by Rose, Renee
Maybe I am.
Her eyes slide to the glass cases. Okay. Not the right necklace. I take it off her, scanning the merchandise. Corey doesn’t seem interested in anything. Maybe jewelry’s not her thing. It’s not going to stop me from trying to spoil her, though. I catch sight of an unusual piece in the corner. It’s a collar. Not really, but thinking of it that way makes me sprout a chub. It’s actually a beautiful piece with moonstones strung in a delicate daisy chain. But it’s short. Slave collar short. And the tiny white gold chain hangs down in back like a leash. I point to it and the manager scrambles to get it out.
“This is the one,” I say as I put it around Corey’s neck. She doesn’t even get a say. I want her to wear my collar tonight, and she’s going to wear it.
She fingers one of the moonstones. “It’s beautiful.”
I kiss the place where shoulder meets neck. “You’re beautiful. Come on, we have plans.”
“Do you want me to box that up for you, Mr. Tacone?” the manager asks. Sue, according to her name tag.
I shake my head. “No, thanks, she’ll wear it out.” I guide Corey out of the shop and direct her toward the elevators.
“Is it another game?” Corey’s voice is tight, and it hits me like a two by four that she’s wound up. She has PTSD from the last game.
I stop and spin her to face me. “Baby, what happened last time? That’s never going to happen again. That was a one in a thousand chance—a problem I didn’t see coming. I’m sorry you had to see it. I’m sorry I put you in danger.”
She sucks on her cheek. She might believe me intellectually, but she’s still keyed up.
“There’s no private game tonight. Not here, anyway. And you’re not dealing.”
Surprise flickers over her face. “What are we doing, then?”
I wink and incline my head toward the elevators. “It’s a surprise. Come on, amore. I’m not going to last long with you in that dress wearing my collar.”
She allows me to lead her to the elevator and doesn’t say another word until we reach the parking garage. Then she touches the necklace. “I knew that’s why you picked this one.”
I tug the chain in back. “Of course you did.”
* * *
Corey
Stefano leads me to a black Mercedes and he drives to the Venetian. I shoot him a quizzical look as we get out of the car at the valet station, but he just smiles and escorts me in.
I’m still confused as hell when he takes me to the poker room, takes out a grand in chips and sits down at a no hold em table.
“What are we doing?” I lean over and whisper.
“I’m testing your poker skills,” he murmurs back, nodding to the dealer.
“Oh.” I sit up taller. I’m suddenly intrigued, challenged and revved up. This isn’t some scary mafia deal he’s pulling me into. He wants to see me play.
I’m not sure why that’s a turn-on, but it is. His interest in me is always a panty-soaker, but knowing it goes beyond my good looks and extends to my brains, my skill, sparks more than just my libido. It lights up my tattered soul.
Stefano orders himself a whiskey, and I get tonic water with lime. I need to stay sharp. Stefano’s a decent player, but he seems more interested in observing me. After a couple hands, he gives up his seat and stands over my shoulder.
It takes me a little while to settle into it. I lose fifty bucks (of Stefano’s money, so who cares?) on the first three games. Then I stop trying so hard and just go with my first instinct on everything.
Turns out I’m the gut gambler. Who knew? I thought I would’ve been the cerebral guy.
Five games later, I’m up three hundred.
“Come on,” Stefano touches my elbow. “Let’s get you into a bigger game.” He leads me to a hundred dollar minimum table where I promptly win the next two hands.
Now I feel the energy around me, the way I usually see it with the gut gamblers. It comes in waves: from the people around me, from the cards, from my opponents, from the dealer. I swear I even sense it coming up from the floor, from the cards, and especially, from Stefano. His waves are constant. The others, they have dips and valleys. That’s how I know when to bet. When to hold. The energy goes flat for me, I fold. It gets juicy, I bet high. And it works. Every. Fucking. Time.
The dealer pushes stacks of chips my way. I’m up three thousand dollars. I get the nudge to cash it in. I glance at Stefano. “Should we go?”
He nods and I push the chips to the dealer to change them for higher denomination. She pushes six $500 chips my way.
“This is dangerous, Tacone,” I say as we walk toward the money-changing station. I slip the chips in his suit pocket. He bankrolled me, after all, and I’m on the clock for him. I figure he keeps my earnings. Besides, he just dropped almost a grand on my necklace—which I absolutely love.
“How so, bella?”
“I like it way too damn much.”
“Kind of like me?”
I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. “Just like you—a bad bet.”
“Mmm.” He gets in the line to cash out, clinking the chips together in his pocket.
Once again, I have the sneaking suspicion I offended him. Stefano may be the bad boy, but he doesn’t embrace it.
He cashes out and tucks the wad of rolled up hundreds in my purse.
“Thank you.” I steal a glance at him from under my lashes as he leads me out. I haven’t said thank you much to him. I’ve been a bitch, really. We got off on the wrong foot and now pushing against him has become a habit.
“Don’t thank me. You won it.”
I touch his arm as we stand at the valet curb waiting for the car. “I mean thank you for everything. For bringing me here. Showing me what’s possible.”
“Don’t go quitting on me to join the world-wide poker circuit.” He winks.
I smile back. “Not quitting. But I totally want to join the circuit.”
Stefano opens the passenger door of the Mercedes as it pulls up to the curb. “I can make that happen.”
My heart flip-flops in my chest. When he comes around to the driver side and gets in, I have to ask, “Stefano?”
He slides his warm brown gaze over to me as he pulls out. “Yeah, baby?”
“What are we doing?”
At first I think he’s not going to understand the question, but then I see a muscle tick in his jaw. He guns the car, zooming into the clogged traffic on the strip, the neon lights casting pink and blue hues across the tinted windows of the luxury vehicle.
“I don’t know.” His voice is tight—so different from his usual smoky notes.
Hearing that admission—because it sounds so much like truth—actually relaxes me. Stefano isn’t playing some game. He doesn’t have an ulterior motive.
He’s as lost to these forces as I am.
To the lust. The attraction. The magnetic pull to stick together, see how this thing turns out.
His hands grip the steering wheel too tight. It’s out of character for the suave, smooth-talking man I first met. He doesn’t speak the rest of the ride back, but when he pulls into the Bellissimo’s private parking area and turns off the car, he turns to look at me.
“I want you, Corey, all the fucking time. I need to be in you on a daily basis, but it’s not just that. I could sit and just watch you for hours. Hell, I just did! I want to know everything that goes on inside that beautiful head. So what is that?”
My breath comes in shallow pants, I can’t seem to close my lips. No one—no one’s ever said anything like that to me before. It’s not sugary, not romantic. It’s raw and plain and honest. My eyes sting for a moment until I recover. Stefano gets out of the car and slams the door. I can’t seem to move until he comes around to open mine and offer his hand. I climb out of the car.
“I don’t know. You try to define this; it’s not going to fit right. I’m not the one who’s gonna give you the white picket fence. I’m the guy who wants to pull your hair and slap your ass
and spoil you rotten.”
It’s almost too much to look into Stefano’s face. The intensity there rocks me.
“But you don’t want normal, right?” There’s something fierce and compelling in Stefano’s voice.
I fall into him. I hate my weakness, but being in the circle of his arms makes me strong again. Eases the tremors of uncertainty. He kisses my hair, his hand banding around the back of my neck and holding me.
“I want to take you upstairs and spank your ass red… fuck you until you scream. Then tie you up and do it all over again.”
“Well?” I lift my face to his. We’re nose to nose, so close I’m inhaling his whiskey breath. “What are you waiting for?” I whisper hoarsely.
* * *
Stefano
I’m itchy as hell to get my dick into Corey but my goddamn phone rings and it’s Leo.
“What’s up?” I take Corey’s hand and hustle her toward the elevator. Inside, I push her up against a wall and press my body against hers, leaning in to nuzzle her neck.
“Feds are here. They want to question you and Corey Simonson.”
Fanculo. “Where are they?”
“Nico’s office.”
“We’ll be up in a minute.” I hang up. Corey’s eyes are the size of saucers. “You heard?”
She nods.
“Everything the way it happened. Donahue lost, he left after Smith, we haven’t seen him since. Capiche?”
She arranges her face quickly and nods, already appearing composed.
“You sure?”
“I’ve got it,” she says, staring straight ahead.
I curse under my breath. “I’m sorry you have to do this, Corey.”
A muscle in her cheek jumps. “Yeah, me too.”
The gap between us widens, then, like a goddamn crack in the earth. She’s on one bank, I’m on the other. We’re talking to the feds. People she gets. She relates to. Is related to. And I’m the criminal. She could fuck me over with one word here. I know she won’t. Still, we’re on separate teams. I’m asking her to betray her team. She’ll do it for me, because… I don’t know. I’d like to say she loves me, but I’m not sure that’s true. We have a bond, though, I’m sure of that.
We head into Nico’s office. We’re not touching anymore: no hand holding, no standing close. The physical space between us is nothing compared to the psychic space.
Corey’s eyes are alert, attentive. She takes in the agents, shakes their hands. I think I see relief register after she meets them, but that doesn’t make sense. She doesn’t know these guys.
They take her into a room and question her. It doesn’t take long: ten minutes, tops.
When she comes out, it’s my turn.
I go in and sit down across from the two yahoos.
“Mr. Tacone, we’re investigating the disappearance of Eric Donahue. The last place he was seen was this hotel on the night of the 23rd. Do you recall seeing Mr. Donahue?”
I nod. “Yes. I met him as he was leaving. Kind of a douche.”
Agent Spinelli raises his brows. “Oh yeah? How so?”
I shrug. “He thought my brother would be here playing with him. He wasn’t thrilled it was just me and I only came in at the end. But what can you do?”
“So Mr. Donahue cashed out and left after you stopped in. And then what? Did you have any further contact with him?”
“None.”
“Did your brother?”
“Not that I know of. Did you ask him?”
They ignore my question. “Did you know Donahue prior to meeting him on the night of the 23rd?”
I shake my head. “Never met him, nor had I heard of him, other than to see he was on the list for the private game.”
“Anything else you can tell us about Donahue? His demeanor, anything he mentioned?”
“No. Average guy. Not a great player. He lost, but I wouldn’t say he’s the suicide type. But I guess you never know.” I shrug.
“All right, that’s all, Mr. Tacone. Thank you.”
I leave the room. Corey’s not in the offices, nor is she in the hallway. I head up to my room, but I already know she won’t be there.
This investigation draws a line in the sand.
She’s on one side of it, and I’m on the other.
* * *
Corey
I drive home after the questions from the feds because I’m too shaken up to stay. The hot sex with Stefano would’ve been tepid, at best.
Why were they questioning us at eleven at night anyway? Oh, maybe because that’s when the staff who worked the night the guy went missing are in the casino?
My dad wasn’t one of the feds asking questions, which was a huge relief. I seriously couldn’t have handled him in the same building as Stefano. I think I could combust. But his absence is curious. Does it mean he’s working undercover on this?
Or is it not his case and he just volunteered to question me because he knows I work here? Or more likely, because he heard about Sondra’s engagement?
What a dick.
My phone buzzes while I’m unlocking my front door. It’s a text from Stefano.
Stefano: Grrr
I standing just inside my door and stare at the screen, guilt splashing through me. We’d had an awesome date. I totally left him blue-balled.
I start to text sorry, but change my mind and hit the call button instead.
“Corey.” He sounds relieved I called.
“I’m sorry I ran out. I just… was unnerved and needed to regroup.” I drop my purse and keys on the table and kick off my heels.
“Yeah, I get it. I’m sorry you had to do that for me.”
For me. Our relationship has shifted enough that all pretense of threats are gone. He knows things are personal now. I am doing it for him. For sure.
“Rain check?” I fill a glass with ice water in my kitchen.
“Of course. Tomorrow night?”
He’s asking me. For once, Stefano Tacone is asking, not telling. It’s nice, not that I mind the telling, either. It suits him to play bossman and he does it so well.
“I should probably get some shifts in so I can pay my rent.”
“You’re still on payroll, baby. And you just made three grand tonight.”
“Oh yeah,” I laugh. I had actually forgotten because the money didn’t seem real to me.
“Next week I’ll get you in a high stakes game. See if you can win big.”
Judging by the way my heart picks up speed and my whole body turns on, I’d say I want this. How Stefano knows, I have no idea. Or maybe I’m just excited because he’s a part of it.
“You really think I can do this?”
“I do,” he says without hesitation. “But it’s not about whether you win or lose. That’s not why I’m entering you.”
“Why, then?”
“I think you’ll enjoy it. Stretch yourself a bit. Use your talents in a new way. I think it could be fun.”
My chest has gone gooey and warm. Since when did Stefano Tacone care about my fun? About my sense of fulfillment?
I experience a stab of guilt and not giving him the same kind of thought. All I’ve been doing is keeping him at arm’s length. Barricading my heart from the sexy playboy of the Bellissimo.
But he’s not acting like a player.
He’s acting like a boyfriend.
Now I wish I’d stayed the night at the Bellissimo.
“Thank you. It… it means a lot to me what you’re doing.”
I hear Stefano’s exhale through the line. “Tomorrow night, amore. You can show me your appreciation.”
My laugh sounds husky. I lie on my bed and bring my hand between my legs. “I can do that.”
“And expect punishment. You don’t leave me blue-balled without paying penance, bella.”
My pussy clenches. “I’m sure you’ll make it a good lesson,” I purr.
Stefano curses softly in Italian. “You kill me, you know that?”
“It’s mutual,”
I murmur. “See you tomorrow.” I end the call and fall back on my pillow, working my fingers between my legs as I picture my sexy as hell lover.
It’s definitely mutual, Stefano.
Chapter 11
Corey
“Why don’t you just move in here?” Stefano asks me a few weeks later. We’ve been seeing each other most every day, either at work or when he takes me off the schedule and brings me out on the town with him instead. Thanks to his continued interest in showing me what’s possible, I won ten thousand dollars last week playing poker.
This morning, I’m leaving his suite to go home for the day and he’s grumpy about it. I spend the night in his suite three or four nights a week, but he’s starting to put the pressure on.
“What’s in your shitty little apartment that you don’t have here?”
“Don’t be a dick,” I mutter, hopping to put on my high heels from last night.
“No really.” He knots his tie, completing the male model look and nearly drawing a sigh from me. “What is it? I want to know.”
“Well, a fully stocked kitchen for one.”
His face clears. “You like to cook?” He looks so happy, I almost blush.
“Yeah. I like to know exactly what I’m putting in my mouth.”
He smirks. “Ah. I get it. You need to control what you eat.”
I pick up one of his balled up socks from the floor and throw it at his head.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Shut up.”
He grins. “So you want a kitchen. We’ll kick Leo and Tony out of the top floor and move back into my place up there. Then would you stay?”
I flush some more. I’m still not ready to make that kind of move with Stefano. This is too intense. Too fast. I’m not someone who’s quick to trust and I definitely don’t give my heart away easy. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever given it up. I probably have my dad to thank for that, too.
Stefano’s smile fades. “Pack your shit, you’re moving.” His voice turned into Demanding Asshole Boss tones.
“You ordering it doesn’t make it happen,” I snip back.
