by Cass Kincaid
But she doesn't look away, and she doesn't push the gate open. It's a small victory, but a victory, nonetheless.
I offer her a crooked grin, and take a slow, hesitant step forward, feeling as though I'm dealing with a skittish wild animal that could be spooked at any moment. “Tell me your name,” I instruct her.
“That's it?” Her forehead crinkles in confusion, and it's an expression that I find surprisingly adorable given the circumstances.
“It's a start.”
She doesn't speak for a moment, obviously wondering what my game plan is, but finally the answer to the question that's been weighing on my mind since last evening is finally answered. “Josie,” she says. “My name is Josie.”
“Well, hey, Josie. It's good to formally meet you.”
She immediately scoffs again, and whirls around back toward the gate.
I'm afraid I've lost her this time, and in a moment of sheer panic, I blurt out, “Go out with me, Josie.”
The bright-eyed, black-haired woman before me stops mid step again, her book bag banging haphazardly against her hip with each jerky movement. “You cannot be serious,” she exclaims.
“Serious as a heart attack, Josie.” I quickly realize that, now that I know it, I can't seem to get enough of having her name roll off my tongue. “Just once,” I add. “That's all I ask. And if I'm wrong, and there's nothing between us like the chemistry I'm so convinced played a role during last night's little dance number, then you can chalk it up as one of those things that happens in Sin City that you never have to speak of again.”
Not for the first time, she looks like there's a war battling within her, trying to decide whether to give in to me or slap me for such a suggestion. “Unfortunately, your little stunt last night is something that I'll never live down because my friends were there to witness the whole damn thing.” There's obvious disdain in her voice as she explains. “Not to mention, I don't date strippers, not even in Vegas.”
It's my turn to wrinkle my forehead, narrowing my eyes as I match her defensive stance. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but that sounded just a little bit judgemental to me.”
“Call it what you want,” she snaps. “I just call it like I see it.”
“What you see and what the truth really is are almost never one and the same,” I bite out.
The sudden edge in my tone catches her off-guard. She at least has the decency to look ashamed, even if only slightly. “I'm sorry,” she says. “I wasn't looking to offend you, but—”
“Don't worry about it. It seems that I offended you last night, and you've done your best to offend me today. Let's just call it even.”
I have to admit that it stings a bit knowing she sees me as nothing more than a man who takes off his clothes for money, which actually isn't quite the truth, but her blatant disgust for my choice of profession only makes me want to prove her wrong about me even more.
“Good seeing you, Derek,” she mutters over her shoulder as she pushes through the gate.
I reach out for the wrought iron door before it latches, giving Josie a wicked grin. “So, what time should I pick you up?”
I reach out and let my fingers touch her bare forearm, letting them linger there a moment longer than I need to. Josie's gaze lowers to the spot where our skin collides, then back up to meet my own stare.
“You really aren't going to give up, are you?”
It might be the wrong response, but a light chuckle escapes my throat, and I shrug. “Seeing as your eyes are betraying that you feel that electricity between us the same way I can right now, no, Josie, I have no intention of letting you get away that easily, especially when I know you're tucked away in one of these hotel suites, too close for comfort.”
We don’t blink. I'm not sure she realizes she's biting down on her bottom lip, but it does something to me.
“Humor me,” I whisper. “One night, that's all I ask, Josie.”
She looks unable to get adequate air into her lungs, and her chest has stopped rising and falling with the anger she'd possessed only moments before. When her eyes meet mine again, there’s a faint hint of uncertainty in them, but what stares back at me makes my heart pound faster—desire.
“I'm in Room 703. Be there at 8 o'clock.” She takes a step back, pulling away from my touch. “And Derek? Don't be late.”
5
Josie
I don't like to be pestered. And I sure as hell don't appreciate being pressured into anything. That's why I caved.
Yeah right, I tell myself. You know better than that.
If that's all it was, that I just didn't want to have to stand there and listen to his persistent arguments for another minute, then I would have had it in me to turn him down and walk away, without agreeing to anything, and without giving him a second thought.
But here I am, wearing the just-in-case outfit I brought with me—the only pair of designer jeans I own and a purple backless, thin-strapped halter top that hangs loosely just to the waistband of my jeans, paired with a ridiculous pair of red high heels I’ve owned for three years and only ever wore once before. My dark hair is curled loosely, letting it trail down my back and over my shoulders. I've kept my makeup minimal, mostly because I'm more comfortable without it, but also because Beth has always been the one to apply it for me when we’ve gone out somewhere.
And, seeing as I didn’t have the guts to admit to her or anyone else that I was skipping out of the dinner we were all supposed to be having at the Irish pub near the Excalibur in order to entertain Derek's wild notion that we should go out for an evening instead, I’m on my own.
Looking in the mirror now, I can't help but be surprisingly satisfied with the job I've done of making myself look like I might actually know what I'm doing when it comes to dressing up and looking pretty. With any luck, I'll have him fooled just long enough for him to realize that there really is nothing resembling chemistry between us and we can go our respective ways without anyone else having to know about this stupid, clandestine rendezvous he’s talked me into.
I'm expecting him to show up, but the loud knock on the door still makes me jump. I take one last look in the mirror, smooth my hair, and go to answer the door.
Derek is standing there in another pair of jeans that I'm convinced must have been custom-made to fit him so perfectly, and a navy button-up shirt that shows off his muscular arms and chest beneath it. I'm still staring awkwardly at the way the skull tattoo peeks out from the collar of his shirt when he speaks, unable to hide his devilish smile.
“You look absolutely amazing,” he gushes, eyes wide.
His compliment pulls me back to the here and now, and I watch him as his eyes roam down my body, then back up, unabashedly. I can't even call him on it, knowing I've just done the exact same thing to him without even thinking about it. The only difference between him and I now is that he seems to be able to string sentences together, and I seem to be having a hell of a time getting beyond the fact that he's here, he's absolutely gorgeous, and he wants to spend the evening with me.
The man's a stripper, I tell myself. Get your hormones together.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes now locked with mine.
It's then that I realize we’re still standing in the doorway, and I'm blocking the entrance. Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I take a step back, waving him into the room. “I'm fine,” I reply. “Just...a little nervous, I guess.”
That gets Derek's attention, and he steps into the suite, immediately turning to face me just inside the doorway. “And what exactly is there to be nervous about?”
I can see the glint in his eye. The bastard thinks this is funny.
“I'm just not used to entertaining Vegas strippers in my hotel room, that's all.”
Derek rolls his eyes, staring at the ceiling for a moment, presumably composing himself. “You really need to get beyond the fact that I shake my ass and grind myself against women for money,” he says through gritted teeth. “It's a job, and it pays well. B
ut that's all it is, a job. It's not who I am, it's just what I do.”
Once again, a wave of sheepishness crashes through me and I feel a slight twinge of guilt for being so judgemental. I don't even realize I'm doing it, and the words seem to come out of my mouth before I fully think them through.
“I'm sorry,” I say with a nod. “I guess I just can't seem to comprehend why you do it.” I glance over at him. “That's an honest statement. I really just don't understand.”
My breath catches in my throat as Derek leans forward, invading my space and making it impossible not to feel the heat that emanates from him, mixed with the tangy, seductive scent of his cologne. A quiet gasp escapes my lips, and for a moment I'm petrified that he's going to try to kiss me.
Instead, however, his arm reaches across in front of me and he gently pulls my hand off the door that I'm still holding open. With a gentle push, he closes it. His gaze never leaves mine. “Then let me make you understand,” he replies quietly.
The unspoken promise in his words leaves me once again only able to nod my head in agreement.
Without further conversation, Derek's hand finds mine and he pulls me gently toward the couch that's near the patio door of my suite.
“Aren't we... going out?” I ask, suddenly mortified by the thought of having to share these very close, very intimate quarters for another second with the man that’s driving every synapse and nerve ending in my body wild, albeit with my mind's reluctance.
“We will, if that's what you want,” he tells me. “But I think I need to put your mind at ease a little bit, and maybe set a few things straight before taking you out on the town where there may not be a quiet spot for me to sit and tell you the things I think you should hear.”
“You don't have to explain anything to me,” I advise him, suddenly feeling ashamed of how I've obviously made this more awkward than it needs to be.
“Obviously, I do.” He gives me a sad smile, never letting go of my hand as he lowers himself onto the couch and pulls me down beside him. “You obviously have a predetermined view of me, and I suppose that's warranted, considering how we met.”
“My first impression of you wasn't exactly ideal,” I admit.
He swallows again. “The thing is, Josie, you’re more hung up on it than I am.” He doesn't sound angry, per se, but Derek is definitely letting me know that my perception of what he does or doesn't do is of little importance to him. In fact, I think the only reason he's bringing it up is because I keep bringing it up, and that makes me feel even worse.
“I just don't get it,” I repeat. It comes out more like a whine, the sound a child would make when being scolded. This is not how I expected this night to begin.
He offers me another soft chuckle, and squeezes my hand tightly, still entwined with his. “I'm not asking you to. I'm just telling you that I have my reasons, and that what I do and who I am are two very different things. And you'd be wise to remember it, otherwise I'll be forced to show you instead of just tell you.”
The mischievous smirk that dances at the corners of his mouth makes my face burn with embarrassment again, and my mind is immediately taken back to the night before, with Derek's body melded against mine, and the damp heat of his breath against my ear. Curiosity could’ve easily gotten the best of me, and I find myself wanting to ask him to elaborate. But, the shy, more reserved part of me wins out, and I realize I'm too afraid that he might make good on his promise. “I believe you,” I say instead, hoping to diffuse the fluttering his suggestion is causing in the pit of my stomach.
Derek must notice the flushed tone of my skin and the muted, flustered quality of my voice, because he only grins wider, looking like the cat that just ate the canary. “Good,” he says, letting go of my hand and patting my knee gently before removing it altogether. “Now, what kind of night in legendary Las Vegas are you looking for, Josie? Because whether it's fine dining at a place that will have me dancing during extra shows in order to foot the bill, or the seedy underbelly of the city that you're looking for, I can guarantee you that we wouldn't have to go far to find it. Whatever it is you want tonight, it's yours.” He flashes his pearly smile at me, winking. “Just name it.”
“Well, I'm not really a seedy underbelly kind of girl, in case you haven't noticed.” I flash him a smirk of my own, trying to hide the excitement I feel at having my choice of doing or going or being whatever I want.
It's my choice.
Derek nods. “I kind of gathered that when you chastised me for my less-than-noble career choice,” he teases. “I guess what I'm asking is, what kinds of thrills and stories are you wanting to take with you when you leave the infamous City of Sin?” He leans back on the couch, tucking his hands behind his head.
The mischief in his eyes has my stomach in knots, but he's also got me feeling something foreign, something undoubtedly dangerous.
I feel excited.
Spontaneous.
Whether it's the sexy way I'm dressed, the idea that I lied to my friends in order to spend time with a guy I've only just met, or the fact that this gorgeous man is sitting in front of me offering up anything I want within the limits of Las Vegas (which means there are no limits), I feel daring, for the first time in my safe, routine life.
“You sound like you know this city pretty well,” I say with a grin. “You like to take a walk on the wild side every now and again as well, do you?”
Derek's eyes glint, and very slowly and meticulously he leans forward, his face dangerously close to mine. “Is that what you're doing tonight? Taking a walk on the wild side?”
Damn him and his unbelievably intoxicating eyes. Derek is exactly the hazardous kind of mix I've done my best to avoid for my entire college career. He's sexy, he's intriguing, and he seems to always only be one breath away from suggesting something that might be a really bad idea, but hearing it in his voice makes it sound like a really good one. A really good one.
Emboldened by the drunkenness I feel at being so close to him, and taking in the sensual scent of the cologne he's wearing, the corner of my mouth twitches upward. “I don't know. Where would we have to go to take that kind of walk?”
Derek doesn't miss a beat. “Trust me, Josie, if it's the wild side you want, you don't have to go far to find it.” His eyes search mine, and whatever he sees in them makes him lick his lips to try to mask the wicked grin pulling at his mouth, and he swallows hard before speaking again. “In fact, if it's the wild side you're looking for, you don't have to go anywhere. Say the word, Josie, and I'll bring it to you. That's a promise.”
6
Derek
Josie is judgemental and rigid when it comes to her thoughts on the fact that I strip and dance as a career. She's been more than reluctant to spend time with me and give herself a chance to see me in any other light than the negative one she initially viewed me in.
But now, she's sitting beside me, and the curve of her mouth mixed with the faint glint of excitement in her hazel eyes is doing something to me, and in this moment I don't give a damn what she thinks of what I do outside this hotel room. All I can seem to focus on is the fact that she's here, she's listening to what I'm saying, and for the first time she seems open to taking me up on my offer.
Though I haven't technically suggested anything specific, there's an air about her that tells me she’s got a few ideas of her own, and she's just as into me as I am her, even if she refuses to admit it out loud. Hell, I don't even know if she's officially admitted it to herself, and again, I don't care. Because the way she's looking at me right now tells me everything I need to know.
Josie wants me.
I want her, too.
And, be damned if I know if that's actually a good thing or not, but it doesn't matter. If she's willing to go out on a limb tonight, I won't deny her that. I may not know the woman, but it's obvious she doesn't stray far from the stringent life she's built for herself, and she’s very accustomed to avoiding anything that might become conflicting or dramatic for
her or other parties involved.
That's fine, because I have no intentions of creating conflict or conjuring up drama for her. That stuff is reserved for the lives we lead on the other side of that hotel room door.
Right now, it's just her and I. And whatever that means, that's for us to know, and for Vegas to bury within its many troves of secrets.
Josie hasn't said a word. She's staring at me, her eyes flickering one way, then the next, taking in every feature of my face. I’m so close to her I could push my lips against hers with only the smallest lean forward.
I don't, though, and instead choose to let her make the first move. It's only right, considering the unease she's been harboring since I first set eyes on her last night. It's everything I can do to keep my hands to myself, wanting nothing more than to snake my arm out and draw her to me, to feel the heat of her body against mine.
I want to ask her what she wants, what her idea of letting loose means, what the woman does for fun. “Tell me what you're thinking about,” I whisper quietly instead. It's a demand, but it's spoken softly enough that it doesn't come across aggressively.
Her eyes flit across my features again, and I can see her processing my question silently. Finally, she breathes, “I'm thinking about what it would be like to not be me.” She runs her tongue along her bottom lip. “Just for one night,” she adds.
Her choice of words intrigues me, but instead I say the only thing I'm thinking in that moment. “You can be anyone you want to be, Josie. Even just for one night.”
Her eyes widen, as though she's just realized the truth of my words, and a second later, she closes the gap between us, crushing her lips against mine with such sudden fervor that I gasp. Not because I don't want her mouth on mine, but because I hadn't expected her to kiss me without at least some kind of warning. I didn't count on her kissing me so hard and so fast, and I also didn't count on the wave of all-encompassing heat that floods through me at the touch of her soft lips on my own.
