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Chapter5
LANDON
Dumbstruck, Landon stared at the dance floor, when his phone vibrated. Mindlessly, he pulled it from his pocket.
Three faces illuminated the screen, signaling a text from his nanny match group chat.
Yeah, they had one of those.
He focused on the screen as a boxing glove emoji accompanied a string of letters.
Erasmus Cress: Hey, heartthrob wanker, I have a favor to ask.
He stepped away from the pounding music but stayed close enough to observe his dancing beauty. He pressed the audio button. “What do you need, Raz?”
The words populated in the message box, and he hit send.
Erasmus Cress: Libby’s getting a vibe. She’s worried about Harper. She told me H is in Las Vegas at a piano teacher conference. Libby said she sounded off when they spoke earlier. I know Vegas is a big place, but if you see Harper, can you make sure she’s okay, mate?
Hopefully, Libby wouldn’t sense the accuracy of what he was about to say.
He swallowed hard, then pressed the microphone icon. “I doubt I’ll run into Harper, but I’ll keep her safe if I do.”
Keep her safe?
Where the hell did that come from?
Then again, maybe he was seeing things. The lights could be playing tricks on him.
But the exhilaration thrumming through his veins confirmed it.
Not only was Harper Presley in Las Vegas, she happened to be dancing her ass off no more than twenty feet from him.
And God help him. She was a siren.
With her hands above her head, wrists crossed, and her hips swaying from side to side, she moved like the beat owned her body, like it lived in her soul, like she couldn’t help but give in and submit to the swell of the refrain.
One with the music, she was pure sensuality. She gave off a raw sexual energy that flipped a switch inside him. A carnal urge flared. Like a predator, his vision narrowed, and he focused on his prey as every superfluous thought drained from his consciousness.
He observed her. No, he consumed her, drinking her in and memorizing her every move.
Jesus, he was screwed.
His phone buzzed with another incoming text, and he startled, blinking as his laser-sharp focus went blurry.
He checked the screen. The nerd face emoji popped up.
Rowen Gale: Have you talked to Madelyn? The countdown is on, right? Your niece is coming to live with you soon. Any word on the nanny situation?
His phone buzzed again, and he observed a salad icon.
Mitch Elliott: The nanny candidate must be Harper. It would only make sense.
Erasmus Cress: I agree. It’s got to be her. Good bloody luck with that battle-ax of a woman, mate. I used to beat up people for a living and I wouldn’t get in the ring with that wildcat.
He had to shut this down.
He pressed the microphone icon. “Gotta go. I’ve got pop god shit to do.”
