Sin on the Run Read Online Free

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    â€œHow about that one over there?” She indicated to the left of a very full dance floor.
    Now she was trying to get him laid? He glanced over to where she motioned. And realized she was not trying to get him laid. “A little old for me, don’t you think, love?”
    â€œFifty’s not old.”
    True, fifty wasn’t old, but it had been at least twenty years since that particular woman had been fifty.
    â€œI prefer them a wee bit closer to my own age.” He’d dated older women, but never one old enough to be his mother.
    â€œFair enough. How about—”
    He cut her off, far more interested in what she was up to. “May I ask why you’re trying to hook me up?”
    â€œIs that what you think I’m doing?”
    â€œIsn’t it?”
    She smiled sheepishly. “Nah, but I doubt you want to get shit faced on your friend’s wedding day.”
    â€œAh, I see. This was a trick to pull me away from the bar. Clever. Look, I’ve had a miserable week and I wanted to relax.”
    â€œAnd you figured that meant you could ruin your friend’s wedding? Nice. Where can I find a friend like you?”
    â€œHaving a few drinks doesn’t mean I was out to ruin anything.” Other than himself, perhaps.
    â€œDrunk people do stupid things and this isn’t a frat party. It’s a wedding,” she said as if he was a child who needed that pointed out.
    â€œWho put you in charge?”
    â€œOne,” she held up her thumb, “me. Two,” and then her index finger, “myself. And see that guy over there who looks like he’s got a stick up his ass?” She pointed to Maggie’s father, Reverend James Hopewell, with her other hand.
    Blake nodded, wondering where she was going with this. “Maggie’s father. Yes, I know who he is.”
    â€œAnd so do the press who are outside dying for a juicy story to embarrass him. So to recap: Who put me in charge? Me, myself, and three, I.” She closed her thumb and index finger and counted her last point with a very unlady-like finger.
    â€œI would never do anything to embarrass Maggie or Christian.”
    â€œYes, you’re special. Alcohol is no match for you.” She lightly punched him in the arm.
    â€œFine, point taken. My apologies.” He didn’t know why he was apologizing, but she was just looking out for Christian and Maggie.
    â€œI’m sorry about your week,” she said, surprising him.
    â€œWhat happened to the ball-buster, me, myself and I, who just put me in my place?” He kind of liked her. There weren’t many women who stood up to him. Most were either sickly sweet or cloyingly offensive, scheming to get him into bed.
    â€œShe’s done her job. Maggie said you were flying in last minute from a tough case. Is that why you needed the drinks?” she asked, sounding sympathetic.
    â€œNo, I . . . I mean yes.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, regretting the last Scotch he’d downed. “Yes to flying and yes to the case, but it’s more of a family matter that’s ruined my mood. You know how it is. They want, they need, to hell with you. You love them. You hate them. They screw with your life etcetera, etcetera.”
    From her odd expression, she either understood exactly what he was talking about or she thought him too drunk to make any sense. He quit while he was ahead. “Would you like to dance?”
    â€œOnly if I get to lead.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI like my toes, and if I let you lead I predict they’ll get stomped.”
    He looked down at the silver-painted toes peeking through her shoes. “And very pretty toes they are, but I’m not that drunk.”
    She quirked an eyebrow, not buying his bullshit. He liked her more and more.
    â€œFine, what the hell. A smart man knows when he’s beat.”
    â€œA smart man wouldn’t consume fifteen ounces of alcohol in