I had no idea who my father was.
Whether or not my mother knew, I had no idea and I’d finally given up trying to drag an answer out of her back when I’d hit my early twenties. But one thing I hadn’t been able to let go of was my own personal hang-ups about sex.
You’re twenty-five, Emmy. It’s time to get over it, a part of me whispered, watching as one couple slunk off the dance floor, clearly making their way to the exit.
Angel and Mac had already left, although I suspected their early retreat had as much to do with the new mama being tired as anything else.
The couple who’d left just now would be the first of many, I imagined.
What would it be like to just stop worrying about everything that seemed to overtake my brain when it came to things like this?
And how did one just stop worrying?
Especially considering all the shit I had in my head to worry about. It wasn’t even just the lingering memories of things from being a kid, but everything else.
Everything else involving the bastard who had started hassling me almost a year ago and had stepped up his harassment to outright stalking and threats of physical violence. How could I think about normal things when I worried who was on the phone every time it rang?
It had been a few days since he’d tried, and I didn’t know whether to feel good about that or not.
Part of me worried about the silence, but another part of me hoped he’d given up. He couldn’t find me, could he?
But another part of me reminded me how easily he’d found my home and how easily he’d gotten inside. How he’d rigged it to burn and if—
“Shit,” I whispered, lifting the champagne to my lips with a shaking hand and tossing it back. I wanted it to burn like cheap whiskey, something that would distract me from the memories of flames and heat as it scorched over my skin, but no such luck.
I’d find something that would, then. Plan in mind, I turned.
And walked straight into Sly O’Malley.
If it wasn’t for those nimble hands, the champagne flute would’ve fallen to the floor and shattered into a thousand tiny shards of crystal. As it was, he caught it and set on a nearby table with one hand, the other going to my arm.
Shocking heat seemed to explode between us but it was likely all on my part.
It seemed like I was the only one who reacted.
Sly stood there, face unreadable as he stared down at me.
Seconds ticked by and he said nothing.
My heart hammered inside my chest.
Finally, he spoke. “Did I scare you?”
“No. I just…okay, a little,” I admitted. “I thought most everybody was either at the bar or out on the dance floor.”
“Why aren’t you?”
His thumb stroked up my arm.
For a brief moment, my thoughts fizzled to a screeching halt. Then he did it again and my brain reengaged. “I’m on my way.”
“To the dance floor?” Red brows arched up almost to his hairline. “By yourself?”
“No. To the bar. And yes.” I told myself to step back, but I couldn’t make myself do it.
He was so warm, heat emanating from him and reaching out to me even through his tux and the strapless sheath I wore as my bridesmaid dress.
“On your way to the bar by yourself?” he clarified. He took my hand and slid it into the crook of his arm. “I’ll go with you. I’m pretty fed up with champagne. I want a real drink.”
My feet were moving without any real permission from my brain, and we were halfway to the bar before I realized we’d managed to be in each other’s company for all of five minutes without barbed comments being exchanged—again. We’d sat together at the dinner hardly speaking, but there hadn’t been any insults thrown either.
I’d told myself I’d be on good behavior for the wedding.
Maybe he’d done the same.
“What’s your poison?” he asked as he shouldered his way to the bar, paying little attention to the people waiting. Once we got to the counter, he left me standing there alone, feeling a little self-conscious at the looks we’d gotten. I felt even more self-conscious when he slipped behind the bar and stood there waiting, clearly planning on getting the drink himself.
“You serve drinks and do magic. Multitalented, I see,” I said, striving for a light tone. I could tell he had no plans to abandon his post until I gave in, so I nodded at a familiar green bottle. “I like scotch.”
A quicksilver grin flashed across his face. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Miss Yoga.”
My face heated at the reminder of how we’d met, but I met his gaze full on. “Jury’s still out on you, Mr. Magic.”
To my surprise, he laughed. He grabbed the bottle and nodded at the two people working there behind the bar. He leaned in and spoke to one of them, a few words exchanged by both parties, then what looked like money—a tip, I supposed. But Sly took the entire bottle and two glasses.
I guess when one owned the hotel where the party was taking place, liberties could be taken.
He rejoined me on the other side of the bar and flashed that quicksilver grin at the people waiting in line. “This way, nobody has to wait on us.”
People had obviously recognized him and nobody said much of anything as the two of us left, Sly offering me his arm. I accepted, wondering why I was doing this. Just being near him unsettled me and I’d long since figured out the why of it—my racing heart should’ve been the only clue I needed, but my aching nipples had sort of clued me in too.
It had been a while since I’d actually been interested in anyone, but I was sure as hell curious about this mouthy, wisecracking smart-ass who looked at everybody with eyes that were even less trusting than mine.
He made me ache.
It had been a long, long time since a particular man had made me ache.
I’d longed for sex and had satisfied those urges with a toy that probably would’ve made Mama proud. God, the humiliation of that moment was still enough to make me wish the ground would open up and swallow me, but I’d gotten past it enough that I could shop for my own needs, thank you very much.
But the sexual urges that were a part of me had been just that—urges.
Need hadn’t ever had a face before.
It did now.
A face, a voice, a scent, a sly, certain smile…
We ended up on the balcony of the elegant room that had been reserved for the reception, a floor near the top level of Casino Torrid. Las Vegas spread around us like a night-dark carpet, sparkling with diamonds lit from within. We were too far up to be able to see anyone below us, but the headlights from cars and buses shined like little fireflies as I peered over the railing.
“Not afraid of heights, are you?” Sly asked.
“Not a bit,” I said, shooting him a wide smile. The wind was up, teasing at my hair and without thinking about it, I reached up to free it, removing the clip that held it confined, tugging away the few pins that had been used to secure the heavy mass.
An odd noise sounded behind me, but I didn’t turn to look. “You going to hoard the scotch or can I have some?”
“I probably need the whole damn bottle,” he said, voice lower than it had been.
I glanced at him, but his gaze was averted, focused on the bottle in his hands.
Turning back to him, I waited as he tore the foil, then twisted off the top. A moment later, I held a glass of fine scotch in my hand and I lifted it to my nose, breathing in the scent of it.
“I didn’t think to go for ice,” he said, pouring himself a glass—and about twice as much as he’d poured me.
I should’ve known he’d hoard it.
“Only a fool ruins good scotch with ice,” I said easily, lifting it to my lips and taking a sip. I’d had only a glass and a half of champagne and that had been a while ago, so I wasn’t worried about mixing the two liquors. Besides, after the year I’d had, my tolerance for alcohol had risen considerably.
Not reall
y anything to be proud of, I thought sardonically.
But maybe if I got good and drunk, I could silence the throaty little hussy that seemed to have awakened inside me.
“I heard about your problem.”
I stilled, the glass halfway to my lips for another sip. Over the glass, I stared at Sly, mind racing. I had no doubt what he was talking about, but for a minute, I couldn’t understand how he had figured out there was a problem—then I remembered the phone call from a month earlier. Swallowing the knot in my throat, I forced myself to take another small sip before lowering the glass. “You talked to Mac. You asked about the phone call.”
He inclined his head in response.
Blowing out a controlled breath, I looked away. “I suppose I can understand. Mac’s got to be aware that he may well come here looking for me. That could involve all of you if it happens. Do you want me to leave?”
“Hell, no,” Sly snapped, sounding more like the ass who’d barged in on me when I was doing yoga in the nude.
Whipping my head around, I met his eyes. The wind blew my hair into my face and I shoved it back impatiently. “Why not? It’s not your problem.”
“It shouldn’t be yours either.” His voice was softer now.
I think I fell for him a little bit, right then and there.
The foolish thought circled through my head and desperate, I tossed the scotch back, feeling it burn all the way down my throat. “Lots of things shouldn’t be, but they are anyway. That doesn’t mean you have to go looking for trouble.”
“Trouble finds me anyway. If Mac hasn’t told you that, you’ll figure it out fast enough on your own.”
The wind slapped my hair into my face again but this time, Sly was the one to reach up, catching a heavy lock of it and brushing it behind my ear.
Startled, I looked up and met his eyes.
He was closer now.
Heart hammering in my throat, I clutched my scotch tighter, wondering if I should guzzle it or slam the glass against his chest and take off running. Or maybe guzzle, then slam.
I decided to guzzle…then wait.
Lowering the now-empty glass, I fought the urge to look away from the snapping, intense green of his eyes, but it was a battle. Those eyes looked at me like he could see clear through me, and I don’t mean just the sexy, navy blue number with embellishments along the side that emphasized every last curve I had.
The material sparkled under the chiffon overlay, so it echoed what the sky must look like away from all the city lights, a thousand stars tucked away in the blue.
I looked good and I knew it.
Judging by the way he was eying me, he agreed.
Judging by the way he was eying me, there were thoughts going on in his head that I wasn’t sure I was ready to handle.
But I still didn’t take off running.
I was a virgin at twenty-five because there hadn’t ever been a guy who made me really want him.
Even the few sorta serious boyfriends had only made me curious and the promise I’d made to myself back in the house with the revolving sexual door had nothing to do with curiosity and everything to do with real want, real need. I’d wanted sex to be like it was in the silly books I’d read. No, I wasn’t a romantic, but I wanted to feel like I was the center of someone’s universe and if I couldn’t have it for something like this, then when would I ever?
Only now that someone was looking at me with hot, intent eyes, it was a little…nerve-wracking.
Sly reached up and cupped my cheek, stroking one thumb across my lower lip. “You look so nervous, Emmy. Why is that?”
It was the first time I’d ever heard him say my name.
I knew, right then and there, I didn’t want it to be the last.
9
Sly
It was sheer bravado on her face now, but I had to appreciate the way she tipped her head back and met my eyes, despite the anxiety in her eyes.
“What makes you think I’m nervous?” she said, challenge in her voice.
I could’ve listed a dozen things.
Instead, I slipped my hand from her cheek to curve into her neck, letting my thumb rest in the hollow of her throat where her pulse fluttered and beat like a caged butterfly.
I wanted to put my mouth right there.
Wondering what she’d do if I did, I decided to test it and see.
This was stupid.
This was crossing a line.
But from the moment I’d accidentally let my thigh brush against hers during the wedding, the need for her had pulsed inside me like a drug. And she’d felt it, too.
Fuck whatever happened next.
Under my hand, the skin of her neck was supple, smooth, and strong. There was so much strength in her firm muscles in her arms left bare by the sexy dress. They flexed subtly with her movements, always understated, never showy, but there was no denying the strength there. I wanted to feel that strength under me, around me, moving against me as I fucked her.
Her head arched to the side, her long hair blowing in the wind around us.
Putting my scotch down, I reached up and tangled a hand in her hair, confining it to a loose knot at her nape. A few tendrils slipped free to tease her cheeks as her head fell back and she gazed up at me.
“If I kiss you, what will happen?” I asked, lowering my head until only a breath of air separated my mouth from hers.
“I don’t know,” she responded. Her voice trembled a little. “What do you want to happen?”
“I want to take you to my room and fuck you,” I replied bluntly. “That’s all it will be, Emmy.” Dipping my head just a bit lower, I let myself taste the curve of her lower lip. She tasted like champagne, overlaid with scotch. It shouldn’t be so intoxicating, but it was. “I fuck. But I’ll make you come. I can take you hard and fast, then soft and slow. If you want it dirty, just say the word. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. But I want to fuck you. That’s what I think will happen if you let me kiss you.”
She blinked, her blue-green eyes slightly startled.
She licked her lips and I felt the tip of her tongue as it flicked against my mouth. I had to fight not to lean in and take that mouth, seek out that tongue. But she hadn’t said yes.
She didn’t say no either.
Instead, she pressed her hands to my chest.
My heart slammed hard against one of her palms and I might have wondered a little at that. When was the last time it had done something like that all because a woman touched me?
I really didn’t know.
But she was too busy sliding those hands up my chest, watching me from under her lashes, and the curious look in her eyes had my blood pumping hot and crazy in my veins—and that was new, too.
I clenched my hands into tight, white-knuckled fists, held still, and waited.
She didn’t say yes.
No, she rose onto her toes, her gaze fastened on my mouth. Then she murmured, “I think I’ll kiss you instead.”
I blinked, my vision going a little hazy but I had no time to process her comment because she had already pressed her pretty, rose-painted lips to mine and the impact hit like a Mack truck.
I grabbed her, my free arm going around her waist, while I roped long, silken skeins of her hair around my wrist and used it to pull her head back.
She whimpered a little and I tucked the sound of it away in the back of my head, the feminine moan of acquiescence. There’s nothing like the sound of a woman’s surrender. Nothing.
She opened for me as I fixed my mouth more firmly over hers. As I thrust my tongue into her mouth, she bit me, then sucked on my tongue and my brain went into a slow meltdown as I imagined her doing that to my dick.
Tearing my mouth from hers, I cupped her head in my hands and stared down into eyes like the sea. “You either stop this now or we go to my place,” I said. “Just be sure you know what you’re getting into. I don’t do relationships. If this gets awkward…well, it won’t be awkward for me. This is just sex, Emmy. Nothin
g more, nothing less. You sure you want that?”
Her eyes met mine as she closed one hand over my wrist, tugging at it.
I let go, almost reluctant, but she guided my hand to her mouth and pressed a hot, wet kiss to my palm.
My dick screamed at me.
“I’m a big girl, Sly. Stop trying to talk me out of this.”
Taking her hand in mine, the one she’d just kissed, I linked our fingers and tugged her along. “Let’s go.”
The walk to the elevator seemed to take forever and once we were inside the private car that only Mac, LeVan, and I could use, I hit the Close Door button and turned on her.
“Come here,” I ordered, but I didn’t give her a chance to listen, pulling her up against me and reaching for the back zipper of her dress.
She gasped. “Someone could see…” Her gaze flicked to the door.
“Private elevator. Only people who use it are me and the guys.” I dragged the zipper down, staring into her eyes with challenge.
Her cheeks flushed pink, but she returned my stare boldly, her shoulders going back as the dress began to gape. The navy material, covered in sparkles, made her look like she was clothed in midnight—sexy as hell, but I wanted her naked.
I changed my mind, though, just a few seconds later.
All it took was seeing what she had on under that dress to know I wanted to enjoy it a little bit longer. The navy-blue bra was a silk and lace confection that did amazing things for her already amazing tits, and her panties were barely enough to be called panties, just two strings stretching over her hips to connect the triangles that covered her already wet cunt—and I knew she was wet, because that front triangle was damp—and the thinner triangle that ran up between the cheeks of her tight, perfect ass.
I could see that perfect ass in the reflection of the polished black metal of the elevator walls and my hands itched to touch. Since I wasn’t one to fight urges, I cupped her butt in my hands and lifted her against me.
She arched against me and my cock pulsed in reaction.
Rule You (Vegas Knights Book 3) Page 6
