Dead End Dating by Kimberly Raye Read Free Book Online Page A

myself to swallow and focused on the thong. Ugh. Talk about uncomfortable. I should feel totally out of sync right now and not the least bit turned on. My heart shouldn’t pound and my hands shouldn’t tremble, and no friggin’ way should I feel like planting a big one on this guy’s firm, sensuous lips.
    Think thong.
    Think irritating thong.
    Think totally irritating thong chafing the hell out of my ass beneath last season’s DKNY jeans which I’d pulled on for lack of anything else (did I mention I hate to do laundry?) with a pink vintage Metallica T-shirt that did absolutely nothing for my complexion.
    I couldn’t have done a thing about the jeans. But I would have been much better off if I’d worn the cream-colored pullover mini tee with the rhinestones and cap sleeves that I’d bought last weekend. At least that played up what was left of my airbrushed tan and made me look marginally sexy…
    Wait a sec.
    At the moment, sexy wasn’t my top priority. Mr. Hot Made Vampire was out of the realm of prospective vamps. Which meant no feeling his vibe. No wondering what his lips felt like or fantasizing about the rough feel of his hands on my… No.
    It’s not like he was all that and a Bloody Mary chaser. Vintage, at least when it came to an entire outfit, was so not in. The trick was to pair key pieces with trendy styles. This guy obviously had zero fashion sense on top of the whole being made issue. A double whammy as far as I was concerned.
    Even so, I still wished I’d worn the other shirt. Just because he was clueless didn’t mean I had to join the party. Not to mention—vampire classifications aside—he was totally, massively H-O-T. While I had no intention of hooking up with him, I still wanted him to want to hook up with me.
    It was the principle of the thing, after all.
    I reached him in three strides. “Hi.”
    “Hey there, sugar.”
    Sugar? There you go. Talk about superior, condescending macho bullshit. He might as well have snatched my voter registration card and my free will along with it. I absolutely detested guys who did that.
    My heart kicked up a notch, and my nerves tingled. “Can I, um, help you with something?”
    “Maybe.” He didn’t budge. He simply stood there blocking my doorway, his gaze fixed on me. A funny feeling wiggled up my spine. A familiar feeling.
    Realization slammed into me like a bus with bad brakes. “You’re the one who’s been following me,” I blurted. “It was you.”
    He didn’t so much as flinch at the accusation. No sheepish look of apology to soften the badass image. Instead, he grinned, which lifted the corners of his mouth and revealed a row of straight white teeth. My heart pitter-pattered shamelessly.
    “Guilty.” His voice went from deep and seductive to cold and businesslike. “My name is Ty Bonner. I’m an independent fugitive apprehension agent. I’d like to talk to you about a string of kidnappings.”
    My mind rushed back to the news spiel I’d heard coming from my neighbor’s apartment about the missing Chicago woman.
    Before I could speculate, Ty said, “Why don’t we have this discussion inside? Your coffee’s getting cold.” He motioned to the Starbucks container in my hand.
    “What? Oh, this isn’t for me. It’s for my receptionist.” He stepped back and I walked past him.
    I meant to saunter, but I was too busy wondering why he would want to talk to me about a bunch of kidnappings and, okay, so I was also wondering why I had such rotten luck when it came to men. The first really good-looking guy I meet and he’s made, for Damien’s sake.
    What was I? Cursed or something?
    “Well, well. You have been busy,” Evie said the moment we walked into the office. “Way to go, boss. If you keep pulling them in like this, we’ll be up and running in no time.”
    “He’s not a client. He’s a fugitive administrative agent.”
    “That’s fugitive apprehension agent,” Ty corrected.
    “A bounty hunter.” Evie gleamed at Ty