by Sara Forbes
“How about that burger?” he asks.
“Let’s do it.”
We stop at a totally unpretentious little food van on Charleston Boulevard. As we stand on our tip-toes to read the menu, his arm slips around my waist, as if to steady me. It sets my nerves tingling all over, my skin prickling, even though I can’t say I’m totally surprised. He’s been touching me all evening.
I catch his gaze. His eyes are glowing, swallowing me up. Bathed in the pink light of the burger van, he looks like a shimmering vision from heaven, all goodness and light and masculine yumminess.
I debate between chastising him for his bold move and going with the flow. But before I can decide, he slowly removes his arm from my waist and my whole body cries out in protest. I toss my head and return my focus to the burger seller who’s asking something about sauces. Like I care about sauces. Or burgers. Or food of any kind. All I want is for Felix to put his hand back where it was, to pull me into his body with both arms.
“Ma’am? Did you want pickles?”
“Urh, yes, I mean no.”
God, I can’t decide anything.
I’m glad for the pause in conversation as we sit to eat our burgers looking at the homeless mingling at Huntridge Circle Park. Sitting only inches apart from him on a crumbling wall, I’m still buzzing all over with an agitated sense of happiness. My head is screaming while my cavewoman hormones are screaming yes. I nibble at the burger as I try to figure out what to do.
Felix is not Jack. Shame on me for agreeing so readily to something I hadn’t properly thought out. I was naïve. With Felix, I’m going to have to give a lot more of myself than merely flirting—and I really don’t know how I feel about it. Next time I do something like this I’m going to check beforehand that my target isn’t utterly charming.
“Your place or mine” he asks.
“Oh,” I say caught off guard. “Uhm. Back to the Rio?” I don’t want him to see my hotel, more specifically, that I lied about staying in the Hard Rock and that I’m actually staying in the much cheaper two-star Travelers’ Rest on the western outskirts of town. Also, my bed is strewn with documents and printouts that I don’t want him to see.
As we enter the lobby of the Rio, I spy Blue Dress lady—the same lady who seemed to cling to Felix on the day we first met. She’s hovering at the side of the circular bar, in the spot I’d have chosen myself—from where you get a view of everyone entering the hotel. When she sees us, she jerks her head back in disdain and wanders off towards a group of men at the bar.
“Know her?” I ask Felix. His gaze is following the same direction.
“Belkov’s bodyguard. Every time he’s playing, she shows up. But she doesn’t hang around him. She’s always trying to get info out of me. Or get me drunk.”
“Maybe she just fancies you?”
“Jealous much?” he asks with a cocky smirk.
I shake my head. “Simplest explanation.”
“That wouldn’t be the simplest explanation, believe me.” His voice is low, somber.
I feel my face flush. So, I’m not the only woman trying to get information out of him. I feel like he’s really put me in my place here and I want to protest that I’m not like her. But I am.
He doesn’t wait long to break the silence. “What do you say to room-service drinks?” he says. “This bar here looks crowded and let’s just say I’d prefer to avoid any Belkov entanglements.”
“I say yes.”
“We can watch a movie. I have an amazing TV setup I think you’d like.”
“Sounds great,” I say with a fake-nonchalant shrug.
“Well. Let’s go upstairs.”
It’s suddenly awkward. Going up in the elevator we smile tightly at each other. My back’s pressed against one wall and his is pressed against the other. The easy camaraderie of before is gone. The tension is thick with possibility.
Our gazes wander to the numbers above the door and I know he’s wishing we’d hurry up and get to the thirty-seventh floor, or that someone else will get in. Finally, the door pings open and we storm out into the corridor, all plush creams and golds with interesting peacock wallpaper.
As I expected, his room is a beautiful suite—more creams and beiges and gold but with a few edgy ornamental details in black and lime green that make it cool rather than stuffy. But I don’t care about any of that. He’s got a laptop plugged in on the side table. The screen is filled with something that looks like a coin exchange. I sashay closer, pretending to survey the room furnishings. Yes, just as I suspected. The green and red wicks of trading activity undulating in a ragged curve that I recognize as the Bitcoin-US dollar price graph. If nothing else, I have a good conversation starter right here.
“Nice view.” I say, moving over to the window and looking out. He does, I suppose, have a fabulous view of Vegas.
“I think so too.” He slides up behind me, takes my jacket from my arm and hangs it up. As I turn around and we face each other, the air crackles with electricity. He’s the perfect height for me. I feel petite and feminine, my body on full alert. All I want to do is wind my arms around his golden neck, let him wrap his hard, strong arms around me, and let those dexterous fingers I’ve been watching flick cards all week do amazing things to my skin. It’s not fair that he’s so beautiful, standing before me and that my will is weakening.
The weight of his gaze is unbearable. I look away. I’m not going to last another minute in his company before I start making bad decisions.
“Drinks?” I clap my hands, backing away from him. “Let’s see what you’ve got in your minibar?”
“I’ll get going on the movie choices,” he says, as I back away from him.
“Sure.” I open the bottle and pour two glasses of Champagne. It’s the most expensive one according to the price list. I tread over the soft carpet, swinging my hips. “Hope you picked something romantic?” I nod at the TV screen and slide casually into an armchair. “Maybe even erotic?”
His mouth twitches.
“I couldn’t help noticing your screen over there.” I cock my head toward the laptop.
His brows raise. “That’s what you noticed?”
“Well, apart from the amazing view, of course, and, uh…” My voice trails off. He’s pulling off his blazer and loosening his shirt, giving me a view of the tendons of his neck and the top of his chest. Slowly, he rolls up the sleeves of his button-down shirt to reveal strong, sinewy forearms. So delicious.
And he knows it. Bastard.
“Yeah.” I tuck a stray hair behind my ear. “So, you, um, speculating much these days?”
Instead of drinking, he sets the Champagne on a side table and puts his hands on the arms of my chair, trapping me in his space. His legs press against my knees. “I like your approach. Straightforward.”
I peek up at him. “That’s me to a T.”
“Who are you working for, Cara?”
I laugh. “My clients are confidential and you still haven’t answered my question.”
“All in good time.” He leans in closer. “And you’re interested in me. Why?”
“You’re a big player controlling the market.”
“So?” He comes into the danger zone where I feel the heat from his body and breathe in his scent. He’s a hunk of a man with well-honed muscles…everywhere. I hold a jiujitsu brown belt, but I’m not a hundred percent sure I could take him down if I needed to.
He straightens again and strides over to where he put his glass.
“Are you aware,” I say in a husky voice, “that you control the fortunes of countless speculators? People who just want to get a higher return to pay for things? College. Retirement. Weddings. People who live on welfare and just want to rise out of poverty?”
He laughs. “That’s hardly the profile of your average Bitcoin investor.”
“But it is of some.”
“Are you telling me that you—or your client—represents them? The little guys? That’s what this has been all about?�
�
“Yes.” I stare him head on. He’s wincing, clearly not believing it.
“Not some big corporation, syndicate, or government?”
“No.”
“Okay.” He sits down on the side of the bed, biting his lip. Is he wondering how to exploit this information or is he going to pretend he actually cares what the business is of my client, lulling me into a false sense of security?
He walks to the window and stares out. Judging by the way his shoulders are hunched, he’s concentrating hard on something. He rubs his temples and stays standing there, illuminated, against the backdrop of the city’s garish lights. The minutes tick by and I finish the Champagne. I don’t know what I should do now. I feel I need to do something.
I refill my glass and wander up beside him. “To a great game tomorrow,” I say awkwardly, angling my glass to clink against his.
He swings around to face me. “Will you be there?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
His smile reappears. “Here’s to a great evening now. Together.”
The way he says that word together takes all the oxygen from my lungs. There’s a new intensity in his blue-eyed gaze—a stormy intensity, as if the façade has been peeled back unleashing something more animalistic underneath.
I try not to tremble as he edges closer and his thigh makes contact with mine. He gently takes the glass from my grasp and cups my face in his deft fingers, his thumbs caressing my cheeks, making a million nerve endings spring to life. I want him so badly it’s hitting me like a tsunami.
“I knew you were the good guys,” he breathes, bringing his face close to mine. So close our foreheads are touching.
I swallow hard. My heart’s beating so fast I feel I’m going to have a seizure. “But not too good,” I say.
His face creases into a smile. “Yeah, we couldn’t have that, could we?”
All I can do is stand here helplessly, my attention darting between his mouth, and his eyes.
His body angles toward me, his arms enclose me into an intimate space, drawing me ever closer to his hard chest., his fingertips exploring my shoulders. I clasp my fingers around his neck. So warm, so solid, and I dig my claws in.
“Let me get this straight,” he says, “you’ve been following me to protect some small mom and pop investors? Is that what you’re saying?”
His lips graze my cheek like a delicious whisper across my skin making it impossible to answer. I nod. I don’t trust my voice. All I can focus on is the slow and tortuous progress of his lips across my jaw and wonder when he’s going to reach my mouth and cover it and how that will feel. Pinpricks of desire dance under my skin. My breath is shallow and ragged.
My eyelids flutter in anticipation of his kiss but it doesn’t come. I re-open my eyes, feeling my bones growing leaden with disappointment.
“So, Cara, are you married, engaged, or in a relationship?”
A bolt of energy shoots through me. Of course, he needs to ask this if he thinks I’m only here because of the job. Maybe he’s actually interested in my answer.
“No, no, I’m not,” I say.
I sound too eager.
He smiles warmly. “That’s good to know.”
I squeeze my thighs together trying to control my excitement. I sense danger, too. Not the kind of danger I faced alone in that dark alley in Mexico but the kind of danger that comes from not playing it safe in relationships. But I can’t help myself. It’s like being with Felix is some kind of foregone conclusion.
I’m like the young woman in that Dracula movie I saw as a little girl. The waiflike woman was sleeping when the Count came crashing through her window, his cloak billowing behind him. She wakes to feel his presence beside her in the bed. There’s a flash of fear on her delicate face and then peace…a surrender to his absolute power. He has taken her with the sheer strength of his will. She knows he’s going to kill her and yet her surrender to him is sweet ecstasy. She turns her creamy neck and offers it to him. I’m feeling that fear now and I’m offering my neck to him.
“You excite me, Cara,” he says, close to my ear. I’m vibrating at the timbre of his voice—deeper, more forceful. I look into his blazing eyes and feel hot and cold all over and utterly defenseless. I don’t normally kiss someone I don’t know, but this is different. We do know each other in a raw sense. We both love the taste of danger.
His hands rest lightly on my hips. Slowly, he moves his mouth across that crucial inch so that his lips squarely cover mine. His lips press softly, enough to me to enjoy the texture, then he presses hard and his tongue slides masterfully past my teeth, thrusting against the roof of my mouth, widening me into complete surrender for him. And surrender is so, so sweet. In my relief, I sigh into his mouth.
His hands grasp tighter on my hips, urgent. Already, my body is trembling at the sensation of his power over me. I’m not sure my legs can hold me up for much longer.
He breaks off the kiss. “But do you really want me, or are you just manipulating me?” His voice is a degree colder.
“What?” my voice has risen two octaves in my confusion.
His jaw is set tight as he watches me unflinchingly. “You heard me.”
I play for time, wiping some stray hairs from my heated cheeks. My thoughts scramble to make sense of this. Why is he even asking? Shouldn’t he simply be happy I’m succumbing to his desires? What more does he want?
“I—I—”
I can’t say it. He’s making me to say I want him? It’s too much. It’s not my style. But the alternative is to admit I’m manipulating him for information. I turn my head away from his piercing gaze. A flush of heat spreads all over my face and neck. This is unexpected. I’m badly prepared. I’m so stupid. I should have practiced these lines beforehand so they’d trip off the tongue.
And now I feel stupid, like I’m the loser in the game of seduction. He’s neither focused on getting what he wants nor on keeping me happy but rather on something else entirely—something deeper. It’s freaking me out. I need to escape.
“Felix,” I say. “It’s been a long day. I-I’ll see you tomorrow.” I can’t reach that door fast enough.
6
FELIX
I LET HER GO. Of course I do. There’s no point in following her. I don’t want her approaching me unless she genuinely wants me. If I wanted a hookup for sex I’d have gone a much different route of wining and dining and bedding her. I certainly wouldn’t have spent the entire evening doing fun stuff, holding myself back, and finding out everything I could about her.
If she’s just trying to hook me sexually to get information then a) she’s not doing a good job of it, and b) I’d rather just tell her what she needs to know while clothed and in full possession of my wits, thank you very much.
I walk over to the laptop. Yes, I left it open deliberately so she’d talk, just as Egan advised, and I suppose it worked. I never expected her to come clean about what she wants from me, to tell me who she’s working for.
I call Egan. “Hey man. Felix here, I got the info on Cara. She represents some mom and pop investment outfit that’s decided I’m a big bad whale who’s controlling the market and they want me to stop manipulating the market. Nothing much earth shattering. Nothing you hadn’t already guessed.”
“Whoever it is, they’re not small, and they’re not moms and pops,” Egan snaps. He sounds so sure of himself even at three a.m. London time. I wonder how many generations of aristocratic breeding went into creating that clipped upper-class accent?
“And are you positive she thinks it’s just you?” he prods. “She doesn’t suspect?”
“Yeah, just me.”
“What does she want from you?”
“Well, obviously she wants me to stop playing the market. I guess she’ll go onto the next whale after that and so on and so on.” I fight back the wave of irritation at the idea of her chasing some other Bitcoin guy when she’s all done with me.
“So, she’s appealing to wha
t? Your sense of fair play? Your dick?”
“Egan—” I protest.”
“Felix, Get with the game. You don’t actually know who she’s working for, do you? You’ve no names, no anything. And you don’t know what she’s going to do to stop you trading either, do you?”
“Um, no. But my intuition—”
“Well don’t you think you should find out? I need details, hard facts, and for your sake, I think you do too.”
“Hey,” I say piqued by his condescension. “I’m the one in the trenches here. If she decides to kill me, I’m out here all alone. Oh, and if it happens, tell Jack he’s not getting my sunglasses collection. I’m donating it to charity, I’ve just decided.”
“Felix, Chrissakes, be serious.”
I don’t want to be serious. How can I be? The whole thing is ridiculous. As far as I can see, it’s about two groups of greed-driven people who want to get richer, pushing against each other, and Cara and I are stuck in the middle. She, because it’s her job. Me, because I’m a flipping idiot.
***
Next morning, I stroll into the casino, refreshed after a good sleep and buffet breakfast. It feels like a fresh start. I scan each room for Cara, but there’s no sign. She’s not there. I scan the audience and I can’t see her in her usual seat or anywhere. She’s not in the corridors, and not outside. I swallow my dislike of hanging around in public places and I loiter around the bar areas and even outside the restrooms just in case. An hour later, I’m beginning to suspect that she’s gone.
Deflated, I retire to the VIP cards room for some peace and quiet. My heart feels like a physical weight in my chest that my ribcage is straining to hold up. I didn’t realize until this moment how much I wanted to see her. I was banking on her being here and being able to have another date with her. A more successful one.
I’d explain why I insisted on her being genuine with me last night—but in a gentler way, not like last night when I basically trampled all over her feelings and accused her of being the very same kind of honey trap that I consider myself to be. Some people are sensitive to being called her out on manipulation. I’m so desensitized to manipulative behaviors from poker that I forget that other people feel shame.
