Outside, Lyle turned over the engine of his SUV. Roman closed the door on the compartment of his psyche aching for more of Gianna and switched into work mode.
“He’s on the move,” he told her. “I’d better get in there before Brandy grabs another customer.”
“Keep me posted,” she said, her voice businesslike and clipped.
He disconnected, his mind wandering to the edge in Gianna’s voice. Since their one steamy night together, Gianna certainly had never shown a flicker of interest in an encore.
When Lyle pulled away from the curb, Roman turned off his engine. He waited for Lyle’s taillights to disappear down the highway before making his way across the street to the renovated Victorian.
One of the brawny security guards edged into his path. “I don’t know you.”
Roman pulled his hand from the warmth of his jacket and offered it to the man. “Tom. I’m new at the mines.”
Instead of shaking his hand, the guard smacked his chest. “Arms out.”
Roman complied while the other guard patted him down.
“No violence,” he told Roman. “If you leave a mark on any girl, I’ll hunt you down and break your teeth. Cash only. Leave as soon as you’re done.”
“Yes, sir,” Roman said, congenial.
The guard stepped out of the way, and Roman continued inside. The moment he stepped inside, warmth and the sultry scent of perfume wrapped around him. The dim lighting and deep red décor added to the lush atmosphere, as did the women lounging on the velvet settees flanking a large desk. To Roman’s surprise, the women were young and fresh. He’d been expecting the gaunt, strung-out drug addicts he’d seen in other trafficking situations. But the women were sharp and alert.
Two brunettes and a blonde welcomed him with seductive smiles. The lighter-haired brunette eased from one of the lounges and approached Roman.
“Welcome, handsome.” Her voice was soft and edged with an unmistakable Russian accent. She pressed her hands to his chest and moved close enough to kiss him. She probably would have if Roman hadn’t eased his head back.
“You’re new in town.” The blonde sounded Bosnian. She crossed her long bare legs and swung one spiked heel. “I would have noticed a silver fox like you if you’d been in before.”
At thirty-eight, Roman was the oldest member of the Manhunters, but still too young to be considered a silver fox. At least in his opinion. But he’d grayed early, and women had told him that the mixture of black and white in his hair made it look silvery. He usually kept it cropped too close for the color to matter, but he’d been lazy about getting to the barber, so it was longer than usual.
“Mmm, mmm, mmm. Aren’t you just delicious?” The brunette circled him in a languid stroll, her hand trailing across his chest, then his shoulders before she came to a stop in front of him again. Her big hazel eyes dripped invitation. “Will you do me the pleasure of letting me do you tonight?”
The heaviness in the pit of his gut told Roman just how badly he needed to be done, and anonymous hookups were all he had the interest or time for. But he preferred sex arising from mutual attraction, not payment, and with Gianna so fresh in his mind, it was a nonstarter.
“I’m hoping Brandy’s free,” he said.
The blonde stood and strolled over. She leaned against his side and stroked a hand down his abdomen. A combination of floral and spice floated on the air. A feminine, sultry scent that made Roman think of rolling in the sheets, skin to skin.
“What’s that young thing doing to pull in all the sexy older men?” The darker of the two brunettes was Hispanic, and her inquiry purred with challenge. “Brandy doesn’t have what we have. And we’re available right now.”
She sauntered over and wrapped her arm around the blonde’s waist. “Why don’t you let me and Tara give you a double dose of love?”
Good question. Why didn’t he? Had his one night with Gianna really spoiled him for all other women?
Business, Roman. Head in the game. “Thanks, but I’ve got my heart set on Brandy.”
“Did I hear my name?” Another luscious brunette wandered in from the hallway. She was tall and curvy. And, damn, she was young. As in Lyle-could-have-been-her-grandfather young. “Hey, there. You’re new.”
Roman smiled at her. “And I have similar tastes as Lyle.”
Her smile flickered, and her eyes went flat. But she swayed over to him, nudged the other women aside, and slipped her arm around his. “Then come on up to my room. I’ve got a brand-new set of cuffs with your name on them.”
She pulled him into step beside her, continuing through the hallway, then took his hand as she turned to climb a narrow set of stairs. Leading him by the hand, she spoke as if she were giving him a historical tour, not leading him to a bedroom for paid sex.
“This house was built in 1888 by Harold Putman, the town’s mayor at the time,” she told him in a soft Chechen accent. “He had six children. He and his wife lived a very happy life here.”
“That sounds like a little fantasy you tell yourself to feel better.”