by Nikki Groom
What I didn’t think about when I was shopping was buying something suitable to visit a casino. What do you even wear to a casino in Las Vegas? I finally settle on a black pants suit with flared legs and a black halter top. I’m lucky to be gifted with long legs, but this suit makes them look even longer, especially when I fasten a wide gold belt around my waist.
I sit for long minutes looking in the mirror, trying to decide how to wear my hair. I’m not happy with wearing it down since the ends look tatty, so I pin it up in a simple twist and pull down just a few tendrils around my face to soften the look. My eyes are smoky, my lips a deep red and I hope that the new powder I bought conceals the bruising on my cheek. A gold watch and my favorite diamond bracelet that belonged to my grandmother complete the look. I feel confident. I know I look good and I feel like I’m smiling from the inside.
I’m ready to go.
I pour a generous shot of Vodka from the mini bar and go to stand out on the balcony. The night air is still warm and the daylight is starting to fade, I have a good feeling about things. Tonight is going to be fun.
I walk through the lobby to the casino, my heels clicking on the marble flooring and echoing around the high ceiling. As I approach the large doors to the casino, I’m greeted by two large doormen in sharp black suits who push the doors back for me and gesture for me to enter. They look smart, friendly and professional, but you wouldn’t want to mess with them. They give off a feeling of authority and power and I’m sure they’re very handy when necessary.
I scan the room and my eyes linger on the roulette table where a young woman is jumping up and down with excitement. She’s obviously had a lucky bet and I smile to see her elation.
I head for the bar, not really knowing where to get started or even if I’m going to try my hand at lady luck, but observing the buzzing room from the bar with a delicious cocktail sounds like a great starting point.
The bar is relatively quiet and I find an empty stool immediately. The bartender makes his way over and welcomes me with a smile. Everything about his demeanor is friendly and he’s cute but I’m guessing he’s quite young—twenty-three, maybe twenty-four. He looks familiar, but I don’t know anyone here.
“Good evening, beautiful. What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a dirty martini, please.”
He looks at me with slightly narrowed eyes for a second. “Sure thing, coming up.”
He doesn’t move very far to gather the ingredients that are needed and mixes the cocktail in front of me. “So what’s a beautiful lady like you doing all alone in a place like this?” he says with a lopsided smirk and a twinkle in his eye. I roll my eyes at the cheesy line, although I’m sure it works on some of the women. I’ll bet he gets his share just by flashing them his charming smile. “I’m just staying for a few days, visiting relatives.”
“No husband?” he says surprisingly, glancing at my left hand.
“Nope, no husband.”
His smile seems to grow wider and I really hope he’s not going to chat me up. Yes, he’s cute, but so are puppies and kittens. That doesn’t mean I want one.
“You don’t look like a gambler. You going to try your hand at poker?”
“I don’t look like a gambler?” I say with a little laugh. “And what would a gambler look like?”
“There’s something about you that tells me you’re too savvy to gamble your money away.”
“Is that a line you use on all your lady customers?” I quirk an eyebrow at him.
“Ha, not all of them. Only the very attractive ones,” he says with a wink and I roll my eyes. “Voila, your dirty martini, Madame.”
“Why, thank you, sir. It looks...” I take a sip of the clear cocktail “...and tastes delicious.”
“You’re welcome.” He leans his elbow on the bar top and rests his chin on his hand. “So what are you going to try your hand at?”
“She’s busy. Get back to work, Spike.”
I know who it is before I turn around, his commanding voice is unmistakable, but I turn anyway and find myself drinking in the sight of Denham King. His stance is protective as he glowers at the poor bartender. I follow his pointed stare behind the bar. Spike doesn’t argue but flashes Denham a sharp look before walking away, shaking his head.
When Denham is satisfied that his unspoken message has been heard loud and clear, he turns to me with a grin and shows his dimple that is so cute I’m sure he only saves it for special occasions. He rests one hand on the bar top and one on the back of my bar stool so I’m effectively caged.
“Miss. Jamesson, what a pleasure to find you here.”
“You scared the poor bartender off before I had the chance to pay for my drink.”
“It’s on the house.” He chuckles. “Well, it’s on Spike actually but he doesn’t know it yet.”
“He was just being friendly.”
“Well, he can just be friendly to someone else then, can’t he?”
“And what if I wanted to talk to him?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Do you want to?”
“No, but—”
“Well, that’s settled then, isn’t it?” He lowers himself onto the vacant stool next to me, tipping his chin and signaling to Spike to bring him a drink. He’s arrogant, self-assured and I’m sure he’s a man that always gets what he wants. But despite these things there’s an attractiveness about him I can’t explain. He’s sexy, very sexy, and the way he angles his strong, toned body toward me makes me feel like I’m the only person in this room.
Looking contemplative, he traces my wrist with his index finger, running it along my diamond bracelet. The contact is unexpected and I try to hide my sharp intake of breath.
“Hmmmm … diamonds,” he muses. His eyes sweep across my décolleté, along my neck and up to my ears. “You should wear more diamonds. Their beauty and sparkle match yours.”
I nervously moisten my now dry lips with my tongue. I’m uncertain how to react to compliments. In the past, they’ve been thrown around so loosely without any genuine feeling behind them, so it still feels alien to me.
“You’re not used to such compliments?” His voice is low, almost a growl. “Then we will have to rectify that.” He pauses, and I’m grateful when he changes the subject. “Are you here to play?”
I watch his lips move around the word play— soft, full and the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. I blink twice and straighten my back.
I really need to get a grip.
“Roulette, yes.” I say, skirting around the question as I’m not entirely sure of the direction it was meant. If I were just passing through Las Vegas, I would throw caution to the wind and give in to my feelings of lust, something I’ve not experienced before. But I’m planning on staying here and I do not intend on getting myself into any situations that could turn complicated.
I have only been with two men in my life, and both of them falsely took my trust before I ventured into anything physical. Denham King is different. He isn’t hiding behind niceties or false promises of friendship. He is what he is, and I’m not entirely sure what to do with it.
“Just roulette? Have you ever played poker?”
“No poker. I like the simplicity of the little wheel. Just red or black, odd or even.” He nods, seemingly happy with my answer. Something tells me he’s not a poker player either. He gives too much away in his eyes.
Spike brings Denham a drink. He’s a scotch man, on the rocks, and he swirls the glass before lifting it to his lips. I watch as he takes a sip of the smooth amber liquid, his lips coated in a sweet, shiny glaze and his Adam’s apple dipping as he swallows. He’s watching me watching him, and the corners of his lips curl just enough to make me realize this.
“Come.”
He stands swiftly and clasps his tumbler in one hand, holding out his spare hand to help me down from the tall bar stool. I obey his gentle command without hesitation and place my small hand in his large, rough palm. He doesn’t let go when I’m standing; inste
ad, he pulls me tightly by his side and strides forward.
We weave through the small groups of people, and I can feel my heartbeat pick up as the anxiety kicks in. I still don’t really know him, and I don’t know where he’s leading me. I try to wriggle my hand from his grip and slow my legs down, but he squeezes ever so gently and it reassures me enough to just go with it. I breathe a small sigh of relief when he stops at the roulette table. My crazy mind needs to be reeled in and stop thinking the worst at every turn. But old habits die hard.
Denham greets the croupier and guides me gently with a hand on my waist to one of the available seats. He stands behind me and leans down to speak softly. “You’ve played before?”
His breath tickles my ear and I swallow noisily. “Yes.”
He nods to the croupier who is waiting attentively. Denham holds up one finger and a small stack of red chips is pushed across the smooth green felt toward me.
“Red or black?”
I spin my head around to him. “You want me to choose?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to lose your money.”
“You won’t. I feel lucky.” He shrugs.
“Okay, I call red. No wait, black. Put one on black,” I say, getting more excited by the second but also nervous with the pressure of gambling with someone else’s money.
He steps forward and slides the entire stack onto the large square marked BLACK. I pull at his free arm in a panic, but I can’t deny that this is exciting. “No! I said one. Put one on black.”
He leans in so he’s just millimeters from my ear and whispers, “I’m all or nothing, sweetheart. When I do something, I do it with everything I’ve got.”
“No more bets,” the croupier calls and the moment is broken.
We both look to the wheel as it is spun until the colors and numbers blur. The ball is tossed in the opposite direction to the spinning wheel and I watch for what seems like an eternity before it starts to slow. It rolls and bounces and I can hardly bear to watch. I don’t know how much money is riding on this game of chance, but if will alone can make it land in a black slot we’ll be hitting a home run. The crowd hushes and the last couple of bounces seem like they play out in slow motion; my heartbeat whooshes through my ears and the sound of the ball echoes around the table. It lands in a red slot, then jumps out at the very last minute, the ‘Oh’s and Ah’s’ sounding around the table adds to the tension as the little white ball finally settles in a pocket …
Black!
“Yes!” I yell, jumping out of my seat and nearly knocking over our drinks in the process. Most of the other guests around the table are smiling and calling ‘Yes!’ and a few of them are looking downright relieved. I fling my arms around Denham’s neck, it’s an innocent gesture, one of elation and relief that I haven’t lost all his money. I kiss his smooth cheek, noticing he’s shaved and fighting the urge to nuzzle into him.
I don’t know why I just did that. It just … happened.
He wraps his arms around my waist and holds me even closer, just for a second, then turns his head so my lips just touch the corner of his. The innocence is sucked out of our moment and replaced by another exchange of smoldering looks. I pull back and he reluctantly releases me.
“I think I might keep you.”
“What?” I snap my head up in his direction with a confused look on my face
“I think I might keep you. You’re lucky. “
If only he knew. The bottom drops out of the happiness I was just feeling and I lower my gaze. “I’m not lucky. I’m trouble,” I whisper.
He gently grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts my head so I’m looking up at him. “Well, in that case, I like your kind of trouble.” His voice is lower so only I can hear. “I’ll take my chances. I think the odds are pretty good.”
My heart rate accelerates as he moves toward me and presses his lips to my cheek. I close my eyes and softly lean into him, and he lingers for a moment before pulling away, leaving my skin searing and my heart racing.
“You’re all the luck I need. That’s two thousand dollars you just won me.”
My eyes widen and Denham chuckles. “Two thousand dollars? But … you let me take a chance with a thousand dollars of your money?” He nods and his smile widens. “Wait, you’re kidding aren’t you? You own the place it doesn’t count, right?”
This just makes him laugh out loud. “It counts. Come on, Trouble. Let’s play blackjack.”
I shake my head gently, laughing at the craziness of Las Vegas, then I down what’s left of my martini. “I think I need another drink,” I mutter, and we detour to the bar.
After one more martini and several unsuccessful attempts to teach me how to play blackjack (mainly down to Denham making me laugh and distracting me with his handsomeness), I’m once again battling with the angel and devil who sit on my shoulders. I would like nothing more than to stay here for the rest of the evening and find out more about the man who is Denham King, but something is telling me that if I don’t walk away now, this may venture somewhere that will be very hard to come back from.
“Would you like another drink?” he asks.
“No, I really should be going.” I hop off the stool and straighten myself out. It takes all of my willpower to be determined enough to call it a night, especially because we are having so much fun.
Denham touches the tips of his fingers to my wrist and holds me in place. “Will you turn into a pumpkin?”
“Ha-ha. No, at least, I don’t think so,” I say, feeling a little sad that this evening has to come to an end.
“Then stay ...”
I look at his handsome face, his chiseled jaw, his soft inviting lips and his eyes, his deep rich brown eyes that I could lose myself in, his easy demeanor, his subtle protectiveness ...
“No, really, I have to go. Thank you for this evening. It’s been fun and I’m glad I didn’t lose you all your money.” I stand to leave.
“I told you, you’re lucky.” I smile and shake my head gently. “Can I call you?” he asks with an air of confidence.
“You have my room number.”
“No, I mean a cell. Your personal number.”
“I, I don’t have a cell.” I frown when I realize how stupid that sounds. Everyone has a cell these days, and now he probably thinks I’m giving him the brush off. “I’m not lying, I mean, I’m not trying to just put you off so you don’t call. You know I would like you to call, but I really actually don’t have a cell. I broke it and … well, I just haven’t had a chance to get a new one yet.”
“You’re good at that,” Denham says with a raised eyebrow and a cheeky grin.
“Good at what?”
“Waffling.” He stands, offering me his hand and I take it without hesitation. “Come on, Trouble. I’ll walk you to your room.”
The swarm of butterflies in my stomach start when we’re in the elevator. From the ground floor to the penthouse we’re alone and the air is crackling with sexual tension. By the time we reach my room, the butterflies are flying around so fast I feel like my legs are going to give out.
He’s just a man, just a man … I repeat over and over in my head. I have no idea why he makes me feel like this. It’s an excited nervousness but unsettling. I fumble around in my clutch for my key card as Denham stands behind me patiently. I’m sure I look like a crazy woman as I mumble to myself under my breath while trying to find the key card in my tiny little clutch that isn’t actually small enough for anything to get lost in.
“Got it!”
I exhale and turn to meet an expression that isn’t instantly readable. When Denham steps forward, I take two steps back, bumping into the door and giving myself no way out.
“I had a great evening, thank you,” I say nervously.
“Me too.” His eyes never leave mine as he moves forward a half step more so our chests touch, and rests his hand on the door frame above my head. I feel the wisps of his breath on my lips as he tilts his head
toward mine and my senses go into overdrive. I can almost taste him. He lightly brushes his lips across mine, soft, inviting ... then his phone rings. We both jump at the intrusion, and I don’t know if I feel disappointed or relieved.
Denham pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “Damn …”
“It might be important. You should really see who it is. Anyway, I should go.” I turn and slip my card in the reader. The moment has gone, common sense has prevailed, and I really need to put a heavy, hardwood door between us for fear of what I might do if I stay where I am.
I step into my suite and leave Denham leaning against the door frame. “Goodnight, Mr. King.”
I hear him murmur, “Goodnight, Trouble,” before I softly close the door.
I wake to the sound of knocking. I have no idea of the time, but judging by the morning light it’s still early. I groan as I hear knocking again and I jump out of bed, throwing on a robe. I open the door and see the plump little man with the friendly face again.
“Breakfast, ma’am.”
I open the door wider, allowing him entrance and rubbing my hands across my face to wake me up. He wheels the trolley in, laying the table as he did yesterday and placing my breakfast down. There isn’t as much food as yesterday—pancakes and bacon, a pastry and a delicious pot of steaming hot fresh coffee. The smells invade my senses and my stomach rumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday.
“Thank you…” I take a look at his name badge, “...Anthony. That’s very kind.”
“Will there be anything else, miss?”
“No, no. This is more than enough.”
“Very well.” He nods and leaves with a smile.
I pour myself a coffee and realize that he left a package on the table. It is wrapped in crisp, white tissue paper with gold embossed edging and a little card tucked in the ribbon. I pull out the card and open it.
Trouble,
A beautiful woman traveling alone should not be without a cell.
Denham x
Oh no. He did not just do that. I rip the paper off the box to find that yes, he did. He has bought me a cell phone. I turn the phone on and a message instantly pops up.
