He led her through the casino, situated beneath the base of an imitation Eiffel Tower and flanked by faux Parisian streets complete with more cafés and patisseries. Since they’d missed breakfast, they stopped into one of the French bakeries for some fresh, flaky croissants.
“Mmm,” she purred, taking the first bite at the little café table where they’d settled. “This is heavenly.”
He couldn’t help smiling because her soft little moan reminded him of when he was touching her, just starting to get her excited.
From the Paris, they ventured across the street to the grandeur of the Bellagio, another Italian-themed hotel, famous for its “dancing fountains” that lined Las Vegas Boulevard. Although the whole place was lavish—and he’d gathered that Brenna enjoyed lavish—he mainly took her there to see the glass ceiling by artist Dale Chihuly, composed of hundreds of hand-blown, brightly colored glass discs suspended above the lobby.
“Oh my God,” she said, leaning back to peer upward. “You could look at this all day and still find new parts of it. Amazing. I wish I could just lie on the floor and stare up at it a while.”
Damon grinned at her girlish enthusiasm, then glanced around. “I’ve got a better idea.” Taking her hand, he led her to one of the plush sofas situated beneath the hanging sculpture and took a seat. “Lie down here beside me and rest your head on my lap. That way, we don’t have to worry about anybody stepping on you.”
She giggled, then did as he’d suggested, her auburn locks fanning across his thigh. He watched her vibrant green eyes as she explored the colors and shapes above, until finally she concluded, “I could get lost in this. It’s like…something you’d see in a dream.”
From there, he led her a bit farther up the Strip, crossing Tropicana Avenue to the Excalibur, where she seemed wholly entertained by the medieval theme, then onto the pyramid-shaped Luxor and classy Mandalay Bay, where they visited the shark tank and stopped to play a little roulette. He’d never seen anyone so amused by winning ten dollars on a spin as Brenna.
Of course, at each stop, he took the opportunity to pop into a bar or lounge where he knew someone—asking if they’d seen any good bands lately—and got a couple of leads. He also introduced Brenna, explaining she was joining him in A&R duties at Blue Night. He always saved an evening or two on trips like this for checking out acts he learned about along the way, and he started making notes as they hopped the tram from Mandalay back to the Excalibur, then took the elevated walkway across Tropicana Avenue to New York, New York.
As they meandered the winding streets laid out inside the resort, Brenna asked, “So, does this place do New York justice?”
He shrugged. “It’s…an entertaining facsimile. It doesn’t exactly feel like home, but I guess it’s as close as you can come on this side of the country.”
After a few hours of hotel tours and networking, Brenna announced she was hungry, so they stopped into a deli on one of the faux New York thoroughfares for sandwiches, and as he sat across from her eating, it hit him how much fun he was having. Just eating a freaking sandwich with her. Walking around with her and showing her things she’d never seen before. Watching the way her eyes lit up with wonder at every turn.
He supposed he’d just gotten so accustomed to plastic women that Brenna was a pleasant departure. He hadn’t ever actually thought of them that way before now—as plastic—but that pretty much described the women he usually hung out with. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with them—but Brenna was so different, so open, so willing to let her insecurities show. And the way she ran the gamut from eager, dirty sex nymph to wide-eyed innocent—hell, she just made them look so…two-dimensional. Flat. Unreal.
In fact, when was the last time he’d really enjoyed socializing with a woman when it didn’t involve sex?
Shit—it was a sobering question.
Because he wasn’t quite sure he…ever had.
Unless he thought back to Angie. But again, that was a lifetime ago. In another world. He was a far different person now than he’d been then.
“What’s wrong?” Brenna asked.
He jerked to attention. “What? Nothing. Why?”
“You just have a weird look on your face.”
Hell. People seldom accused him of wearing weird looks.
He considered just being honest—as honest and open and forthright as she would be if the situation were reversed—saying: I just like you, that’s all. I like you and I don’t quite remember the last time I really, honestly liked someone I was fucking. But instead he just smirked and said, “Thanks.” And, on impulse, threw a potato chip at her.
At which she laughed, then threw a small handful of them back.
Which, for some reason, made him like her even more. He pointed a scolding finger at her and said, “Knock it off,” unable to hide a slight smile. “You’re supposed to be a hip, cool A&R rep. We don’t have food fights.”
Her expression went from amused to confused. “Didn’t you throw the first chip? About ten seconds ago? I thought maybe this was part of my training.”
He tilted his head, crossed his arms, and at least tried to get honest. “Let’s just say…there are moments you make me forget we’re working here.”
Across the table, she lowered her chin. “It so happens you’re more skilled at combining work and play than anyone I’ve ever met.”
He shrugged. “It’s a gift.” And wondered what the fuck he was doing saying shit like that, about her making him forget things. Crazy talk. And it was time to change the subject. “Are you gonna eat those chips or throw them? We should take off—we’ve got a big night ahead of us.”
Three
After heading back to the Venetian, Brenna and Damon went their separate ways, to their separate rooms, to get ready for the evening. She’d had a wonderful afternoon with him, but given that it was around a hundred degrees outside, she definitely needed a shower before they set out for a night of scouting new talent.
Of course, as she ran the soap over her body, letting the warm spray rush down, she remembered getting so wet and sudsy with him last night. She remembered the best, most powerful sex of her life.
And she thought of what a fun time she’d had with him today and how, somewhere along the way, a most amazing thing had happened: new Brenna had faded. Into some combination of new Brenna and old Brenna that, together, equaled what she could only now think of as real Brenna. Because nothing she said or did with him was pretend anymore. It was no longer calculated or planned or practiced—somehow she’d just started being herself with him, a self that was sometimes silly, sometimes sultry, and everything in between.
She couldn’t help thinking that Damon had uncovered this new, real her. And that without the past few days she never would have found it, never would have felt so…fully realized and whole as she suddenly did now.
Stop thinking that way, she reprimanded herself as she slipped on a beaded tank top and miniskirt. Because thinking that way made her feel all warm and connected to him. Not only physically, either. Emotionally, too. And there was no place for emotion here—was there?
Shit. Stop this.
Standing before the vanity to apply makeup, she decided to make some mental rules for the rest of this week:
1. Learn your new job.
2. Concentrate on the physical aspects of the relationship.
3. Ban any and all emotions that equate to romance or attachment.
4. Keep right on pushing aside any thoughts of how you’re deceiving him.
5. And fuck his brains out every chance you get.
She decided to especially concentrate on number five, and given that the night was coming on, the lights of Sin City beginning to glow in the dusk outside her wall of windows, she figured she wouldn’t have to wait very long.
Four
They’d decided to return to Mon Ami Gabi for dinner, and all through the meal, Brenna tried not to let him affect her. She tried to ignore the way his eyes sparkled when he s
miled at her; she tried not to feel the way he’d grown slightly more open and playful with her over the past days.
Of course, beneath her skirt, her pussy wept with wanting him, so the physical part of her quest remained right on target. But damn it—he just kept making her feel so…so girlish, almost even romantic. So some of her rules seemed almost impossible to follow.
The heart wants what the heart wants. Her mother used to say that to her. This wasn’t the first time in her life she’d liked a guy she shouldn’t—starting with her friend Lana’s boyfriend in high school. That’s when her mom had first imparted those words, and they came back to her now.
The truth was—she knew what her heart wanted.
But that still didn’t mean she could have it. Just like she couldn’t have Lana’s boyfriend, either—she’d never gotten him, in fact had never even tried, and Lana had never known. She’d done the right thing back then, and no one had gotten hurt. She only hoped she could be so smart and in control this time around.
“Dinner was quick,” Damon said, checking his watch after he slipped a credit card in the leather binder the waitress had just left. “Too early yet to hit the clubs—we’ve got an hour or so to kill.”
“I can think of a good way to kill an hour,” she flirtatiously replied, unable to resist running the edge of her shoe up his leg under the table.
As usual, those beautiful brown eyes twinkled as he tilted his head and sent her a naughty little grin. “Too bad you like it in private so much, because we don’t have time to go back to the hotel. We’ll have to come up with something more boring.”
After flashing a teasing smirk, she looked around them—at the cars and limos rushing up and down the Strip, at the Bellagio’s fountains across the boulevard, at the Las Vegas night beginning to hum with excitement—and her eyes landed on the Eiffel Tower just a stone’s throw away.
“Let’s go to the top,” she said, pointing.
“I’ve never done that.”
“Oooh—so finally I get to give you a new experience.”
Ten minutes later, Damon had purchased the tickets and they were riding the elevator with an elderly couple and a young family—all 460 feet up, according to the guide, who also pointed out some of the more noticeable landmarks such as Caesars Palace and the Mirage visible from the elevator window.
Stepping onto the viewing platform a moment later, the warm night air hit Brenna like a brick—but somehow she found it more invigorating than oppressive as it came with a hot breeze that, combined with the view, reminded her she’d probably done more real living in the past few days than ever in her life.
“Wow,” she said, stepping up to the railing. Like many tall structures, the platform was surrounded by small bars of crisscrossing steel, a sort of netting to keep people from falling—but every so often, there was a break in it to allow visitors a clear view. In addition to the hotels and casinos lining Las Vegas Boulevard, the tower’s panoramic view afforded a look at the desert valley and, to the west, the last remnants of the sunset shone behind a silhouette of mountains.
Damon stepped up next to her. “The view isn’t nearly as good as from the real one in Paris, but I have to admit, it’s not bad.”
She turned to look at him. “You’ve been to Paris?”
He nodded easily. “A few times.”
What was she thinking? Of course he’d been to Paris. He was Damon-freaking-Andros, after all. At moments, she almost forgot that—she’d finally quit being as starstruck as in the beginning, she supposed. But then, at other moments, it came back to her with startling clarity.
“Why do you suddenly look sad?” he asked.
She felt like a total baby but answered honestly. “Envy, I suppose. I’ve always dreamed of going to Paris. And other than a few beach trips back in college, and then moving to L.A., I’ve hardly been anywhere. I guess seeing the hotel today and now this—even if it’s just an amusement park sort of reproduction—brought my wish back.”
He covered her hand with his. “You’ll get there.”
She tilted her head. “What makes you think so?”
“You’re going brand-new places right now, Brenna—both figuratively and literally. A whole new world is opening up for you. You’ll get to where you want to go.”
He spoke with such confidence that it did something to renew hers. Having reflected earlier—even just briefly—on her deception had begun to make her doubt she was doing the right thing, just a little. Now that she knew him. And liked him so much. And the truth was, watching him walk so self-assuredly up to bartenders and club managers to talk music and business left her feeling a little…intimidated. Like no matter how good an ear she had for music, she’d never be able to do certain parts of this job well, or with comfort. But now, with Damon reminding her of the far-reaching rewards such a job held—travel, luxury—she felt a refreshed energy and determination about it all.
“I suppose you’ve been to Venice, too,” she asked, casting him a sideways glance.
He nodded. “Only once.”
“Only once,” she mimicked, unduly pleased when it made him laugh even as he eased a warm arm around her shoulder. “You’ve ridden in a gondola, too, I’m guessing.”
He shrugged. “No other real way to see the place.”
She rolled her eyes at him, and he kissed her—which pretty much killed her jealousy and reawakened the lust she’d been feeling at dinner.
“Forgive me?” he asked softly, leaning his forehead to touch hers.
“For?”
“Going all the places you want to go.”
She teased and flirted. “Another kiss might help.”
This time, though, the kiss wasn’t the short, quick kind—his warm mouth pressed firm to hers, his tongue snaking moistly between her lips. When her own tongue met his, she gushed with moisture in her panties, and like it or not, the romance of the moment, the night, the warm breeze, took hold of her, and there was little to do but surrender to it.
Which is when he moved behind her, wrapping around her, his arms circling her waist, his solid body pressing against her back, ass, thighs. Having sex with Damon Andros was an experience beyond her wildest dreams, but this—being held by him in the dark, looking down on the Las Vegas Strip, feeling at once as if they were in the center of the universe and at the same time blissfully alone—this held an undeniable magic of its own.
“This is nice,” she whispered over her shoulder.
“You feel pretty damn nice yourself.” His breath came warm on her ear.
Then one of his hands shifted upward to caress the underside of her breast as his other palm slid low on her belly, resting on the flat of her stomach just above her cunt—and “nice” no longer described what was taking place. Biting her lip, she leaned back against him, realizing his cock was getting stiff against her bottom.
That’s when the hand on her belly grazed lower, lower, cupping her through her skirt, and her pussy literally pulsed at the possessive touch.
“Damon,” she whispered.
“Yeah, babe?” His voice had gone shadowy, sexy.
“What are you doing?”
“Touching you.”
“But…” They were situated at the very corner of the tower’s railing, and she glanced to either side. No one was looking at them, and the crowd atop the tower was small, yet despite the sense of solitude, they were hardly alone. “There are people here.”
“They can’t see where my hands are,” he assured her, low and persuasive. “No one is paying any attention to us.”
“Well, they might pay attention if I start moving against your hand.” Her voice went lower now, too, breathy with the passion stealing through her. He molded her breast more fully now, and his erection grew harder and harder at her ass. Her body burned to thrust against his fingers.
She more heard than saw his heated expression in the dark. “That’s what I want, Brenna. I want you to fuck my hand.”
Jesus, was he serious? “Rig
ht here? With people here?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
She didn’t state the obvious. That she liked it in private. She knew they were both thinking that. And that this was him urging her to step away from her safety zone a little further than she already had. This was him urging her to take a chance, the chance of getting caught.
She’d heard that could really excite some people, the fear of being caught doing something bad—but it truly didn’t excite her. Moreover, it made her nervous. It brought the notion of sin alive in a whole new way. She’d been a good girl all her life, never doing anything too wild, too left of center—and the idea of being caught fooling around, even by strangers, mortified her.
But Damon’s rigid cock stretching up the center of her ass felt too good to ignore. And now his hand was under her skirt, stroking her through her panties, rubbing her clit in just the right way and reminding her what an expert touch he possessed. Pleasure echoed through her, but at the same time, more beckoned—that overwhelming urge to grind against his fingers, to press back against his erection.
She looked again to the right, to the left. She saw people in shadow but not nearby. And it was dark—getting darker each minute now as the last glimmer of light in the western sky faded to deep purple and then black.
And as Damon pushed aside the bit of silk covering her cunt and sank his fingers into her wet folds, her lust overcame her fear. She gave in and let herself gyrate against his touch.
Oh God, yes. Yes. Relief tore through her at simply responding, meeting his warm fingers in front, his thick cock in back. Up above, he gently, rhythmically pinched her nipple through her top and bra with each hot undulation.
“That’s right, babe,” he whispered in her ear. “Fuck my fingers. Fuck my fingers with that sweet, hot little pussy.”
The words spurred her on, and she prayed he was right, that no one would notice, that no one cared, because she was in too deep now to stop, moving against his hand, feeling how wet she was for him and knowing he felt it, too.
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