As she paused to take a breath after sharing some hilarious experience she’d had with her best friend, she tilted her head and looked at me appraisingly. I watched as her eyes dilated, and she moistened her lips with her tongue. Nearly unmanned by the subtle yet impossibly sexy gesture, I reached up to brush her hair from her cheek. I was just about to lean in and press my lips to her temple when I heard the sound I’d been trying to avoid for the rest of my life.
“Well, imagine finding you out of your office before midnight,” said the nasal voice of the most irritating woman I’d ever had the misfortune to know. “Is this why you haven’t returned any of my calls?”
Standing just behind Alexis’ right shoulder was Missy Kennedy, a cocktail waitress I’d banged one night after too much Belvedere and not enough tonic water. She was pretty enough, and I’d thought she was a decent girl until she latched herself to my leg, figuratively speaking. She was the reason I refused to have any kind of sleepovers anymore and avoided any woman in my employ. We’d had some stellar sex, but the morning after, the vixen was replaced by a whiny female who insisted on being taken out for a champagne breakfast. I’d tried to make an excuse, citing an urgent work project, but she stamped her feet and pouted. She literally blocked my exit from her apartment by standing in front of the door, refusing to move. Not being one for manhandling a woman wearing clothes, I finally relented and took her to the best restaurant in The Kingsley. I’d sat speechless as she put away two orders of Eggs Benedict and what seemed like an entire magnum of champagne. I’d completely lost what little appetite I’d worked up the night before after watching her inhale her food without dignity. I’d been dodging her calls ever since.
As I looked at Missy now, I wondered just how thick the booze goggles had been that night. Her platinum blonde hair was dark at the roots and frayed at the ends. She wore thick makeup with dark shadow on her eyes and thick, false eyelashes. Her bubble-gum lipstick was practically smeared across her mouth, some of it even staining her teeth. I let my gaze wander lower and came to the cause for my momentary lapse in good taste. She had fantastic tits. I’d learned they were fake, but her surgeon deserved a hearty handshake and a fruit basket.
Snapping my focus back to Alexis, I watched as she eased herself off her stool. I didn’t want to even acknowledge Missy, much less engage in whatever bullshit she had in mind.
“Wait, don’t go,” I whispered softly as I gently grabbed Alexis’ right wrist.
“I don’t want to come between you and your girlfriend, Kent,” she said, her mouth twisting to the side in disapproval or disappointment—maybe both.
“She’s not my girlfriend, I swear,” I replied as I felt all the in-roads I’d made slipping through my fingers.
“Whatever this is,” she said with a slight finger gesture between me and Missy, “count me out. Thanks for the drinks and the company though. It was fun while it lasted.”
I hung my head, pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger as Missy slid onto the stool Alexis had just vacated.
“God, I thought that slut would never leave,” she said as she reached for my glass and sucked down its contents. I shook my head at her complete lack of manners, my patience already at an end.
“What do you want, Missy?”
Her face transformed into something I’d probably thought was sexy when I was shit-faced. Looking at her now, I didn’t know whether to laugh or ask Stan for some antacids. Missy leaned in and ran her hand down my chest.
“You know what I want, Kent. You want it, too. I know you do after the way you…,”
I plucked Missy’s hand off my chest as she tried to slip it inside my shirt.
“Missy, all I want is for you to do your job here at the casino and do it well. Nothing more, nothing less.”
She gave a high-pitched giggle that sounded more like the warbling of a turkey.
“Oh, I intend to do a very good job. A certain special job,” she said as she grabbed at my crotch with the hand I’d just diverted.
I quickly jumped off my stool, making a lame excuse about needing to put some ointment on a nasty rash I had and beat feet out onto the casino floor to the sound of Missy’s displeasure and Stan’s hysterical laughter.
Two
Alexis
He’s all hers, I thought as I hustled my way out of the lounge. I should have figured any man who caught my interest beyond a quick dirty fuck would be a womanizing bastard. I didn’t seem to like any other kind. What the fuck is wrong with me?
The sharp clack of my favorite heels echoed over the tile floor of the casino lobby, intent on retreating to the safety of my hotel room. That woman was probably better suited for Kent, anyway. She has that cheap, low-class look to her. My spiteful thoughts didn’t surprise me in the least. I’d had way too many experiences with women like her. Skanks.
I halted at the elevators. Being completely alone sounded like a shit idea after the day I’d had. I wasn’t my best friend, Stacy. I was never content to go back to my room and enjoy my own company. I was Alexis Lane, a.k.a. Reina Dare, bestselling author of sweet and erotic romance books. I kicked ass and owned my life. I started out writing only sweet romance, but my personal inclination had always been toward the spicier side of things, so I’d quietly created my alter ego, Reina and forged a name for myself in that subgenre. I could have anything and anyone I wanted, at least that’s what I always told myself. My mother always said, You get what you expect, and that generally worked for me. Except for the whole man thing. Your expectations in that department might need some reevaluation, I heard her voice in my head. She was a wise and caring woman if a little distant, but love is not a choice nor is sexual attraction. What do you do when you’re attracted to the overly confident, cock-of-the-walk types with more swagger than morals? Fuck if I knew, and Mom never had an answer for that. Probably because she suffered from the same affliction. My dad, though I loved him dearly, was a douchebag of a husband.
Maybe I should spend some time at the tables. Perhaps Lady Luck would be kinder to me than the men I’d met recently. Not that she’d ever been in the past.
“God, what a fucked up day!” I mumbled under my breath.
I did an immediate about-face and headed toward the exit doors. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Kent coming my way. Not wanting to be seen, my initial instinct was to drop to all fours and crawl behind the nearest planter. With my rotten luck, he’d happen right upon me, and I’d look even more ridiculous than I already did for getting sucked in by his charm.
“For fuck’s sake!” I muttered as I did a few mental calculations. I realized I wouldn’t have enough time to reach the exit, so I scanned the lobby for another escape. In a flash of inspiration, I bolted toward the doors of the VIP room. It looked like the high-stakes tables were my only option.
I moved briskly, avoiding a glance in his direction, knowing he was looking for me. I kicked myself again for letting him get to me, right from the second I’d seen him staring. I should have kept up the bitch routine, but damn, he was magnetic. When we’d finally fallen into that easy conversation, I’d felt something simmering between us—that infernal chemistry that always got me into bed and into more trouble than I needed. When I saw his eyes drop to my favorite shoes, again and again, the Reina in me came out in full force. Something about him made me feel like he was different—which alone should have told me he wasn’t.
I squeezed my way between two tall men as I passed over the threshold to the game room. One of them smiled at me. He was just as tall as Kent and almost as gorgeous, except his eyes were dark. They sparkled with the same mischief.
“Are you lost?” he asked playfully.
“What makes you think that? It’s not like I’ve stumbled into the men’s room,” I replied, teasing him back. “Or have I?”.
“I just don’t see many women coming in here alone. They’re usually draped on the arm of some aging, wealthy man, completely oblivious to anything but the next-richest
guy in the room.”
I rolled my eyes. I tried being a trophy wife for a minute and maybe even someone’s mistress—unknowingly—but I had my own money. With a tidy bankroll from my royalties as Alexis Lane and now Reina Dare, I had plenty to burn.
“I don’t need a man, wealthy or otherwise, for anything,” I replied. “I’m my own woman.”
“I don’t know,” the hottie countered, the gleam in his eyes brightening. “I’ve been told I can be pretty useful on occasion.”
I snorted, causing his companion to notice me.
“Don’t listen to this asshole. He’s as useless as they come. I, on the other hand, well, I make dreams come true,” he said cockily. This one was just as pretty as his friend, another dark blond Adonis. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was in Hollywood surrounded by all these sun-kissed gorgeous men. I didn’t know they grew them like this here; otherwise, I’d have spent even more time in Vegas.
“The only dreams I have right now are of Kings and Queens, gentlemen. Thanks for the laughs,” I said as I began to move toward the nearest open seat at one of the tables.
“But we are a couple of Kings, my lady,” the second man called out.
I scoffed and shook my head as I took my seat. The old Alexis would have stuck around for more banter, but I was determined to back away from the good-looking, charming ones. One was enough for tonight. What I needed was an engineer with thick glasses and a pocket protector. Someone safe and undesired by anyone else. Yeah, but then he’d be undesired by me, too.
As the men passed me toward the next table, the first one leaned in and whispered in my ear.
“Let one of us know if you feel like being treated like a queen,” he said as he passed me his card. I didn’t even glance at it before slipping it into my jacket pocket.
“I’ll be sure to do that. Enjoy your night, and good luck to you,” I responded politely as he gave me a cocky wink. I just shook my head, smiling back at him. I’d reached my limit on testosterone and pheromones for the night. I needed to remain the Reina I’d been for the last year—ballsy, boisterous, and completely independent. I enjoyed my new purpose in life, writing smut, but while I played the part of lusty seductress, I hadn’t paid much attention to my personal needs. The little devil on my left shoulder began to whisper. It’s the weekend, and you’re on a semi-business trip. You could have your pick of any guy here. You’d never have to see him again. C’mon, what’s the harm? It doesn’t have to be anything more than one night of pleasure.
I very nearly pulled the man’s card out of my pocket, but at the last second, I slammed the doors on that little red fucker with the pointed horns and pitchfork. It was my well-kept secret I’d lost my taste for quick, one-night hookups.
My thoughts briefly turned as I accepted the chips the blackjack dealer offered me and signed the receipt.
I thought of my best friend, Stacy, who was in the midst of wedding plans to the one and only Gage Blackstone, the most popular male romance author in the business. He’d been the unattainable prize to every woman with a pulse—me included—until she came along and stole his heart. Now that was the kind of relationship I needed—true love with an honest, devoted man, who also happened to be a sex-machine. Gage was the unicorn—the only perfect man in existence.
From what Stacy told me, they were planning to have their wedding and reception right here at The Kingsley. It wasn’t one of the major hotels on the strip, but she said since the owner’s son had taken over the property, it was swiftly gaining popularity. Andrea, the planner for Limitless Lust in Las Vegas, wanted to snag space for her first signing event for her book promotions company. She’d been my personal assistant when I first started out as an author, and though we’d parted ways, she’d gone on to build a very successful company. With my new novels performing well, I’d been looking for a different challenge, a new opportunity to grow my brand into something even larger than my Alexis Lane platform. I leapt at the opportunity to sponsor her event and help with planning since I could see Stacy and Gage and maybe have a little fun while I was at it.
I had one job to do this week, and that was to entice that fucking hospitality manager, Geoffrey Somebody-or-other, into giving us the deluxe treatment with the promise we’d sign a five-year contract for an annual show. The interest level from readers had already reached epic proportions, and we didn’t even have an event date yet. There was no reason he shouldn’t jump at the chance to do solid business with Andrea and me every year. Yet once I met the smarmy little jerk, all he could do was stare at my tits. When I finally grew impatient and threatened to go straight to management, he merely lifted a shoulder and walked away. Not content to just go to a level above his head, I’d shot straight for the top. I’d been trying to get ahold of the Mr. Kingsley ever since, but he wasn’t returning my calls.
I raised my hand to draw the attention of the cocktail waitress who was making her rounds of the room. I probably didn’t need any more dirty martinis, but I’d had a bad day and now had to spend the whole weekend here trying to hunt down the man in charge and convince him to toss a few freebies our way.
Drink in hand, I looked at the dealer who nodded at me and began dealing the next round after I placed two five-thousand-dollar chips in the little circle in front of me. I cast a glance at the people in the room. That guy was right, there were few women, and of those, all stood behind men seated at the tables. I was the only one with either enough money or chutzpah to take a seat. Every man was dressed in expensive business wear while their companions were decked out in designer evening clothes. Those jerks were like all the men I was raised around—so-called gentlemen with more money than sense. Men like my dad. Probably even like that tool I met in the lounge. I sighed in resignation, knowing that was the last thing I really thought about him. Sin in an Armani suit was more like it. Again, I lamented liking the ones with the egos that always needed stroking along with their dicks.
Lifting the cards in front of me, I saw I’d been dealt the King of Hearts and Seven of Clubs. I looked at the dealer whose face card was an Ace. I groaned internally. I never knew whether to hit or stand. I didn’t even know why I wanted to play blackjack—my math skills were worse than my cooking skills. That’s why I had an accountant. Playing it safe, I stood, only to hear the dealer call “Blackjack!” when he flipped his card over.
I was tempted to just leave the table, but I didn’t want to give the men around me the impression I was trying to punch above my weight, or worse yet, I’d bet the family income on one hand.
Just as I was about to place another bet, my attention was drawn to the double doors leading to the casino floor. There in the middle of the doorway was Kent, his eyes scanning the room. I thought he might still be looking for me, but my ego took a hit when he walked in the direction of the two men I’d briefly chatted with when I arrived. Nevertheless, I hunkered down to be as inconspicuous as possible, just in case. I felt like an idiot. He’d probably long forgotten about me. At least he wasn’t with the trollop from the bar. That really would have stung.
After the cards were dealt again, I peeked at them, seeing the lovely hand of the Five of Spades and Two of Hearts. The dealer’s hand showed a Ten of Diamonds. Just as I flicked my cards to indicate he should hit me again, I noticed the three men moving toward me. Unfortunately, I got the Ten of Clubs and was stuck at seventeen again. I scraped my cards against the felt again rapidly, almost certain to bust. Just my luck, I got the Four of Diamonds. When all cards were turned over, the dealer called out “Twenty-one,” but I was out of time. The men were just mere steps away, eyes locked on me.
I jumped from my stool and hustled out of the room, leaving my winnings and the rest of my chips behind. The dealer called out to me, but I just waved my arm at him. They’d credit my account with my winnings and my remaining chips, and if they didn’t, well running from Kent—and my wicked side if I was being honest—was worth it. You’re doing the right thing, I chanted in my head. I glanced over my
shoulder. Kent was still hot on my heels, but the other two had stopped at my seat and were behind the table, conversing with the dealer. What the...? There was only one way they’d be able to get behind the table without being tossed out on their ears.
Just as I finally hit those black, leather double doors, I felt a hand at my elbow. I spun around and came face to gorgeous face with Kent.
“Alexis, please. Don’t run away from me again…” he began.
Whether it was my desire to get away, or I’d just come to the end of my patience with scoundrel men, I lost my temper.
“What is it about me that makes men like you think I’m stupid? Do I wear a target or sign on my back that reads Gullible? I don’t care how good looking or charming you are, I don’t need to get mixed up in a triangle. Now back off!”
“But Alexis, it’s not what you think!” he implored, making my eyes bulge from their sockets.
“Said every conniving, lying, deceitful asshole, ever!” I replied, reaching the end of my rope. I stomped hard on his foot, my fuck-me heels quickly turning into my ass-kicking shoes as I drove the five-inch stiletto into his foot. I hoped it made him bleed.
“Fuck off, Kent. Oh, and have a good night,” I spat as I turned away.
“Stop!” Kent growled as he hopped along behind me. Just as I pushed on the doors, I felt his hand grip my elbow once more. “I’m not letting you go anywhere again until you have another drink with me and let me explain. Now, come on.”
He all but dragged me through the casino, despite his noticeable limp. I smiled smugly, knowing he was in a good amount of pain. His expensive leather shoes had been no protection against my heels. I thought he’d steer me back to the lounge, but to my surprise, we stopped at the elevators.
Quick Dirty Luck: A Love Between the Pages Novel Page 2
