Down and Dirty

by Crystal Green

Liz cleared her throat, but Anita only looked up, her gaze hazy. Her curly hair had been pulled out of its clip, and it was so finger-mauled that it blocked her date’s face.

  Anita smiled. “What?”

  Liz inclined her head toward Ben, but Anita only laughed and went back to the kissing.

  Sighing, Liz turned back to Ben, raising a glass. They clinked, took a drink, and she set hers down.

  “Have you ever been to clubs like this before?” she asked. “Not that this scene is as wild as it gets at night, but still . . .”

  What would Joe Blow say? “Too glamorous for my blood.”

  “You fit right in.”

  “With all the celebrities I’ve seen? Hell, Bruno Mars was on his way in.”

  And he’d dodged the singer, too, since he’d partied with him before. None of these club people were what he’d call friends, and none of them knew he was undercover, but the sooner he could make Liz comfortable with him and move on from this place to somewhere they could officially chat, the better.

  Liz took another drink, and he watched how the glass fit against her lips—a sensual, full mouth that made him want to press his own against it, tasting the sweetness of the champagne from her flesh.

  She pressed her lips together, knowing he was looking, her gaze telling him so. She smiled at him again, angel mixed with a little bubbling devil. “I’m really glad you made it, Ben.”

  The sincerity in her tone got him in the gut, clenching there. If he didn’t know she was a possible liar and cheat, he would’ve believed her.

  When she rested a hand on his knee, he nearly flew out of his seat.

  Play along, he thought.

  But, damn him, he was enjoying it. His weakness was women, all kinds of them. Maybe he should blame his upbringing on that, since he’d never seen true love in action, only lust, only greed and the need to possess. He’d always told himself that he was better than his father or Jameson or Lincoln, but it wasn’t true.

  He wanted, just as much as any of them. And right now, he wanted Liz, and not being able to have her was slowly driving him insane, pulse pounding, his groin aching as she ran a finger along the inside of his knee.

  Shit.

  He got back to work. Find out what really happened with Jameson and move on, for God’s sake.

  “This is a lot of drinks for you to be springing for,” he said.

  “This?” She motioned with her other hand to the buckets of vodka and champagne, as well as the appetizer plates strewn over the table. Then she nodded toward Anita’s date, who was still buried under her. “Baby, I didn’t spend a dime. That boy is paying for all this.”

  Ben could’ve been knocked over with a feather from a showgirl’s headdress. “He is?”

  He’d meant to say, He is? but Liz didn’t seem to notice the emphasis on the wrong word.

  “Yeah. Donell Whitehouse. Have you heard of him?”

  Dear God. Now that Ben looked closer, he could make out the signature nerd hair of one of the most successful software moguls in the country. Goddammit, would he recognize Ben when he finally came up for air?

  Ben’s heartbeat picked up speed. He had to get out of this booth. “Nope. Hey, do you want to go with your friends to dance?” Not that he intended to dance, but he could easily steer Liz toward a dark corner near the bar or something—or out of here completely.

  “I’m fine where we are.” Her finger slid away from his knee, upward.

  His cock twitched.

  He reached down and threaded his fingers through hers, but she seemed to like that even more, her smile growing at the romantic move.

  Maybe he could tug her out of here now.

  Too bad she wasn’t budging as he tried to ease her out of the booth with him.

  “It’s nice and quiet here,” she said. “Don’t you think?”

  “Sure.” He could only hope that the darkness—and Donell’s continuing sex drive—would buy him a little time.

  She ran a thumb over his. “Tell me—what did you have planned for your time in Vegas?”

  He could barely concentrate. Her thumb on his skin, heat flaring from his hand to everywhere else. Got to get out of here.

  “I thought I’d take it day by day,” he said, his heart kicking.

  “Me, too. But I have this entire wish list I wanted to do.”

  She used her other hand to touch his bicep, her lips parting as she felt it up. Was he on that list?

  This was moving fast, and normally he wouldn’t have minded. But he needed to be in control of the situation for probably the first time ever in his life.

  “And what’s on that list?” he asked, his voice choked as he tried to slow her down.

  She looked at him under those lashes again, confirming his suspicions about what she wanted to check off that list first. But she drew out her answer.

  “Number one,” she said, leaning closer so that her words fizzed around his ear, “I want to swim with the sharks at Le Galion Bay. I’d have to be certified for diving, but the only time I’ve been in water was in pools.”

  He didn’t dare move. If he did, he might jar something into action, and the last thing he needed was for his dick to take over like Jameson’s had—at least while his dick had been working.

  Control. Ben would get ahold of it any minute now.

  But when she put her mouth closer to his ear, barely brushing it, he despaired.

  “Number two, I want to take a wine class from a sommelier at the Bellagio. For my restaurant.” She laughed, hot air tickling him. “But mainly for me.”

  And, holy shit, when she skimmed her lips against the shell of his ear, he almost lost it, a growing hunger urging him to push her further into the booth and against the cushions, giving in to the seductive air in the room. A slow song with a driving, throbbing beat had even joined forces against him, multiplying a wicked mood that Anita and Donell had already succumbed to.

  “What’s on your wish list, Ben?” Liz asked against his ear.

  Out of the fuzzy corner of his eye, he saw Anita and Donell taking a break as she slowly kissed his face, giving the guy an opportunity to open his eyes and . . .

  It was definitely time to go, before Donell could spot Ben—or before Ben could explode.

  He aggressively wrapped his arm around Liz’s waist and towed her out of that booth. She heaved in a shocked breath, her eyes wide and excited, and for a second, everything around them stopped existing.

  The music faded, the booth dissolved, and it was only them—two people pressed body to body, the next second suspended in breathless anticipation.

  6

  Something remarkable was in his eyes, Liz thought.

  Bing, bang, boom—yes, definite, undeniable chemistry. But there was more than just that, and no one could tell her different, not Anita, not even common sense.

  Yet even as Liz melted against him, all the years of being nothing but a toss-away honey to so many people chiseled into her, deep and low, and she told her heart to behave, to give itself over to sex and good times and no expectations whatsoever.

  One night, she thought. Just learn your lessons from the past and take this one night with him and forget about stars or destiny.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she whispered.

  Even though the music covered her words, Ben seemed to know exactly what she’d said, because his gaze got darker, more intense, looking into her so intimately that it almost felt like he was inside her, filling her up and taking her to a tantalizing place that made her want to gasp.

  Nobody had ever given her a look so earthshaking before. But in a flash, it was gone, like he didn’t want to be feeling anything for her—no lust, no passion.

  So then why had he come here tonight?

  She pressed closer to him, her naughty girl coming out as she shifted her hips, seeing if she could get more of a response. When she felt the ridge of him against her pussy—God, even through the thin material of her dress she could feel his tip probing her—she
dared him to back away, to tell her he didn’t want her as much as she wanted him.

  The needy part of her—little Maddie, the girl she used to be—winced during the fraction of a second it took for Ben to react to her forward invitation. What if he told her to get lost? What if he’d only wandered in here for a party and she was going too fast and coming on too strong to a regular guy like him and . . .

  He tightened his hand on her hip, then slowly, oh so damned slowly, he slipped that hand under the curve of her butt, bringing her up against him until his hardness pressed against her sex, pushing the most sensitive button she had. Liz hauled in a strained, astonished, turned-on breath.

  She could’ve sworn she heard a low, animal sound come from him—the kind a predator made when it knew it was trapped and ready to pounce.

  The thudding music pumped her, echoing in her clit, piercing her and making her damp. She searched his gaze, but it was just as dark as it’d been before.

  Yet it was still greedy.

  She clutched his sport coat, fisting the material, wanting to bring him closer so she could smash her mouth to his. . . .

  Then, in another whiplash second, he closed his eyes, and when he opened them, his gaze had turned unreadable. His jaw was tight, though, even as he pressed her up against him with one last slow thrust, one last feel of his growing excitement, then let go of her ass.

  Before she could even whisper an Oh, baby, he locked his fingers around her wrist, pulling her away from the booth.

  Head spinning, Liz glanced back so she could tell Anita she was leaving. She should also thank Donell for the party. But her friend was getting a real birthday celebration with him, lost in her own booty call, and Liz decided a text would be good enough.

  Wait—text. Her phone?

  She broke away from Ben and dashed back to the booth to get her sparkly clubbing purse, slipping it over her shoulder. Taking up where they’d left off, she slid her hand into his again. It was so soft and warm there, and she couldn’t get enough of feeling his skin, his long fingers.

  And thinking about what those fingers could do to her.

  But then she remembered what Anita had advised earlier. Tell me that you’re going to be smarter with that heart of yours tonight, Lizzie . . .

  Right. Anita was totally right. Liz was going to be careful, have a light affair that wouldn’t go anywhere, and get as much of Ben as she could tonight.

  Simple, easy, and out. Then she could live the rest of her life as a Liz who was as responsible with her newfound seed money as she was with her heart, a focused future businesswoman who wouldn’t depend on chance to lead her through every day anymore.

  She could do that, right?

  As Ben led her toward the iron stairway, lights from the dance floor flashed, showing her that his jaw was still clenched. And, after they descended the curled, downward path to the first level, they threaded their way through the dancers and toward the door, humidity from all the sweating bodies misting her skin.

  The moment they were out of the club and into the echoing glass-and-steel expanse of the Haven complex itself, cool air welcomed Liz, and she took it all the way into her lungs. Meanwhile, her skin was still vibrating at the touch of his hand.

  He looked down at her, and she could see a tinge of . . . regret? . . . in his gaze now.

  Really?

  Old Maddie cowered at the sight. Was he going to put her in a taxi, tell her she’d had too much to drink, and she’d better sleep it off before she made a total ass of herself with someone else?

  Yeah, that’s what Maddie was thinking, all right. But Liz?

  No. Liz knew what she wanted, just like she’d known the first time her mom had taken her backstage on Blaze!, where she had a job working on the costumes and where Liz had sat quietly watching all the glittering showgirls rushing around during costume changes, running up the stage steps for each number and flooding back down for the next. A starry whirlwind of fantasy. A world she wanted more than anything to be a part of someday.

  Yes, Liz knew what she wanted only for tonight. And she was willing to work for it.

  She squeezed Ben’s hand. “What’s next?” she asked on a hopeful breath.

  He kept watching her, searching her eyes for something she wasn’t sure she could guess at. Then he guided her toward the escalators, where a huge crystal diamond sculpture hovered above all the shops and restaurants.

  “I’m not sure,” he finally said. “I just know it was time to get out of there.”

  You think?

  As they stepped onto the escalator, she shimmied inside, remembering how stimulated he’d started to get as he’d held her. But the Maddie part of her still wondered if he was going to shove her in a cab and tell her to cool off.

  Good luck with that.

  “Leaving’s fine with me,” she said. “Are we going to another club?”

  She didn’t add or to the hotel? because that would be entirely too gauche.

  “I thought we’d walk back to Le Galion Bay.”

  Yessss. Back to the hotel! If he was taking her there for the reasons she wanted.

  The escalator slid them onto the bottom floor, where he led her toward the exit. She was easily keeping up with his long strides, even in heels. Child’s play.

  “You know,” she said, “it’s not exactly a hop, skip, and a jump down to Le Galion. The size of the Strip makes things look much closer than they actually are.”

  “The sun should be setting and it’ll be a nice stroll.”

  Why was he being so blasé with her? And, by the way, it really would take them forever to walk to the hotel, and by that time, they’d be so cooled off from their moment in the club that . . .

  Oooh. Okay.

  Liz smiled. Big boy had gotten pretty worked up in the club and he needed to bring things down a huge notch. Had he been about to launch his load and he wanted to go a little slower?

  The thought that he wanted to ease things down made a stream of warmth trickle through her chest. She’d known a lot of false gentlemen, but never a real one. Most guys would’ve tried to take her in the Bordello booth, or into a corner to get their business done.

  Slowing down was good. Real good.

  But that didn’t mean she was a lady right now. Jeez, no way was she going to last until they got to the hotel.

  It didn’t take long to reach the street, and once they were outside in the cooling, dusk-tinted air—just another early October in Vegas—he slowed his walk.

  Tourists with plastic souvenir cups that were shaped like the Eiffel Tower or long-necked gators wandered by them, their faces coated by a collage of neon from all the signs. Pop music played from the open slushie bars and T-shirt shops across the street and down the sidewalk, competing with car horns and traffic.

  Even though Liz wasn’t drinking champagne, she still felt like bubbles were perking around in her head, fizzing over her skin. “I don’t do this often.”

  “Walk?” Ben asked, sending her a side smile.

  Whoo-doggie, what a smile. He was back to being his easy, charming self, and her heart flipped right along with her belly. She didn’t think about what had been dogging him back in the club. Why ruin the moment?

  “I get enough exercise without traipsing up and down the boulevard,” she said lightly.

  “I’m sure you do. Do you still dance?”

  “All the time. I was teaching little kids before I went to Reno, but I knew I’d have to quit and get a better-paying job like cocktail waitressing. But when you grow up dancing, you get addicted, so I take classes and go to a studio on my own.”

  He paused to check her out, caressing her with a look that started at her rhinestoned feet and smoothed up to her stomach, then up and over her breasts, then to her face. He was still holding her hand, absently rubbing his thumb against hers until he seemed to realize what he was doing and stopped, glancing away at the same time.

  “You carry yourself like a ballerina,” he said, starting to walk a
gain. “Like you own everything around you.”

  The compliment bathed her in a happy glow as they moved along the sidewalk, passing the rowdy tourists, their images reflected in the glossy windows of Haven.

  Who was this man who could be so charming one minute and so closed-off the next?

  Up ahead, a small slushie bar was blasting some Duran Duran, and a gust of glee hit Liz like a ton of Aqua Net. So did a flash of inspiration.

  “I’ve got an idea,” she said, pulling him toward the counter. Behind it, revolving slushie machines tumbled with bright colors from the high-octane drinks. “Since it’s a long walk, let’s get some sustenance.”

  Ben lifted a sandy eyebrow. “You can really put it away for such a skinny woman.”

  “It takes a while for me to get drunk, then I explode with a buzz. It lasts awhile, too.” She hailed the bartender and ordered two peach bombellinis. She sent a flirty smile to Ben. “Also, women like to be called ‘svelte’ instead of ‘skinny.’ Just so you know.”

  “Well, pardon my flattery. Do you think we should get something to eat?”

  “I had appetizers, but if you’re hungry . . .”

  He took a look at the bombellini, then shrugged. And when he smiled back, it dazzled her. Was he still thinking about what’d happened inside the club, too? Was he as worked up as she was and unable to walk it off?

  They got their drinks in pinkish plastic cups that looked like party horns, and Ben insisted on paying. She thanked him, bopping around to “Rio” as he forked over the cash.

  The bartender grinned at her effervescence, and Ben watched with just as much amusement. She couldn’t help it—she liked putting on a tiny show for him, laughing around the straw in her mouth, then tossing her head back and shrugging. She was just so damned happy.

  “I can’t help it,” she said. “I grew up with this music, so I’m an eighties-holic.”

  He laughed.

  “I know,” she said. “Soulless music, synth-pop, crimped hair, and rubber bracelets. My mom was super into that stuff and I knew all the words to every Culture Club song by the time I was three. But you want to know a secret?”

  He was leaning back against the bar, so negligent, so much like a surf god that she nearly sighed herself into oblivion.