We flew commercial, changing planes in Houston and landing in the city of sin at 9:30 p.m. on Friday. Brad was still in work attire and gave Leonard a tired grin as he relieved me of my bag. “Only carry-ons?” Leonard asked, shooting a quick look at the leather duffel Brad carried.
“Yep. This is a quick trip for us. We fly back tomorrow afternoon.” He clapped the man on the back, matching strides with him as we headed for the long white car.
“It’s good to see you both. And do I hear congratulations are in order?” The older man’s eyes twinkled as he opened the door for me, his warm face stretching into a smile.
“Yes, thank you.” I grinned, settling down into the dark elegance of the limo, reaching for Brad as he entered, my body naturally falling into the curve of his warmth.
“Have I mentioned how lucky I am?” Brad murmured against my hair, planting a quick kiss on my head.
I shook my head against his chest. “Not recently.”
“I am. Very lucky.”
I closed my eyes and smiled, relaxing against his warmth.
Twenty minutes later, Leonard pulled down the long curved drive of the Bellagio. Brad’s cell rang, and he glanced at the display before answering.
“Janine ... Yes. We just reached the casino. We’re gonna change, and then we’ll head your way.” He shot me a quick grin. “She’s with me.”
I looked out the window while he finished the conversation, watching the building, tourists, and trees come to a slow stop as we pulled into the Bellagio’s portico. He ended the call, and we stepped out in unison, twin valets at our doors, offering gloved hands and welcoming smiles.
♥♥♥
“Janine’s looking forward to meeting you,” Brad called from the closet, where the sound of zippers and hangers combined in reckless harmony.
I shot the mirror a wry look, twisting my hair up and pinning it into place before I reached for mascara. “Likely. I’m sure Janine’s less than enthusiastic about my new involvement.”
He appeared in the reflection behind me, shirtless, his muscular arms encircling my waist. “Ownership, babe. Not involvement.”
“Even more reason for her to hate me. Last time she saw us, I was your weekend piece and topless on a table with one of her strippers.”
He laughed, releasing me with a quick squeeze. “Janine’s spent a lot more time topless and on a table than you have. That move probably earned you some brownie points. Besides, tonight is more fun than business. I just want you to have a more intense tour of the club, meet the employees, and get a sense of what goes on.”
I exhaled a breath, studying my eyes in the mirror. Then I reached for lipstick.
Chapter 22
Alexis leaned forward, critically studying her eyes in the small mirror set into the back of her locker. Her eye makeup was smudged, a bit of black traveling out of its typical territory. She yanked a tissue out of its holder and dabbed at the spot, glancing down at her phone briefly. It sat, silent, in the outer pocket of her purse. As it had all night. She had heard the news, they all had. Brad was in town, and he was bringing her. Little Miss Virtuous. A girl who would never, ever, be everything that he would need. But she had known, had seen it from the look in his eyes when he’d been with her. When he had gone upstairs to VIP and watched her with Montana, his expression different than she’d ever seen. He had denied it, had tossed off her concerns without a second thought. But she had known. She could always see her demise before it came. She closed her eyes briefly, thinking of that night. When he had left Miss Virtuous downstairs and went into the office with her.
She closed her eyes and her head fell back, her back arching, body open to him. He reached forward, running his hands possessively down her body, wrapping his hands around her waist. He gave one long thrust, burying himself completely inside her, the depth causing her to gasp in response.
Fucking had always been Brad’s strength. The ability to electrify her body and give her exactly what she wanted, when she wanted it. His sexuality was a fire run out of control, stealing the breath and passion of any women who dared to stand too close to the flames. Fire. You couldn’t control a fire. A fact his new fiancée would learn very, very soon.
♦♦♦
Alexis had loved Brad De Luca from the first moment she saw him. Walking down the plush hallway of the Bellagio, chanting a room number in her head to keep from forgetting it. 2314. 2314. 2314. Her palms were sweaty, a common occurrence at this stage in the game. The unknown was the worst. Not knowing who would be behind the door, what he would expect, how badly he could, possibly would, hurt her body. All she knew, all she needed to concentrate on, was that he was a paycheck, and that she was there to please. Then he opened the door, and everything sane exited her mind.
He opened the door fresh from the shower, the clean scent of soap and male practically knocking her back into the hall. He had buttoned up half of his shirt, the unopened buttons offering her a peek into tan, ripped perfection. Dark brown eyes regarded her carefully, traveling down her body before returning to her face.
She shifted uncomfortably, tugging the hem on her dress slightly before striking a pose against the doorframe. “May I come in?” she asked, using the husky voice that seemed to appeal to men everywhere.
He was different, taking a step back and studying her silently without speaking, buttoning the remaining buttons on his shirt before beginning with the cufflinks. “Are you lost, or have you been sent by the hotel?”
She ignored the pit in her stomach and grinned breezily, walking past him into the room and reclining onto the couch, her legs on full display, body curved in a way that made every asset count. “You can thank Blake for me.” He shut the door and walked over, continuing to work on his sleeves while frowning down on her. He stood close, close enough that his scent invaded her, and she looked up at him, deciphering the expression on his face, one somewhere between irritation and concern. Not the look men typically carried. Greed, arousal, excitement. Those were the looks she created, the reason her new job seemed destined for success.
“How old are you?” He frowned.
“Eighteen.” Twenty.
He walked away, entering the suite’s small kitchen and opening the fridge. She took the moment to breathe deeply, wiping her hands on the fabric of her dress and willing her confidence to return.
A water bottle, the hotel’s brand, drops of condensation dotting its round landscape. He held it out, taking a seat, not on the couch as she had hoped, but in the chair next to her. She accepted it warily. “Thank you, but I’m not really thirsty.”