The Runaway Daughter by Lauri Robinson Read Free Book Online Page B

Brock Ness. I’m the best agent you’re ever going to find. Together we’ll make history.”
    He couldn’t deny that appealed, but he couldn’t deny who her father was either.
    Brock shook his head, but the tears welling in her eyes blurred his thoughts.
    “You don’t understand, Brock,” she whispered. “This is my dream, too. Earning my own money, having my own life. We can make that happen together, I know we can.”
    If there was one thing Brock did understand, it was desperation, and he recognized it in Ginger’s voice. He hadn’t contemplated what she’d wanted, but he knew now.
    “We can do this together, Brock. I know we can.”
    She deserved her dream as much as he did, and despite it all, he wanted her beside him every step of the way. “You’re right, doll, we can,” he whispered, pulling her against him. “We can.”

Chapter Eight
    That’s exactly what happened. Fame. Money. Dreams coming true.
    By the end of that first week, Brock had more money than he’d made in the whole of last year. The next week doubled that. The following, tripled it.
    Ginger worked every gin mill they entered, lining his pockets and her purse. He mentioned the clubs as promised and paid KYX a portion of their takings, just to be fair.
    They were still staying at the hotel, where they found the time for a few hours of shut-eye between broadcasting, hitting the nightclubs and shopping. Ginger loved to shop, and was good at it. Folks now referred to him as a guy who could really cut the mustard, and she was known as the glamorous billboard at his side.
    He hadn’t seen her naked again, but knowing Ginger wanted him as badly as he wanted her had his desire scorching hotter than ever. She wasn’t a short-skirt and he wasn’t going to turn her into one. He’d told her that, too, although it didn’t stop her from torturing the hell out of him.
    Decked out in a little red number with matching silk gloves pulled up to her elbows and a red feather stuck in the side of her gold headband, Ginger was sitting on his lap. It was how they always sat when visiting joints. He liked that; it let all the other men know her lips were closed to anyone but him.
    It was only two in the afternoon, but the gin mill held a full crowd. Guys and gals wearing duds as fancy as his and Ginger’s filled the tables and booths, drinking cocktails and nibbling on hors d’oeuvres.
    Ginger poked a miniature cake into his mouth. “It’s cherry-flavored,” she whispered.
    He ran a hand over the top of her knee, under the fringed hem of her skirt. Joints like this were full of people petting, and he’d started to believe he’d learned to live with the rather permanent bulge she left in his trousers by wiggling her little backside against him.
    “Like it?” she asked.
    “You know I do,” he answered, not talking about the cake.
    Ginger’s sky-blue eyes sparkled like diamonds as she popped one of the tiny cakes between her red lips. “Me, too.”
    The crowd around their table was talking and laughing, but Brock wasn’t getting involved. He was thinking about diamonds—about buying Ginger a set to wear around her neck and a big one for her ring finger.
    Things had changed, in his mind anyway. It had been three weeks since he talked to Nightingale, and though he’d mailed a wad of cash to the resort, he hadn’t heard a word from the man.
    Brock was about to take a swig of his mint-flavored drink when the room went eerily silent. He followed the direction all eyes, including Ginger’s, had followed, shifting to look over his shoulder.
    He set his glass down, amazed by the sense of calm he felt instead of panic. The fact Roger Nightingale didn’t look nearly so formidable as Brock remembered was just as amazing. Something else struck Brock, too. Or maybe he’d known it all along and just hadn’t deciphered it. Money wasn’t what it would take to claim one of Nightingale’s daughters.
    So be it.
    Meeting the man’s gaze, Brock nodded