The Hunt for Clint Adams by J. Roberts

underwear.
    â€œEvening?” he asked. “What time is it?”
    â€œTen p.m.,” she said. “You’ve been asleep for ten hours.”
    Clint remembered that he and Bat had had something to eat before they went to their rooms.
    â€œI see,” he said. “And why was it necessary to wake me up and tell me that?”
    â€œOh, that’s not what I woke you up to tell you,” she said.
    â€œThen why did you wake me up?”
    â€œWell,” she said, “for that, I’d have to come inside.”
    â€œIn a man’s room? Late at night?” he asked.
    â€œI’ll risk it if you will,” she said.
    He bowed, and backed away to allow her to enter. As she did, she saw the gun in his hand. He closed the door, walked to the bed, and put the gun back on the table.
    â€œWell now if you’ll give me time to get dressed . . .” he said, turning. He stopped short when he saw her crisp white shirt fall to the floor.
    â€œI don’t think that will be necessary.”
    â€œMiss Dealer,” he said.
    â€œIt’s Jane,” she said. “Remember?”
    She reached behind her to unfasten her ponytail. As she did her breasts—fuller and heavier than he would have thought—lifted and jutted out at him. Her nipples were a light brown he hadn’t really encountered before.
    Her hair fell to her pale shoulders in shimmering waves.
    â€œRemember,” she said, “we had an appointment after the game?”
    â€œDid we?”
    â€œI thought we did.”
    She kicked off her shoes, then stuck her fingers into the waist of her trousers and peeled them down. She wore no underwear beneath. He figured she’d done that in anticipation of their . . . appointment.
    She was breathtakingly naked.
    â€œYou know,” he said, “From the moment I saw you I wondered what was beneath that white shirt.”
    â€œLiar,” she said. “You didn’t start wondering that until you knew I was the dealer and not just the bartender. But that’s okay. I didn’t really wonder about you until we sat down at the poker table.”
    â€œIs that a fact?”
    â€œYes, it is,” she said. She moved closer to him—not close enough to touch—but close enough for him to feel the heat from her body.
    â€œI have to thank you,” she said.
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œApparently, saving my job.”
    â€œThat was nothing,” he said. “I just didn’t want Orchid taking his frustration out on you.”
    â€œWell then,” she said, moving closer and pressing herself up against him, “this is not a thank you. We’ll just consider it a . . .” She felt him grow hard between them. “ . . . hello?”

THIRTY-ONE
    â€œWhere’s your sister?” Harry Orchid asked Dave.
    â€œHow do I know?” Dave asked. “I don’t keep track of her.”
    â€œYou’ve got to make sure she stays quiet,” Orchid said, “or we’re gonna have a lot of people asking for their money back.”
    â€œWe?” Dave Masters asked. “I didn’t take any money from anyone.”
    â€œIt’s a figure of speech, Dave,” Orchid said. “I’m not asking you to be partners with me.”
    â€œI didn’t think you were . . . boss.”
    Orchid was behind his desk, a drink in his hand.
    â€œYou’re not gonna fire Jane, are you?”
    â€œNo,” Orchid said. “She has a big mouth . . . but no.”
    Dave walked to the door. “I’ll find her,” he said. “She won’t say a word.”
    â€œI’m counting on you to see that she doesn’t,” Orchid said.
    â€¢ * *
    Her breasts were heavy against his chest, her nipples hard. She put her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers. She kissed him hungrily, and he returned the kiss with the same vigor.
    â€œI see you’re finally awake,” she said,