“Ms. Ramsey?” he ground out between clenched teeth.
An audible gasp escaped Olivia’s lips. “Dr. Douchebag?”
Chapter Four
Dr. Douchebag? For fuck’s sake, where had she come up with that one? And more importantly, why the hell did he care? It had been hours since the thorn in Cole’s side had become a literal pain in his ribcage, and yet he still couldn’t wipe the image of her out of his mind. Her wide eyes all innocent and her voice all breathy. For a moment, he’d nearly forgotten how much he despised the tenacious Ms. Ramsey. But of course, then she’d opened her big mouth and it had all come rushing back. Thank fuck for the fast-acting flight attendant or no telling what unpleasantries he would have been forced to endure for the remainder of the flight. The look of sheer embarrassment that heated her face as she was escorted back to coach was enough to make up for the elbow to the ribs, not to mention the spilled drink. Had been a shame to waste a perfectly good vodka tonic but the fact that it had left a sizable wet spot on Ms. Ramsey’s crotch made it somehow all worthwhile.
Cole chuckled to himself as he clicked open the next email in his mailbox. God, he was a bastard. But she’d brought it on herself when she’d busted through the plane’s velvet curtain.
A resounding bang echoed through Cole’s hotel room, pulling his attention from the very gratifying thought of Olivia Ramsey eating chicken in water while he feasted on filet wrapped in bacon and served with a side of black truffle risotto. He looked up from his computer to find the double doors to the Presidential suite flung open. Conor Lynch stood poised at the threshold still wearing his sunglasses despite having been indoors for at least the thirty-eight-floor elevator ride.
“Easy on the hardware, dipshit. You break ’em, you bought ’em.”
Conor blew out a long, low whistle. “Ho-ly shit! You’ve outdone yourself, my friend.” He stepped into the room and dropped his duffle bag onto the plush white carpet. “I mean, I’m used to your silver-spoon tendencies but damn, this is swank even for you.”
Decorated in pale turquoise and dark brown, the suite was what Cole’s interior designer would have called “retro chic.” Apparently, it was all the rage to spend large sums of cash on items that while new, looked to have come from a whacky aunt’s garage sale. Not that he had ever been to a garage sale, nor had it been explained to him in those exact terms, but whatever the lingo, the hotel had bought it hook, line, and sinker. Sinatra would have been proud. The entire place, while having all the modern amenities, appeared to have been furnished with the Rat Pack in mind. The centerpiece of the room was a large, U-shaped sofa which wrapped around a fireplace that was really more of a fire pit. Cole had turned it on when he’d arrived despite the fact that the temperatures outside soared into the high nineties. Sweltering temperatures aside, he liked the way the flames danced over the lava rocks. And besides, wasn’t that why God created air conditioning?
Conor’s gaze moved left, then right as he seemed to take a mental inventory of the suite Cole had booked for the long weekend, noting everything from the glossy white piano that sat in the far corner of the room to the mirrored bar that ran the length of the interior wall. His eyes narrowed on the rows of premium liquor bottles lining the glass shelf above the bar. “And those are certainly not standard mini-bar issue.”
“Not so fast. I don’t want a repeat of Cabo.”
“Hey, that donkey belonged to the groundskeeper,” he said, trying his best to feign innocence and failing miserably. “It’s not my fault the thing wandered into the resort.”
“The rest of the night certainly was. And the mini bar tab was more than the cost of the room.”
“Don’t be such a tight ass.”
“Says the one who’s not footing the bill.” Cole was teasing. For the most part. He’d known Conor since they were in boarding school, one as a scholarship recipient and one as the great grandson of the founder. They’d had little to nothing in common yet for some inexplicable reason became best friends. Go figure.
“This is the first boys’ weekend we’ve had in nearly a year thanks to the fact that the rest of you have decided it was time to be all responsible.” The tone Conor used made him sound like a petulant teen, which, come to think of it, wasn’t an entirely baseless description despite the fact that he was in his late twenties.
Conor let out an exasperated sigh as he made his way to the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Las Vegas strip. Cole didn’t need to join his friend to have a clear picture of the images that stretched out in front of him. He’d seen the view on more occasions that he’d even care to admit and could paint a picture from memory of how the flashing neon lights blended together with dancing fountains and palm trees and how the oversized billboards screamed about over-rated restaurants and overpublicized stage shows.
Conor stood motionless for a few moments then followed the wall of windows to the far side of the corner suite, where the view overlooked the hotel’s five swimming pools. “I mean, come on, we’re in Vegas, baby!”
“I swear if you even so much as whisper ‘what happens here, stays here’ I will send you down to the pool, no elevator needed.” Conor open his mouth but before he could even get a word out, Cole added, “And the same goes for any reference to The Hangover.”
“Dude, you are such a buzz kill.”
“I have work to do.” He’d had one hell of a day and thanks to the time change there were still several hours of it left. Between his grandmother and the latest batch of emergencies at Grant Industries, he’d spent his entire morning on the phone. He’d actually been looking forward to the three-and-a-half-hour flight as a respite from the insanity. The anonymity and lack of phone communication were the exact reasons he’d opted to fly first class at the last minute versus taking his private jet. Hell, he might have even watched a movie for once. But then trouble fell right into his lap. Literally. Thoughts of Olivia wriggling against him as she struggled to recover her bearings if not her pride, caused his cock to stir in his pants. Fuck this shit, he thought. Taking a deep breath, Cole opened an email from his CFO and redirected his thoughts and attention to next quarter’s financial projections.
“Well, it’s quitting time back home so ditch the necktie noose and let’s go out. I’ve been in this den of iniquity for over an hour and there’s not an ounce of alcohol in my system.”
“It’s too early to go out.”
“Not if you’re drinking at the pool.” Conor lifted his sunglasses and pressed his forehead to the glass. “I spy with my little eye . . . Fuck me, is that a topless pool?”
Cole tightened his gaze on the spreadsheet illuminated on the screen in front of him. “Umm . . . yeah, think so.”
A shadow crossed Cole’s desk. He looked up to find his friend standing in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. “What the actual fuck? I tell you there are topless beauties at the pool and that’s all you have to say? This is more serious than I thought.” He reached out to feel Cole’s forehead. “Do you have a fever?”
“There is nothing wrong with me,” Cole said, batting Conor’s hand away. “And you can’t tell if they’re beautiful from this height.”
“True, but I know damn well that after enough vodka and Red Bull they will all be fucking gorgeous.” He closed Cole’s laptop. “I’m declaring this a work-free zone. No laptops or phones until we’ve both gotten laid. Twice.” Conor started to turn away then added a caveat. “And a threesome doesn’t count.” He cracked a grin. “Well, it can, but only if we have more than one.”
“You’re a pig, do you know that? I mean, I know I’m a douchebag,” Cole said, referencing the less than eloquent Ms. Ramsey. “But you make me look like a goddamn saint.”
Seriously though, what was that all about anyways? Ruthless in his endeavors? Sure. Lacking in regard for the snotty-nosed flying rodents that stood in his way? Absolutely. He’d even go so far as to say he was an asshole. But a douchebag? Usually a woman had to know him intimately bef
ore she hit him with that moniker. His relationship with Olivia Ramsey was adversarial, but strictly professional. Scratch that. Truth be told, it wasn’t even that. More stalker and victim. Ninety percent of the time they’d spent together had been in a Starbucks with the other ten percent being comprised of her tailing him to and from his car. All at once the image of Olivia’s denim-clad ass, swaying as she marched down the street with more attitude than sense, popped back into his mind. And this time there weren’t enough spreadsheets in the world to convince his cock it wasn’t time to play.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“I changed my mind,” Cole said. He had to get these crazy thoughts out of his head once and for all, and a cabana full of scantily clad women would do just that. “A little pool time is exactly what I need.”
Chapter Five
Olivia peered over the top over her sunglasses at the sea of dark wicker lounge chairs. There were literally hundreds of them and yet not an empty one in sight. They’d all been claimed by late afternoon sunbathers or at the very least their bright green towels.
“I think I see two over there.” Cassie lifted her hand and pointed in the direction of the bar. “No wait, my bad, it’s a daybed.”
“Should we spring for one of those?” Normally Olivia wouldn’t have even considered such an extravagance, but they’d already circled the main pool twice, and the lack of seating was putting a serious kink in their plans. She and Cassie had hoped to catch a few desert rays before the weekend festivities kicked into full swing. Nothing too tropical, they both burned more easily than they tanned, but maybe just enough to bring their pasty Chicago skin back to life.
“Already thought of that but the pool guy said they go for six fifty.”
“Dollars?” Olivia gaped at the elliptical pod. Sure, the thick cushion dotted with pillows looked comfy, but why in the world would someone pay six hundred and fifty dollars to lay on a mattress next to a pool? Coleman Grant probably would. On second thought, he was more the type to prefer a private pool over swimming in water shared by the masses. In fact, he was more than likely lounging by a secluded rooftop pool at that very moment, sipping some hard to find handmade tequila while women in bikinis fanned him with palm fronds and fed him peeled grapes.
The image of Cole surrounded by a gaggle of coconut-scented women caused Olivia’s pulse to race. With what, anger? Contempt for the lifestyle of the one percent? She certainly felt both of those emotions when she thought of Coleman Grant, but this was something more, something hotter and tighter, like an itch under her skin. If she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn it came close to . . . jealousy. Jesus, what was wrong with her? Maybe Cassie was right, maybe she had transferred all of her hate into some sort of twisted attraction. How else could she explain the fact that nearly every topic somehow connected back to him? Not to mention the reaction she’d had when she fell into his lap on the plane.
Just the thought had the warmth of embarrassment creeping back into her cheeks. If she’d tried, she couldn’t have made a bigger fool of herself. Yet there was no denying the effect he’d had on her. Her breath had caught, no doubt thanks to the tumble she’d taken, but when he’d wrapped his arms around her she’d nearly gasped out loud. And when his hold tightened, pulling her close to his chest, her nipples had hardened against the lace of her bra. And to her absolute horror, it wasn’t his spilled drink that had dampened her silk panties by the time she was back on her feet. Then again, when he’d shifted her in his lap, it certainly wasn’t the seat belt that had prodded against her ass. And when she’d pulled back to meet his questioning stare, it wasn’t contempt that had filled his fiery gaze. It was something far more complicated. And although it only lasted for a few seconds she was quite sure what she saw reflected in Cole’s clear blue eyes was the same traitorous lust that coursed through her veins.
“It’s completely ridiculous,” Cassie said, still talking about the overpriced loungers. “I didn’t even bother to ask him about the cabanas.” She snorted. “Bet they cost more than my rent.”
“Worth every penny though,” a voice from behind them said.
The girls turned as one to face their eavesdropper. His light brown hair was wet, either from the overhead misters or a swim in one of the many pools, and his bare torso glistened with beads of suntan oil. He wore a pair of pale madras swim trunks that were slightly frayed at the bottom, what appeared to be a shark tooth necklace, and mirrored aviator sunglasses. And while his smile was somewhat leering, it conveyed a certain boyish charm as well. Olivia sized him up on the spot. He was the quintessential weekend party boy. Harmless in small doses, but easy to OD on if you weren’t careful.
“You rented one of those?” Olivia asked.
“Sure did. Well, sort of. My friend did.”
Cassie giggled. “So worth his pennies?”
His grin widened, revealing perfectly white teeth. “Ah, see, we haven’t even met yet and already you’ve discovered the secret to my success.” He held out his hand. “Conor Lynch.”
“I’m Olivia and this is Cassie.” Olivia extended her hand to shake his but instead he brought her hand to his lips. He looked up at her, making eye contact over the rim of his shades as he pressed a soft kiss to the back of her hand, and winked. Yup, this one was trouble all right. But sometimes trouble could be a lot of fun.
“First time in Vegas, ladies?” He took Cassie’s hand next, and she blushed when he treated her to the same over-the-top introduction.
“That obvious?” Cassie asked. She reached behind her to smooth the fabric of her floral sarong then gave the edge a gentle tug.
Giggling, blushing, and fidgeting? Looked like someone was getting their flirt on. Olivia smiled to herself. Might be hope for this weekend yet. She took a tiny step back, leaving her friend front and center.
Conor chuckled. “No. Well, yes. But that’s not a bad thing.”
“Seems we have a lot to learn,” Cassie said.
“Hmm,” he agreed. “And contrary to what you might have picked up watching The Hangover, the first rule of Vegas is to book a pool chair online before you arrive.”
No kidding, Olivia thought. Her eyes darted across the expansive pool deck where those in the know were enjoying the dry heat. They were stretched out as far as the eye could see in all imaginable poses: on their backs with dark glasses shielding their eyes as they read; on their stomachs, propped up on their elbows with their legs kicking playfully through the air, zonked out enjoying a mid-day snooze; or on their sides, lazily stroking their fingers across the skin of their significant other. The one thing they weren’t doing was wasting their afternoon circling like some sort of lounge chair vulture.
“Tell you what.” Conor crossed his arms over his broad chest in a move that was no doubt intended to accent the definition of his biceps. “Why don’t you let me be your official tour guide for the day? I’ll start by bringing you back with me to the cabana party. But I must warn you, bathing suit tops are optional up at that pool.” His lips curved into a grin that was somehow both dirty old man and harmless horny teen.
Cassie blinked hard. “Um, thanks anyways,” she said. “But I think we’ll stick to the main pool.”
Conor glanced around at the crowd. “Are you sure? We’ve got a DJ spinning some sick tunes. Vodka and . . .” A toddler in water wings ran by squealing at the top of his lungs. “And none of that. Oh hey, did I mention vodka?”
Cassie gave an awkward laugh. “We appreciate it, but honestly, we’re fine here.”
“If you change your mind we’re the one on the end.” He kicked his chin in the direction of the green and white striped cabanas, then flashed them a grin. “Until we meet again, ladies.”
Olivia waited until he was out of earshot before asking the burning question. “Why did you say no?”
“You can’t be serious? Why on earth would you want to spend the afternoon as part of a harem of topless women?”
“We don’t have to be part of anyone’s harem.�
� One shoulder raised in a shrug. “But the rest of it sounded pretty cool.”
Cassie’s eyes grew as wide as silver dollars. “Even the topless part?” she squeaked.
“I’m not saying for sure either way.” Olivia grinned. “But maybe.”
“You’ve lost your mind. Did you hit the mini bar while I was in the bathroom? Like ALL of it?”
She hadn’t, but her airplane buzz was long gone, and at the moment all Olivia wanted was a lounge chair and cocktail with a tiny umbrella. Their newfound friend was offering both.
“Come on, we’re in Vegas. The rest of the group doesn’t land until later tonight or even tomorrow, which means we can be blissfully anonymous. Let’s let our hair down.”
“Don’t you mean let our tops down?”
Cassie’s teasing grin was the only green light Olivia needed. She hooked her arm through her friend’s and led her up the stairs to a secluded area shrouded by meticulously trimmed topiaries. Before they’d arrived, Olivia had read a description on the hotel’s website that had referred to the pool as “ancient European,” but with the exception of the Romanesque statues everything about the place screamed of modern-day Sin City.
In the distance, a DJ spun tunes on a raised platform while in the water several girls smacked brightly colored beach balls back and forth across the pool. Watching, Olivia couldn’t help but wonder if the hotel had ulterior motives for providing the inflatables since at the moment they weren’t the only things bouncing in the air. Jiggling and giggling aside, this hidden oasis offered one undeniable perk: plenty of seating. The entire place seemed to be one big daybed. And unlike the main pool, this Garden of Eden was strictly for adults. Not a swim diaper or water wing or toddler in sight. Unless you counted the full-grown male variety. Speaking of . . . Olivia scanned the cabanas for the man child who had offered to be their tour guide. He wasn’t hard to find once she zeroed in on the area with most topless women.
Black Tie Optional (Wild Wedding Series Book 1) Page 3
