When With Rome (Perfect Gentlemen Book 1)

by Natalie Gayle

  I know the look she gives me. It’s the one indicating she’ll be happy to do more than just take my cash and pass me chips. Right then, something occurs to me—I’m not the least bit interested.

  The realization is major for me.

  Sure, I’m working, and I would never let my focus from Carlene waiver. In the past, had I been here by myself, I might well have been tempted to take her up on the offer in her eyes. I’m a single guy, after all.

  Now I’m not the least bit interested. In fact, I think Scarlett Johannsen—my ultimate crush—herself could suggest it, and I wouldn’t be interested. I’m fast beginning to fear, there’s only one woman able to hold my attention, and she just happens to be my current client.

  “So, what do we do?” Carlene’s expectant look jolts me from my new-found realization.

  “Now we choose what we want to bet. See the board there?” I pointed to it, and her eyes follow my finger. “It lists the last colors and numbers to have come up. You can bet on red or black, odds, evens, individual numbers or groups of numbers.”

  Carlene studies the table as I quickly explain. Then I hand her a stack of chips and urge her forward. “Place it on whatever you want, Oz.”

  With a “here goes nothing” kind of look, she places one chip on black. I place a couple of chips on the first twelve section and then wrap my arm around her waist and pull her back into me as we wait. With a practiced flick of her wrist, the dealer sets the ball to running around the wheel, and we wait until it hops and bounce before coming to rest in the black two position.

  She spins in my arms and whispers frantically, “We won, right?” Her eyes are wide with wonder.

  “Yep, we did, sweetheart.”

  A stilted little squeak of excitement escapes from her lips, and she bounces on her feet before catching herself, and embarrassment begins to take hold.

  “It’s okay to be excited, Oz. It’s Vegas. You can make some noise. In fact, they prefer it. Just like I do.” Her eyelids lower a little coyly, and she reaches over and gathers her winning chips from the table and I motion for her to grab mine as well.

  A couple of people to our left decide to call time on roulette, and we slip closer to the table. I urge Carlene in front of me, and I place my arms around her and purposely stare over her shoulder at the dealer as she calls for players to “place their bets.”

  It might be a little juvenile, but it sure feels good to look across Carlene’s shoulder at the dealer and make it very clear, I’m not interested in anything she might have to offer.

  “What should we bet on next?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  Oz studies the board again then decides to go with black.

  Once again, black comes up, and she jiggles up and down in front of me, making it exceedingly difficult to keep my cock under control as her backside gives me an impromptu massage.

  “Now what?” Her voice is breathy with excitement, and I have quite a few ideas, and none of them have anything to do with the game on the table in front of us and everything to do with a bed, or any flat surface for that matter. In fact, the roulette table is enough to give me some crazy thoughts—just not a realistic option. Nothing says it can’t be a fantasy, though.

  “Odds are it will be red,” I reply confidently, bringing my attention back to the game.

  Carlene glances between me, the board, and then the table. She removes four chips from her stack and places them on black once again.

  “The lady is gutsy. I like it,” I say with an impressed whistle.

  It’s a definite risk, and for sure, I would have bet on her going with the safe play of red.

  She turns slightly in my arms, so I can see her eyes. They are awash with excitement. “We said tonight was all about getting a little crazy, forty dollars in chips is a little crazy. I’ve never even bet on anything before tonight, let alone put forty dollars on where the little white ball will land on a wheel.”

  And there’s another surprise. “I thought you Aussie’s would bet on anything?”

  “A lot do. Just not me. I never really understood the appeal or had much opportunity. This is fun though, particularly when I’m winning.”

  “You might be sorely disappointed on this one, sweetheart,” I caution. Odds are, she’s going to come up on the wrong side of the colors.

  She shrugs and wriggles back against me, “I’m feeling lucky.”

  I give her a wry smile. She’s definitely going to get lucky tonight. Probably not at the tables, though.

  Her leg jiggles against the table as she waits for the dealer to set the ball running once again. Every moment is a pulsing beat to my cock. She has no idea what she’s doing to me, or maybe she does?

  Again, the dealer sets the ball dancing over the slots, and to my utter surprise, it comes up black.

  Carlene lets out a joyous whoop, spins around and kisses me full on the mouth.

  “Told you I was feeling lucky.”

  What can I say?

  “You called it, babe.”

  She collects her growing pile of chips, and I look between her pile and the board. I wonder what the hell she’s thinking now. I can see the concentration on her face tempered with what appears to look like mischief. Seeing her like this makes me so happy. Carlene is so different to the woman I picked up from the airport, and I’ve had everything to do with the transformation.

  I place a couple of chips on the board. My playing is for something to do, rather than with any real strategy or intent. Watching Carlene play is far more fun for me tonight.

  What she does next shocks me to the core. She places a reasonable stack of chips on the 00, then gives me the most devilish grin over her shoulder.

  “You do realize the odds of double zero coming up are about...”my trader mind calculates the numbers, “Thirty-seven to one.”

  She lets out a laugh that speaks of her not having a care in the world.

  “I know. Isn’t it great? I’ve put one hundred dollars down, and it’s probably the most impulsively stupid thing I’ve ever done with money, and my chances of winning are probably the longest this game has to offer, but I still want to do it. How about that? Does that make me crazy and stupid?”

  “No, it doesn’t, Oz. Sometimes in life, you just know things are going to turn out even when the odds or common sense tells you something different. It’s about living large, sweetheart, and not being scared to lose. Living large.”

  I have to give it to her, this is definitely a new Carlene. The size of the bet really isn’t the issue. It’s about her being game enough to take the risk—to know she has far more chance of losing but doing it anyway. I’m not one to condone gambling, although many would say I built my first career on a form of gaming, but this isn’t about gambling. This is about Carlene being brave and confident enough to loosen the reins on her life a little and give things ago. Just like I wish somehow she would be crazy enough to give us a go.

  The dealer sends the little ball streaking around the wheel once again, then signals for no further bets. Carlene’s eyes are glued to the wheel while the little white ball skates around the outside. As soon as it slows and begins to hop, it’s a very different story. She turns in my arms and buries her head into my chest, unable to look. It’s the same spot she’s slept on numerous times over the nights we’ve been together.

  “I can’t look,” she yelps.

  Her hands are wrapped around my biceps so tight, I won’t be surprised if she leaves bruises.

  The ball is rapidly slowing, and the 00 is a few slots away. It’s going to be close, from what I can judge. Time seems to stand still, and the little white ball finally lurches into the one slot then somehow finds enough momentum to flop over into the 00 slot.

  “WoooHoooo!” I yell and punch the air.

  “What happened?” She pulls away from me and looks startled.

  “You won!”

  Her eyes go huge. “I did?”

  “Yes.”

  Those huge
eyes of hers dart over to the table, unbelieving. When she comprehends what I’m telling her is correct, she launches herself at me, her legs wrapping around my waist. I can feel her heart thumping against her chest, and the smile on her face says everything.

  Carlene is ecstatic.

  I spin her around in a tight circle and lock my lips briefly with hers.

  “Congratulations, Oz.”

  The other players and people around us at the table cheer, whistle and holler in between patting us both on the back.

  “I can’t believe it!”

  She finally drops from my hold. “I have to get my chips.”

  Carlene clears her chips from the table—for once, she isn’t trying to hide her excitement. This is what I’ve noticed more than anything…she’s becoming more candid in her expressions and communications—unguarded, real.

  She moves as if to leave the table.

  “Do you want to play again?”

  “No way. I think my luck is about done here.”

  A few of the other players let out an “oh” of disappointment as we move from the table.

  “What would you like to do now?” I ask as I catch up to her. The smile is still wide on her face, and she does a little twirl.

  “Dancing perhaps?”

  “Yeees!” she shrieks. “But first, I need some bubbles, and maybe some food. But definitely bubbles first.”

  “Bubbles it is, then.”

  She grabs my hand and heads to the bar

  The night couldn’t be off to a better start. The awkwardness of the last day is gone. Tonight is definitely going to be a night we’ll both remember. I’m going to make sure of it.

  Chapter 22

  Carlene

  I won!

  How crazy is that?

  I’ve never won anything in my life, let alone at a casino.

  It’s a first for me. Just like so many others on this trip. I’m smart enough to know my luck is very unlikely to last, and that’s exactly why I decided to leave the table after spinning up the longest odds going. Lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same spot!

  In truth, the money is a drop in the ocean compared to the vast wealth I now have, but somehow, this win is sweet. I’ve spent far too many years stressing over how to pay the bills to not appreciate every cent I have and the financial headaches my life is now devoid of.

  We settle at a bar just off to the side of the tables. Close enough to entice players to come on over, but also far enough away to allow conversation without the necessity to yell.

  The scantily clad waitress delivers a bottle of bubbles and makes a huge show of removing the cork, to the point there’s a little volcano action, as the white froth spews forth over the neck of the bottle.

  I don’t miss the slight shake the girl gave the bottle for a little more flare—so Vegas!

  “Whoops!” she exclaims with a giggle and a look toward Rome.

  She pours the golden liquid I’ve become so fond of into both of the flutes and makes her departure with a long, reluctant look at Rome.

  Unable to restrain myself, I just have at it. “Surely, that must get old, eventually.”

  “What? Enjoying Champagne with a beautiful woman or getting suggestive looks from the wait staff?”

  “At least to your credit, you’re not denying the later.”

  He brushes it off nonchalantly. “That would just make me a liar. She’s just trying to make a living. These girls survive on tips.”

  “I guess. I surely know what the trying to make a living part is like. The tips, that’s foreign to me.”

  “Can’t blame a girl for using what she has. And now back to the former of my comment—Champagne with a beautiful woman.”

  Rome lifts his glass to me in salute. “To a beautiful, charming woman with a great sense of humor and adventure. May we get to enjoy many more nights like this and bottles of bubbles.”

  I raise my glass, clink it with his, and go along with the sentiment. I want to believe him so badly. The likelihood of what he said has about the same odds as the win I’ve just had. Lightning doesn’t strike twice.

  “To many more nights like this,” I return his toast.

  His face settles into a happy and contented look. Does he actually believe his words? Does he truthfully want what he said in the toast?

  “What are you thinking about over there, Oz? You’ve just cleaned up at the tables, and you look like you’re in the middle of trying to solve some crazy puzzle. Tonight’s supposed to be fun, remember.”

  Damn him for being so astute.

  I can hardly tell him the truth.

  “Guess I’m just thinking of having to head home soon, and it makes me a little sad.”

  He moves closer to me and wraps his arm around my shoulders. The benefits of a curved booth once again, become evident.

  “You going to miss me, Oz?” Rather than lighthearted like I might have expected, his voice holds much more intensity. My answer really means something to him. His dark eyes bore into me, giving me an indication of just how much.

  I don’t hesitate and go straight at him with the truth. “I’ll miss you, Rome. No two ways about it.”

  He leans in even closer and whispers in my ear, “Stay.”

  Stay.

  One little word. So tempting, but I can’t. I’ll never know if what is between us is real or just some holiday fantasy.

  I laugh it off even though every jovial sound is burning my belly. “You’d get sick of me real quick. Besides, my kids could go off the rails, plus my cat has probably disowned me.”

  I don’t even own a cat. He nuzzles my neck with his lips. “I wouldn’t get sick of you. Your kids are adults, and I didn’t know you had a cat, but I hear they can be fickle.”

  “I hear that too.”

  He gives me a knowing look at my ruse. “Stay,” he prompts again.

  “I can’t afford your rates. I’d be back in the poor house before I knew where I was.” I keep my vice lighthearted and playful, longing for there to be a way but knowing better.

  I feel him stiffen beside me.

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” He doesn’t manage to keep the hurt from his voice.

  “We’ve been through this, Rome. Leave it. We’re supposed to be having a great night. Besides, I just won over three grand. Let’s do something I never do.”

  “What’s that, Oz?” He’s trying to brush off my rejection, but his tone is stilted.

  “Let’s frivolously spend it.”

  “And you just said you were worried about being poor again.”

  “Bad choice of words on my part. I’ve never been poor, just in severe financial duress. We both know there’s a difference.”

  He nods in agreement. “So how would you suggest we spend the cash?”

  I think for a second. “How about a ridiculously expensive dinner, a show, and maybe some dancing.”

  Rome doesn’t miss a beat. He takes my hand in his and brings it to his mouth, kissing my wrist.

  A shiver runs straight down my spine and satisfaction flares in his eyes.

  “Done.” He stands and pulls me with him. “I know just the place.”

  Rome has his game face on again, and I hope our night is firmly back on track. My remaining time with Rome is now best measured in hours, and I want every one of them to matter.

  Rome

  I’ve gone and done it again! Why do I keep pushing her? I want something I can’t have, and she’s made it more than clear—twice.

  I just don’t believe her. I know she’s feeling what I am. She has to be.

  Carlene isn’t a tease, and there’s nothing false about her. Even if her words are telling me one thing, her eyes, touch and manner are telling me something totally different.

  There’s one thing I know in life, and that’s women. I’d bet the house she feels the same way about me—the way I’m feeling about her.

  Just to Carlene’s order, dinner is a crazy, swanky affair. Amazing f
ood, fantastic wine, and even better company. We make it a great time even if I have the feeling my guts are being ripped apart the entire time.

  I made a quick call to a contact and have managed to snag some front row tickets to Celine Dion. This earns me even more points, but I know it wouldn’t be enough to deliver what I want—Carlene. She’s not the type to be swayed by flash or extravagance.

  We are at the dancing part of the night, and I’m so looking forward to having her in my arms.

  I choose the club carefully. It’s more a high-end bar offering dancing, rather than a dance club. I want the dancing to be intimate, a prelude to what will happen after we leave, rather than some drunken orgy of crazy— intermingled with strobing lights and several hundred other sweaty bodies fighting for a square foot of dance floor.

  A hostess, who I recognize from a few previous visits, escorts us to a quiet table in the VIP section. It pays to tip well, and she remembers me.

  “Good Evening, Rome, so good to see you here visiting us again.”

  “Thanks, Divina, for fitting us in at short notice, it’s good to be back.”

  She gives me a look that says, “I thought you were done.” And I hope the muted light and Carlene being on my other side will prevent her from seeing the look. I don’t need more tricky conversations tonight.

  Divina shows us to our seats and has a bottle of Champagne sent over. We’ve only been sitting for a few moments when the DJ starts to play a song Carlene looks excited about.

  “Want to dance?”

  She nods excitedly.

  I offer her my hand across the table, and together we stand and move to the small dance floor where about half a dozen other couples are gently swaying together. This club is perfect—intimate and sexy.