To her driver’s dismay, she was helping load the pink luggage when a shiny black SUV pulled alongside. The driver’s window slid down and Bailey’s heart jolted as the minder leaned out and handed her a business card which she clutched to her chest, feeling exposed in the ridiculous outfit. He had removed his jacket again and her mouth went dry at the huge arm resting casually on the driver’s door. Her gaze moved to his dirty blond hair, wondering how it would feel against her lips. His jaw was square and smooth, his nose had been broken at least once which added to the overall effect of mildly terrifying. She sensed he liked his physicality, enjoyed being frightening. Bailey was used to big men but her brothers were no match for this guy.
He glanced at her driver, “Hey, Pete. You staying outta trouble?” Pete nodded while the big man's greedy gaze returned to Bailey with clear sexual interest. He was trouble and Bailey was hooked.
“I may need some company later,” He said, not caring who overheard, “Give me a call if you’re free. I pay a K for the evening.” He appraised her again, causing Bailey’s blood pressure to rise critically. He winked then drove away, once more shaking his head.
◆◆◆
Pete had to push her into the limo. She sat inside the huge car oblivious to the opulence, staring at the business card still clutched in her sweaty hand.
The name Victor Bonds then a mobile phone number, nothing else. Bailey already knew he was some type of bodyguard. She sniffed the card, shaky. It had close contact with his body and was scented a heavenly blend of cologne and something else. She knocked on the glass dividing panel.
“What’s a K?” She asked Pete when the glass disappeared. He coughed and almost drove off the road.
“Ah, I presume you mean the . . . gentleman’s offer?” He watched Bailey nod in the rear-view mirror, “It means one thousand dollars.” He primly added.
“What?” Bailey laughed, “He’ll pay me one thousand dollars to sleep with him? Hang on, you said gentleman like you wanted to barf. Do you know him?”
“I’ve had dealings with that . . . thug but I don’t know much about him.”
“Victor Bonds. Tell me what you do know.”
“Victor? I don’t know him by that name, everyone calls him Horse, and before you ask, I have no idea why, I can only assume.”
“Thanks.” Bailey replied, her mind whirling.
This hunk had just offered her a thousand bucks to sleep with him. He had been clear with his offer. She weighed up the pros and cons all the way to the hotel, distracted until gasping at the Strip. It was dark now yet the casinos were so brightly lit it was almost painful. Drag queens, an Elvis impersonator plus endless hen and stag parties were all busy looking for action. Bebe clones were firmly attached to older businessmen and Bailey rubbed her temples. Lloyd believed Bebe made him look younger when he just looked like a stupid old man going through a midlife crisis.
She reached for her handbag, remembering she had been carrying around Bebe’s fluffy pink mess. How would she get back to New Zealand when she didn’t have a driver’s license let alone her passport? She would have to get Lloyd’s help and that wasn’t going to happen. Knowing she was in deep trouble Bailey pushed it away to worry about tomorrow. She had more pressing concerns, like meeting the hunky bodyguard for a thousand dollars. The idea was more than appealing. He was hot and she was sure to leave with at least one outrageous memory of America.
What would her parents think if they ever found out she had prostituted herself in Las Vegas? How would they ever know? It would be her little secret, something to keep her warm on those long, cold winters in the milking shed. But could she really go through with it? Her mind tripped back and forth.
At the hotel she tipped Pete and waved goodbye. He looked happy to escape, a running theme of her life lately. She stopped outside her hotel, eyes wide, taking in the lights and the huge revolving door, the amount of people from all walks of life.
The Semaphore.
Inside, the main lobby was huge. To her right was the hotel check-in area which was teeming with people while to her left was the casino floor which spanned as far as she could see. The noise from the endless slot machines was distracting and enticing and Bailey felt excitement that she would soon be part of it all. Sat in the center of the lobby was a ship. Not a boat, a ship. It appeared to be a full-scale replica of Captain Cooks wooden Endevour that had discovered new lands, it had tunnels cut into the sides to access a long line of lifts. Surrounding it were bathrooms and small nautical themed stores. The overall effect was jaw dropping. It was all bigger and louder than anything Bailey had ever encountered before.
Checking in, she informed the clerk that her husband had died in a drug fueled shoot out with the police. If only that were true. Instead the final confrontation had Bebe tripping on a step and exposing her lack of underwear and Lloyd’s newly placed loyalty. The ensuing wait for an ambulance had allowed Bailey to notice the plane tickets, the itinerary and the luggage. Lloyd had called her dreadful names, blaming the marriage breakdown on her alone and Bailey had made a split-second decision to pick up the tickets and luggage, to stack it all in the pink BMW and go.
The clerk was apologetic and offered to send a bottle of wine to her paid room. How could Bailey say no? Everyone was so nice, she was liking Las Vegas.
The opulent honeymoon suite resembled a captain’s cabin, plus sized. She sipped wine while nibbling at the fruit basket before hauling the business card from her cleavage to lay on the glass coffee table. Taking a deep breath she picked up the room phone and pressed in the number. Losing her nerve she banged it down again, the plastic creaking. She decided on a long, hot bath to think further.
Laying back in the scented water she pondered what had gotten her to this point in her life. How had she gone on the run to Las Vegas? How was she contemplating whoring herself to the biggest hunk she had ever met?
She had been on her way home to New Zealand for a holiday after a year living in London when she met Lloyd. She had planned a month-long trip around America, starting in L.A. Her going away party in London had been epic and Bailey was exhausted after the flight. When she got on the bus to her hostel she had instantly fallen asleep, woken by the driver who could not understand her accent and had mistaken her for a drug addict, demanding her off his bus.
It was raining when a tall, skinny, middle aged man asked if she was alright.
“I have no idea where I am.” She said, nervous. His bright blue eyes were kind if focused on her now see through t-shirt. When he realized she was aware of his roaming gaze he mumbled an apology. Bailey shrugged, it didn’t matter if they were tit men or ass men, Bailey had ample of both in skinny worshipping L.A.
“Where are you supposed to be?” The blue eyed stranger asked.
Bailey rummaged for her guidebook, “Veteran Ave, by the university.”
“Wow, lady, you are a long way from there?”
“Can you just point me in the right direction? A bathroom would be great too.”
He smiled kindly at her, “I live just around the corner, you can come freshen up then I’ll drive you where you need to go.”
“I know all about how serial killers lure you into a false sense of security then whammo, I’m on America’s most wanted as the hapless victim.”
The man laughed out loud with surprise, “What’s that accent you got there?”
“New Zealand. It’s close to Australia in the South . . .” The man lifted a hand.
“I know where it is, you’ve got the rugby team?”
Bailey grinned, “That’s right. Most people have no idea.”
He reached out a hand and Bailey clasped it, releasing it quickly when she saw his face contort in pain. He shook it out, saying, “I’m Lloyd Hamilton and I don’t think you have much to worry about. I’m fairly sure you could kick my skinny ass if you felt like it.” He grinned as though the thought had merit.
“Just what I would expect a mass murderer to say. I’m Bailey McDonald and
your name is where I’m from.” He was perplexed so Bailey elaborated, “I live near Hamilton in New Zealand.” She jiggled, needing the bathroom more.
Lloyd shrugged his bony shoulders, “You need to go that way.” He pointed into the rain. “Nice to meet you, Bailey. Good luck with whatever you do.”
He strode away, stepping into a parked sedan. Without thinking Bailey followed and slid into the passenger side, wedging her huge backpack onto her lap.
“How about I use your bathroom then you take me to dinner?” She suggested.
“Deal.” He grinned.
They were married two weeks later and Bailey had spent the two years since convincing herself it was the right decision. The truth was obvious, they didn’t have one thing in common and Lloyd had not been the safe option Bailey had expected.
Now in Vegas, Bailey emerged from the bathroom, lathered in Bebe’s expensive creams, determined to do something truly daring and outrageous. She rummaged in a pink suitcase finding another suitably slutty outfit to steel her confidence, aided by the wine. She needed sex, real sex with a real man, not some boring middle-aged poser. She wanted someone physically and mentally tough, and even if Victor Bonds was only offering one-night Bailey knew it would be a night to remember.
She called his number, disappointed when it cut to answer phone. Determined not to hang up and forget the whole stupid idea she waited for the beep, reminding herself to speak slowly and clearly.
“Hello, Mr Bonds. My name is . . . ah . . . Bebe. You sat next to me on the plane and gave me your business card outside the airport. I was wondering if we could discuss your offer as I may be free tonight. Give me a call at . . .” She stumbled, was it wise to tell a strange man where she was staying? Didn’t all good advice say not to? Well, they probably assumed no one would prostitute themselves out either. What did she have to lose other than more dignity? She was leaving soon. She wasn’t waiting around for the cops to find her after the messy confrontation with Lloyd and Bebe.
“I’m at The Semaphore Casino. Just ask reception to put you through to the honeymoon suite.” She cringed and hung up.
◆◆◆
Embarrassed and agitated, unable to remain still while awaiting Victor’s call, Bailey decided to explore. She slipped into Bebe’s tight stiletto heels, slid a few hundred dollars from a purse into Bebe’s fluffy handbag and left her room.
Within minutes she had lost all sense of direction. Everything flashed and beeped and the hypnotic sound of coins clanging was overwhelming. She wandered aimlessly before finding a quiet row of slots, too unsure to chance one of the tables.
As she sat down and slipped a twenty into a machine, feeling self-conscious and out of her depth, a waitress appeared, “You want a drink, sugar?”
Bailey nodded, her fist tightening on the fluffy pink bag she had slung over her shoulder, mentally adjusting the available funds in there. “Sure, how much?”
“On the house while you’re gambling.”
“Really? Um . . . just a beer I suppose.”
The woman’s makeup was amazing, so thick Bailey wondered if it would leave a dent if she touched it. She resembled a perfect painting.
“You’ve come a long way to get to this shitty old place. Australia?”
“Close, New Zealand.” Bailey smiled, grateful again for any human interaction. “It’s been a crappy few years and a shitty few days but I’m just here on a stopover before going home to tell my mother how she was right and I married the worst man possible because I’m an idiot who believes any bullshit story I hear.”
The waitress gazed around the casino before leaning in. “I sure know how that feels. I dropped out of high school to follow my boyfriend here. He ran off with his best friend. They had a civil union in front of Elvis and even asked me to be witness. I did it too. Didn’t want to seem bitter. But I am bitter. They own a makeup store now and I go there since they are the best in town.”
“I’m sorry.” Bailey said. “Life never works out how we expect.”
The waitress adjusted the plunging neckline of her navy-blue work shirt before smiling brightly, “Do you like shooters?” When Bailey shrugged the woman nodded emphatically as if a boss were watching. Bailey wondered who would notice them in this little row of slot machines hidden in the furthest corner of such a massive casino. She gazed up and spied cameras everywhere she looked.
“Sure, tequila’s good.”
“Got that,” She stated loudly, “A shooter, with a beer chaser?”
“And it’s free?”
“While you’re gaming.”
Delighted, Bailey felt calm for the first time in a long time.
The waitress winked and soon returned with her drinks. Bailey tipped her ten bucks. If Lloyd could waste it on Bebe, Bailey could give it to this nice waitress.
Alone at the slot machine she held the shooter up to the light with concern, it resembled curdled cream. Sniffing it tentatively she almost threw it over herself as a hand touched her shoulder.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Victor said, that voice running like fire through her veins.
“You’re very quiet. How did you find me?” At his mysterious grin she changed the subject by holding up the small glass, “What is this anyway?”
Victor clamped a big hand over hers and pulled the shooter toward him, dragging Bailey with it. He sniffed, then eyes twinkling, replied, “An orgasm.” Bailey gulped, wide eyes locked to his. He continued in that smooth, deep voice, “Cointreau and Bailey’s. Orgasms are a personal favorite.” He held it to her lips, pouring it into her mouth. It felt sinfully erotic and the casino came back with a lazy thud. He released his hold and Bailey drank deeply from the beer in her other hand.
Victor stepped back, his tone suddenly all business, “I got your message. I think we can work together, don’t you?”
“Uh huh.” Was all Bailey could say. Seeing him again made her certain yet he frowned, puzzled, a smile playing around his lips. As if every woman here didn’t want to find out what was under that suit. He was exceptional and for tonight he was all hers. Bailey wondered at the things he liked in bed and blew out a long, excited breath.
“Are you ready now?” He asked, “Or are you needed back at the honeymoon suite?” His head tilted.
“Ah, that.” Victor shrugged those massive shoulders to show he didn’t care before holding out an elbow. She left her unfinished beer and was led to the lifts.
“Are your clients staying here?” She asked, certain it was fate that they were at the same casino. The chemistry between them could cause sparks.
“As often as they can.” He studied her hard in the lift mirrors. Bailey managed a nervous glance at his side profile, his jaw was clenched. Perhaps he was nervous too. Ridiculous. Clearly Victor Bonds wasn’t afraid of anything. Needing his assurance, Bailey clung tighter to his huge bicep for support.
As they stepped from the lift and onto the blue and white striped carpet, Victor hesitated, “You have done this before, right?” He stared straight ahead.
“Of course.” She replied, hoping no trace of fear was evident in her voice.
He appeared ready to argue but changed his mind and continued along the corridor. Bailey tried to relax her grip on his arm with little success.
The fake smile dropped as Victor stopped at a random door and knocked.
She froze and his gaze snapped to her, uncertain again. Then the door was opening and Bailey just stood there, once again feeling out of her depth and stupid.
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Rules of her Game: A Contemporary Sports Romance Page 26
