by Peyton Banks
Unless he had a salami tucked in his boxers, she was certain she’d not been accosted.
But just in case Shrek's odious younger cousin was behind her, Cheryl remained so still she would have put a possum to shame.
That was the mature way to handle waking up with a stranger.
Not.
"Shit...the last thing I want to do is leave. But I have a quick meeting. And when I return. We need to talk." He rubbed his cheek against her back like a giant cat.
Warmth flooded her body. But not enough to face him or whatever she’d done the night before.
"Last night was... spectacular. I know it was insane and outside your wheelhouse, but damn sweetheart, it was the best night I’ve had in... forever. "
Aw. That was sweet.
Too bad she didn't remember the man or the night.
Maybe she was in a coma.
Or dead.
He tucked his body tighter against her back and rubbed his cheek against her short afro.
Her brain may still be on holiday, but her rebellious body was ready for a trip on the pleasure train. The man was affectionate, not wolfman furry, and really seemed into her. And yet, none of that stopped her heart trying to escape though her throat.
"I'm not a praying man, but God or whoever is listening, I only want one thing. Let her give us a chance." Her sweet mystery man kissed her temple.
"Woman, I know deep down in the heart you protect from the world, our marriage was not a mistake," he said before his weight and his warmth left first her back, then the bed.
Marriage? What in the...
The soft thud of footsteps against the carpet and the jingle of a belt buckle growing distant gave her the courage to crack open an eye.
And damn...
Cheryl bit down on her lower lip to keep from moaning as the world's finest ass disappear behind the bathroom door.
She loosened the fist tucked beneath her chin, moving it down her chest.
Bra? Check.
“Okay, that’s good.” It was obvious she’d not had sex, but when her panties were still there, she exhaled the first full breath since she’d awakened.
So not only did the man have a beautiful ass, he was a decent person.
The knots in the sides of Cheryl's neck unwound enough to move her left hand—and it got tangled in the sheets.
"Damn it." She freed her hand, then forgot how to breath.
A massive yellow Cushing cut diamond surrounded by smaller diamonds so sparkly she winced. Wow, that diamond popped against her brown skin.
But not enough to stop the impendent panic attack. Her chest tightened, and her breaths came shallow and fast.
Focus, Cheryl.
To keep herself grounded in the present, she studied her surroundings. This was not a room the serial killer brought someone to create a skin suit. There wasn’t a bit of avocado green or sunset orange to be found.
No, the soft buttery yellow walls were decorated with art deco sconces and tasteful nude portraits. The dark reproduction antiques and that suitcase belonged in her hotel room.
The one she checked into yesterday—alone.
The rest of it returned in bits and sexy pieces: a smile brighter than the rock on her hand, eyes glittering with mirth, peeking out through an ornate black leather mask.
When had anyone ever looked at her like that?
Austin...
The man at the altar.
The man from the plane yesterday.
The man who was now her husband.
What in the seven hells had she done?
2
Cheryl
24 hours earlier
Gah, she hated flying.
Cheryl Richardson marched to her fist class seat, tossing her tote on the chair, before jamming her carryon in the overhead bin. Nothing would stop her from going to Vegas—not even breaking up with boyfriend. She was a grown ass woman, and despite what he believed, Cheryl knew how to have fun.
"Good morning. My name is Gina, and I’ll be working in first class today. Would you care for a beverage?" The smiling flight attendant paused with her stylus poised over her handheld device like a blue polyester clad soldier.
"Gina, a screwdriver would be great. Thanks." Cheryl slid her tote bag under the seat. Okay, she could do this. Her palms weren’t even sweating that much.
“No problem.” Ginna tapped away on her device, then moved to the next row.
"Excuse me.” Cheryl waved. “Gina, on second thought. Hold the orange juice."
“Good call.” Gina snaked her way through the line of giddy passengers making their way to coach and with the purpose of leaving their savings in Sin City.
Cheryl's back had barely touched the wide leather seat when her phone played a familiar ringtone. "I only answered to tell you that I'm not talking to you. Ever again."
Thalia, her friend, and client of ten years and one of the most incredible women Cheryl had ever met, laughed. It was a low rich sound, the kind that if Cheryl wasn't strictly dickly... "I'm so sorry I couldn't go with you. I haven’t been to Vegas since last year. We would’ve had fun."
And did she mention that her friend was also sweet, brilliant, and almost as rich as Croesus?
"Don't worry about it. It was last minute. With everything going on with the boutique, I knew it was a long shot."
“Was anyone else able to go? I don’t like the idea of you going out there alone. Who knows what kind of trouble you’ll get into.”
“According to Damien, not much. Let him tell it, I’m boring.”
“You know as well as I do that’s a damn lie. You just happen to have a life and career that doesn’t revolve around him. Some men can’t handle that.”
A bearded biker paused to help an elderly woman place her purple paisley rollaboard in the overhead bin. The man’s grin and arm wobbled as he slid the bag in the narrow space.
See, no good deed goes unpunished.
Gina arrived with a smile and a Tito’s on the rocks in one hand, and a small tray filled with drinks in the other. Ah...Cheryl’s morning was looking brighter.
She mouthed her thanks, chuckling as Gina took off in a blue blur.
"So... since you're single and ready to mingle, I’m thinking you should go get that back knocked out." Thalia's tone was about as nonchalant as a dentist’s appointment confirmation call. But homegirl was talking about another kind of drilling.
Cheryl shook her head. "Not only no, but hell no."
This time, rather than snaking her way through the crowd, Gina stood in the aisle, mouth hanging open and lashes doing a Morse code imitation.
What seems to be...
But before she could finish that thought, a man rocking a retro afro and ripped jeans stood grinning. Holy shit. Okay, he was hot. Cheryl would give him that. But homeboy was a little long in the tooth to be playing rockstar.
"Sorry, I got distracted.” Cheryl rolled her eyes and shifted her gaze outside to the ramp where people were scurrying to load and unload luggage, mail, and cargo. “Where was I?"
"About to tell me how nasty you're going to be on your holiday."
“How about we talk about something that has a chance of happening,” Cheryl said. “Like me joining a convent that offers legal services.”
“Okay...but you’re not Catholic.”
“Here’s a spot for your bag.” Gina stared at rock boy’s arms and other things. Not hard, since his long-sleeved back t-shirt left nothing to the imagination.
Not even the nipple rings.
After gently closing the overhead bin, Gina gave Cheryl the you-lucky-bitch look.
Great, Mr. rock-god-cosplay was her seatmate.
"Cheryl..." Thalia cajoled in her Texas earth mother voice. "It's better that things ended with you and Damien."
"I know.” What was she supposed to say? Admit that she had become that woman? The ugly ass truth was that Cheryl had allowed a handsome face and tantric sex to override her good sense. “It was time.”
> “It was the BDE wasn’t it?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that statement.”
“Which means yes,” Thalia said.
It sure as hell did.
It also meant that Cheryl was done. No more pretty men or big dick energy. They could take that shit somewhere else.
"Excuse me." Mr. Cosplay’s calloused fingertips grazed Cheryl's knuckles.
She glared first at the silver thumb ring, then at him.
He snatched his hand away and raised them both in mock surrender. "Would you like to switch seats?"
"No." Cheryl glanced back out the window at a man pushing a giant dog crate up the ramp into the belly of the airplane next to them. “I’m back. Thanks for that. Thalia, can you believe that fool had me believing—"
"No?" Dude asked, sounding more confused than insulted.
"Thalia, give me a second." Cheryl turned to the aging player and dipped her chin. "No is a complete sentence. Which part did you not understand?"
Thalia snort laughed in Cheryl's ear. "Be nice," she said.
He blinked, opened and closed his mouth like a giant sexy fish, then finally sat his ass in his assigned seat. "I guess I'm not used to hearing it quite so bluntly."
"Welcome to the real world. You done?" She gave him a closed mouth smile.
See she could be nice.
Black Mick Jagger chuckled, then pulled the inflight magazine from the mesh seatback pocket.
Why did his legs have to look so good in those jeans? and those thighs...
Damn.
When she refocused on her phone, Cheryl was rewarded with a full-on belly laugh. Note to self: mute Thalia next time. "Not funny." Okay, it kinda was, but no way would Cheryl admit it.
"Why are you so mean? I know you don’t like to fly, but...” Thalia squealed as if she’d found the Hope Diamond. “Oh my god. He’s hot, isn’t he? You always get extra grumpy when you're uncomfortable."
"Yes, if you like that sort of thing." Cheryl snuck a peek at the man beside her. Whew, Thalia was righter than Cheryl would admit. He was all chiseled bones, and a mouth that promised dirty wicked things. Unfortunately, he also had the air of a man aware of his sexual prowess and wielded it as a weapon.
No thanks.
"Sneak a picture," Thalia whispered as if Rock Boy could hear.
"Ma'am, you need to stop."
"I have an idea that will help with that fear of flying."
Instead of hanging the hell up, Cheryl went against her common sense—again. “What?”
“Maybe it’s time to join the mile-high club with that hot seatmate.”
"Who says I'm not already a member?”
"Ladies and gentlemen,” a male voice with an accent straight out of East Texas rang out from the speakers. “Please turn off all cellphones or place them in airplane mode..."
"You got lucky this time,” Thalia said. “But snap his pic when he falls asleep. I want to see the man who has you all wound up."
Cheryl laughed. "Shut up."
"Oh, and Cheryl?"
"I thought you were hanging up?"
The man beside her chuckled. He could at least pretend to mind his business.
"You're such a bitch, I have no idea why I love you," Thalia said, laughter brightening her voice.
"Because I’m freaking irresistible." Cheryl ended the call, smiling at Thalia’s hoot of laughter.
A different flight attendant walked down the aisle checking seatbacks and collecting the empty cups from pre-departure drinks. When she retrieved the glasses from Cheryl's row, there was a lot more cleavage going on than last time.
"First trip to Vegas?" Her seatmate asked, interrupting the unobstructed view of the flight attendant's 36DD's.
Interesting, maybe that swagger was reserved for the other team.
"No, I've been for business."
"Cool." He studied Cheryl as if wondering how she hadn't succumbed to his considerable charms. “Sorry about earlier... the seat thing.”
“No problem.” The plane moved, and Cheryl gripped the armrest.
“Is... everything okay?”
“Of course. Why?”
“You seem a little... intense.”
“It’s a character flaw.” Cheryl retrieved the noise cancelling headset from her tote, along with a case file. And looked over at her smirking seatmate. "Was there something else?"
"No, you go ahead and do you. As a matter of fact, this is rather... refreshing."
"If you say so."
He shook his head, and that smirk became a full-on grin. Was he laughing at her? Probably.
Did she care?
Absolutely not.
3
Austin
Austin had lived most of his forty-two years in the spotlight. It made sense that these days he preferred to keep it low key. One wouldn’t think so if they saw him rolling down the Vegas strip in his best friends Aston Martin.
"Only two things can put that look on a man's face, and one of them is money." Brian stopped at the red light, then turned down the music.
Austin chuckled, and leaned his head against the cool leather headrest, remembering his cute and grumpy as hell seatmate from yesterday's flight. "Of course, your mind would go straight to sex. Why couldn’t it be art, or the lovely weather?"
"Because one, we haven't signed the contract yet. And two, I have never heard you sigh and look all wistful about lyrics. Even the ones you wrote. And three.” Brian batted his pale eyelashes. “I don't move you like that."
Even if he swung that way, Brian would have been too smooth for Austin.
Brian and his family may now call Vegas home, but he was all Malibu. Not even the twelve-hundred-dollar suit, and expert haircut that made sure every blond hair fell in place, hid that Brian was as comfortable on a surfboard as he was in the boardroom.
A Volkswagen Beetle as bright as the sun and filled with squealing college-aged girls stopped beside them at the light.
“Oh my God, is that...” one of the girl’s squealed.
Austin’s exhale echoed through the place in his chest where joy and curiosity had lived seconds earlier. There wasn’t a person alive who loved every aspect of their job.
This was the part that had grown old first.
Austin slid his shades half-way down and gave the girls the rockstar they expected.
It made him feel like a whore.
A green light and the remembered laugh of a certain cranky woman washed away the shadow of bitterness. She’d reminded him of what it was to be merely a man. To her he had been an annoyance, not the guitarist for Bloodstained or the face and abs on the billboard they’d driven by seconds earlier.
“Okay asshole, you’re right,” Austin said.
Brian snorted. “Of course, I am,” he said as he hit his blinker and turned right into the curved driveway of Vegas's sexiest hotel—Inferno.
"I met someone I met on the plane. She was..."
"Hot?" Brian asked with the lechery of a married man. “Don’t look at me like that. Just because I’m on a diet doesn’t mean I can’t look at the menu.”
“You’d better stay on that diet, or Sasha might do a Lorena Bobbitt on your ass.”
Brian grimaced and cupped the family jewels. “I can make more money, but these I want to keep.”
When it was their turn at the valet stand, Brian shut the car off, slid out, handing the greedy valet barely out of his teens the key fob and a glare of warning that implied a trip to the desert and a flock of buzzards.
The poor kid nodded so hard he’d probably need to visit his chiropractor.
Austin ignored the exchange and headed inside, nodding at the doorman as a whoosh of air conditioning slapped him in the face. It was only April, but it was already eighty degrees at eight o'clock.
"She had no clue who I was,” Austin said as soon as Brian joined him inside.
“Bullshit.”
“No man. She was clueless, and downright mean.” And had an amazing pair of be
autiful legs. They were long, lush, and the most beautiful shade of brown he’d ever seen.
Hell, he had to force himself to go to sleep so he wouldn’t feel like a creeper. Which didn’t help. His dreams were fill with those legs around his waist and slung across his shoulders and...
Austin cleared his throat before he embarrassed himself in public. “Guess what? I loved every second.”
“Sounds to me like you’re either ready for marriage or a dominatrix. Wait. Isn’t that the same thing?” Small lines appeared at the corners of Brian’s hazel eyes.
"Oh, you got jokes."
Brian talked a lot of shit, but the man was crazy in love with his wife. They were one of the reasons Austin had arranged a Vegas residency during the band's hiatus.
Yet, as good as all that sounded, Austin’s loneliness had intensified from a bruise to a fucking ice pick in the center of his chest.
Austin pushed his eyeglasses higher on his face, ignoring the gasps, excited whispers, and incessant clicking of cellphone cameras.
Rather than the bright modern vibe, Inferno was about luxury, decadence, and seduction. Warm golden light filled the lobby and brass and bronze statues did the same, tucked into up lit alcoves. Part of the lobby and shops appeared to be centered around a massive garden filled with a water feature and tropical plants. It all screamed grown and sexy.
Judging from the tailored uniforms and beautiful staff, if folks wanted family friendly—this wasn’t the spot.
If this much attention was paid to the lobby, the theater had to be impressive.
But somehow, he couldn’t get excited.
"Maybe this is a mistake,” Austin said. “A year of to be...I don't know, normal sounds nice."
"How exactly do you expect that to happen, Mr. Sexiest Man Alive?"
"Stop with that shit. Just because a magazine says something doesn’t make it true. You should know that."
“No. What I know is that you could earn five million dollars in the next year for four nights a week of work. And you get to sleep in the same bed every night.”
