‘He has never brought a woman home before.’
My mouth drops open.
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘I don’t want anything from your son. We’re just in a relationship.’
‘Liar,’ she says very softly.
‘What did you just call me?’
‘You heard. You are a dangerously manipulative woman, Miss Hart. And I am here to tell you that I will never allow you to break this family, or my son for that matter.’
EIGHTEEN
As we fly into Las Vegas airport, I look out of my cabin window, and the sparkling city appears almost magically from the miles of desert surrounding it. The heat outside the airport hits me like a wall. We walk quickly toward a gleaming purple SUV, which is waiting outside for us. It is wonderfully cool inside.
‘Purple?’ I ask with a laugh.
‘It’s the Hard Rock touch,’ Jake says.
We are in Las Vegas for the weekend, because I have never been, and when I told Jake that, he said, ‘Well, you haven’t lived until you’ve been on the Strip.’
The journey to the Strip is only about fifteen minutes. I gaze at the infamous street with wide eyes. It is an over the top, glamorous fantasy playground, almost like a giant Hollywood movie set with its miniatures of the Sphinx, pyramids, the Statue of Liberty and the Eiffel Tower. I even take a photo of the M & M store to show my mother.
I wonder what she will make of it. She once told me a shocking thing about the gorgeous black torch performer Lena Horne, who was allowed to stay at The Flamingo as long as she was not seen at the casino, restaurants or public areas. When she checked out, her bed sheets and towels were burned.
Over the massive, gold guitar door handles are the words: When this house is rocking, don’t bother knocking. Come on in. And it really is rocking in there for Jake. There is no check-in for Jake and me. He is greeted by name by a smiling host and we are quickly and efficiently whisked past the awesome, fifty-five feet digital screen stretched behind the reception desk, straight to the elevator bank and up to the Provocateur penthouse suite.
The Provocateur suite is like no other hotel room I’ve been to.
We are greeted by walls covered in black vinyl embossed to look like crocodile skin in the foyer. In that deliberately darkened hallway there is a birdcage, large enough and strong enough to hold a grown man and a whipping cross! With handcuffs!
On our left, silhouettes of naked women start swaying provocatively in the shower as motion sensors pick up our movements. There can be no doubt that the design is fetish orientated and I turn to look at Jake.
Beyond the foyer are claret walls and sophisticated shiny black furniture and more dominatrix accessories. We are shown the heated plunge pool in the balcony and taken to the bedroom with three beds pushed together, presumably perfect for orgies. The other master bedroom has an enormous four-poster bed and a mirrored, trellised ceiling. The man shows us how to work the 3D projector system behind the bed to make it throw patterns and themes onto the walls.
At the flick of a button the shades come down, the lights dim and two women wantonly writhing are projected onto the bed. It is so over the top and creepy-crazy I start giggling. My laughter doesn’t deter our host. We are taken to a secret vault full of toys, equipment and costumes for sex play.
When he is gone I go to stand by the ceiling-to-floor windows. The view is fabulous. Down below, the swimming pool is heaving with beautiful bodies on purple floats. I turn around to look at Jake.
‘Like it?’ he asks.
‘Are you trying to tell me something Fifty Shades-ish?’
He laughs. ‘No fucking way. I don’t need to beat a woman to get my kicks. I just thought you’d enjoy this more than the Venetian. It’s all Liberace style opulence, chocolate-covered strawberries and beluga caviar served by butlers with white gloves over there.’
‘And you don’t have to pay for any of this?’
He grins, at once boyish and delicious. ‘Nope.’
‘How come they treat you so good?’
He shrugs. ‘My claim to fame is that I once lost a whole million at their baccarat table and they’re hoping I’ll repeat that lack of judgment,’ he says dryly.
My eyes widen. ‘One million? Dollars?’
‘Yup. I used to be what they call a whale.’
‘What’s a whale?’
‘At the lower end a high roller is someone who bets between a thousand to five thousand dollars a hand. A serious high roller would play upwards of five grand to about twenty, twenty-five thousand. A big high roller would spend between twenty-five and fifty thousand.’ He stops and smiles. ‘And then you have the whales. Whales start at seventy-five thousand dollars a hand.’
‘And you were one of them?’
‘I was. But now I only come two, maybe three times a year.’
‘God!’ It’s hard for me to even think of anyone blowing that kind of money on the roll of a die.
‘But I still get the eight o’clock reservation, the cabana, tickets for the best concerts in town, and… I get to be imaginative with my requests. So far the management has always said yes to everything I’ve asked for.’
‘Wow! What kind of things are available?’
‘Lunch on a yacht, a helicopter ride somewhere, a game of golf with Tiger Woods…’
‘What have you asked for this time?’
He smiles slow and full of meaning. ‘Lingerie. I have asked for the most expensive, most beautiful lingerie they can find.’
I can’t help it, I flush hard. I can feel my cheeks flaming. ‘You didn’t.’
‘I did. Go and have a look.’
For a few seconds I don’t move. We just stare at each other. Then I turn around and go to the bedroom. At the door I stop and look around. He is watching me, his eyes unfathomable.
By the bedside I see the white box with a black design on it. I open it and it is full of whispers of baby blue lace: a half-cup bra, a thong, suspenders with white bows, and nude stockings. There is a card with a message to open the cupboard. I open the cupboard and gasp. A real cheongsam. Not the cheap thing that looks more like a Hong Kong waitress’s uniform and with a dirty slit that runs all the way up to the crotch like I wore at the club, but the softest, most beautiful, pure white Chinese silk brocade. I run my fingers over the pretty little blue flowers. My grandmother would love this. I turn around and Jake is standing in the doorway.
‘It is so very, very beautiful,’ I whisper. I am so touched my voice shakes.
‘Good. You can wear them all tonight.’
‘Thank you.’
His eyes darken. ‘Thank me later.’
‘You look beautiful,’ he tells me that night.
‘So do you,’ I say.
And he does. He looks good enough to eat. He is wearing a perfectly fitted black suit that totally showcases his great physique, an oyster gray silk shirt that is almost translucent, and polished black shoes. I have never seen him so subdued in his color scheme.
We go for an early dinner at Shanghai Lily. The food is exquisite. The last time I ate lobster that good I was in Singapore with my grandparents. There is even gold leaf on the food to gladden the hearts of the Asian high rollers since gold is considered a good luck charm.
We end up at the Shadow for drinks. I gaze in amazement at the giant backlit screens with the enlarged shadow of a woman dancing behind each one. It looks different from anything I have seen.
I drink a green cocktail and watch the bartenders, who are actually performers who throw bottles up into the air and catch those their colleagues have thrown. The atmosphere is young, fun and totally hip, and I turn my head, smiling, and catch Jake looking at me. The smile dies on my lips. His eyes are smoldering.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
His hand slides into the slit in my dress and up my thighs, parting them. ‘I’ve always wanted to finger fuck you under a table in a public place.’ One finger rubs suggestively against the string of
my thong. He drops his voice to a whisper. ‘Maybe because you won’t be able to scream when you come, because everyone is watching.’
The green cocktail sings longingly in my veins as wetness seeps between my legs. My clit swells, begging for his touch. I put my drink down, suddenly daring and uninhibited. ‘Knock yourself out,’ I choke.
With a sensual growl he inserts one long finger into me.
I gasp.
His teeth flash in the dimness. ‘Look at you. Always so wet and hot,’ he says moving his finger in and out of me. ‘Open your legs wider,’ he invites, sliding the thumb of his other hand into my mouth. I catch it between my teeth and suck it. His thumb strokes in circles around my clit while his fingers curl inside me.
‘We could get thrown out for this,’ he whispers.
I release his thumb, my eyes glancing around furtively. It’s dark and no one is looking. ‘They wouldn’t throw a whale out,’ I choke.
‘No, I guess not.’