drink with disfavor. What did Artie think was going to happen in here? With all his little security gadgets, his place was like Fort Knox.
A glance toward the bar found the dark-haired bartender intently focused on him with an expression he couldn’t decipher. He picked up the drink, tipped it in her direction and pretended to take a sip. She inclined her head in acknowledgment and he immediately lowered the untouched glass to the table. When he looked back a few minutes later, she was gone.
Harrison straightened up. The blond dancer shook a tassel against his ear. Whatever had been holding the tassel in place lost the battle. He hoped he hadn’t sighed out loud.
THE TRILLING OF HIS CELL PHONE pulled Harrison from a dream he couldn’t remember. More asleep than awake, he swiped at the insect biting his forearm as he tried to roll over to answer the summons. A muffled curse brought him all the way out of sleep.
An ominous shadow loomed over him, backlit by the light flooding in through the open bedroom door, which he clearly remembered closing. He had a second to make out an indistinct outline before a slim, firm hand clamped over his mouth.
“Be quiet,” a silken voice urged. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Harrison threw his weight against the body behind that hand even as his cell phone stopped its musical demand.
“Help me!” the feminine voice demanded.
A second person surged forward, cursing the cell phone and the person on the other end. There was a crunch followed by a harsh expletive as the other person grabbed for his legs. Together, they attempted to press him into the mattress.
“I stepped on the damn syringe and broke it!”
“Never mind. Hold him down.”
A knot of fear spiked through him. A syringe, not an insect. Even as he registered that both of his attackers were women, he realized they were making no attempt at silence. Something was very wrong. Numbness was taking hold of his extremities. A dark cloud fogged the edges of his mind.
They’d drugged him!
Panic lent him strength despite the weakness flooding his body. He swung his hands at the shadowy shape nearest his head, feeling only momentary satisfaction as he connected. The woman inhaled sharply, but didn’t release him. She fell across his torso, effectively blocking him from taking another swing.
Harrison bucked hard. His legs tangled in the thin blanket and sheet. Wooziness spread with devastating speed.
“Stop fighting!” the woman ordered. “We’re not going to hurt you!”
“Drugged!”
“Yes. Give it a minute.”
He swore, struggling all the harder, fighting the drunken feeling as much as his captivity.
“How long does this stuff take?” the second voice demanded.
“I don’t know. Hold him still!”
The first woman sprawled across his bare chest as the sheet and blanket slipped lower. She was trying to use her weight to pin him to the bed. Her skin gave off the faintest scent of coconuts. He shook his muzzy head, bucking harder. One bare leg came free of the tangled sheets. The second woman let go as he managed to kick her in the face.
“Ow!”
More curses filled the room as she swore viciously. Her light-colored hair swung about her face.
“That hurt! He’d better not have left a bruise. I’ve got a job on Monday.”
“Will you hold him still!”
“I’m trying.”
With the last of his fading strength, Harrison jerked his body hard to the side and rolled. He carried the first woman and the sheets and blanket to the floor with them. They bounced off the nightstand, sending the lamp and alarm clock crashing down on top of them. His head connected sharply with the corner of the nightstand. For just a second Harrison thought he was going to black out.
Neither moved for a stunned instant. He’d landed on top of the woman, one hand resting on a soft, firm breast beneath the thin material of her black jacket.
As their gazes locked he recognized her—the bartender from the party. She squirmed against his length. Unaccountably aroused, he squeezed the breast beneath his hand. She burst into motion, shoving at him with all her might. The second woman came around the bed and grabbed his shoulders from behind. He twisted to fight with her and the world blurred and faded away.
“JAMIE! Are you okay?”
Jamie Bellman struggled out from under the very naked, partially aroused man and rubbed at the aching spot where the lamp had cracked her head. Her fingers came away dry. No blood, but it hurt like the dickens.
“Calm down, Trent,” Elaine was saying, “or we’ll have to hurt you.”
Harrison Trent didn’t answer.
“Trent?”
“The drug kicked in,” Jamie told her, taking in his vacant expression.
“About time.”
“Help me get him to his feet. We’ll have to get some clothes on him.”
“Yeah. Kind of a shame, though, huh?”
Embarrassed by the way Elaine was ogling his nudity, Jamie tried not to stare as well. Silently, she had to agree that Harrison Trent was an extremely attractive man, dressed or not. Even if he hadn’t been the focus of tonight’s assignment, she would have found it difficult not to watch him.
He swayed unsteadily when they got him to his feet. Jamie looked around for the clothing he’d worn earlier. The tailored suit and conservative hairstyle seemed like so much camouflage on a man she sensed kept a more primitive side reined in tightly.
“Over there.”
An expensive-looking suitcase lay open on a stand near the wall. Elaine gathered up clothes while Jamie continued to support him. He swayed, features slack, eyes mostly shut. Even drugged the man was too good looking for comfort, and potentially dangerous.
She knocked Elaine’s arm aside when the other woman dumped his clothes on the bed and ran a caressing hand down his bare chest.
“Knock it off. We’re running late.”
Angry, and ashamed of Elaine’s actions, Jamie elbowed the woman out of the way.
Elaine merely laughed. “Prude. Can he dress himself?”
Jamie shrugged, wishing she was anywhere but here. “We’ll find out.”
He could, but his movements were sluggish and uncoordinated. He kept trying to lie back down or touch her.
“Soft,” he murmured as his fingers brushed the side of her face.
“Yes. Hold still while I zip your pants.” It was entirely too intimate and she hated that Elaine continued leering.
“Quiet drunk,” Elaine commented. “Two of us, and mostly all he wants to do is sleep.”