Charlotte glanced back at the table, caught her friend’s sly shooing gesture before Joey leaned flirtatiously toward the man now sitting with her. Charlotte’s voice was huskier than she’d ever heard it as she slipped her phone into her bag, dropped a twenty on the counter and said to the bartender, “Thanks for my Sexy Devil martini.” She hopped off the stool, and someone immediately took it. “Free to take a break?”
The grin he’d been wrestling with finally broke, lighting up a face that she had mistakenly doubted could get any more attractive. He leisurely made his way to her, then pointed at a man behind the bar in a dark shirt and slacks who was prepping to wow a group of women with a round of VooDoo’s famous Witch Doctors. “I’m not a bartender. My friend Clay is. And as you can see, he’s got talent, but I prefer mixing my own drinks.”
Her heartbeat kicked up at the realization. The unspoken challenge egged her on, urged her to do what everyone, it seemed, thought she couldn’t. Ultimately, though, she was in control and wasn’t about to do anything she didn’t want to.
“Good.” With a crook of her finger she beckoned him to follow her.
She wouldn’t be long. Joey’d be fine. She had company.
*
This was going to go too far. Nate Franco knew it but still didn’t miss a step as he let the siren in a red dress lead him up the stairwell to the nightclub’s upper outdoor balcony. The goal had seemed simple enough earlier that evening when he’d gotten behind the wheel of his Benz and shot down the road, leaving in his wake the Lake Las Vegas mansion that his family had turned into a battleground. Make himself inaccessible to his family, stay at the Rio for the night, hit up VooDoo for an hour, tops, just for a drink in the midst of a few hundred people who, thankfully, were strangers—not family. A casual hookup wasn’t what he’d come here for, but it was a fantastic alternative to playing peacemaker.
Selfishly, he wanted to find some peace for himself. At the close of the Slayers’ last minicamp, he’d taken a few weeks of personal time—much of which was spent refereeing his brother and their father, whose fiancée, Bindi, was a twenty-nine-year-old blonde bug buzzing in his ear nonstop about her future and how the Franco family losing control of the Las Vegas Slayers was affecting her life. The new owners hadn’t yet flicked him from the training staff and he was the last of the Francos affiliated with the team. So naturally her focus had turned to him and what he intended to do to fix the situation.
He’d only managed to hold off the crazy by channeling his anxiety into what he most enjoyed: the company of a beautiful woman. A weekend in Key Largo with a tiki-bar waitress had taken off some of the edge, but what was left still weighed him down.
Contrary to what many believed, there was no “off-season” in professional football. Several days from now it would be back to the training facility that he knew better than his own luxury condo in the city, back to rehabilitation and practice, back to going toe-to-toe with coaches and players. Back to work.
He hadn’t been canned yet, but how long would it last? His older brother, Santino, hadn’t bowed out gracefully when their father had sold the Slayers franchise. Nate couldn’t blame the injured-into-retirement tight end for taking the loss of his birthright personally. The heir apparent had gotten screwed. Both he and Nate had watched their legacy get signed away, along with all the possibilities that came with it, and the new owners, who his father claimed had aggressively convinced him to sell the team to them, were trigger-happy when it came to hiring and, especially, firing.
Right now Nate had a fragile position of power as an outsider who was inside the gates. But he didn’t need his brother to remind him that the career he’d taken for granted could be yanked from him at the slightest misstep. No question the Blues, the intimidating husband-and-wife duo who’d purchased the Slayers, would be watching him closely—so he would proceed carefully, earn a rapport, figure out where loyalties lay and who to trust.
For Nate, proving that the Blues had practically stolen a multimillion-dollar ball club from the Francos was personal.
But who better to help him take the edge off than the lady in front of him? Damn, had he ever seen a pair of legs so finely toned and smooth looking?
“Now, this—” the distraction in red sent him a nod over her shoulder “—is where it’s at.”
The club’s balcony was jammed with dancing patrons carrying drinks—and cameras. Subtly, he shifted to the right and circled a hand around her wrist, drawing her to a less crowded spot. He resembled his brother closely enough to have been mistakenly asked for his autograph more than once and didn’t want what short time he had to spare with this woman to be invaded by family complications.
In a couple of hours he’d be at one of the city’s most exclusive VIP rooms celebrating the start of another season—this one free of lockout uncertainties but still not without Slayers-style drama. At the minicamps, he’d seen more new faces than familiar ones, and over a third of all the players who would survive the hell on grass that was training camp would see their fantasies of bringing it to a pro game go up in smoke.
On some level he could commiserate. If he didn’t strike the right balance between lying low enough and being outgoing enough he’d be cut, too. The owners were still adjusting the coaching and training staff. A new assistant trainer had been announced today. He’d have to be sure to introduce himself. But his father’s fiancée’s latest tantrum had drained his patience to the point where he’d resolved to unplug himself from work and family and had mindlessly gambled away over $200 in the casino after checking into the hotel’s Cariocas Suite.
“Why’d you invite me out here?” he asked, leaning close to the woman’s ear.
Her shrug rewarded him with a hint of fruity perfume. “Just trying something new,” she said in a point-blank way that made him believe, when it came to this lady, what he saw was what he’d get. And he liked what he saw. She was fit, had hair as dark as ink—hair he wanted to lose his hands in—and equally dark eyes that were more thoughtful than serious.
A passing couple bumped her but she made sure not to brush against him. This was a woman determined to remain in control. “Why don’t we take the path less traveled here,” she said. “Did you come to this club to meet the person you’re going to marry?”
“No,” he said without a hitch.
“Neither did I.” The relief shone on her face. “Consider this a fantasy, with no real expectations. So what if you and I drop the formalities and the whole list of Dating 101 get-to-know-ya questions?”
His brain was apparently slow to catch up. No woman he’d ever touched had laid it out quite like this. There was always some introduction, some prelude to sex, offering the illusion that he and she were interested in more than purely superficial pleasure. “I’m a part of your…fantasy?”
“Only if you want to be.” She waved an arm, indicating the Vegas cityscape. “It all starts with perfecting the moment. Great vibe, amazing background, music with bass you can feel here.” She laid her hand against his chest. “Feel it?”
The club’s intense techno music carried a beat that practically thudded where she’d placed her hand in the center of his chest. He was feeling more than that, though, and it had a lot to do with her enticing smile.
“What makes it better is a guy who gets me right off the bat.”
Nate nodded. “Damned if anyone gets in your way.”
“Hope that’s okay with you—that I like to be in control.” Though she sounded confident, there was a hint of hesitation in her eyes before she brought her face closer…almost touching his but not quite. “I don’t kiss strangers in clubs.”
“We’re outside.” A technicality, but he had to try.
“Funny.” She paused again, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and her right high-heeled shoe began scraping back and forth on the platform. Lifting her head, she trapped his gaze with an intense look that was flavored with amusement. “I didn’t say that I don’t kiss strangers in da
rk corners…or quiet halls with no one around.”
“Do you?”
“In reality? Only when the situation calls for it,” she said slowly, cautiously, as she turned and led him toward a deep, private shadow on the balcony.
“And in fantasy?”
“Always.”
Chapter 2
Always. The word sizzled right through Nate’s body, controlling him as if he were held prisoner by unbreakable strings. The Key Largo tiki-bar waitress had been more freaky than flirtatious, more calculating than classy. She hadn’t gripped him the way this woman did.
Were they still playing along in her fantasy, or had they crossed the line to reality, where being with her for even another minute wasn’t guaranteed?
Uncertainty stirred his adrenaline. He sensed that he didn’t have the luxury of time. He needed to find out her motives and intent, her vulnerabilities…and oh, yeah, what she had on underneath that thin red gift wrap.
Playing it the way she’d laid it out seemed the best way to go. He needed to be cool. Even if his pants were ablaze.
“I have the Cariocas Suite,” he said. Now was the best moment to let her know that he liked to be in control, too. “It’s more private than any dark corner or empty hall in this building. Want a fantasy with me? Then let’s go.”
Nate moved with purpose, snaking his fingers over hers and switching directions to get them to his suite the fastest. In the elevator she watched him closely before inquiring, “Why’d you hold my hand when we left the lounge?”
He stepped closer, until she was snug in a back corner of the elevator with nothing to focus on but his eyes, his words. “I wanted anyone who looked at us to know that you chose me.”
When the doors opened, revealing his quiet floor and the promise of what would happen once enclosed in his suite, she stepped out ahead of him, then asked over her shoulder, “When you saw me at the bar, did you know I’d end up in your room?”
“Know? Nope. But surprises keep life interesting, don’t they?” At the tightness in his voice, he softened the tension crackling between them with a quick curve of his lips. He unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Technically, you aren’t in my room.”
A fact he wanted to change now.
“You’re in a quiet hall, with nobody around but me,” he added, and saw her eyes widen in response.
“And now…” she moved toward him, then past him just into the suite’s foyer “…I’m in your room.”
Nate rounded on his heel and filled the doorway, his hands planted on the frame above his head.
Her gaze coasted over him, taking in his height and form. “Well, are you going to kick me out?”
Moments danced by before he dropped his hands and reached her in two steps. “Hell, no.” Then his mouth crushed against hers.
She hooked her arms around his neck and hauled herself up, bringing her taut abdomen and supple breasts flush with his body. Her mouth opened without coaxing, and he indulged in swiping his tongue across her top row of teeth. She dropped back.
Nate fisted her bell sleeves, pulling her closer. One more tug on her sleeves and she was pressed to him again.
She wriggled out of his grasp and walked her fingers down the front of his shirt, undoing buttons along the way. At the last button she paused, teasingly shifting her weight from one foot to the other with those round dark eyes on his. “One question, though. What do people call you?”
“Nate.”
“People call me Lottie.” The final button was freed, and the sides of his shirt fell open.
What would he do if he couldn’t touch her bare flesh? He wasn’t going to find out, that was for damn sure.
Nate brushed her hair back from her face, felt the tendrils slide over his skin, then let his fingers drift over her collarbone before he plucked the oversize sleeves off her shoulders and drew the barely there garment down her body.
Lottie arrowed up, a squeal bubbling out as he continued to tug until she was down to silver lacy V-string panties and a deep red bra with half cups that offered soft, smooth breasts he wanted to lose himself in. She nimbly brought her leg up and fastened it around his waist, then hoisted herself onto him, the intimate contact eliciting a groan from deep within him.
Another flash of her smile, and he was ready to pin her to his king-size bed then and there.
“I’m looking forward to hearing you moan and scream, Lottie.”
“Give me a reason to, and I will.”
*
Control kept Charlotte grounded…sane. In her world, losing control meant welcoming chaos. But hot day-um, she felt herself delighting in following Nate’s lead as he touched and whispered and coaxed and reminded her exactly how good it felt to just let go.
Over ten years had passed since her last true fun-only fling. Along the way she’d become accustomed to committed relationships that had pleased her parents. At least when those fell apart, she never had to worry about her mother and father blaming her for choosing the wrong man.
A relationship was the last thing she wanted, and the man skimming his hands down her back now was more than capable of giving her what she did want: no-hassle passion.
Nate took her mouth again, and the sensation intensified when he cupped her booty with both hands and squeezed.
Hit with stray concerns of whether he thought her butt was too fleshy or not fleshy enough, she whispered, “Nothing special there.”
“I think you’re wrong about that.” For emphasis he gave her a firm tap, then, with a low rumble of laughter, soothed the spot with a gentle stroke. “Nice jiggle.”
Was she actually in a suite at the Rio, down to her undies and heels, having her booty tapped by a panty-meltingly hot not-a-bartender?
Nate shifted her against him and she felt a thick ridge of hard flesh at the juncture of her thighs. Um. Yeah. This was so happening.
He set her on her feet and led the way past a lavish sitting area, and when she paused to kick off her shoes, she looked up and saw the city twinkling outside the wall of windows.
“Lottie?” He stood in the doorway of what must be the suite’s bedroom.
Charlotte glanced back at him, then again toward the nighttime view. Go big or go home, right?
Before she had a chance to change her mind, she reached behind her and unsnapped her bra. The bold move felt more as though she’d freed herself from chains as opposed to delicate lace. “Come get me here.”
Nate muttered a dirty curse that seemed to stroke all her erogenous zones at once, and rushed her, taking her with him to the sofa. He fit his hands over her breasts, scraping his fingernails across her nipples until she cried out and gripped his sides with her knees.
With a push to his chest, she urged him backward onto the sofa, rising up to straddle his hips. “Let’s even out the playing field and get you just as naked as I am.”
He drew a fingertip down from the side of her face to her nipple. The movement was slow, almost too sweet for an encounter between two strangers who after tonight would never see one another again.
She interrupted his exploration to creatively reverse her straddle and scoot up his torso, backing her butt up close to his face. She unhooked his belt and diligently pushed both his pants and boxer briefs down his hips until she was rewarded with the sight of his erection.
Nate caught her waist and slid her up higher. Bent over him, she felt totally bared, erotically exposed…and at the mercy of his mouth when he swirled his tongue over the flimsy fabric between her legs.
And her phone buzzed.
Or was that her? The sudden damp heat of his mouth had her eyes crossing and she clenched her jaw so tightly she might’ve chipped a tooth.
Another buzz. Definitely her phone. The sound stopped, only to resume several seconds later. The caller wasn’t giving up.
Charlotte pushed away from Nate. “I have to get that.”
“Ignore it. Please.”
“I’m ninety-nine percent certain who’s calling, a
nd she doesn’t respond well to being ignored.” Tuning out his protests, Charlotte ran all but naked—save a moist lacy V-string—to the foyer table where she’d deposited her handbag.
A swift glance at the caller ID on the phone’s display confirmed that her mother was calling, no doubt irritated that her eldest child was late for the Slayers’ party. Instantly her mother’s name and number put priorities back into perspective, and with slightly unsteady hands Charlotte returned the phone to her bag. Playtime was over, but she wouldn’t answer the call while still in Nate’s suite—and topless.
She strode back into the sitting room.
“Mmm. You standing there in those diamonds with Las Vegas behind you is incredible.”
If only he knew that part of her was still lost in their unexpected hookup and didn’t want to leave unfulfilled. He was all ropey muscle stretched out on the sofa, ready to come and get her.
“This was interesting, Nate,” she said, schooling her features into a calm expression. “But I’ve got to go now.” As if to punctuate the announcement, her phone started convulsing in her bag again.
She averted her gaze, because the last thing she needed was to see her own disappointment mirrored in this man’s eyes or to be persuaded to stay when she shouldn’t.
“What was that, then, Lottie? An escape call?”
As if she wanted to escape this? “No, I didn’t invent a reason to leave. I know how this looks, all right? But I got carried away with you and misjudged the time. I’m supposed to be somewhere else, Nate. Not here.”
Wish I had no other place to be but here. Whoa. How had she so totally lost the focus she reserved for the job that meant everything to her? She didn’t know this man, so why did the thought of breezing out of his life prickle painfully?
Charlotte sighed, watched him kick aside his underwear and step into his pants, his face etched with carefully controlled—but no doubt deep—disappointment. Seeing his muscles bunch triggered a reminder of how only moments ago he’d scooted her up his torso and licked her right through her V-string. Her nipples pebbled at the memory, growing even harder as he looked her way.
Night Games Page 2
