We're One (Available at Wild Rose Press, Amazon, Barnes and Nobles, etc.), Mimi Barbour [types of ebook readers txt] 📗

We're One--Out now from The Wild Rose Press

Crystal was a celebrated Vegas star with a strong affinity to the animal world—except for the human male animal, that is. When she uses her trusty baseball bat to change the odds for easygoing Ashley Parks, getting beaten in an alley below her apartment window, the two end up having to run for their lives from a killer who wants revenge.

Ashley’s first kiss arouses her and all she wants is for him to do it again and more - but no strings. All he wants is strings - and to keep her safe.

Her reaction to his chivalry..."You bungling idiot!!!? Everything's changed. It's you he’s after now.”


Chapter One
Las Vegas, 1969

A fist smashed into his cheek, cut his lip, and shoved his face to the left while the two punks holding his arms kept him upright. He shook his head for a second, then glared at the man watching.
“Joey, I’m warning you, don’t do this. You’ll regret it.” Blood poured from Ashley Parks’ mouth. His eyes were two chips of ice even as the swelling around them started to show.
“Shut up, Mr. Bigshot! You think you can tempt my girls away to your fancy casino and get away with it forever? I warned you what was gonna happen to you if you hired another one of my chicks, and you didn’t listen to me, did ya, smartass? Hit him again, Arnie.”
One of the men grabbed both his arms behind him as the other stepped in front of Ash with his arm held in slug position. Ash had only a moment to check out the smallest, meanest eyes, deep-set and too close together in a slack-jawed face as ugly as they come. The big bruiser’s smile displayed the black holes that emphasized his rotten teeth.
“Hi, Arnie.” Ashley tried to be cordial, but it backfired. Without an ounce of emotion, Arnie’s fist burrowed into Ashley’s stomach. If it weren’t for the fact that he was in good shape from working out every day, he’d be in trouble. But it hurt like hell, and he hated pain, especially when it wasn’t deserved. Anger built. The feeling stunned him. It wasn’t a sensation he was accustomed to, as he rarely got mad.
Life ranged from jokingly easy to always a laugh, and being rich and good-looking accentuated this man’s ideal existence. Ash worked with his brother in one of the smaller but highly elite casinos in Las Vegas. He handled everything from personnel to high rollers.
Hundreds of gorgeous young girls who worked in the hotel, from cocktail waitresses to room maids, were his responsibility. The ladies loved his wit, his oldfashioned chivalry, and the way he seemed to care
about each and every one of them. He was a dream manager, and a big draw to the girls flooding into Vegas looking for a job.
“For heaven’s sake, you idiot. I didn’t hire your girls away—they came to us, begging for work. You treat them like crap. How can you expect them to stay? Come on, Joey. You know my brother’s wife Carrie is a softy. She’ll help anyone who comes to her with a sob story, and the word’s out there on the Strip; they all know to look her up. Rhett is putty in her hands and won’t refuse her anything. And, hey, I
only do as I’m told.”
“Rhett’s a pussy. Why can’t he control the dumb broad?”
“Why don’t you have this conversation with him, and ask him yourself?”
“Shut your mouth.”
Joey tried to meet Ashley’s gaze after the gauntlet had been thrown down, but he couldn’t. The only reason Joey was making this play was because Rhett had taken Carrie for a month’s holiday in England. No way would he mess with Ash’s big brother—no way, not with that man!
“Look, business is business. I like you, Ash, but I gotta answer to Big Dave. He’s my boss, and he’d be after my hide if he thought I couldn’t control his stable.”
“If you handled your women better, paid them decently, we wouldn’t be having this meeting right now. And for your information, I can’t say I’m enjoying it very much.”
Hanging between Joey’s two henchmen with his face all cut up hadn’t cured Ashley’s tendency to be a smart mouth, not at all. His cheeky grin could be his undoing. But he hadn’t felt so alive for a long while, and he was almost to the point where he’d make his move and put a stop to this nonsense. He knew he could take the two patsies holding him, but he couldn’t be sure if Joey was carrying. If he was,
things could get pretty dicey. He sure as hell didn’t want to get shot on top of the beating he’d just taken.
“I’m not askin’ ya, Ash, I’m telling ya. Enough is enough! This time we’ll rough you up a bit, but the next time we’ll be putting you out of action—or should I say into traction—for a long time. But for now it’s just a lesson, so you’d better smarten up, pal, or life could get a lot tougher.” The seriousness of his threat rang through, loud and clear.
Joey’s pretty-boy face gave him an undeniably angelic appearance.
With women, he used this blessing to compensate for his lack of height. With men, his tendency to overcome his body’s... um...shortcoming was by being a bit of a bully, albeit using others’ “muscle.” He was a ladies’ man, and it wasn’t unusual to see a different girl clutching each arm most times when Ashley ran across him in the
bars. Call it charisma, or the fact that in Joey’s eyes every woman he met was beautiful. Whatever. It worked for him. He had surprising flair, and his well-toned, muscular physique looked great in the
suits he had custom made. Having had enough time to gather his strength, Ash let his body sag to give the impression he was finished.
His strategy appeared to be working, as the boys loosened their grip. His feet were steady, and his mind sharp and primed. Just as he was about to make his move, a deafening scream came from behind him and
changed the scenario. A baseball bat suddenly leveled the fellow on his left. A karate screech accompanied a flash of white that swung past him as the figure twirled and swung at the openmouthed idiot on his right.
There was no time to stop and watch. Joey’s hand began reaching inside his suit jacket, and Ashley moved with lightning speed. His right foot kicked out and landed smack dab on Joey’s chin. The chump dropped like a felled tree, hitting the ground about three feet away from where he’d been standing.
Quickly ducking and grabbing the wild kid, who still wielded the bat, Ashley headed for the entrance to the alley where the impromptu party had taken place.
“Stop that! Put me down. Hey, my bat! I dropped my bat.” All the while her mouth worked, so did her compact little body full of strong muscles, slippery moves, and—fully endowed chest. As realization hit
him that he held a female under his arm, he came close to dropping her. But he knew they had no time to stop. With a fast twirl he swept the bat up in his free hand and kept going. Joey and the boys would be hot on their trail soon. They needed to get to where there were lights and people. Lots of witnesses meant safety.
When they reached the entrance to the busy street, he hissed in a strained voice, “Okay, I’ll put you down, but unless you want me to take another beating to save you, we have to move. By the way, doll, what’s your name?”
“Crystal Davis. And excuse me! I saved you.”
“I had it under control. I was just going to make my move when you jumped into the fray. Nonetheless, Crystal, you’re one hell of a hitter.”
“I played shortstop on the junior team back home, one of their best batters, even if I do say so myself.”
The grinning face enchanted him. He grabbed her hand and they ran. His stomach felt raw, but the adrenaline rush overrode his discomfort. Short blocks flew past. He cautiously checked behind them, but the way remained clear.
“We can slow down now. We’ll be safe here.” He watched her skid to a stop and turn to face him. She returned the gleeful smile he couldn’t wipe off his mug. He hadn’t felt this exuberant in years, not
since he’d played football as a teen and won the MVP award.
They had turned onto well-lit Fremont Street in downtown Las Vegas, and though it was the middle of the night, thousands of marquee lights brightened the way. Groups of people milled around, wandering
in and out of the various open-door casinos where loud music, the chinking of the slots and nightlife in general beckoned them to join in, urged them to try their luck, and eventually conned them out of their
meager savings.
Ash’s winded running partner was the perfect height for him, short enough that he towered over her but slender in a way that made her seem almost tall. In boots, jeans and the large flannel shirt buttoned up under her chin, she could pass for a small-bodied man or a big boy. But as she glanced up at him under the streetlight, her face told its own
story.
She appeared to be one hundred percent female, and each feature gave notice of the fact. Her plush lashes framed extra-large eyes, light in color—it was difficult to make out the exact shade in the artificial
lights. At first they seemed to be the main feature on her small face. That is, until one noticed her lips. They were plump and red, and the upward curve at each end was so erotic that any man’s first impression would be that those lips were designed for one thing only—to drive a man crazy from wanting his mouth plastered against them. Ashley
recognized that detail right off.
“You’ll be fine now, so I’ll be on my way.” She appeared uncomfortable with his perusal. She reached for her bat, slipped it behind her back, and
turned away.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” He grasped the shoulder of her shirt and held it up, leaving her hanging between the folds. Her gravelly voice had produced goose bumps assaulting his already interested and aroused body. That velvety huskiness would classify as any radio station manager’s dream. The