by Camryn Rhys
Don’t put your hands or your mouth on her. Paul squirmed and pulled Sylvie closer to him, tucking her right into his side. That’s my job.
“So you’re planning a comeback tour, my boy?” Pike turned his eyes on Paul. “As luck would have it, I’m in the market for a new bulldogger.”
As luck would have it, I already knew that. “I’m hoping for a comeback tour to land me back in the circuit for a long time.”
But even as he said the words, they felt empty. He knew what had happened to Pike’s last bulldogger, and it wasn’t pretty. He might not want to work on the family ranch for the rest of his life, but did he want to end up hospitalized again? He shook the thought away.
Sylvie took his hand again and when he caught her gaze, only a flicker of concern remained. Her smile grew as he watched her.
“I like to hear that.” Pike stuffed his hands in his pockets, and the rest of the group took it as a sign to disperse. They wandered away in clusters and waited a distance to start their own hushed conversations. Pike spoke over them. “You know, I like to recruit for character.”
“I’d heard as much.”
Sylvie’s hand moved to the crook of Paul’s arm, and he relaxed into her grip. He had to remind himself to relax. She beat him to it.
“I can’t discern a man’s character in one night,” Alan said. A black-clad waitress with a gold nametag passed with a platter of shot glasses filled with steaming whitish liquid. His brother-in-law would know what to call them. Kyle knew all that food shit. All Paul knew was Alan Pike couldn’t keep his eyes off the waitress’s ass, and Sylvie’s gaze followed the platter of food with abject desire.
“Sylvie vouched for you, so you pass test one.” Alan reached inside his jacket and produced a business card, all with his eyes on the backside of a woman who wasn’t his wife. “Come to this address tomorrow morning, and I’ll see you in the ring.”
Paul took the card and turned it over in his hand. One side was blank, and the other held nothing but an address. The card itself lay heavy in his palm, almost like linen.
He peered down at Sylvie, still nestled into his side. They hadn’t discussed the rest of the evening, let alone the next morning. But he had to agree. Paul shrugged and offered Alan Pike his hand.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Great.” Pike glanced back in the direction of the waitress. “Now you two enjoy yourselves. I must see to some business.” He stalked away at quite a clip, and Sylvie turned to face him, tilting her face toward his.
Paul studied her. While her beauty was undeniable, something else struck him about her features. A person didn’t expect someone so beautiful who smiled so much to look so sad. While she might appear happy at first glance, something deep and painful lurked below the surface.
She looked away under his scrutiny, and the deep feeling flashed to the surface for a moment. He couldn’t quite name it, but it made him want to kiss her. Make her forget it, whatever it was. Paul leaned down, but she put a finger on his mouth.
“We should get out of here,” she said, peeking around. “I have a room back at the Castillo.”
Paul sucked her finger into his mouth. “What if I can’t wait that long?”
Sylvie’s eyes widened in shock, then a smile broke out. She glanced around the lush room and he could feel her heartbeat speed up against his chest. Something almost cute about her struck him in that moment, as though they were teenagers searching for a place to make out at their parents’ party.
With a grin, Paul grabbed her hand and wound his way around the buffet, heading for a tiny niche he’d spied on his way in that looked like an extra lounge. He felt a tiny tug of resistance when he turned right into the lounge instead of heading out the door for Sylvie’s hotel, but she still followed.
It wasn’t until he’d pulled her into the darkened room and tasted her lips for the first time that he realized they weren’t alone.
***
If it hadn’t seemed so childish, she would have shushed him when he gasped, so instead, she kept kissing him. And it made a good second option to screaming.
Paul’s warm lips continued, insistent, his hands strong. Madame Eve had done well again. Sylvie had never been into cowboys, but this one proved an excellent first. His tongue moved against hers, providing an acrobatic distraction to what happened on the couch behind them.
Sylvie edged him back against the wall, wanting on one hand to disengage his sensual kiss and get the hell out of there, and on the other hand, to displace the other couple and have her way with the cowboy.
Salacious moans sounded from the couch and, even in the mostly dark room, Sylvie knew their company. Alan Pike’s all-white suit wouldn’t have blended in anywhere but a snowstorm. Certainly not in a gothic-revival sitting room in one of the world’s finest hotels.
Paul’s hands roamed down along her back, and she couldn’t help sighing against him. The man awakened her every sexual nerve ending. He moved from her mouth to her neck and she was almost a goner. Despite sharing space with a manwhore and his bimbo, Sylvie wanted more of this black-clad cowboy. In a way she hadn’t wanted a man since she could remember.
“Oh, Alan,” came the recognizable twinge-y whine of the blonde secretary. Paul froze, as though the lights had come on, but Sylvie pressed her body closer to his, feeling the hardening cock in his pants and gasping. She considered reaching for it right there in semi-public, with a strange, intoxicating man, and had a feeling he would be as turned on as she was. She found Paul’s mouth again and kissed him. He responded in kind, swiping her bottom lip with the shadow of whiskers. The textural surprise hardened her nipples, and she didn’t know how long she could wait before she dug out one of the condoms in her bra.
Behind then, Alan hissed, his voice raw. “Quiet, now. Hurry up and turn over.” The two rustled for a few more seconds before Sylvie heard a crack, and Alan howled. “Fuck! You’re breaking my rib, you cow.”
Sylvie’s limbs lost their electricity and felt like heavy, dead animals strapped to her body. She pulled away from the cowboy’s kiss and shook her head against the memories. It hadn’t been Paul uttering the slur, but she’d felt it in every inch of her body.
Paul cranked his head down to her level and tried to meet her eyes, but she avoided his every feint and deke.
“I need a second,” she whispered. Sylvie wasn’t even sure he’d heard her, but he continued to watch while she tried to push old thoughts away.
The past slid over her with frightening ease, when her father used to pinch her waist to check how much weight she’d gained, or when her first husband had pushed her away one night mid-pregnancy saying he didn’t have a thing for fat girls. She’d done so much work, but one comment could so quickly put her right back there.
The cowboy traced a finger down the side of her face and she shook him away, feigning a smile as wide as she could manage. “I’m ready.”
Suddenly, on the couch facing the fireplace, the bimbo had managed to get her position and came over the back, her naked torso covered only by Pike’s hands over her nipples. She must have been astride him, and as soon as Sylvie started figuring how they managed to fit on the narrow Victorian couch, she shook her head.
She didn’t want Alan Pike to see her, and she certainly didn’t want to see him. Being discovered would ruin the whole fantasy she’d worked so hard to construct.
Without a word to the cowboy, Sylvie bolted from the room. Just as she hit the door, she heard Alan’s voice. “Who the hell is over there?” But she didn’t stop. Between the past rushing back and the hunger gnawing at her stomach, she needed to be alone for a minute. Just for a minute. Paul would survive on his own for that long.
Chapter Three
Paul followed Sylvie out of the massive suite and into the hallway, where he finally stopped calling her name. Something had spooked her, and she’d have to get it out because she obviously didn’t want to talk about it, and he wasn’t about to ask. A guy had to be smar
t.
He still wore a smirk about the bleached blonde on the couch. At first, when they’d started making out in the same room as someone else, it had turned him on. When he heard Alan Pike’s voice, he’d almost lost his hard-on—and would have, too, if Sylvie hadn’t been so damn hot. As it stood, he thought some more about Alan Pike so he’d be presentable for public.
The blonde brought back a memory of a girl named Charity from back home. He’d liked her type for a while. The bleached blonde with balloon boobs. But the last one, Lana, had made him realize what he didn’t like about those girls. When he hadn’t been able to give her the kind of attention she needed, she moved on to the next guy. Within minutes. Thus the every-man’s-fantasy look; they needed the attention.
The girl on the couch punctuated his realization. She’d feigned modesty at first, but when Pike called out for them to stop and Paul froze in his tracks, Pike’s little girlfriend had not only taken her hands off her breasts, she’d preened in front of him. Showing off.
He’d had his fill with the bimbos. If Paul had learned one thing after spending more time around his mom and sister as an adult, he knew good women were hard to find. And he wanted to find one.
Then why the one-night stand with a knockout blonde in Vegas?
A familiar twinge crawled up and camped out in Paul’s chest. He wanted to ride broncs again. He’d take all the advantages he could get when it came to his rodeo dreams. Sylvie would have to be his last blonde.
Although she didn’t seem like Charity or Lana or Alan Pike’s girlfriend. Sylvie made him want to slow down the whole night. Savor it.
He walked closer to the bathroom where Sylvie had disappeared and considered going in after her. Of course, he didn’t know her, so he didn’t know if she wanted to be followed or not. Charity would have. His sister, Jamie, wouldn’t.
Paul trusted his gut that Sylvie was more like his sister.
He hoped he hadn’t done anything to frighten her. He enjoyed Sylvie, in more ways than one. Although what he would do tomorrow at Pike’s ranch, now that he’d seen the man naked and fucking another woman while his wife partied in a Las Vegas hotel, he wasn’t quite sure. With a little luck, the room had been dark enough that Pike hadn’t known who watched them. With Sylvie disappearing, it made Paul’s escape easier. Pike wouldn’t follow them, of course.
He wouldn’t risk it.
Paul fished out his cell phone and saw a voice message from his brother, which could wait. If it had been important, Brady would’ve texted too. Several text messages from old friends on the bronc circuit he’d contacted while in town. One text from Malcolm Crandel, less than a minute before. This one, he opened.
Didn’t see you at Pike’s party. Hope you got the message. Don’t need you here.
“Sorry about that,” came Sylvie’s voice from the tiled hall that led to the bathroom. He stuffed his phone in his pocket, and by the time she appeared, he relaxed against the wall, apparently doing nothing else.
Her eyes weren’t red, her cheeks weren’t puffy, and nothing was wet. She couldn’t have been crying. What in the world had she been doing?
She approached him and offered a nonchalant squeeze of his hand. “Thanks for waiting for me.”
“Hey, I’m under strict orders to stay by your side all night long.” Paul tried to sound casual, but a hint of desire undergirded his half-joke, and Sylvie’s cheeks colored as she offered him a shy smile.
She hadn’t struck him as shy, either. At least not at first.
“Now, how about we get back to my hotel?” Sylvie pulled on his hand, and Paul laughed as he followed along. Still, the space of his skin in contact with hers heated so quickly, he feared he might start sweating her out.
“I’ll call a cab,” he offered, digging for his phone.
“Don’t bother.” Her smile was less shy, more aggressive. “I’ve got a car waiting.” They came through the big front glass doors, welcomed by a blast of warm air and the loud scuffle of people trying to get around on the strip. She took him to the right of the crowd, who all stood in labeled lines. But their line didn’t have a label.
Sylvie flashed some card to the man standing at the red rope at the end of their walkway and his smile broadened into one of fake welcome rich people everywhere must ignore. Although some of them might get off on the thinly veiled hatred that lay behind.
As soon as they reached the curb, a shiny, black town car pulled out of line and into the open spot in front of them. The rope guard guy opened the door so the driver didn’t have to hoof it around the vehicle. Another couple lingered behind them, with the same red card Sylvie had flashed.
With the grace of a dancer, Sylvie slid across the seat, and Paul clambered in behind her. The car itself smelled clean, and nearly everything inside was black, including his clothes, boots, and hat. Only his skin stood out. While his mother was African-American, or at least half, his father had been Asian. But Paul’s skin wasn’t as dark as his mother’s. In reality, only Sylvie’s white dress really stood out.
Paul found himself staring at the dress, watching how the curves hugged her so perfectly, and seemed cut for her body.
“To the Castillo?” the driver asked, waking Paul out of his sexual reverie. But before he could answer, Sylvie broke in.
“Yes, please, Raul. And can you drop us at the back again? I’d prefer not to be seen.”
“As long as you have your red card, madam, I can take you wherever you’d like.”
She held up the same card she’d flashed at the man in the extra line, then with a tiny awareness or embarrassment, she glanced at Paul.
“Was the party a success?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer. Of course, seeing Pike in his unmentionables hadn’t been a waste of a night. And seeing Sylvie in general fascinated him. But she meant what he would report to Madame Eve.
“It wasn’t without highlights,” he teased. Instead of returning his mirth, she gazed out the window at the passing tourist scene. Faceless, nameless people. “You made it worthwhile,” he said. “Otherwise, it would have been a wash.”
Something turned on behind her eyes, like the promise of Christmas. She perused his face with a promising gaze and returned to her former posture. “You weren’t bad yourself, cowboy.” A tiny giggle and she reached for his hand.
A light tingle went up Paul’s arm, and he ran his thumb pad across her knuckles. Through thick lashes, her eyes egged him onward, and he gathered her onto his lap and found her mouth again with his own. He kissed her slowly at first, remembering the shy looks she’d given him in the hallway.
***
Sylvie couldn’t breathe under Paul’s kiss. The more he worked his magic, the more she thought her heart would beat right out of her chest. Every nerve and feeling screamed on high alert as soon as they touched, and it was all she could do not to push him back against the seat and ride him right then and there.
And why not? There was no pretense about the fact they would be having sex. Why not in her town car, with her father’s driver looking on? Raul wouldn’t say anything.
This time, she wouldn’t hold back. She would be the Sylvie who took whatever she wanted. Who ate the Stilton soup and grabbed a stranger’s dick in a limo. She was panting by the time she talked herself into it, and Paul took that as his cue to kiss a line down her neck, which turned her spine to Jell-O.
He fell on top of her, the slick leather not providing much traction to her already soft clothing. With a frantic movement, Paul started to raise the window between them and Raul.
“Stop the window,” she ordered, the haze of desire turning her voice into an alto. “I want him to watch us.”
“Yes, madam,” Raul said, and the window went back to its open position. Sylvie pulled Paul’s hand to her chest to give him something to do. She knew she had small boobs, especially compared to someone like Alan’s bimbo, whatever her name was. Sylvie filled a B-cup on her good days—if she’d had too much salt or was on her period— an
d while men seemed to largely ignore her breasts, she quite liked them to get a little attention now and again.
“Are you sure, Sylvie?” Paul’s face was earnest, and adorable. But yes, she was sure. Tonight was her one opportunity to do something wild, and what better place than a limo in Vegas to prove she could have a real holiday.
Sylvie slid her tongue along the underside of Paul’s when he thrust inside her mouth and as he kneaded her breasts with delicious fervor, her fingers snaked down to his bulging pants. She was wet already, and probably had been most of the night. She unzipped his pants and slid one hand inside to find soft skin over hardness, and beautifully warm. He had been hard most of the night, too. She’d felt it every time he kissed her and she pressed against him.
Paul groaned into her ear as she palmed his cock and started to firmly jerk him off. He licked her earlobe and a bolt of lightning straight to her core jolted her away from him. Her sensitive nipples strained inside her bra, and she laughed.
“Holy God, do that again,” she panted.
“What?” He moved to her other earlobe and suckled it. “This?” he asked with his mouth full and his hand on the back of her head, holding her tight to his face.
Another lurch inside and she thought she might come on the spot. She’d always heard of women who had spontaneous orgasms without clitoral or vaginal stimulation, and had refused to believe the fairy tale. But as Paul’s hot breath tickled the already-wet area behind her ear, waves of pleasure made her cry out.
She claimed his mouth again with hers, afraid she might lose control if he kept that up. Instead, she fished inside her bra for one of the condoms and ripped at it with her teeth. Paul laughed and kissed her when she’d opened it.
“You are ravenous, my girl.” He moaned from somewhere very low when she grasped his cock to roll down the condom. Once he was fully sheathed, she pulled him on top of her and spread her legs wide. The crotchless leggings must have surprised him, as the contact of skin on skin made him cry out.
