by Lexi Ryan
Did Angela’s son—the paperwork named him Tony—have a Walter in his life? Someone to teach him right from wrong? A man who taught him what it meant to be a man? Charlie hoped so, but if Angela was looking to him for that, she was setting herself up for disappointment.
A high school dropout and a man the media made out to be a womanizer, Charlie would be a pathetic excuse for a role model. Hell, he’d managed to make a nice career for himself through the less-than-respectable path of professional poker, but even that was fading.
Charlie turned at a tap on his shoulder. A svelte blonde smiled down at him. “This seat taken?”
“Not that I know of.”
She sat and scooted her chair toward Charlie so the outside of their legs touched. “You don’t mind me taking your money, do you?”
“It’s a personal code of mine to only lose to the most beautiful women,” Charlie admitted.
“So, you come here a lot?” she asked. She chomped a piece of gum and winked at the dealer as he passed out their cards.
Charlie tossed a glance to the stage where two exotic dancers did a little bump and grind against each other. “No,” he admitted. “This is my first time.”
“The Black Diamond isn’t just a strip club, ya know.”
Charlie raised a brow.
“It’s some of the best damn poker in Vegas. These guys—” she gestured to the men around the table “—some of the best amateurs around.”
“Hear! Hear!” a man barked from the other side of the table.
“So you’re a regular?”
The smile dropped from the woman’s face. The man next to her tipped his cowboy hat to cover his features but it didn’t cover his chuckle.
“Do you know the guy who runs this place?” Charlie asked her.
Another chuckle from the cowboy. Charlie spared him a glance but returned his attention to the woman.
“You could say that.” She turned her attention to her cards, indicating the conversation was over.
“When could I find him here do you think?”
“Why? Spencer owe you money?” the cowboy asked.
“Not exactly,” Charlie said cautiously.
“He sleep with your girlfriend?” the guy across the table offered.
Charlie lowered his voice so only the blonde could hear. “Sounds like he doesn’t have the best reputation,” he murmured.
“Don’t believe everything these hacks tell you,” she said softly.
Charlie nodded, understanding when to push and when to pull back. It was a skill that came from years of razzing guys at the poker table.
Charlie finished the hand, then folded the next early. He slipped a few chips to the dealer before standing. He’d only just turned away when the blonde grabbed him.
Charlie dropped his gaze to where her long, manicured fingers had shackled his wrist. Her bare arms were thin and bronzed. He knew her type—looking for a sugar Daddy at a poker table. He didn’t have the heart to tell her she was going about it all wrong. The men here didn’t want to take care of her. They wanted to screw her and go home. There was a time he would have wanted to as well. “Can I help you?” he asked.
She dropped her chin and looked up at him so she was looking through her lashes. “I know who you are,” she whispered. “You were pulling your punches with this bunch, weren’t you?”
“That’s a flattering assumption.” He gave her the signature Charlie ‘The Devil’ Singleton smile. He could take her back to his suite, but why bother? She’d just want him to play the part of the womanizing bad boy when he’d much rather be himself. The idea of how the night would play out bored him, had him as weary as a dull, thudding headache. “Good night.”
He headed up toward the exit, not bothering to cash in his chips. He’d use the same pile tomorrow.
As he worked his way through the crowd toward the exit, he tossed a final glance over his shoulder. On the stage, a woman wearing a black thong and pasties wrapped her body around a pole. Men from the edges of the stage reached their hands in her direction, greedy for the opportunity to tuck a bill in her g-string.
Charlie took a cab back to his hotel, where he was flexing his bank account for two weeks in a high roller penthouse suite. Charlie would have as soon stayed in one of Grand Escape’s basic rooms, but his agent had insisted that part of Charlie’s image control must be continuing to live as he had before. Sponsors didn’t want to put their name on some washed-up, old-news player, so Charlie had to do everything in his power to maintain the image of the carefree bad boy he’d been for so many years.
When he arrived at the hotel, Charlie handed the driver his fare and a generous tip. He nodded to the doorman and winked at the girl behind the front desk. Everyone at Grand Escape knew him and treated him like a VIP, and he did his best never to let on how uncomfortable that made him. He hadn’t gotten into poker to get rich; he’d started playing because it was the only thing he was good at.
Charlie used his room card to get the elevator to his floor. When he got to his suite, he pulled out his laptop and opened the video of one of his competitors at his last tournament. The guy was a wiz with the cards, and Charlie had yet to discover any tells. He didn’t even fidget.
But when the video came on the screen, Charlie couldn’t focus. His mind kept drifting back to the possibility of being a father. Charlie had wasted too many years filled with bitterness toward a father he’d never known. Had his child felt the same way? Was the kid even his?
He’d never had unprotected sex. His mother had taught him right. But even diligent use of condoms didn’t guarantee a thing.
He ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about this anymore. Until he had answers, thinking about it was just a mind-fuck. He needed to think about something else.
His mind instantly landed on Riley. There was something he didn’t want to get out of his mind. Not her or that fucking sexy get-up he’d bought her. He imagined her dark hair swishing against the pale skin of her back as he helped her lace up the leather corset. He just wanted to sit in a room and watch her walk around in snug leather, her breasts pressed high, her ass exposed in the thong.
What kind of idiot man wouldn’t want Riley to wear that for him? It wasn’t that Charlie didn’t love nude—hell, it was his healthy respect for nude that made him appreciate lingerie so much. Lingerie teased, hinted at nude. Made a promise like the tip of a female tongue against cock before she took him in her mouth.
He’d been somehow gratified to learn that she had a whole collection of the naughty stuff, as if someone had confirmed every private image he’d ever had of her.
He closed his eyes and groaned. He was rock hard again. Thoughts of Riley did that to him.
How serious could she be about a guy she couldn’t wear lingerie for?
He was ready to find out.
***
“How did your date go last night?”
Riley looked up from her keyboard to see her father standing before her, suit jacket draped over his arm. His tie was off, a sure sign he was done doing business for the day. “It was good.”
Quinton nodded. “Chaz seems to be a nice boy.”
Riley laughed. “He’s thirty-two, hardly a boy, Daddy.”
“You’re all kids to me.” He ran a hand threw his thinning gray hair. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Riley’s heart squeezed, knowing he was so uncomfortable with aging. Much like Sean Connery and Harrison Ford, her father had aged well, and didn’t look anywhere near his true seventy-four years. “Do you have plans tonight?”
“I have to finish up a few things here and then I have dance class but no other plans.”
Her father frowned. Though he tried not to say much about it, he hated her decision to continue dancing. He worried.
“Daddy, relax. It’s just what I do for exercise.” She reached across her desk and squeezed his hand. “I’m not her,” she said in a whisper.
He nodded. “I know that.�
� His voice was gruff. If the rest of the business world knew what a softie this hotelier was under his hardnosed exterior, it might be the death of his empire. “Do you need any money…for anything?”
Riley smiled and shook her head. “I have everything I need.” He’d never be comfortable with her insistence that she make her own way, but she had to credit him for never pushing too hard.
She wasn’t privy to what had gone on behind the scenes when her father had adopted her thirteen years ago, but her mother hadn’t even been in the ground before Riley had been swept off to Quinton Carter’s mansion, a tiny pink suitcase containing her favorite things in her hand. She’d been shown around her new home and told she would never want for anything anymore. When Quinton had come home from work that night, he’d found her in her new room—a space decked out in pink and ballerinas just for her. She’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, terrified to touch anything. It was all too new. Too beautiful. Too intimidating for a girl who’d grown up with so little.
She’d trembled at the sight of him. He was such a massive man with a booming voice and a reputation for a cold heart. Her mother was gone, and he was all she had. Would he kick her out if he realized she’d killed her mother? Did he know her mother would still be alive if she hadn’t been a spoiled brat who insisted on new ballet slippers?
Overcome with grief and guilt, the words, “I’m sorry,” had slipped from her lips. She hadn’t meant to say them out loud.
Her father had dropped to his knees in front of her, wrapped his big arms around her tiny frame, and he’d cried. She’d stiffened at first, unsure what to do, but then it felt so good to have someone hold her that she cried too.
It was the only time in her life she’d ever seen her father cry. They’d never talked about it, but those tears had formed a bond between father and daughter—a bond they’d desperately needed to begin their new life together. She didn’t know what her life with the strange man would be like, but when she learned he’d already lost one daughter, she’d vowed not to disappoint him. All through her teens and early twenties, she had broken her vow only once, and it had gotten her sent away.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, smiling at him.
“Have a nice dance class, Riley.”
As Riley watched her father walk out the door, her phone buzzed.
The screen read: Message from Charles Spencer.
She bit her lip. Chaz. Their date hadn’t ended so well last night, and she wasn’t sure if he really would text like he promised. She hit OK.
I can’t stop thinking about yesterday.
Riley put her fingers to her lips but couldn’t stop them from spreading into a grin. She took a breath. You’ve been on my mind, too, she typed. Did it sound too needy? Too desperate? She wanted to improve her sex life with Chaz more than a dieter wanted ice cream, but she wasn’t sure how to go about it. She held her breath and hit Send.
She stared at the phone, willing it to vibrate, willing him to respond.
Nothing.
“Don’t be stupid, Riley. You don’t need to text back and forth like teenagers all day. He’s busy. Get back to work.” She stole a last glance at her phone and turned back to her computer.
It buzzed again, vibrating against the desk. She chewed on her bottom lip. She should not be this excited about a text message.
But she was. She snatched her phone and read the message.
Did you try it on?
Her heart kicked up a beat. Surely he didn’t mean...Try what on? she typed. Send.
Black. Leather. Sexy as fuck? Ring any bells?
She shifted in her chair. Was this a side of Chaz she hadn’t seen? Was he secretly someone her ING would come out and purr for? That would be a good thing, right? Why did that seem so weird to her?
Her stomach clenched. All she could do was find out. I tried it on.
Four words. Safe. Noncommittal. He wouldn’t run screaming in the other direction. And if he didn’t like the idea of her wearing something so provocative...Sexy as fuck. She shifted again. He liked it. She hit Send and her lame-o message fled from her phone.
She waited, listening to the wall clock tick, tick, tick...Her phone buzzed.
I wish I’d been there. Hope you took pictures.
She frowned. Okay, she didn’t expect that from Chaz.
Pretend it’s Charlie, her ING said. What’s weird from Chaz is hot from Charlie.
That was a terrible idea, of course, to think about Charlie while Chaz was texting her. But she reread the message and imagined Charlie typing it, that cocky grin on his face, his dimple making an occasional appearance—
Her thighs flexed instinctively. She looked around her empty office, her skin heating. She was turned on at work, one wall between her and the room where her father made billion-dollar business transactions. Dear God. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and stared at the message, her pulse hammering. What should she say? Did he want her to be suggestive? She wasn’t sure she knew how...
What would you say if you were having this conversation with Charlie?
I wish you had been too, she typed. Not exactly Anais Nin, but it was something. She hit Send before she could talk herself out of it, then she said a little prayer that her life was about to get a little more interesting.
She gripped the phone in her hands, staring at the display. Tick, tick, tick.
***
Charlie Singleton had woken up with a hard-on that far exceeded his average morning wood, and it was all thanks to little Miss Riley Carter and that black leather sexpot outfit.
He reread her last text. I wish you had been too.
Jesus. He hadn’t expected that. He’d picked up his phone and sent her a text to tease her. She’d startled the hell out of him when she said she’d been thinking about him...and now she wished he had been there when she’d tried on the bustier? God, help him.
Did you think about anyone when you put it on? He typed, ignoring that his cock jumped at the idea, demanding his attention. He wasn’t about to cut this conversation short just to stroke one out.
Her reply came quickly.
I did.
He grinned. And wasn’t that why he’d bought the damn thing for her—so she’d have to think about him? Riley was too much of a good girl for her own good, and for some reason the idea of making her break that mold had fascinated him since the day Lacey had introduced them.
He settled back onto his pillows and looked at the ceiling. She worked in this very building, in one of the many offices in the tower over the casino. She tried to blend in with the stuffed shirts and the blowhards like she was one of them, when he knew she was really much more underneath. Why did the idea of making her hot and bothered while she was alone in her office turn him on so much?
Ah, but that’s why they called him the Devil.
How did it look? Are you happy with it, or do I need to take you shopping for a different one?
He hadn’t expected any of this when he picked up his phone to push her buttons. And now he’d pay. His cock was fucking granite, threatening to bust out of his boxers.
He set his phone on his chest, closed his eyes, and imagined her in her office chair, cheeks tinged with that perpetual flush she had in his presence, as if his mere existence were scandalous. She probably had her dark hair pulled back in a clip like she preferred to wear it for work, and was wearing one of those business suits that weren’t supposed to be sexy but were on her because of the way they pulled a little across her ass.
His phone beeped, alerting him to a new text, and he smiled. Looked like Riley wanted to play.
I’m happy with it. You liked it, then?
He thought he’d made that pretty damn clear yesterday. I liked it, but I have no doubt I’d like it more on you.
Was this the text after which she’d finally say he’d taken it too far? He thought about adding more but left it at that, unwilling to scare her away if he could avoid it. He punched Send.
He
r response came quickly—as if she’d been typing it before he’d sent the last message. I’ve never worn leather panties before.
He closed his eyes. Her ass would look so sweet in that red leather thong. And if she wore it for him, he’d roll her on her stomach, kiss his way down her back, touching his tongue to all the exposed pieces of flesh between the leather lacings. When he reached her ass, he’d graze his teeth over the firm flesh of each cheek before sliding his hand underneath her to cup her mound, rocking his palm against her so her swollen clit rubbed against the leather there.
His fantasy was interrupted by another message coming through.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.
He moaned. You’re making me uncomfortable, all right, but not in the way you mean. Don’t apologize. That’s what they make cold showers for.
He hit Send and he closed his eyes. What would she do if he went over to her office? He’d indulged in that particular fantasy more than once while staying at this hotel. Hell, truth was, he could have stayed anywhere. In some ways, it would have been better to stay at a hotel that wasn’t hosting the tournament, but he always stayed here. He’d never let himself over think it. He just did it. Because being near Riley felt good. Because flirting with her was fun.
His phone beeped.
Good. I mean, I’m kind of uncomfortable in that way too.
Groaning, he adjusted his dick. Maybe he’d always stayed here because he believed something like this could happen. He would go into her office without warning, lock the door behind him, and push her up against the wall...
Hell, he couldn’t fuck her in her office when she had a boyfriend anymore than he could go all-in holding an unsuited seven and two. But he could text with the best of them.
You know what would look good with that get-up? he typed.
Her response came back quickly. Tell me.
