Holding Aces

by Nikki Groom

  Denham: Now I have your number and you have mine ...

  I giggle out loud and shake my head at his persistence. He’s forward, I’ll give him that, but he does it in such a way that isn’t overbearing. His light-hearted banter has been just what I need these last couple of days, he hasn’t pushed or pried and for that I’m grateful.

  Me: Do you always think of everything?

  It takes me the length of time to pour my coffee before a reply comes back.

  Denham: Yes

  Me: Thank you, it’s a thoughtful gesture, but I can’t possibly accept it.

  As much as I know he’ll be disappointed, I can’t accept this gift. He has been far too generous already.

  Although I feel like I know him, which in itself is unfathomable, he really is a stranger.

  Denham: You are an infuriating woman. Will you please just accept it as a gift? It would make me happy.

  I think about my reply before I send it. There is something about him that wants me to say yes because it will make him happy and that makes me smile. And part of me wants to run miles away from the complications that are sure to come from accepting gifts from strange men, but he doesn’t feel strange to me. He feels calming, familiar, and most of all he makes me feel safe which scares the hell out of me.

  I start to type a reply but can’t figure out what I want to say, so I put the cell down on the table and sit to eat the delicious breakfast in front of me. I manage two mouthfuls before it dings again.

  Denham: You know it’s impolite to return gifts?

  Denham: Just call it your cut of the winnings from last night.

  Denham: Pleeeeeease … I’m making puppy dog eyes over here.

  How can I refuse?

  Me: Fine, but please, no more!

  Denham: No more? As I told you about the spa yesterday it doesn’t count, right? You have a massage booked at 10 xx

  Me: Argh! Now you’re infuriating!

  He is infuriating, but also thoughtful and very sweet, so I decide to go with it.

  Denham: I know ;) Enjoy your day xx

  Me: Thank you for your generous gifts, Mr. King. And for breakfast x

  My finger hovers over the send button as I deliberate adding the ‘X’ at the end. It feels so intimate, but I also know that it put a smile on my face when I saw that he had added two. For goodness’ sake, it’s just an X. Now I’m just overthinking everything.

  I hit send.

  He makes me feel like a schoolgirl with a crush; the thought of him sends the butterflies in my stomach into overdrive and I’m not entirely sure why. I’ve never had feelings like this before. Maybe it’s a crush. I’ve never had a crush before, I worked hard at school, not really taking any notice of boys, so my first real boyfriend wasn’t until I was twenty-one and met Jonny. I was unsure of the direction my life was going in, and he won me over with lies and false promises, but I don’t ever remember him making me feel like this.

  I take my breakfast out onto the balcony and admire the view as I start to think about all the arrangements I need to make. I need somewhere to live, a job and I also need to have the car taken back to Aaron because there’s no way I want to face him again. That chapter of my life is gone, over and done with.

  Technically the marriage isn’t valid, but I don’t want to have to explain all of that to him, so it will be much easier to get a divorce and be done with it. That way he’ll be blissfully unaware and can hopefully move on and have the family he’s always wanted.

  I don’t know how many hours I’ve been here. I have no concept of the time of day as it has all gone by in an essential oil scented blur. I know it must be around late afternoon as I was brought a delicious lunch by the side of the pool and that was hours ago … I think.

  I had spa days with the wives in LA, but they never felt like this. Mainly because they were accompanied by a day of gossiping, backstabbing and bitchiness which I always hated. Today has been relaxing and indulgent as I’ve been buffed, massaged and moisturized to within an inch of my life. My skin now glows and my muscles feel wonderfully relaxed.

  My hair has also been cut, colored and styled. A good six inches off the length and taken back to my natural warm brown with just a few subtle highlights to enhance the layers. The makeup girls have done wonders with the bruising on my cheek, changing it from a nasty bluish-black to barely visible, and they have made my eyes look bigger and bluer. I can hardly believe the transformation.

  I thank all the girls that have worked their magic on me and make my way back to my room. When I pass the main desk, I look for Denham but he is nowhere to be seen. I haven’t heard from him all day and if I’m honest, I’m a little disappointed. When I get into the elevator I type out a quick text.

  Me: Your spa is wonderful, I have had the most amazing day, Thank you xx

  I don’t even hesitate with the kisses, I mean them.

  When the elevator stops at the penthouse, I exit and turn to my door. I immediately turn back and look at the door opposite. I haven’t seen anyone coming or going from that room, but the door has been left slightly ajar and I hear a soft sound that has me holding my breath and creeping closer. Someone is playing an acoustic guitar, soulful, enchanting laments, their fingers picking at the individual strings with meaning and skill. The playing suddenly stops mid-song and forces a sharp intake of breath from me. I rush across the landing to my door as quietly as I can manage, and fumble in my purse for my key card. I hear a woman yelling, a loud bang and the groan of guitar strings as it hits something. The sound makes me wince.

  Oh crap, it’s a couple fighting.

  Conflict of any kind makes me feel uncomfortable. I rush through my door and close it quietly so no one knows I’ve been there.

  Regardless of the occurrence across the hall, I’ve spent a couple of hours resting and feel so amazing after my spa treatments that I’ve decided to change and go out to eat.

  I choose a little Mediterranean restaurant with a view over the spectacular fountains. A waiter seats me at a table in the corner of one of the sweeping balconies and I order a drink before taking in the surroundings. Wouldn’t it be amazing to do this every night? To have this view and be surrounded by people who are visibly happy and enjoying their time in Vegas?

  Before my food arrives, a large, bald man in a suit appears at my table. I recognize him as one of the doormen who were at the casino last night. He has a neutral expression on his face but is still intimidating. He leans down to my table slightly before saying quietly, “Mr. King would like to see you, Miss. Jamesson. If you would follow me, please.”

  I’m a little taken aback, but not surprised that he knows where to find me. Denham King is very persistent, but I haven’t heard from him all day and I would really like to say thank you for my wonderful spa day. Who am I kidding? I’m excited at the thought of seeing him.

  I stand and follow the gorilla out of the restaurant. He leads me down a corridor, and my heels sink into the plush burgundy carpet as we walk past closed wooden doors of dark wood with gold surrounds. Stopping at the third door, the imposing doorman knocks and enters.

  “Miss. Jamesson to see you, sir …”

  “Thank you, Jack. Please show her in,” Denham’s deep voice beckons as the imposing doorman holds the door open for me to enter.

  I am met with a modest office, not what I’d expect the owner of such an opulent establishment to have. His desk is set in front of the door with a few filing cabinets lining the walls. I can only see two chairs. One which I presume is his—a high-backed, black leather chair positioned behind the heavy set desk. The other is placed in the corner of the room for guests, I imagine. The lighting is dim, giving the room a cozy feel, almost intimate.

  I step over the threshold and stop just inside the doorway. I’m frozen when I see him sitting at his desk, resting both his forearms in front of him, his hands clasped and putting an expensive pair of platinum and diamond cufflinks on display. His shirt is unbuttoned slightly, giving me a glimp
se of a hard, sculpted chest. Rough and rugged, but handsome and sexy as hell.

  “Come in and close the door, Miss. Jamesson.” He smiles at me as he speaks, but it’s not the warm, inviting smile I’m used to.

  I close the door carefully and stand right where I am. I’m no longer excited to see him; he has put me on edge and the look he is giving me is unreadable.

  “Good evening,” I say, smiling sweetly. I refuse to show him that I’m nervous.

  “Good evening, Nat-a-lie.” He says my name long and slow as drawing the letters out, testing how they sound. His head is tilted slightly to the side, his eyes are narrowed, and his stare is intense.

  My throat feels a little tight and I try to swallow the big lump that is forming. My stomach is clenching at the way he’s studying my reaction to him, so I raise my chin a little and draw back my shoulders, trying to hide the nervousness that he’s making me feel.

  He swirls the last of his drink around his glass. The ice cubes clink, accentuating the silence in the room as he makes me wait for an answer. He drains the last of his drink and places his tumbler carefully on his desk then stands, pushing his chair back with his legs. He walks toward me, his gaze fixed and his movements slow and deliberate. He has an inquisitive look and it’s making me feel like I need to be ready to bolt. He stops just inches in front of me and I instinctively back into the hardwood door. I place a palm flat on the door behind me, sliding it back and forth to try and find the handle.

  “Hmm ...” he groans, musing his next words.

  He’s not touching me, but we’re close enough that I can smell his intoxicating aftershave and the scotch on his breath. He raises his hand and strokes my cheek bone with the back of his fingers, inspecting the break in my skin. “Miss. Jamesson ...” He pauses and tilts his head the other way, focusing my attention on his rich-hazel eyes, the dim light making them look dark and mysterious.

  “You’re a very intriguing lady, do you know that?” He lets the question linger for a second before continuing “Tell me, who are you this evening, Natalie?” He lets out a small laugh and places his hands on the door, either side of my shoulders, and lowers his head to whisper in my ear. “Are you trying to con me? Is that what this is?” he questions. “I know about you … Arianna.”

  His close proximity causes my body to react, but his words cause me to stiffen. I feel the strength of his voice on his breath as it travels along my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

  Shit, he knows. How does he know? How much does he know? If he knows, who else does?

  “Are you playing me?” he asks.

  “No!” I shake my head vigorously, trying to convince him. I put my hands up to his solid chest to push him away, but he’s too fast for me. He grabs my wrists, pinning them above my head and holding me against the door with his body. My breaths are hard and fast as I struggle against his grasp. His lips are just millimeters from mine, and all my instincts are telling me to run, but my body wants more. I twist my arms to test his grip. He’s stronger, and his fingers tighten around my wrists.

  “Don’t try to run from me, Ari.” It’s a warning and the husky tone of his voice sends a shiver down through my body and settles between my legs, resulting in an ache there I’ve never experienced before. My lips part to let the heavy breaths escape and I can feel my heart beating out of my chest.

  “Let me out,” I demand through gritted teeth. I’m torn by the conflicting feelings that are being propelled through my body at lightning speed.

  Fear.

  Desire.

  The feeling of a double edged sword.

  “No,” he replies sharply. I look at him in surprise, then his voice softens and he returns to the man I’ve become familiar with. “If I thought for one minute that you actually wanted to leave, I’d let you go.”

  He releases a low groan before he kisses me hard and fast. It is unexpected and his kiss is unforgiving as he explores every part of my mouth with his tongue which is still cold from the ice in his drink. He steals the air from my body, but somehow gives me so much more than he takes. I feel something shift. Something give way. My resolve? Maybe.

  My sanity? Possibly.

  But there’s a chance that it could be something deeper and far more superior to that. I’m intoxicated with his presence and his persisting lust.

  He loosens his grip on my wrists slightly, I presume to test if I’m going to run, but I don’t, I can’t. The thought that he knows who I am terrifies me, but my body is on fire and I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything.

  He clamps both of my wrists in one of his big strong hands, running his other hand down the side of my face. His eyes don’t leave mine as he drags his rough thumb over my bottom lip, and my body reacts involuntarily. I nip the pad of his thumb and he hisses in a breath through his teeth.

  He leans into my neck. “Why are you hiding, Arianna?” he whispers before tugging on my earlobe with his teeth.

  He takes his hand from my cheek, dragging his fingers along my jaw and down my neck leaving a trail of heat on my skin. He grabs my breast roughly and I gasp with the forceful contact. My nipples are pronounced through the thin fabric of my blouse and he pinches one, hard.

  I cry out, arching my back toward him.

  “You’re avoiding my question.” His hand doesn’t stop kneading and pinching, his breath on my ear causing all the hairs on my neck to stand on end as he grinds his pelvis into me. Fuck, I’m not the only one affected here.

  “I … I’m not hiding …” My words come out with ragged breaths.

  “Don’t run,” he says before releasing my hands slowly, and I instinctively move to tangle my fingers in his thick dark hair. Both his hands move to my ass, squeezing and pulling me closer as he kisses me with a fierce tenderness I can’t explain. I vaguely register him flicking the lock on the door as he walks us backwards, never breaking contact. He turns me as we reach his desk, and I hear paperwork flutter to the floor and glass smash as he sends everything flying before lying me down on the cold, hard surface, his body pressed tightly against mine. I have a desperate need to touch him, to taste him, to feel every inch of this man. I slide my hands in the waistband of his trousers and pull out his shirt. I let my hands roam freely over his torso, realizing I’ve wanted to do this since the very first time I saw him at the elevator.

  He runs his hands down the length of my body and pushes them back up again, skimming my thighs and taking my skirt with them, exposing my lace underwear. “Stunning,” he says before bringing his mouth to mine.

  Tasting …

  Feeling …

  Testing …

  Our teeth crash together as the desire grows, and we both know it’s impossible to stop this now. “Arianna,” he says breathlessly. His chest is heaving and there are little beads of sweat gathering on his brow.

  “Yes …” I can barely form the word. I haven’t answered to my real name for a very long time, but it feels natural coming from him.

  “Tell me you want this ...”

  It’s a command, but I don’t feel threatened. I want this as much as he does. I nod my answer.

  “Tell me, Ari. I won’t touch you until you tell me.”

  “Yes, yes I want you ...”

  I hear a rumble in his chest before he slides his fingers into the corners of my panties and rips them off in one swift move. I gasp at the feeling of being exposed so suddenly, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on. I don’t usually like the feeling of losing control, but within the last five minutes Denham King has almost stripped me bare, more than just physically.

  He leans over and kisses me hard, making his way down my body with his hand and slipping his finger between my legs. Finding just the right spot, he works in circles, a relentless rhythm that brings me to the edge of release, then lets me back down again.

  My head spins and I want more of him, I need more of him. I make quick work of his belt and slide my hand into his trousers. There are no boxers or b
riefs in my way and my hand makes contact with him instantly. He pushes into my hand as I free him and he groans as I slide up and down his thick length.

  “Arianna, that feels ama—”

  He is cut off mid-sentence by a rapid knock on the door and I push myself up onto my elbows. I know it’s locked, but it’s broken the spell that I was under and reality is screaming toward me at a hundred miles an hour.

  Denham jumps up. “NOT NOW!”

  “Sir, you might want to come out here for a minute.” It’s the doorman, and he sounds nervous.

  “Just fucking deal with it, Jack.”

  “Sir, I would but—”

  “Shit, fuck!” Denham snaps. “This had better be fucking good, Jack.” He straightens and buttons up his trousers. His hair has that ‘just screwed’ look and his face is flushed. He holds my jaw firmly with his big hand and makes me meet his stare.

  “Don’t. Go. Anywhere.”

  I nod and he kisses me softly before striding to the door and turning to look at me. “I mean it, Arianna. Don’t move. I’ll be back in just a minute. Just let me sort this shit out.”

  He runs a hand through his disheveled hair and swings open the door with the menacing stance of an angry bear. He is certainly not a man to be messed with. I hear yelling from down the hall before the door is slammed closed again.

  I look around at the papers, shattered glass and my ripped lace panties discarded on the floor. I don’t know what just happened here, but I do know that I have to get out of here.

  Does he seriously think I’m going to stay here like some whore waiting for him to come back and fuck me?

  This is too much.

  He is too much.

  So I do what I do best. I run.

  THE ELEVATOR DOESN’T MOVE FAST ENOUGH.

  When I reach my floor, I push through the gap before the doors are even fully open and run to my door, but my hand hesitates to open it. My heart skips and I briefly question my haste. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to push him away. There’s a full-out battle happening between my heart and my head.