He looks to be a few years younger than me, and I guess that he’s working his way through college. I order a bagel with cream cheese, coffee, and orange juice, then put my sunglasses on and tilt my head back, enjoying the feel of the still-rising sun against my skin.
I don’t intend to doze, but I didn’t get much sleep last night, and my eyelids are heavy, especially under the weight of the sun. I let myself drift, and suddenly it’s not just the sun that is heating my skin. It’s the memory of Damien’s words in my ear last night.
For a brief moment, I regret not simply dining on the balcony that opens off my bedroom, because the temptation to slide my hands between my legs is very, very strong. I don’t, however, want to give my nearby golfer a hard-on. Or, god forbid, a heart attack.
I hear the waiter’s return and ask if he could bring me a glass of ice water.
“A little warm, Ms. Fairchild? From looking at you, I would have thought you were slightly chilled.”
I open my eyes to find Damien smiling down at me. At my breasts, actually, and my rock hard nipples, very evident under my bikini top.
“You’re staring.”
“I’m enjoying the view.” He takes a seat on the lounge chair beside me. “Thinking about last night?”
“Every delicious minute,” I admit, and then swallow a smile of satisfaction when I see his eyes heat with my unexpected answer.
“And you?” I ask. “What are you doing this morning? Besides staring, I mean?”
“Staring, Ms. Fairchild?” His eyes flick up to my face, and then he draws his gaze down my body, moving so slowly and with such purpose that my skin tingles in the wake of his inspection, as if he is trailing a fingertip down the entire length of my body.
“Staring?” he repeats. “No, I’m studying. And planning.”
“Planning?” I repeat. “Now I’m very intrigued. Do tell.”
“Oh, just analyzing various strategies. How I’m going to touch you. What I’ll do to take you to the absolute heights of exquisite pleasure. To get you close but not let you go over, so that you are reduced to whimpering in my arms and begging me for release.” He looks at me blandly. “Things like that.”
My mouth has gone dry, and all my blood has pooled between my thighs. But even so, I manage to latch onto one key point. “In your arms, Mr. Stark?”
“Noticed that, did you?”
“I’m a very good listener.”
“I hoped that you would do me the honor of joining me for dinner.”
I tilt my head, considering. Tonight is our last night. If I want to take this flirtation to the next level, it really is now or never. And, yeah, I want to see what he has planned.
“Are you going to behave?”
“That’s highly doubtful.”
I laugh, because that is absolutely the perfect answer. “In that case, Mr. Stark, I’d love to have dinner with you.”
—
“How did it go?” I ask Jamie as we walk through the casino toward the hotel’s main shopping area.
“I think it went great. Gloria said she’d call me about more interviews, so…”
She trails off and I pull her into a hug. “Jamie, that’s awesome.”
“Potentially awesome,” she corrects, but she’s grinning happily.
All around us, men and women are seated at blackjack and roulette tables or standing around the craps table. Dozens of them are playing slot machines, and the din is brutal. For that matter, so is the smoke that fills the air.
It’s not even lunchtime, and yet this area is buzzing as if it were late at night. I suppose that’s the idea of Vegas, but my idea of decadent runs in a more private direction, and I smile to myself as I look forward to dinner tonight with Damien and every wicked thing that will come after.
We walk a bit more before I pause and glance around. We’ve reached an intersection, and I’m trying to figure out which way to go. As far as I can tell, the basic design of pretty much any casino is to not provide an easy exit. That way, once someone is in, they have no choice but to stay and gamble.
“Starfire Promenade?” Jamie asks, pointing toward a sign that directs us to the left.
“That’s it,” I say. “Let’s go.”
We reach freedom in another five minutes, and emerge from the casino’s relative dark to the well-lit sparkle of this high-end shopping promenade. It takes up three levels and every designer imaginable seems to have a storefront here, along with a variety of boutiques, restaurants, and even small galleries.
“What are you shopping for?” I ask.
She glances sideways at me. “You’re not shopping?”
I think of my closet back home, which is about the size of my college apartment and completely stuffed with the clothes and jewelry that Damien is always buying me. Sometimes I think he won’t be satisfied until I own at least one of everything.
“I might look for a present for Damien,” I say. “Then again, in this weekend’s reality, I don’t have a Damien in my life.”
“You’re still playing?”
“Sure,” I say. “It’s fun. I take it you and Ryan aren’t?”
Jamie lifts a shoulder. “Playing, sure. Pretending we picked each other up at a bar? Not anymore. Pretending other things…” Her voice trails off with a hint of a naughty lilt. “Well, a lady never kisses and tells. Or fucks and tells. Or blindfolds and tells. Or—”
“Jamie!” I slap my hands over my ears, laughing. “Stop. Please, stop.”