Teague leaned closer. The scent of her perfume—something citrus and spicy—flooded him with memories of just how well he knew this stranger. Heated bodies. A husky laugh. Hair like silk gliding along his abdomen as she covered his skin with kisses, making her way down to the part of him that was even now responding to her. Eyes the color of moss—deep green shot with silver.
“Holy hell.” Teague stood up, the fuzziness lifting from his brain with the realization of what he’d done. The risk he’d taken with a stranger. The risk he’d taken with his career. Fuck.
The woman stirred at his words, her body stretching out from under the concealment of the covers, exposing more of her skin, the pink nipples on her lush breasts, and the enticing strip of red-gold curls covering her sex. Damn, she was beautiful. Drunk or not, it would have been damn near impossible to walk away from this angel.
“Good morning.” She sat up, completely at ease with her nakedness, the sexy rasp to her voice perfectly suited for a woman who could star in a million fantasies. She ran a hand through her curls, pushing them back from her face as she observed him. Her gaze was open, taking a slow, full measure of him before she cradled her head and winced. “Or is it?”
“Uh…” For a man who made his living with words, Teague had none. It had been years since he’d woken with a stranger in his bed, and he was out of practice with the protocol of how to deal with a drunken hookup. Shake hands? Call her a cab? Offer round two—or in this case—five? “I’m a little fuzzy on the details from last night.”
“Great. That makes two of us.” She slipped out of the bed, her long, supple body unfolding from the nest of bedsheets to walk over to him at a careful pace. When she stopped in front of him, he noted how tall she was, just a few inches shorter than his six feet one inches. Her gaze caught his for a moment before she looked down, slowly taking stock of him, including his cock, now paying full attention to the sexy woman in such close proximity. When she finally raised her head and looked him in the eyes, his skin prickled with the heat and desire banked behind her lashes. He wasn’t the only one who remembered how hot they’d been together, and it took a tight clench of his fists to resist pushing her back on the bed and creating memories that weren’t clouded by the haze of alcohol.
“Well, I always did have amazing taste in men,” she drawled in a voice that made him think of smoke, whiskey, and nights spent shouting out your pleasure.
She was the kind of woman who made men like him forget they had plans. Hell, she’d make them change their plans.
Good thing he was leaving today.
She stuck her hand out, and for a moment he thought she was going to shake his, but instead her palm landed against his chest, skin warm and touch electric.
“I’m Risa. Risa Clay, and I won’t even pretend that I remember your name.”
“Teague Elliott,” he said, his voice rough to his own ears.
“From the accent, I’d say you aren’t from Nevada.” Risa winked at him, her lips twisting into a grin before she walked past him tossing pillows and other bed items in search of something.
“Virginia.” He couldn’t stop watching her. The graceful way she moved, the line of her back, the sway of her hips. He shook himself out of his stupor. It wasn’t as if he’d never seen a hot, naked woman before. “What are you looking for?”
“My phone. From the empty condom wrapper on the bedside table and what I can remember, I’m anxious to get a look at my pictures to see what else we got up to last night.” She gave a triumphant yell and waved around a little black purse. “Got it.”
“There are four more in the bathroom,” he said, taking his turn to smirk when she looked at him over his shoulder, wide-eyed. “Four more condom wrappers.”
She let her gaze do another slow walk over his body before shrugging and looking back at the phone in her hand. “Like I said, I have amazing taste in men.”
Teague followed her lead, his mind turning over all the possibilities of what he could have done last night—besides Risa. This was Las Vegas after all, and the menu was a buffet of trouble for a man who had political aspirations. Things even worse than marrying a stripper. His hand shook as he closed it around his own phone, entered the pass code, and thumbed his way through the photo album.
His best friend Lucky and his little sister, Taylor, dressed in their wedding clothes, looking happy and ready to jump each other. Michaela and Jack in their newlywed bliss. Beck with his arm around the waist of a pretty cocktail waitress. Then a series of photos of the night after the wedding—last night—when he’d spent the evening partying with Jack and Beck on the dime of Tony Giambetti. They’d gone to dinner, the casino, and then a show and—bingo—that’s where he’d found the lovely Risa.
There she was on his screen, dressed in the glamorous sequined costume of the dancers in the shows, her glorious breasts showcased by the gold bra-like top and her long legs ending in the highest pair of heels he’d ever seen. She was smiling, her face lit up with fun and carefree joy. In the next photo they were together, Risa now in a gorgeous emerald-green dress and Teague leaning in close, his face now lit up with the same excitement and worry-free expression.
He almost didn’t recognize himself.
What the fuck had he been thinking?
“You’re a dancer,” he mumbled as he flipped through the remaining pics, stopping on the final one. He and Risa were leaning against the headboard of the bed in this room, the camera held over them as they kissed each other. The screen was filled with skin, desire, lust—blatant and unrepentant. Teague could feel the sizzle and wondered why his phone didn’t melt in his grasp. He licked his lips and swallowed down the groan of desire bubbling up.
He must still be drunk.
“Yep. At the Gold Coast Casino.” She sighed with relief. “Thank God. No wedding pics. I think what happened in Vegas is going to stay in Vegas.”
“Jesus.” Teague slumped with his own relief, closing his eyes and feeling the full impact of the residual alcohol in his system. He turned to look at her fully, finally seeing a chink in her bravado as she sagged against the couch and lifted a shaky hand to push hair off her face. She looked younger, vulnerable, and as freaked out as he was.
“Were you worried about that? Being married?” he asked.
“I never do this.” She waved at the bed and him, her mouth twisting into a grimace. “If I was crazy enough to go to the Scary Elvis motel with a stranger then hell knows what else happened.”
“Well, you sure did play it cool.”
“I’m good at looking like I don’t give a shit.”
“Me too.”
He locked eyes with her, each of them sizing up the other, recognizing a kindred spirit. Risa understood the game. “Never underestimate a cynic,” his father used to say. “They know the score and will play whatever side is the winner.” He’d bet money that Risa Clay was a winner most of the time. This was a dangerous woman, and that flipped every one of his fucking switches in the best and worst way.
Teague smiled. “I do it every damn day of my life.”
“Are you an actor?”
“No. An attorney.”
“Ah.” She rose and began gathering her clothes from the pile on the floor. “The ultimate entertainer, snake-oil salesman, and original conman.”
“Hey. I think I was just insulted,” he huffed out on a laugh. Risa Clay gave it as good as he got it. He liked that about her.
“I don’t hear you denying it.” She waved her phone in his direction. “So you want to do a mutual delete of the photos we both have on our phones? I really don’t want them floating around, and I bet you don’t either.”
“I like the way you think.” He breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t the one who had to ask. His future campaign manager would thank him for getting rid of the evidence now.
They traded phones, the silence punctuated only by the occasional reaction to an image on the screen. The pictures on her phone were similar to his, except for th
e one of them kissing in the bed. Teague had a brief moment of regret at the loss of that photograph, but he tamped it down. He couldn’t afford weird sentimentality at a moment like this.
She paused, her swift exhale giving him a good idea of what photo she was reviewing.
“Wow. We look…” She ended with something that sounded a lot like a whimper.
Fuck, that sound was going to haunt him the rest of his life.
“Yes. We do.” Teague stared at her until she looked back at him. For two strangers it was a crazy intimate moment, the knowledge of what they’d had almost surreal. He regretted the alcoholic blinders that prevented him from retaining an actual memory of the moment.
“I’ve never…” Her words faltered again as she glanced down at the screen once more, thumb hovering over the screen. Her hand shook a little, and damn didn’t he ache to go over and feel that tremble against his skin. He must still be drunk because feeling like this—out of control and ready to give in—was something he’d rid himself of years ago. You didn’t get where he was by letting your dick rule your head.
“Here’s your phone,” Teague said, not trusting himself to say anything else. She handed over his device, avoiding any physical contact.
Their task complete, he watched her as she shimmied into her dress and shoes. Suddenly realizing just how underdressed he was, he snagged his pants off the floor, and put them on just as she got to the door. He followed her, putting a hand on her shoulder as she reached for the door handle. Risa turned to face him, her back against the door. There was a hint of wariness in her eyes. He took a step back, giving her space to breathe.
“Damn. You’re beautiful” spilled out before he could stop it.
Risa blushed. “Thank you.”
“Do you need anything?” he asked, pulling out his wallet.
Her eyes narrowed, anger causing her cheeks to flush a brighter pink.
“I’m not a hooker.”
“No, I didn’t mean that. I meant cab fare. Whatever.” Appalled at what she’d thought he meant, he gave up trying to explain, knowing he sounded as though English was his fifth language. Still flustered, he shook his head as she started to laugh at him, her hand covering her mouth but doing damn little to keep the giggles at bay. “Fuck, this is a mess.” He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “Excuse me if I don’t know the protocol. I never do this kind of thing either.”
She bit back a final laugh as her smile was replaced by another expression, totally different—sad, wistful, full of a truckload of regret. With a soft sound tinged with distress, she leaned up to hug him, each lush curve of her body molding to his own. On instinct—because God knew he didn’t do hugging as a rule—he wrapped his arms around her, returning the embrace, hoping she didn’t notice how his heart raced in his chest.
“I think you might be one of the good guys, Teague Elliott,” Risa murmured, her warm breath raising delicious tingles along his flesh. Involuntarily, his arms tightened around her and she responded by burrowing deeper into his hold. She held on tight, squeezing once with a mumbled “damn it” against the side of his neck.
Teague didn’t know who pulled back first, but he definitely was the one who leaned down and captured her mouth in a kiss, swallowing her moan as she opened to him. She was warm, wet, her tongue like velvet against his own, and her softness in stark contrast to the rigid length of his cock pressing against the fabric of his pants. He wanted to take her back to bed and lose himself inside her. He wanted to take her against this door, his thrusts making her cry out in the same rhythm as the rattle of the door. He just…wanted.
The ringing of his phone broke the silence. Beck’s ringtone, “Bad to the Bone.”
Risa broke the kiss, panting softly against his lips, her hands still woven tightly through his hair. “Whoa. Saved by your amazing taste in music.”
“It’s my buddy Beck. He probably needs me to help him outrun a jealous boyfriend.” Teague licked his lips, following her lead as she released him from her hold. “Or bail money.”
“Well, Teague Elliott, it sounds like your real life needs you.” She reached behind her for the door handle, her smile dimmed and tinged with melancholy. “If you’re ever back in Vegas…”
“If you’re ever in Virginia…”
His phone blared again and it seemed louder and more insistent the second time around.
“You better answer that. That might be your future calling.”
And then she was gone, slipping through the door and out of his sight faster than he could think of a snappy comeback.
He slid his hand into his pocket, grabbing his phone and looking down to key in the pass code and answer the call, but his thumb stalled over the screen. The image of the two of them kissing stared up at him and Teague started to laugh. She’d saved it as his home screen.
Apparently, not everything that happened in Vegas was going to stay in Vegas.
Chapter Three
She would never get used to the guns.
Risa pressed her body farther back into the chair outside Big Tony’s office while she waited her turn with the man who had a stranglehold on her life. Everyone who worked for Big Tony was packing. They wore it like a badge of honor just daring someone to goad them into using it. A bunch of oversize, testosterone-juiced man-children strutting around bringing violence and chaos with them everywhere they went.
Assholes.
Not for the last time, she pushed her regrets over her life to the back of her mind and dealt with the reality of living and dying in Las Vegas. She’d grown up in this town and literally lived on the streets for a period of time, and knew that if you stayed you eventually got roped into the seedy underside of the glitter and glamour of the strip. She’d avoided it for a long time, sidestepping the interest that her C-cups, long legs, and red hair got her from the local thugs, but if you worked in a place like the Gold Coast Casino long enough, you got noticed.
She still remembered the day she caught the attention of Big Tony and her life changed—for the better and for the worse. It didn’t hurt to have a man like him interested in you because it kept the other losers away, and it really didn’t hurt to know him when you needed ten grand to put your best friend in rehab because her shithead boyfriend got her hooked on meth. But the knowledge of what she’d done to a man named Teague Elliott hurt like a bitch.
“Risa, what are you here to see Big Tony about?” Frank Gazarra asked as he stared at her chest.
“Eyes up, Frank. The girls are awesome, but the last time I checked they don’t talk,” she replied, unsurprised when Frank took his time lifting his eyes to her face. “I did a little work for Big Tony and I’m here to report in.”
“I’m surprised to hear that. You always stay away from the life.”
“Big Tony loaned me some cash when I needed it. I pay my debts.”
“Women usually do that on their backs with the big guy.” Frank smirked, his eyes straying back down to her breasts. She suppressed a sigh, wishing she could hurry up and get this over with. She’d waited over a week for Big Tony to call her in to hand over the goods, changing her mind a million times and feeling worse about what she’d done with each passing minute.
“Well, I’m not.”
“I would think your little sex toy business would be pulling in the cash.” He waggled his eyebrows and stuck out his tongue. “Sex sells, baby.”
Gross. She tamped down the urge to vomit. Tony had better hurry or he was going to have a “cleanup on aisle nine” moment out here.
“My business is called Behind Closed Doors. I sell upscale marital aids to enhance any relationship.”
“If you ever need someone to test out the products—” Frank had begun to lean into her personal space, and Risa was never more glad to see the door to Big Tony’s office open and his identical, big-necked bodyguards call her inside.
She sidled past the guy and scooted into the office, her hands clammy. She waited for Big Tony to look up from what he was wr
iting on a pad of paper. She didn’t have to wait long, and was even greeted by a big smile when he looked up and motioned her closer.
He was a good-looking man. Big but fit, his dark hair sprinkled with silver streaks here and there. He was somewhere between forty and forty-five, and it showed that he’d taken care of his body.
“Risa. It’s always good to see you,” he boomed out in his deep voice as he half stood to lean across the desktop to press a kiss to her cheek. He pulled back and sat, taking the time to linger over her body, his expression stating that he liked what he saw. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks, Mr. Giambetti.” She stood still and resisted the urge to cover up a little more when his gaze grew hotter.
“I told you to call me Tony.”
“Okay, Tony.”
He returned his gaze to her own and got to the point. “Do you have what I asked for?”
“Yes.” She knew she’d failed to hide the hesitation in her voice when he frowned.
“The wedding chapel was ready for you? The fake preacher all ready to go? You got the photos I asked for?” He leaned forward, his excitement as clear as the night sky on the open desert. “You made sure you got the digital images, the only copies?”
“They were ready for us. I slipped the drug in his drink and it worked just like you said.” She stood there fighting back the wash of guilt and humiliation that pooled in her gut. Even when she’d halved the dose, she still couldn’t believe what she’d done to a stranger—a really great stranger—who would hate her guts the minute he found out what she’d done. And she’d never get to tell him her side of the story. She wasn’t a bad person. Just desperate.
“He didn’t hurt you, did he? Teague Elliott has a reputation for sleeping with lots of women, but not for being rough.”
“No. No, he was…” Fucking awesome. The best. He’s ruined me for anyone else.
Sweet Southern Betrayal Page 2
