by BJ Harvey
Facing the young Bart, I had to bite my lip. It seemed that when paying attention to detail, this included employing extremely attractive—okay, hot—staff. “Okay,” was all I could say, a combination of tiredness, alcohol and pent-up lust obviously having taken their toll on me.
The hotel clerk looked over my shoulder and nodded at something or someone before gifting them a huge, radiant ‘come hither’ smile, but before I could see who she was aiming it at, Bart’s hand was at the small of my back and I was urged forward.
After the fastest elevator ride of my life, and having tipped Bart, I stood alone in the middle of what could only be described as a mansion in the sky, if there were such a thing in existence. Bart hadn’t exactly been the talkative type. I’d asked him all my go-to small talk questions about the weather, sports, and joked about which pop star would have the next meltdown, but all he did was smile at me like I was the last woman on earth and he was horny. And, to be honest, had the sexiest man on earth not propositioned me on my flight to Vegas, I might have decided to act upon it. But as it was, an hour after sharing air space with the mysterious Mr. Matthews, he was still forefront in my mind, and I tingled everywhere important when my mind drifted back to his words.
“If I had my way, I’d be following you inconspicuously to the restroom in about five minutes’ time where I’d proceed to spin you around to face the mirror. I’d grip your chin and turn your face to mine so I could kiss you while my other hand disappeared up your dress as you begged me to touch you.”
God, just the thought of him touching me—anywhere—had me imagining everything we could’ve shared. I would’ve let that man do whatever he’d wanted to me, with me. He could’ve been selfish and a minute man, but god, that minute would’ve been worth the lack of stamina.
“I’d like to propose a game.”
Oh, how I wanted to play games with him. Despite my initial reservations about a man who was forward enough to ring a stranger on a plane—from only a few seats away, no less—and proposition her, that voice, that body, those eyes . . . the whole package had me sold the moment I saw him. The flirting back and forth between us just sealed the deal.
Alas, it was obviously not meant to be. Like a ninja in the night, he’d all but disappeared at the airport. I figured he’d at least have made it a little easy to find him.
“And then I would run my index finger through your slick pussy, my thumb dragging across your hard clit as you bucked your hips against my hard cock grinding into your ass.”
Shaking my head, I realized that I needed a shower—and something else during it—to get all thoughts of Mr. Matthews out of my head. I started walking toward the bathroom when I heard a knock at the door.
I spun around and backtracked toward the door to the suite, checking the peephole to see nothing but dusky gray colored wall. I slowly turned the door handle and opened the door to find a room service tray on the plush red carpet with a silver cloche on top.
Intrigued, I stuck my head out to look down the short corridor before bending over to pick up the tray and carry it into the suite.
Unable to wait to see what was under the dome, I quickly walked over to the eight seater dining table and placed the tray on top of the glass before lifting the cloche to find a black, sealed envelope.
Easing the red painted fingernail of my index finger underneath the seam, I carefully opened the flap to pull out a black folded card with Alyssa handwritten in silver on the outside. Flipping it open, my breath caught in my throat at what I read next.
If this is a game of cat and mouse, then consider yourself caught. You didn’t find me, so I found you. Now I’m ready to claim my prize. You. Eight p.m. Rooftop. Clothing optional. Yours soon, Barrett.
When the shock wore off, I placed the card on the table and smiled because I now knew his first name.
With a hot date lined up that night, one that I hoped would end with an even hotter hook-up, if his detailed descriptions on the plane were anything to go by, I decided I needed a new dress that would have Barrett salivating.
I was in my fourth different store when my cell phone rang in my purse. Pulling it out, I smiled when I saw the name on screen.
“Aiden,” I answered warmly.
“A trip to Seattle isn't the same without seeing you,” he said.
“I'm sure you can find other attractions to keep you entertained.”
“The sights just aren't up to my preferred standard, that being you.”
I laughed at his words. Detective Aiden Lawrence had a way with words. Every word was measured and chosen with the perfect amount of weight to succeed in having a particular effect on me. He was tall—more than six foot—with dirty blond cropped hair and a body you could tell with one look that he worked his ass off for.
Aiden was a detective in San Francisco. We'd met two years ago in a bar two blocks from my apartment. I’d had a late night at the office and decided to call in for a nightcap. A few cocktails and loaded compliments later, he had me flat on my back, screaming his name. That was the start of a beautiful friendship—with frequent, yet always mind-blowing—benefits.
I'd never considered taking our relationship past the physical, mostly because I didn't have the time to commit to anyone, and Aiden lived eight hundred miles away. He was a great guy and I knew we would be good together but it had never been brought up by either of us, despite my suspicions that Aiden always wanted more.
“Believe me, you’re not the only one who’s disappointed,” I said. It wasn’t a lie; it had been true, until the moment my eyes had locked on Barrett.
“Good to know, Aly,” he replied, and I could tell from his voice he was smiling. “Where are you? It sounds loud?”
“Would you believe me if I said I'm in a changing room wearing nothing but two skimpy pieces of black lace?”
“Jesus,” he spat out. “Are you wanting to torture me? I'm sure I could jump on a flight to Vegas and be there by tonight.”
“I have plans tonight, Aiden,” I mused.
“Who's the lucky guy?” His tone held something I couldn’t read.
“Who says it’s a guy?” I retorted.
“You’re you, so it would have to be a guy.”
“Someone I met on the plane,” I conceded.
“Why does that not surprise me?”
I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled. “Why do you say that?”
“Those legs, that ass, and those perfect, pouty lips of yours? One smile and you’d have any guy hooked.”
“Didn't work on you.”
“Aly, you had me on your line as soon as I walked into the bar.”
“Is that right?” I said.
“You know the power you have,” he continued, and he was right. I wasn't blind to my charms; I just never put much thought into it. “But seriously, Aly, you’re in Vegas. Please be careful.”
“Aren’t I always?” I teased.
“Do you want me to run a background check? Because you know I would,” he offered, and I could tell he was being completely serious.
“Aiden, I’m a big girl. I can look after myself.”
“Do I at least get a picture to tide me over?” he asked brazenly, his confidence reminiscent of Barrett's.
“You might be lucky.”
“I would be if you were here with me.” His voice had dropped low, the heat in his tone unmistakable. Just hearing it made my skin flush, and I clenched my legs together to try and quell the dull ache he caused inside me. I’d been on a slow burn all day.
“When's your next visit?” I asked.
“Next month, if I can swing it.”
“We can catch up then,” I said. In my mind, however, I wasn’t completely sold on the idea. Somehow, in the past twenty-four hours, something has changed inside of me. I couldn’t pinpoint it; I just knew that something was different.
“I'll wait patiently for that photo then.”
I laughed at his forwardness. He wasn’t as overt as Barrett but he h
ad his own flirtatious game that worked on me every time. In that moment though, I was craving the direct, straight-to-the-point approach. “On that note, I better put my clothes back on, otherwise I might be tempted to do something entirely inappropriate.”
“Nothing wrong with inappropriate, Aly,” he countered quickly.
“Goodbye, Aiden.”
As I hung up the phone, all I could hear was his laughter.
Three hours later, I paced the bedroom wearing nothing but my green satin bra and panties and sexy six-inch black patent leather pumps. The beauty of being seventy floors up was that I didn’t have to worry about being seen by anyone, let alone close the curtains.
But it was 7.45 p.m. and I swear I was in the midst of a panic attack, all because I was about to take a chance and meet up with the sexiest complete stranger on the rooftop of the most magnificent hotel in Las Vegas.
It was more than that though. I was terrified of the intensity of my reaction to the man. One look, a drink, a shared moment in a full airplane, of all places—they were all we had together, not forgetting his dirty proposition which had left me tingling in all the right places ever since I arrived.
Five minutes later, I had slipped my green jersey dress over my head, retouched my lipstick, spritzed myself with perfume and strode out of my suite. With sweaty palms and a racing heartbeat, I made my way to the elevator and inserted my keycard to gain the private access required for the rooftop. While I was getting ready, I wondered how Barrett might have found me and gained access to the rooftop of the hotel, but soon got sidetracked. I was too busy focusing on the butterflies in my stomach and the ache between my legs, the intensity switching between the two the closer I got to laying my eyes on the man.
Lost in my head, I didn’t realize the doors were opening until a gust of wind hit me right before I lifted my eyes to see Bart, the porter, standing in front of me.
“Ms. Jacobs, right this way,” he said, with what I could only describe as a knowing smile. Bart reached his arm out to hold the elevator doors open while I stepped out onto the roof. After a few steps I stopped dead when I saw Barrett standing in front of me, looking more dangerous and utterly delicious than he had the moment I first saw him.
Then it happened again—that slam dunk, punch-to-the-gut feeling assaulted me as I watched his eyes take me in, head to toe, my heart hammering harder and faster the longer he took to peruse me.
The moment his heated eyes met mine, his lips quirked up into a sexy smirk, jolting me back into reality and jump starting my brain and body, allowing me to start moving toward him.
It was then I took in the scene in front of me, my breath catching for a completely different reason. In front of me was the breathtaking fifty foot high glass prism showpiece of the Sovereign’s design. That in itself was enough, but the moment I saw a table for two set inside the center, I struggled to not strip myself bare then and there.
Barrett walked toward me, his gait long and determined as he made his way to my side. I lifted my chin to look up at him, expecting—more hoping—for something, anything to happen, be it a cheek kiss or even a hand touch. But it didn’t come. Instead, he smiled down at me with a devilish grin that had my knees threatening to buckle beneath me.
“You look fucking amazing, Alyssa,” he said in lieu of a greeting.
Needing to regain the power, I swung my hip out while shrugging nonchalantly. “What? This ol’ thing?”
He leaned in toward my cheek, and my breath hitched as I waited for his lips to brush against my skin. But again, it didn’t happen. Warm air fanned across my ear as his mouth hovered above that ultra-sensitive spot on my neck, sending waves of awareness coursing through my body. “The dress is fantastic, but those shoes . . .” he growled, and I swear I was halfway to climax just feeling the sound reverberate through me, “. . . I can’t wait to see them wrapped around my head when my tongue is buried inside you.”
I was forced to reach out and wrap my hand around his shirt-covered forearm after that, my knees giving up any attempt at holding me vertical. My touch seemed to spur him into action, his other arm quickly snaking around my waist to keep me steady.
“I’m not used to women falling at my feet,” he mused, our faces now mere inches apart.
“Oh, I’m sure,” I shot back, laughing it off. Needing distance to clear my head, if nothing else, I went to step back out of his arm but it tightened against me.
“So quick to move away,” he said hoarsely.
“I—”
“Relax, Alyssa.”
“Dinner . . .” I said, tilting my head toward the glass room. Struggling not to squirm under the heat of his intense gaze, I bit my lip to stop myself from saying—or doing—anything more.
“Those lips have been on my mind all afternoon,” he murmured, his eyes dropping to my mouth.
“Why?” I asked, dazedly. He continued to stare for a few more moments, my breath quickening at the feel of his heat surrounding me.
As if a switch was turned, he slowly moved his hands to my hips to steady me then took a step back. “We’ll get to the why, later . . . much later . . . but first,” he said, as he gestured toward the prism, “I must feed you.”
“Oh,” I replied in a daze. The change in mood left me reeling, not sure where the night was headed and what would come of this date, and doubting whether I’d read him correctly at all.
“How was the rest of your day?” he asked conversationally as we walked over toward the table.
“Ah, yeah, it was good,” I replied, recovering quickly. “How about yours? I did look for you, you know?” My voice was soft as I felt the need to assure him that I had made a decision about him before he’d tracked me down himself.
He looked down at me, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Good to know I wasn’t imagining our connection during the flight then.”
“No, not at all,” I said demurely.
Stopping at a black tall-backed chair, he pulled it out for me. “My day was eventful. I had a few meetings to attend and then spent the rest of my time making arrangements for tonight.”
“A successful endeavor, it seems,” I said with a smile as I sat down in the seat and he pushed me in. “How did you manage all of this?” I asked, waving my arm to gesture to the room, the table, the whole date.
“I have contacts,” he replied suspiciously, rounding the small square table and taking a seat opposite mine before looking over my head and nodding. Quiet music filled the air around us. Set in front of us were two silver dome-covered plates and a bucket holding a very expensive bottle of champagne.
“You’re not some secret partner in the hotel, are you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
He choked back a laugh. “Alyssa, if I owned this hotel, you’d be staying in my room, and we’d be eating this naked in bed having already acted out everything I said I wanted to do to you on the plane.”
Needing a distraction—anything to stop me from jumping into his lap and making that happen then and there—I turned my head to see Bart lighting candles in one corner of the triangular room and working his way around until we were bathed in soft yellow light. My eyes scanned the room, mesmerized by the effect of the flickering flames against the glass.
“Champagne?” Barrett asked, grabbing my attention.
Seeing him standing over the table with the bottle poised over my glass, I couldn’t stop myself from fucking with him. “Oh . . .” I said, my face falling in mock disappointment. It was well worth it to see his bravado stutter before putting him out of his misery. “Yes, please.”
I knew I’d surprised him when his eyes widened before he threw his head back and laughed.
“You’re going to keep me on my toes, aren’t you?”
“I’m a woman of many talents, vertical positions notwithstanding,” I retorted quickly, earning me those darkening blue eyes of his again as he leaned deeper in, his gaze locked on mine as he expertly poured my drink.
“I don’t doubt that for a
second.” Taking his seat, he raised his glass and reached it out toward me. “To sexy, funny, downright irresistible women in first class,” he toasted.
Touching my glass to his, I replied, “And men who are.”
“What do you do for a job?” he asked casually, placing his glass back down on the table and resting his hand around the stem. He’d first struck me as more of a hard liquor man—more whiskey than wine.
I remembered he’d asked me a question. “I’m the CEO for Jacobs Publishing.”
“Very impressive,” he noted, taking a sip of his drink and not showing any recognition. My company wasn’t a large conglomerate, but we were not small by any stretch of the imagination.
“And you, hotshot?” I asked in return.
“I’m a consultant. I work all over.”
“You must do well for first class flights and dream dates on hotel rooftops,” I said.
His eyes crinkled and his full lips tipped up at the sides, never looking away. “I must,” he mused.
Bart chose that moment to stand at my side, his hand hovering over my covered plate. I looked up at his face and smiled, giving him silent permission to reveal my dish. He followed suit with Barrett’s plate and after a nod from my date, he disappeared from sight.
“So what are we eating?” I said, looking down to my plate.
“Filet mignon with Maine lobster, white truffle aioli, and red wine sauce.”
“It smells amazing.” I bent down and breathed deep.
Barrett went quiet, noticeably so. I lifted my gaze to his and his eyes were smoldering—at me.
“I . . . ah . . .”
He blinked and shook his head then pointed at my plate. “After you, Lys.” Hearing him call me Lys affected me more than it should since it was also my father’s pet name for me.
We fell into a comfortable silence as we picked up our cutlery and started to eat, but wanting to know more about him, I decided to drill him. “Are you based in Vegas then?” I asked, cutting into my steak which simply fell away from the knife and was a perfect medium rare.
