Sitting up in bed, he scanned the room for any sign of her. Even the mountains of food he’d ordered the night before had been whisked away before they’d fallen asleep with promises from the staff it wouldn’t go to waste.
Not a single fucking sign of her remained. Almost as if she’d been a ghost. Or a very vivid, very hot dream.
But she hadn’t been either of those things. He could still taste the way her pussy had flooded his mouth when she’d come, could still feel her soft skin beneath his hand. His babygirl had been stunningly, achingly real.
And now she was gone.
Fuck.
Throwing off the covers, he stalked to the bathroom for a quick piss and to brush his teeth before getting dressed to head home.
But as he was gathering the clothes he’d shed the night before, a glimpse of red lace caught his eye. Picking the panties up from the floor, he pressed them to his nose, closing his eyes as he inhaled the spicy scent of her.
Proof she’d existed, and she’d tasted just as good as he remembered.
He tucked the panties into his pocket for later. Perhaps he’d take a page from the storybooks and drive all around the town, the county, the fucking state if he had to, until he found the gorgeous blonde who fit them.
Not that he’d actually need them, as her face was imprinted on his mind and there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d ever forget it. But the thought of finding her again and watching her blush her way through trying on the panties before he put her over his knee and used the pretty red lace as a guide for the color her ass should be by the time he was done went a long way toward smoothing his ruffled feathers.
In the lobby, the front desk girl flashed him a bright smile. “I hope you enjoyed your stay.”
The front desk. Of course. Hadn’t his babygirl told him she’d used her connections from when she’d worked here to get a key to his room?
Plastering on his best killer smile, he made his way to the desk. “Morning…” He glanced down at her name tag and bumped up the wattage on his smile. “Darla. I was hoping you could help me.”
Darla was pretty enough with wide brown eyes and a riot of curls pulled up in a messy bun atop her head that it was likely nearly every straight man with a pulse flirted with her at least a little. And still, her cheeks went pink and her smile turned shy. “What can I do for you, sir?”
Bumping up the Ireland in his voice, he leaned on the counter, into her. “I met a woman here last night. She said she used to work here and I’m ashamed to say I lost the card she gave me with her information on it. I’m really hoping you can help me find her.”
“Oh, I’m not sure I can do that. We can’t give out our guests’ information.”
“Aye, I know that, lass.” No self-respecting Irishman actually went around calling women ‘lass’, but the ladies went crazy for it all the same. “But she wasn’t a guest. Said she was just meeting a client here. She was tall, curves for days, blonde with big red glasses. Ringing any bells?”
“Ah… sorry, not really.”
It had been a long shot, but the irritation still pricked at the back of his skull. Hiding his aggravation with another smile, he tapped his hand on the counter. “More’s the pity. Thank you for your help anyway… Darla.”
Forcing himself not to stomp out of the hotel, he made his way out to Tiernan’s corvette, tossed his bag in the back seat and climbed inside. As much as he wanted to just head straight home, he detoured by Killian’s house because he knew his cousin would expect a full report of his recon mission. So he’d go to Killian’s, give his report, and then dive straight into the search for his missing babygirl.
Killian was exactly where he’d expected to find him, seated behind the mahogany desk that had once belonged to his father, Lochlan’s Uncle Declan. Even after more than a decade with Killian at the helm of their family enterprise, it was still something of a jolt to see him there instead of Uncle Declan.
Glancing up from the computer screen he’d been scowling at, Killian smiled, the gesture warm with welcome as he leaned back in his chair. “Lochlan. I wasn’t expecting you until later. What has you out of bed so early? Or is it a whom rather than a what?”
Dropping into one of the plush visitors’ chairs, Lochlan scowled at his cousin. “Do you want to hear about Josh or not?”
Dark eyebrows winged up to Killian’s hairline, but he didn’t push the issue. He simply inclined his head once in acknowledgement. “I would. Go on.”
“Josh doesn’t know shit about shit.”
“Succinct, as always.” Killian’s fingers tapped against the sleek wood of his desk, the only outward display of his aggravation. “You’re sure?”
“Very sure. If the Russians are using him, he doesn't know it. Which is still entirely possible, considering he wouldn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground if you wrote him a map.”
“Dammit. Another fucking dead end.” Killian blew out a breath, but his fingers kept up their tap-tap-tapping against the wood. “I appreciate you taking the time to go down that rabbit hole for me. I know social events aren’t exactly your… thing.”
“They aren’t. But it wasn’t all bad.”
A slow smile curved his cousin’s lips. “Oh? Would this have anything to do with the whom or what that had you out of bed so bright and early this fine morning?”
