by Elsa Kurt
“Nah, I broke up with my boyfriend.”
“Well, if he was dumb enough to leave a girl like you, then he didn’t deserve you.”
I scoot closer to the bar as someone settles in beside me. This is exactly why I didn’t want to come to Vegas. Too many people. Too many lights and sounds. My friend wanted me to feel distracted, but I just feel disoriented.
“I didn’t say he broke up with me. I said I broke up with him. It’s 2018. What kind of jerk-face asks a woman to choose between him and her job?” I take a large swig of my martini at the memory. “Oh holy hell, you make a good Cosmo.”
The bartender laughs. “Why thank you. But I’m going to have to ask you to tone down the language. You can’t just start throwing around words like jerk-face in a classy bar like this.”
It takes me a second to realize he’s teasing me, but when I do, I can’t help but smile.
“I’ll try to reel it in.” I laugh. “But I’m serious. My friend has drug me up and down the strip and I’ve had…” I try unsuccessfully to calculate the number of drinks I’ve had tonight. “…more than I should of these babies. Yours are definitely the best. You should be in one of those ‘Best of Vegas’ contests. Send me the link and I’ll vote for you.”
He winks in response before passing a tumbler of top-shelf scotch to a man beside me. The break in our conversation gives me time to realize that I’m talking too much. He probably thinks I’m hitting on him. This is the problem with drinking. I start saying things. Out loud. Where the hell is Cici, anyway? Oh right, probably picking up the stripper.
The bartender is suddenly back in front of me. Backlit by the floor to ceiling neon blue bar he looks like the host of some sort of alien game show.
“So, you broke up with your boyfriend and headed to Vegas for a good time?”
His green eyes flash and focus briefly on my lips before glancing nervously to my side. Oh, he definitely thinks I’m hitting on him. Great. Cici leaves me alone for five minutes and I’m picking up bartenders on accident.
“Not exactly,” I try to backpedal, but my Cosmo-soaked brain isn’t helping. “My friend brought me here to distract me from my pain, but this is not my idea of a distraction.”
I look across the club at the mass of dancing bodies. I know it’s probably just the booze, but the men all look like little replicas of my ex, Brad. All plastic and successful little centers of their own universe. And I’m not sure there is another city in America where those scraps of fabric would count as dresses.
I cringe when I realize I’m dressed just the same. I tug at my black tufted hemline, but my boobs take this is an invitation to practically pop out of the low scooped top. Tugging upward, I contemplate one of life’s greater questions: Is it better to moon a room full of strangers or flash them your boobs? I really am going to kill Cici.
“So, what’s your idea of a distraction?” my new bartender friend asks behind me.
“How about a man who’s actually interested in giving me an orgasm?” I think. But when the bartender starts to choke, I realize I must have said it out loud.
“What did you say?”
The look on his face tells me that he’s uncertain if he heard me right, but that he hopes that was a personal request. I scowl at myself and try to regain some dignity.
“I said how about a long hot bath.” Even in my inebriated state, I know the lie is unconvincing, so it seems like a good time to leave. “But my friend brought me here, to the land of tiny little bathtubs. Can I pay you now? I should really go.” I’m relieved when he turns to the computer to print my bill, but I can’t seem to stop talking. “I guess people don’t really come to Vegas to take baths, but that’s all I want, really. I’m just frustrated because my bathtub is too small.”
I slide off the stool and bite my lip to shut up. I can only pray that I’m drunk enough that I won’t remember this in the morning.
“I could help with that.” The deep baritone resonates from the man beside me, and when I turn, I look up to an amused smile that stretches across a face that is painfully undersold by the word handsome. I take a moment to admire him. His eyes are dark mahogany with veins of gold radiating from the center. His hair looks black in the darkened club and falls slightly onto his forehead. I trace the ridge of his nose back down to his lips and stare. His smile hasn’t changed, but I feel the intense urge to kiss it right off his face. There is only one type of man who could be this attractive. He must be the stripper.
“Oh holy hell.” This too appears to be said aloud. The man just raises an eyebrow. Clearly, I’m not playing my part. “Sorry, you’re just not what I expected.”
“And what did you expect?” The movement of his lips distracts me and I forget to respond. Instead, I find myself staring like a hypnotist’s stooge. When the corner of his mouth quirks up I realize my poor manners and try to gather myself.
“I don’t know. A police officer, the pizza guy, maybe a really hot firefighter?”
The other corner of his lips joins in to recreate that dazzling smile. Which I notice because I’m apparently still staring.
“You have a thing for firefighters?”
“Oh sure, who doesn’t?” I manage to tear my eyes from his lips and look around the club. “Cici didn’t tell you that?”
Cici chooses that moment to reappear behind me and looks from me to the incredible guy in front of me. She looks like she’s just about to say something when he narrows his eyes at her.
“No, Cici didn’t tell me you have a thing for firefighters.”
Wow. He must take his job very seriously. He seems very unhappy with Cici.
“So, then you’re not a firefighter. Who are you supposed to be?”
“I’m not sure who I’m supposed to be, but I can tell you who I am.” He smiles again when he turns his attention back to me. “I’m Maxwell Scala.”
I rack my brain for every actor, athlete, politician, or otherwise famous person I have ever heard of and come up empty. I have no idea who that is.
“I’m not very good at pop culture.” I tilt my head and try to see if he looks familiar. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”
Rather than look annoyed, he just looks amused. I seem to have that impact on him. But when I glance at Cici, I can tell by her rounded eyes that I’m apparently an idiot.
“You’re at the de’Scala Resort. I’m the owner of this hotel.”
“Is that a thing?” I’m just more confused by the information.
“Is what a thing? Being an owner?” It’s his turn to look completely confused.
“No, I mean, is that some sort of fantasy. Do women really request that from a stripper?”
My friendly bartender has been listening to the entire exchange and has chosen this moment to start coughing loudly. When I glance at him, he moves as far down the bar as possible. Max the stripper just laughs a booming laugh.
“Layla.” Cici’s serious tone makes me realize that the question was rude.
“You may be the best thing that has happened to me in weeks.” Max stops laughing and takes my hand. He pulls my fingers to his lips and kisses them as if I really am some sort of gift.
I realize two things the moment that his lips brush my skin. The first is that I have just met the hottest man on the planet. My body practically vibrates under his touch. I would give anything in this moment to see him naked. The second is that I need to get out of here. Right now. Or I’m going to end up trying to have sex with a stripper.
“Cici, pay the man and let’s go home.” I take a step back and hope that they all can’t see the way I’m trembling.
“Layla, I…”
“She’s already paid me, actually.” Max the stripper is grinning now. He probably loves that I have such a strong reaction to him. I probably look like an easy mark.
“So that means we have, what, two hours or so. Shall we head up to your room, or do you prefer to stay here?”
“Two hours! How long does it take you to take
your clothes off?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them and Max’s laughter rolls over me again. I love that sound. It really is amazing that a man can both look like that and sound like that. Seems unfair somehow.
“Layla, really,” Cici pleads. Although I’m a little confused as to what she wants.
“Okay, look.” I try to gather my wits and my resolve. “It’s not like I don’t want to see you naked. I mean, seriously. Look at you.”
I make the mistake of looking at him again. Really looking. He’s leaning casually on the bar stool next to me. His right arm is resting on the bar, and my mouth goes dry when he runs his left through his dark hair. I want to do that. I want to bury my fingers in his hair.
“You are so fucking hot,” I think.
“Layla! You really have to…”
“Crap, I said that out loud too, didn’t I?”
She nods and looks a little panicked.
“Sorry.” I shake my head and try to go on. “So really that’s the problem. I’ve had a little bit to drink and that makes me talk too much and say things I should keep inside my head. If we go back to my room and you get all naked…” I can’t help but sigh at the thought, “…then I’m going to say something even crazier and maybe even try to sleep with you, and you are a professional, so why don’t we just call it good and you can go home now. I don’t have sex with strippers.”
“Oh my God.” Cici covers her face with both hands.
“No offense,” I add lamely.
Max just laughs again. “Is she always like this?” He directs the question at Cici.
“No,” I grumble.
“Yes.” She turns and signals the bartender for another round.
“Let me see if I understand things.” Max stands and moves a little closer. I look up at him and remind myself to breathe. “You want to have sex with me, but you won’t because I’m a stripper and you have too much respect for my profession.”
My only response is a stammer.
“What if I wasn’t a stripper? What if I really was the owner of this resort?”
“Oh, that would be worse.”
“Worse?”
“Definitely worse. With a name like Scala, you’d have to be Italian, and what kind of Italian owns a casino in Vegas? That’s right. There’s like a 90% chance you’d be some kind of mafia kingpin. Which would be fine until you asked me to choose between you and my job, and then when I chose my job I would end up getting both my legs broken by a guy named Fat Tony.”
Max opens his mouth but looks like he can’t decide whether to laugh or argue with me. When I glance at Cici, she is draining both her new martini and mine.
“You’re joking, right?” He’s looking at me like I have lost my mind. Given everything I’ve gone through in the last week, he may be right. But this part I feel pretty sure about. If crime shows have taught us anything, it’s that you shouldn’t date a casino owner.
“No.” I cross my arms over my chest to emphasize my point.
“Stripper it is, then.” Max reaches out and takes my hand. “Come on. Let’s go grab dinner. I need to sober you up before we go any further.”
“Wait…what? No.” My body doesn’t seem to be on the same page though, because I find myself following with no resistance. “Why on Earth would I go to dinner with you?”
“Because you think I’m hot. Plus, you owe me two hours.”
“Owe you…wait, what?” This isn’t making any sense.
“Money has already been exchanged. You owe me two hours.”
“I don’t owe you two hours, you owe me two hours.”
“Deal,” he says and starts pulling me toward the exit.
I glance back at Cici, and she looks dumbstruck. Why isn’t she trying to stop us?
As we make our way through the crowd, I have to tuck myself behind Max to avoid running into a well-muscled man wearing a firefighter’s uniform.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” I mumble.
Max stops short and turns to face me. I find myself staring up at those beautiful lips.
“Is that what you would prefer?” The irritation in his voice steals my breath.
“I was talking about the outfit.”
His lips thin into a hard line and I realize that I may have insulted the beautiful man in front of me. How is that possible? Surely he knows what he looks like.
“The outfit,” I continue, “not the man. There’s not a man in this club, probably this hotel, maybe the Earth, that could hold a candle to you.” The edge of his mouth quirks up and drives my urge to keep talking. “Seriously. You could be a model. There’s probably good money in it. I could call some people in L.A. if you want me to.”
He tilts his head slightly and narrows his eyes. “You’re very generous with your strippers.”
“You’re not my stripper.”
“I am tonight.”
He grips my hand tighter and pulls me out the door.
Chapter 2
Maxwell
Well, this is going to be interesting. I’ve never been mistaken for a stripper before. I wonder how many strippers wear $3,000 suits. When I saw her sitting at the bar I could tell she was different. Most women that gorgeous are looking for a sugar daddy. She seemed to be looking for an escape.
I almost walked away, but then her friend left her, and I had to get closer. Part of me wanted to wrap my hand into her long blonde waves and taste those ruby lips. Part of me just wanted to save her from my asshole bartender.
Then I sat down and she practically requested I fuck her. Well, she requested a man who would be interested in giving her an orgasm. Same difference. I was about to tell her she was in luck when she brought up the bathtub. It was the perfect opening.
But she thought it was a line. And she thought I was a stripper. And apparently, a stripper is a better option than, well, me.
How the fuck I’m going to keep this charade going, I have no idea. I just know that I’m not going to give up until I have her naked under me. She is going to get that orgasm, several if she will sober up. Which means we need food.
When we make it outside the bar, I catch a glimpse of Matthew across the floor, and when he sees me, he starts in my direction. Shit. In about fifteen seconds my days as a stripper will be over. I pull my phone from my pocket.
“Excuse me for a minute. I need to check in. I’ll just be right over here.”
I’m not sure the beautiful blonde in front of me will really wait, but if Matthew starts talking it will all be over, so this seems like my only chance. I pull up his name and press call and watch to see if he will pick up. When he pulls out his phone, I can see the confusion in the deep crease of his forehead, but he at least stops to answer.
“I need you to do something,” I start before he has a chance to ask any questions. “See the blonde in front of me? Her name is Layla. I need you to find out what room she’s in. Then I need you to upgrade her to a suite. Whichever has the biggest bathtub.”
“Okay.” He raises an eyebrow in my direction. “Is there a reason you’re telling me this over the phone?”
I turn around and catch Layla watching me. Her cheeks flush a pretty pink, and she drops her eyes to the floor. So fucking beautiful. I will have this woman. Tonight. I turn away from them both and continue my conversation to the wall.
“Because she can’t know it’s me. Make something up. Broken water pipe. Cable’s out. I don’t fucking care. Just move her and tell her it’s compliments of the house.”
“Ummm. Giant bathtub. Got it.”
He may think I’m insane, but he’s not going to call me on it. He’s worked for me too long.
“I’m going to take her to dinner now at Sea Salt. You can have the key delivered there. And call ahead. If anyone speaks to me tonight like they know me, they’re fired. Am I clear?”
“Crystal.”
When I look back he’s already retreating to the office. The smirk he throws me over his shoulder tells me that th
is isn’t the last I’m going to hear about this.
But when my eyes meet hers I lose the ability to give a shit. She blushes again and looks away, her blonde curls caressing the curve of her neck. I want to taste that spot. That, and so many others. I want to sink my teeth into her shoulder as I bury myself inside her. I want her screaming my name until her voice goes hoarse.
I feel my dick press against my pants and shake my head to clear out the images obscuring my ability to think. I’ll have all that, but first, we’ll need to make it through dinner.
When we enter Sea Salt, the hostess Jessica barely looks up from the reservation book. Matthew must have passed on my instructions, let’s see if all my employees are this good at pretending that I don’t exist.
“Good evening, welcome to Sea Salt. How can I help you?”
“Two for dinner, please.” I smile at Layla and hope she won’t notice what comes next. There are plenty of people waiting at the bar, but we are sure to be escorted to my favorite table. Luckily, her eyes are focused on me. That’s a good sign for our evening. And I have to admit that I like her attention.
“Right this way.” Jessica leads us through the tables to a small area nestled into the back corner. The blue light from the wall-sized aquarium reflects off the brushed steel walls, creating an underwater hideaway. It is both peaceful and mesmerizing and is one of my favorite spots in the entire casino.
When I pull her chair out, Layla glances at the bar and I can see the wheels starting to turn. I do the only thing reasonable and lean gently over her and kiss her gently below her ear. Her body stills immediately, and the brief intake of air through those ruby red lips knocks me back a step.
I imagine the same breath with my cock poised at her entrance. The sharp intake as I push inside for the first time.
My lips tingle with electricity from the gentle slope of her neck and her smell lingers with a faint trace of vanilla. I’m suddenly desperate to be inside her, and for once I’m not sure how to make it happen. Usually, my name and a well-timed smirk are all I need. But tonight, I have a feeling she’s going to make me work for it. Or rather, she’s going to take some convincing to take her stripper back to her room.
