Murphy's Law (The Bounty Hunter Series - Book 1) by Laurie LeClair

 
     
     

Chapter 1
     
     
    The sexiest woman he’d ever seen just walked into the bar.
    Murphy’s heart stopped for two seconds, and then it drummed in his chest. He swallowed hard when her big blue eyes latched onto his stare. He shifted his weight in the chair, dropping all four legs back to the floor. It jarred him enough to come out of the haze as she marched toward his table.
    What in the hell was she doing here?
    His insides tightened and a curl of desire coiled low and deep.
    He allowed his gaze to travel over her. Her long black hair flowed as she wove her way to him, dodging the crowded noisy tables mostly filled with men. In a black tank top, jeans, boots, and black belt with a turquoise belt buckle hugging her hips, she wore it better and hotter than any other woman could hope to. Dynamite comes in small packages , he thought, acknowledging the undeniable white-hot tide of swift, encompassing lust whenever she was near.
    She halted on the other side of his table. Her seductive perfume wafted to him. Every muscle in his body jumped to life.
    He lifted his mug of beer and took a long swallow. Reaching out with his foot, he kicked the leg of the chair opposite his, shoving it to her. “Have a seat. Want a beer?”
    The little grimace that shot through her didn’t escape his notice. Yep, she was lying. Again. Why in the hell was she trying to pretend she was her twin?
    “So what’s shaking?” he drawled. “You called me.”
    Taking a seat, she refused to meet his gaze, glancing at something just over his left shoulder. “I need your help.”
    His gut kicked. “Trouble?”
    “You know how it goes.” Her slight shrug and the way she drummed her black painted nails on the table top mimicked her twin’s actions to a tee. Her playacting could win an award for the way she nailed her sister’s tone, nonchalance attitude, and I-could-give-a-fuck look. But he knew different.
    She couldn’t mask the subtle differences, even if she were aware of them. The way her right eyebrow arched just a tad higher, the unmistakable way she fought an approaching grin, the way her body moved with a little more swing in the hip, the way she tasted, and the way her body felt beneath his. But most importantly, the way his body responded to hers in or out of bed.
    But she didn’t know it.
    Murphy motioned to the waitress for a round.
    “Not talking yet?” he baited, half of his mind working overtime on why she’d need his help. She hadn’t needed him for the last two years, so why now?
    The waitress plopped down the mugs. He handed her a ten. “Keep the change.”
    “Thanks, honey. You could give these guys lessons. Cheap bastards,” she muttered, sashaying to the next group calling for her.
    “Drink up,” he said, downing his second beer, and then sliding it away. He picked up his third mug of the night and tasted the fresh, cold brew. She sipped hers and he noted the way she covered the shiver of disgust.
    One more difference he could rack up. She hated beer while her sister had a fondness for it, joining him for a round on occasion.
    Still, she remained silent.
    “So, pretty lady, tell me, why you need the services of an ex-bounty hunter.”
     
    ***
     
    Echo Weatherly swallowed hard. Could she pull this off? Every part of her longed to tell Murphy the truth, end the charade here and now. But she didn’t have the luxury.
    Too many people she cared about would get hurt.
    So she played the game. “Who says I need your services?” To herself, she said, please service me. But to him, she flicked him an uninterested look, masking how her body came to life around him, how swirls of heat curled in her center. She didn’t have to gaze at him now to know his hot, green-eyed stare took in every detail of her.
    “What do you need me for?”
    Everything. Where had that come from? Images of his hard, taut, naked body teased her mind. Had she known him before? Why was he comfort and danger at the same time?
    With her throat