by Dori Lavelle
Fuck it. I relax my jaw and turn to open the small drawer on my side of the bed. The damage has already been done. I’m in too deep.
My eyes are closed as I roll the rubber over my painfully hard dick that’s begging me for release.
Shutting the thinking part of my brain off for a while, I encircle her waist with my hand, sweep across her warm, smooth skin toward the front of her body. I cup her pussy with my hand as she stirs to my touch. Her naked ass meets my cock and I know I have to have her now or else I’ll go crazy with desire.
I use my hand to position myself at the door leading into the warmest part of her, but she moves away and reaches behind her.
Her fingers glide across my dick. Smart girl. I know what she’s looking for. When she finds it, she presses herself into me again.
I close my eyes and get ready to slide into her again. Once I do, and her inner muscles wrap around my cock, I grunt with both pleasure and agony. She feels so right, so tight.
I hate myself for doing this. I hate myself for being weak. But as I thrust into her, I can’t find the strength to resist. I’m not sure I want to. Not right now. Not when she rubs her sweaty body against me and I sink deeper into her personal space.
10
Eva
A few minutes ago, he was inside me. Now he’s sleeping again, and suddenly shame is sweeping through me. I did so many things I had been taught were wrong. I had sex before marriage. I lost my virginity inside an elevator to a man whose name I don’t even know.
He knows my name and I had plenty of opportunities last night and this morning to ask him for his. But I didn’t have the courage. Maybe I thought it would be easier to walk away from an anonymous man. But is it?
Careful not to wake him, I slide out of bed. I can’t even look at him. I don’t want to remember how his handsome face looks when he’s sleeping, how his slightly crooked nose makes him perfectly imperfect. Avoiding looking at him doesn’t help much. Not when he’d been on top of me and me on top of him. I’d had a good view of his features. My mind has already memorized him.
Looking back would make it harder to walk away. He already made it clear that the time we spent together came with no strings attached and I had agreed. I had walked into the whole arrangement with my eyes wide open. I knew what I was getting myself into.
The sex was beyond anything I could ever have imagined, but it’s over now. I need to get out of his room before he wakes up and things become awkward and he asks me to leave. I already feel humiliated enough as it is.
I pad to the living room of the luxury suite where he ripped my clothes off.
My dress is crumpled in a small, black heap on the floor. My bra is hanging from a standing lamp. My panties are nowhere to be seen. I slip into my dress, then look for my underwear under and over furniture . . . everywhere. Nothing.
I let out a breath and open the door softly. Walking out of a one-night stand without underwear makes me feel like the kind of woman my father says is headed straight to Hell, but I cannot risk for the man in the other room to find me here. So, I run.
In the safety of the elevator, I close my eyes tight to shut out images of him making love to me against the walls, on the floor, and even against the door. I sigh with relief when it reaches the lobby and I walk out, my arms wrapped around my body.
Although my eyes are fixed at the rotating front doors, my skin feels the stares. It almost feels as though the other guests know what I did last night and they’re judging me.
Maybe I’m imagining it, but from the corner of my eye I think I saw a camera flash. No, that’s ridiculous. I just feel so naked and exposed even with clothes on. Can they see through me? Do they know I have no underwear on?
I manage to sneak out of the building without bumping into one of my colleagues. The Little Black Dress is open twenty-four hours a day and it would be easy to be seen. I’m not ready for any kind of questions right now.
My old Toyota is still in the underground garage, where I’d left it hours ago.
My shoulders drop with relief when I get behind the wheel and drive to my apartment with rap music blasting from the radio. I’m not a fan of the music, but it’s a great distraction from my thoughts.
When I enter the apartment and let out a sigh of relief, I’m thankful that Brynne works the hangover shift—between 2:00 a.m. and 8:00 a.m.—and we don’t get to see much of each other. She’s either at work or she’s sleeping. It’s 7:00 a.m. now but I don’t check her room to see if she’s home. I sneak into my room and close my door softly. I feel like a teenager who snuck out last night to meet a boy.
I’m unzipping my dress as I make my way to my bed. I frown when I catch something on top of the covers. A glossy tabloid magazine.
It can’t be mine because I don’t buy tabloid magazines. Maybe Brynne was in my room and forgot it.
My heart clenches when I come close enough to see the cover and focus on a thumbnail image in the right-hand corner. Even without the image being clear, and most of the lower body blurred out, there’s no mistaking that it’s two people making love. There’s no mistaking that the butt on that photo is mine.
My mouth drops open at the same time blood rushes to my head, making me dizzy. What the hell is going on?
My hands are trembling as I pick up the magazine to read the small words underneath the picture.
Billionaire Neal LaClaire caught with a prostitute. . . p.12.
Holding my breath, I flip to page twelve. The moment I see my eyes staring back at me, the magazine drops from my hands and hits the wooden floor. At the same time my heart crashes.
11
Neal
I tilt my head back and warm water hits my face. I close my eyes and allow it to take a shot at driving away the headache twisting my nerves.
Yesterday is gone. Now my plan is to take a shower, have breakfast to try and get rid of the hangover left behind by more than the alcohol I consumed last night.
After that, I’ll grab my stuff and get back to Boston to bury myself in work. I won’t be returning to Vegas anytime soon. Not after the way I tainted Sonia’s memories. After what I did last night, this is no longer just our place.
The only thing that will bring me back is business. Even then, it will be a fly-in, fly-out situation.
Work has been the one thing keeping me sane when times get rough. And they have been rough for a very long time. I can’t even remember the last time I breathed easy.
Now that I kind of fucked things up, I have more reason to keep busy. Unfortunately, the cocktail waitress with the body of a goddess wrapped in a little black dress had not only had an impact on my dick, she has somehow managed to sneak into my head.
I hate to admit I was a little disappointed to find her gone without a goodbye. But I know it’s for the best. I was the one who promised a no-strings-attached arrangement in the first place.
With time, I’ll forget how she felt in my arms, how I fit so perfectly inside her sleek, warm pussy. In a couple of days, her doe eyes will stop haunting me. The sooner that happens, the better.
As I step out of the shower, there’s a knock on the front door.
I take my time drying myself off and getting dressed before opening it. I can’t imagine who it could be as I’m not expecting anyone. My breakfast has already been delivered, ready to be eaten.
I’m surprised to find Caleb standing there, wearing a leather jacket and black cap that hides his blond locks, as well as dark shades. My guess is he’s trying to be anonymous.
In his hand is a rolled-up magazine, on his face a wide grin. “You’ve been a naughty boy, brother.” He slaps his right palm with the paper. “I had no idea you had it in you. You’re one of us after all.” The grin widens.
“What the hell are you talking about? And why are you here?” I step aside to let him enter.
“I’m talking about the LaClaire brothers’ obsession with prostitutes, well, the unmarried LaClaires, at least. That’s you and me.”
> I close the door and narrow my eyes at him.
“Whoa!” His palm meets his forehead. “You don’t know, do you?” He blows out a breath. “Come on, pour me a coffee. I’ve got something to show you. Go ahead and get one for yourself as well.”
“I’m not in the mood for coffee.” My brow creases as I approach my breakfast table.
“I suggest you get in the mood. You might need one.” He drops onto the couch.
I hand him his coffee and pour myself guava juice instead. I don’t bother to sit down. “What’s going on?”
He tosses the 24 Hours magazine at me. The trashy tabloid magazine prides itself on being the first to get hot news out to the public.
I lean against the table, gaze at the cover.
My chest tightens when my eyes focus on the small photo at the corner. When I take in the words below it, heat ripples under my skin.
“Who did this?” My voice is low as I look at my brother.
“You tell me. I didn’t have the pleasure of being there. The press has had an eye on you for years.” Caleb removes his cap and ruffles his hair. “You hate being in the papers. What were you thinking screwing a prostitute in an elevator? Those things have cameras.”
My head is spinning as I sink into the nearest armchair. That’s the problem. I wasn’t thinking. “They’re wrong,” I say. “She’s not a prostitute.” I ignore the headache that’s now wreaking havoc in my brain.
My plan was to get out of Vegas, to forget what had happened. But how can I do that now? How can I leave her to deal with the consequences of my actions? I was the one who seduced her in the first place. She could lose her job because of this.
“When are you going back to Boston?” Caleb takes a drink of coffee, the steam misting his glasses, which he removes.
“No idea,” I say. My voice sounds like it’s coming from far away.
“You might want to leave immediately. This city will be crawling with reporters hungry for your blood.”
“I can’t leave her to deal with it alone.”
“Who are you talking about?” When I don’t respond, Caleb laughs and then sobers up. “Shit. It was more than sex, wasn’t it?”
“Don’t be stupid.” I drop the magazine on my lap. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”
“Bryant bullied me into coming to check on you. He wanted to come himself, but Liam is sick.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t know you were this busy.”
I ignore his comment. “Is Liam okay?” Our nephew is hardly ever ill.
“Yes, I guess so.” Caleb crosses his arms. “He has a cold. Bryant said it’s nothing to worry about.”
“Good.” I lean my head back. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine. No need to babysit me.”
“Anything I can do to help you deal with this mess?” He points at the magazine on my lap. I can’t bring myself to look between the pages.
“No. Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it myself.”
Caleb shrugs. “Fine.”
He leaves after breakfast to fly to Paris. The guy is allergic to staying in one place for long. We all used to be that way at some point as we ran from our demons.
I stay inside my room for the rest of the day and head back to The Little Black Dress at the time Eva had her shift last night. I ask around, but she’s not there.
“She called in sick.” A black-haired cocktail waitress with tattoos on her arms smiles at me. “You’re Neal LaClaire, aren’t you?”
I nod and push my hands into my pockets. “How can I get in touch with Eva? Do you happen to have her number?”
“Sorry, I’m not allowed to give out that kind of information. But you could ask the boss.” She points in the direction to the office and walks away to serve her guests.
A pot-bellied, fifty-something man with a disappearing hairline welcomes me with a big smile. “It’s such a pleasure to have you visit us, Mr. LaClaire. I’ve read a lot about you.” I reluctantly shake his hand, his sweat transferring to my palm. “I’m Maximo Donatello, the owner of the LBD.”
He tries to make small talk, but I cut to the chase. “I need your employee, Eva’s contact details. It’s urgent.”
“I’m sure you have a lot to talk about after—”
Shit. His eyes tell me he knows.
“Sorry,” I say. “I can’t discuss that. How can I reach her?”
He hands me her address and phone number with no complications. One hell of an employer. Good thing I’m not a serial killer.
“I need something in return,” he says before I leave his office. “When you talk to the press, do mention The Little Black Dress, will you?”
12
Eva
It’s 5:00 p.m. and I’ve decided to get back to work after hiding out for a day, pretending to be sick.
The truth is that I’m embarrassed to face the world.
Brynne told me the girls at work already know what happened between me and Neal LaClaire, and the internet filled me in on just how wealthy he is. Here I thought Adrian was wealthy.
But the money doesn’t mean a thing to me. I wish I could undo what happened. When I left the hotel, I thought it was a good thing I didn’t know his name, but now I think if I had, I might have thought twice about having sex with him in the elevator. People like him are always watched.
I hate going out into the world, but I can’t stay holed up inside my apartment forever. My life has to go on, even with a tattered reputation.
I’m rinsing my plate of mashed potatoes when my phone vibrates inside the back pocket of my jeans.
It’s my father. I consider ignoring his call as I had the past few days, but I can’t avoid talking to him forever.
I pick up. “Hi, dad.”
“Don’t call me that.” His voice is hard and sharp. “You are no longer my daughter, not after what you did.”
“What I did?” My heart rate picks up. I do hope he’s referring to me coming to Vegas.
“I knew this would happen. I knew the Devil would sink his claws into you. I just never expected you to have sex with strangers in elevators . . . before marriage.”
“Oh my God.” I fold an arm over my cramping stomach, shocked that the story has reached my hometown. Someone must have seen me in the magazine and spread the juicy gossip.
“Your God? Don’t you dare call him that!” His angry voice booms down the line. “You don’t have a God. You worship the Devil. And you are his child, not mine.”
“Dad.” I lean against the sink, feeling dizzy.
Here I thought it would all go away. Now the scandal has reached City Lake. I can only imagine how the tongues are wagging behind my back. In a way, I feel a little sorry for my father. It will be torture for him to stand at the pulpit and face his congregation when his daughter has committed such a huge sin in their eyes.
“I have to go, dad,” I whisper.
“I meant what I said. You’re not my daughter. I gave you many chances to do the right thing and you went the wrong way. Goodbye, Eva.” He hangs up and I swallow the boiling tears pooling into my throat.
I stand at the sink for a long time, then I take a deep breath and push my shoulders back.
What happened, happened. I can’t undo it. I have to keep moving. Soon enough it will be over. Another story will pop up. Right now, I need to speak to Maximo, to make sure I still have my job.
I walk out of the apartment wearing my little black dress, which now only smells of detergent and my perfume. I’ve washed away the scent of sin, the smells of him.
A block away from where I parked my car, someone jumps in front of me, out of nowhere. It’s a man with greasy, gray hair and round glasses. It’s only when he shoves a microphone in my face that it hits me that he’s a reporter.
This is just getting better.
“How much did Neal LaClaire pay you to have sex with him?”
“Nothing.” I walk away fast, my head bowed, my cheeks burning with humiliation. My eyes are so blur
red I can’t quite see where I’m going. I can feel the stares, but I don’t look up.
Look what you’ve done. Your father will never forgive you. The mean voice inside my head won’t stop torturing me.
As I charge forward, I wish the ground would open up and bury me. I wish I could disappear and return when people have forgotten. Why can’t we fast forward into the future?
How did the reporter even know where I live? Who else is following me? I feel deep inside my heart that this is just the beginning. It will get worse before it gets better, if it ever does. At the end of this, my life will be completely turned upside down. I’m sure it’s going to take a lot of energy to turn it right-side up again.
I’m shaking as I finally get into my car and drive off in a screech of tires.
Yesterday, I was a normal woman craving a little freedom in her life. Today, America thinks I’m a prostitute. How could I possibly get past this?
13
Eva
Get out of the car, Eva. You can handle this.
All I need to do is get into the bar without being stopped by a reporter. It’s going to be tough because even with my untrained eyes, I see them lurking around The Millennium hotel, sniffing around for information like hound dogs. They’re trying to look inconspicuous in their caps and glasses, but I notice their eyes wandering. I see cameras poking out of coats and bags.
There’s no way for me to get inside the building without being spotted. The only reason they haven’t seen me yet is because I’ve parked my car on the other side of the road.
I pull in a trembling breath and hold it inside my lungs for a few heart beats before releasing it. I’m still shaken from running into the reporter back at my place.
I have two choices. To get out of the car and face the world or to drive off right this second and leave Las Vegas as quickly as I arrived here. I haven’t stayed long enough for anyone to miss me anyway.
