Table of Contents

Hustler

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Epilogue

Copyright

Published by Meghan Quinn and Jessica Prince

Copyright 2016

Cover design by Meghan Quinn

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at meghan.quinn.author@gmail.com or authorjessicaprince@gmail.com

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the authors’ imagination.

www.authormeghanquinn.com

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Formatting CP Smith Affordable Formatting

copyright © 2016 Meghan Quinn and Jessica Prince

All rights reserved.

Chapter One

**GAVIN**

“Pinch my nipple, again.”

Seriously, if I squeeze this chick’s nipple one more time, I’m afraid it will pop off the fake titty it’s attached to. I’ve spent the last five minutes up in Areola City, playing with her unappealing, and rather rubbery tits. I’m about two more tweaks away from being bored.

“Oh, oh, oh,” she screams obnoxiously, making her “O” face way too early.

I’m fucking good at sex, an experienced motherfucker in the bedroom, but there is no way in hell this girl is about to tap out just from a little nip action. Not when I can tell her breasts have been desensitized from the bubbling saline sacs ready to burst at any given time.

This is what I get for day drinking.

“Oh Grant, just like that. Squeeze them harder.”

As if she just pinched my cock with her lady claws, I pull away quickly. “My name is Gavin.”

“That’s what I said. Come here, big daddy.” Her arms reach out in a “gimme gimme” kind of gesture.

“Uh no,” I correct her, insulted as fuck. “You called me, Grant.”

“They’re practically the same name.” She bats her eyelashes at me, giving me an innocent look that I see right through.

Call me a drama queen, but I’m not about to fuck a woman who called me someone else’s name. Peeling my body off of hers, I roll to the side of my bed, and head toward the shower. Time to wash away my poor decisions.

“Where are you going?”

I don’t answer her, instead I turn the handle of my fifty-thousand-dollar shower, stacked with ten showerheads, a waterfall head in the ceiling, and neon lights. I’m rich, and a man’s got to spend his money on something, right?

Heating up quickly, I step into the onslaught of water, letting the warm liquid hit my body in all the right ways. Resting my head against the tile, I think back, trying to remember when sex became so monotonous for me, when it became so routine that I didn’t care if I turned a girl down or not.

Back in the day, when I was just starting to hit the tables hard, perfecting my trade, and mastering the art of calling people on their tells, I would have easily fucked the girl in my bed, not giving two shits if she called me Grant or Neil Diamond. Any pussy was good pussy to me.

But my mindset has changed since then. I’m Gavin Saint. Women don’t mistake me for someone else… ever.

Maybe that’s my problem. I’m holding myself to a higher standard. I’m not living in the moment. I process that thought and then shake my head. Nope, I’m Mr. Live-in-the-Fucking-Moment. I have zero regard for a future, I live in the here and now. Relationships don’t exist in my world. Families are made for men wanting and willing to put on a set of New Balance 409’s and a pair of khaki cargo pants, because they have to stuff their balls somewhere. They’re sure as hell not attached to the log sitting between their legs.

A cold breeze hits my back, letting me know my shower time has been ambushed.

Her claws run up my shoulder blades, and around to the front of my pecs. Her plump breasts push against my back, and I can’t help but like the feeling. I’m a man, not a saint – despite my last name.

“Don’t be mad at me. I just want to please you.” She moves her hands down the front of my chest, past my defined, toned stomach, to my dick, which has reawakened.

My head falls back the minute her hand wraps itself around my cock. Starting at the root, she pumps up, gripping just tight enough that I have to spread my legs further apart to steady myself. Who knew this chick was going to be amazingly good at hand jobs?

Maybe she wasn’t such a poor decision after all.

Her hand pumps three, four, five times, and then stops. I’m about to protest when she slips in front of me and drops to her knees, licking her lips, ready to devour me. So she doesn’t drown, I tilt the showerhead above us to the side and brace myself against the wall, allowing the cold tile to penetrate the heated skin of my back.

Slowly, like a fucking sloth, she runs her hands up my thighs until she connects with the juncture between my legs. Her right hand wraps around my cock and her left hand grips my balls, rolling them tenderly with her fingers.

Fuck me, that feels good.

I glance down at her, her breasts swaying with her movements, her hair wet and pushed to the side, and her lips moist and wide open, ready for me. With a little thrust forward, I make my way to her mouth where she sucks me in, all the way, so the tip of my dick touches the back of her throat.

With zero gag reflex, she sucks me, hard, her teeth barely grazing my sensitive skin. Normally, the touch of teeth on my dick has me sweating, not in a good way, but I’m not worried at this point, I’m just enjoying the feel of her mouth around my cock.

My head rests against the tile of my shower, my hands fall into her hair, encouraging her to move faster, and I let myself relax into one hell of a blow job. Not the best I’ve ever had, but fuck, getting your dick sucked is never a bad thing.

With every pull of my cock and fondle of my balls, I’m pushed further and further to the precipice of my orgasm. My toes start to tingle, my junk tightens up, and my stomach rolls with pleasure as white, hot euphoria engulfs me, screaming through my body, hell bent on making me fall to my damn knees.

She swallows everything I give her, never letting up, taking it all down until I’m completely sated.

Breathless and pleased, I watch her wipe her mouth and stand up. Her nipples are hard, and she has a fuck-me-now look on her face. She pats my cheek and says, “I will be waiting for you in the bed. Bring your A-game sailor.”

Just like that, I want nothing to do with her again. Exiting the shower, she wraps a towel around her body and heads back out to my California king-sized bed. Fingers crossed she’s passes out before I get back to my room.

I take my time cleaning myself, letting every jet hit me in the right spot, allowing my shampoo and soap to soak in before I wash it out, and frankly, reciting the presidents by term just to avoid any responsibility of fingering/tonguing her pussy.

There is no way my dick is going inside of her.

Reluctantly, I turn off the shower and listen carefully as I step onto my plush bathmat. From the wall, I grab my towel off the rack and dry off, listening for any kind of stirring coming from the bedroom.

Nothing.

Drying off quickly, I tip toe across the white marble floor and peek my head out the door. Laying in the middle of the bed, legs spread, head hanging off one of my pillows, and drool pooling out of her mouth is my ridiculous poor decision – minus the blow job.

Thank you tequila shots!

Day drinking actually has come in handy.

Being as quiet as possible, I sift through my closet, choosing a deep blue Armani suit and white button up shirt. I pair my outfit with a brown Dolce and Gabbana belt and matching Barker Black Cap Toe shoes. I’m a man of style, expensive and refined style. I pride myself on what’s in my closet and the fabric I put on my body. Only the finest of attire for me. As a high roller at the poker tables in Vegas, I have an image to maintain.

Styling my hair to the side, giving it just enough ruffle to make it look messy but kept together, I cement it with some pliable hair wax, playing with a few strands in the front until I’m happy. Once satisfied, I put on a spray of cologne and check myself out in the mirror one last time.

Call me a cocky bastard, but I’m a sexy motherfucker.

Quietly, I write the girl a note, asking for a rain check but not meaning it, and leave my villa. It’s full of security cameras, so I’m not worried about her stealing anything. In an hour, I will have Gertrude, my favorite maid, shoo the girl out of my place. There’s no way in hell I want her there when I return.

The elevator doors close behind me and take me to the control room floor of Hotel Paragon, my buddy’s hotel that lies directly on the Las Vegas Strip, where all major champion fights take place, where the high rollers come to test their luck, and where I reside.

There is really only one true part of Vegas, and that’s the Strip, anything outside of the stretch is a foreign country I don’t care to get to know. Who needs to travel outside of the Strip when you could visit New York City, Italy, and Paris all within a mile block radius? Shops, restaurants, gambling, and girls is all a man needs, and I don’t have to travel far for any of those things.

Stopping on the tenth floor, a loving couple steps onto the elevator, joining me in my descent. Immediately, I can tell it’s their first time in Las Vegas. They’re wearing sneakers – mind you, it’s reaching dinner time – they have on graphic tees depicting what city they are currently visiting, and the guy is wearing a backpack most likely full of extra water bottles for when they get thirsty, and a GoPro to record the Bellagio Fountains. They scream tourist.

Standing with my hands in my pockets, my shirt undone at the top, exposing some of my tanned chest, I nod at the woman and smile. “First time visiting?”

“Yes,” she coos, wrapping her arm around her husband. “It’s our tenth anniversary.”

“Congratulations.” I smile at the both of them, taking a quick glance at the man’s feet.

Yup, New Balance 409’s. Poor fuck.

I exit the elevator before them, parting ways on the fifth floor. “Enjoy the city.” I salute them and take off to the locked door reading “Personnel Only”. With a swipe of my keycard, I’m in.

Down a short hallway and to the left, I enter the control room, the nerve center of the hotel, where highly trained specialists scout the floor of the casino for trouble.

“It’s about time you waddled your raisin dick in here.”

Graham Larson: spoiled little rich kid, owner of Hotel Paragon, and one of my best friends since I started hustling the tables.

Back when I was still perfecting my game, Graham would watch me, and how the crowd reacted to my “balls to the wall” playing style. He made it his mission to bring me to Hotel Paragon, where I quite literally gave all the high rollers a run for their money. After a dozen wins, ranging from half a million to a million, he invited me into the VIP lounge for a drink where he offered me a job I couldn’t refuse. A job where I’d be paid under the table so I could still gamble at the hotel’s high roller games. A job in the control room, reading the gamblers, making sure they weren’t counting cards or cheating, all the while, being able to compete about once a month in the most expensive games in the country since I’m not “technically” an employee.

Not to mention the free villa in his hotel.

I’ve saved the man millions of dollars from picking out cheaters. As far as I’m concerned, he owes me the name to his first born at this point.

I slap Graham on the back, ignoring his insult and say, “Anything good going on?”

In front of us is a span of screens, displaying hundreds of shots around the hotel, ranging from the casino floor, to the hallways, to the restaurants and club. Every corner of the hotel is covered. Very often the control room is referred to as God, nothing escapes our view.

“Sloppy sex at the bottom of stairwell twelve,” Graham answers, switching one of the screens over to show stairwell twelve.

To my shock, Mr. 409 is trying desperately to pummel his touristy wife up against the wall, still wearing his backpack, with his shorts wrapped around his ankles.

“No shit,” I look closer. “I was just in the elevator with those two. It’s their ten-year anniversary.”

“Damn,” Graham shakes his head. “She’s been with that wrinkly ass for ten years? That’s impressive.” Graham looks me up and down. “Nail that pair of tits you were talking to at the bar?”

I shake my head. “Dude, it’s creepy that you stalk me on the monitors. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Someone has to keep track of who gives you a venereal disease. Fuck knows you were a couple shots in and unable to make a clear decision.”

“And you approved of this woman?”

He shrugs his shoulder. “I wanted to know if her boobs were real.”

“They aren’t,” I answer.

“Damn, they never are. So you banged her?”

“No,” I shake my head, wondering if I should tell him the truth about her calling me the wrong name. Knowing Graham, he wouldn’t ever let me live it down. So, instead, I say, “She blew me in the shower and then passed out on the bed. I snuck out before she woke up, which reminds me...”

I pull out my phone and send a text to Gertrude, asking her to shuffle into my place in a half hour to clean it out. She knows how to decipher that, and she never lets me down. I tip her well.

“Damn, I haven’t been blown in the shower in a long time.”

I turn to him, a thoughtful, wistful look on his face. “You realize you are standing in the middle of the control room, surrounded by your employees, right?”

He looks around at all the people sitting at tables, screens in front of them. “I pay them well enough to forgo anything that slips out of my mouth.”

“Lucky them. Who’s playing tonight?” I nod at the high roller lounge.

“Texas, Ramos, Sardinelli, Watson, Bowels, and Carrington.”

“All amateurs.” I walk over to my screen and zoom in on the table that is being prepped for the game. “Davies dealing tonight?”

“She is. Her ranking is growing amongst the players. She’s starting to become the most requested dealer.”

“I don’t doubt it. She’s smooth and has a great pair of tits to stare at when making a decision. She’s also great for players like me because it’s easy to pick up on tells while she’s dealing. A lot of the players use her rack as a place to focus when they’re bluffing. One slip of the eye to the hot air balloons sitting on her chest, and their bluff is given up. Ramos is notorious for it.”

I eat, sleep, and breathe poker. My job allows me to sit and study every single player that rolls through the doors of Hotel Paragon. I know their hands, and I know when they’re bluffing, when they’re nervous, and when they’re unsure. I read them, study each and every one of them, so when it comes to my time to play, I’m able to hustle every one of those assholes.

“Ramos is pathetic,” Graham comments. “If it wasn’t for his money, I would ask him to leave. Did you know he has a trainer with him, every day, teaching him the tricks of the trade? I want to know who the hell has been teaching him and how much he gets paid, because shit, I could do a better job.”

“Dustin Lynch, and he gets paid thirty grand every game Ramos plays.” I’m immersed in the sport, I know everything.

“Thirty grand? Damn, that fucker has it easy.”

“Clearly taking advantage.” I sit down in my seat and ask one of the attendants in the room to bring me a whiskey on the rocks.

“Haven’t I talked to you about drinking on the job?” Graham asks, mirth in his voice.

“Haven’t I told you to shove your pinky up your dick hole? You know I do my best work with a tumbler in my hand. Now leave me the fuck alone so I can get situated.”

“Fine,” he sighs. “Make me some money tonight.”

I ignore his last comment just as a petite figured woman walks on screen. Her wavy brunette hair reaches her shoulders. She’s a cocktail waitress in the high roller room, one I’ve never seen before. She must be fresh meat. She looks nervous, but also irritated at the same time.

With the camera, I zoom in closer to get a better look. Her body is lithe, but also athletic, like she does Pilates every day. Her breasts are pushed up to her collarbone, and she’s wearing the classic cocktail waitress outfit, revealing thighs and tits. I’ve grown accustomed to the outfit, and I’ve torn it off quite a few waitresses as well.

She’s beautiful. Stunning actually.

Waiting for the players to enter the room, she impatiently shifts from side to side, occasionally looking at the thin watch on her wrist. Her arms are crossed at her chest, and she doesn’t look happy, rather, beyond irritated that she has to wait on the best tipping men in America.

She is a drastic change from the typical cocktail waitress I see in the room, a breath of fresh air, and I can’t help but wonder what her story is. For the first time ever, I keep the camera aimed solely on one person, on her, studying her every move, her every gesture, her every fake smile until it’s time for the game to start. Even then, I keep turning the camera back on her. She intrigues me. I just need to find out why.

Chapter Two

**NELL**

“Fuck my life,” I mutter to myself as I shift my weight to my left foot, praying that the superglue holding the heel of my right shoe together will hold through the night. I check my cheap, store brand watch for probably the hundredth time in a matter of minutes. Of course a bunch of rich, pompous assholes wouldn’t give a shit about being late to their own damn game. It isn’t like any of us have anything better to do.

Fuck you very much, Vegas, I think to myself. I question my decision to move here on a daily basis. When I packed up and left my Podunk town in backwater, Tennessee, I planned on doing something special with my life. College was a pipe dream for most of us in my poor coal-mining town, and my family wasn’t any different. My mom still waits tables to this day, and my dad has been out of work for the past four years, thanks to an on-the-job injury that broke his spirit at the same time it broke his back.

School was always something I struggled with, never being more than a mediocre student, at best, but the one thing I’ve excelled at all my life is gymnastics. And it was that talent, mixed with too much ambition and a head firmly planted in the clouds, which brought me to this God forsaken city.

At eighteen, I moved away determined to be a star. I was going to be an intricate part of Vegas’ number one show, La Magie du Cirque, performing every night to sold-out crowds. Unfortunately, I’ve been here for three years already and haven’t gotten past the goddamn audition process.

Instead of entertaining hundreds of thousands of people with my finely tuned skills as a gymnast, I’ve been waiting on rich, entitled dickheads with grabby hands and fat bellies, and no manners, whatsoever.

My eyes scan the suite again as I tug at my new uniform, trying in vain to cover myself up somehow. I’m used to serving drinks in skirts and heels. I’ve been working the casino floor at Hotel Paragon for over a year now, but the new uniform for the high roller room is freaking ridiculous. If I bend over just a millimeter too far, these bastards are going to know I have a penchant for tiny, lacy panties.

So sue me. Everyone knows nice lingerie makes a woman feel pretty.

But the most uncomfortable thing about the uniform I’m wearing is the stupid padded pushup bra I have to wear to make my modest B-cup look more like an overflowing C. My poor boobs are going to hate me in the morning.

“Will you stop tugging at that damn skirt already?” my friend, Davies chides. “You look hot as shit, babe. Showing all that smooth skin is going to get you crazy tips tonight.”

I shoot her a fake smile as I check my watch again. “Excuse me for feeling awkward. You didn’t tell me I’d be looking like a glorified whore when I took this job.”

She grins back at me as she shuffles the deck of cards expertly with one hand. “This is the thanks I get for helping a friend get a job? Besides, you don’t look like a whore… more like an extremely well paid escort. Own it.”

Despite my chronically shitty mood, I can’t help but laugh at Davies. She’s always been able to cheer me up. If it weren’t for her, and my roommate, Page, I probably would have crawled back to Hicksville with my tail tucked between my legs years ago.

“All right, all right. I’ll quit bitching and own it. You have any last minute tips for me before these guys get here?”

“Just the usual,” she shrugs as she counts out the chips. “Be careful of their hands. These assholes are twice as grabby as those guys on the floor. Apparently, when you’ve got hundreds of thousands to blow a night in a poker game it gives you the right to try and shove your hand up any skirt in the vicinity.”

“Brilliant,” I murmur sarcastically.

“Play nice with the bartender,” she continues. “Nick’s a pretty decent guy, so you don’t have anything to worry about tonight, but it’s a crap shoot with the others. The players don’t see anything beyond this table, so if a drink tastes like piss, you’re the one that has to deal with their bullshit. Oh, and keep an eye on the plastics they bring in the room with them. If they even think their man is looking at you for too long, their claws come out.”

“You’re really selling me on this job, Davies,” I deadpan. “It sounds like an absolute nightmare. What the hell have you gotten me into?”

“Relax,” she laughs. “You’re a tough bitch, you can handle it. Money’s money, right? And trust me, the tips you’ll make here in one night are more than you could make in a month on the casino floor. A few nights serving drinks to the high rollers will make it so you don’t have to work your ass off twenty-four/seven. Maybe now you’ll have more time to audition.”

I suck in a fortifying breath and give myself an internal pep talk. She’s right; I need the free time this job will hopefully secure. And what’s more, I need the money. Every time Page has to spot me on my half of the rent, I feel lower than dirt. She doesn’t care, and has never held it against me, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t weigh heavily on my chest.

“One more thing, babe,” Davies calls, pulling me from my reverie. “Watch out for Ramos. Dude’s slimy as hell. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

My head tips to the side in curious regard. “What’s wrong with him?”

She shoots me a look that doesn’t mean anything nice. “What’s not wrong with him is the question. The guy’s got more money than he knows what to do with and can’t play poker to save his life. Hell, even you’d take him to the cleaners. He gets obnoxious when he drinks too much, which is pretty much every time he’s in here, and turns into even more of an asshole than he already is when he starts losing, which is—”

“Pretty much every time he’s in here,” I finish for her.

“Bingo.”

“Wait, how the hell am I supposed to know which one’s Ramos?”

“Trust me, you’ll know. If not, just look for the guy staring at my tits the entire fucking time. Swear to God, it’s like he’s trying to catch his reflection in my nipple. I have to scrub my body with a Brillo pad after dealing with him.”

My lip begins to curl derisively just as the big, wooden double doors of the suite swing open. Wiping my face clean, I paste on a smile and turn to the men entering the room.

“Evening, gentlemen,” I offer in a seductive purr that isn’t too over the top. “I’m Nell and I’ll be your server tonight.”

“Mmm, lucky us,” one man in a ridiculous cowboy hat hums with a lascivious look on his face as he and the rest of the men take their seats around the table. I try my hardest not to cringe at the hungry expression on his pockmarked face and hold my smile, even though I can feel it doesn’t come close to reaching my eyes.

A few of the men have women hanging off their sides, including the acne scarred cowboy, and just like Davies had warned, every one of them glare daggers at me.

They can just fuck right the hell off for all I care. I’m there to do a job. And unlike them, my job doesn’t include sucking off some limp-dicked millionaire with a potbelly and shriveled up, old man balls who probably blows more dust than cum down the backs of their throats. If they’re stupid enough to view me as a threat, then they seriously need to reassess their life choices and figure out where the fuck they went wrong.

I mean, seriously! Half of these guys look like they need Viagra intravenously, and the other half look like they should be holed up in their mother’s basements jerking off to creepy fetish porn.

Say it with me, ladies. STANDARDS!

There’s only one exception around the entire table, a handsome enough Hispanic man that looks to be in his mid-thirties, who hones in on Davies’ boobs the minute he takes his seat.

Ah, so that’s Ramos.

Ignoring glares from the band of silicone and saline injected Barbie sluts sitting on the plush, cream colored couches, I go about taking drink orders and avoiding sweaty palms trying to slide up the back of my skirt. Just another day in the trenches.

As I head across the room to the fully stocked bar, the guy behind the counter takes notice of me coming his way. Leaning down and resting his forearms on the bar top, he smiles and offers me a wink as I close the rest of the distance. “Well, hey there, gorgeous.”

I’ve been in Vegas long enough to get a pretty decent read on men. I can spot the red flags from a mile away. There isn’t anything sinister behind this guy’s grin, he is just a natural born flirt so I offer up a friendly smile in return.

“Hey. Nick right?” He is really cute. I’d put him around my age, maybe a year or two older. He has that blond hair, tanned skin surfer boy look to him. His body looks like he spends many hours a day honing it to perfection at a gym and makes sure to take selfies of his abs in the mirrors, but if he’s a nice enough guy, I won’t hold that against him.

“The one and only. And who might you be, new girl?”

“I’m Nell,” I offer him my hand to shake, which he quickly twists around and brings to his lips, placing a soft kiss on my knuckles.

“Tonight your first night?” Nick asks as I pull my hand from his grip.

“Yep,” I answer, taking a peek over my shoulder at the table on the other side of the room. “And I already dislike every one of them.”

At Nick’s deep chuckle, I spin back around. “You’ll get used to it, gorgeous.” I give him my order and he immediately begins mixing drinks like it’s an art form. “Just keep your head down. Pretty thing like you could get eaten alive in here.”

Once he places the last tumbler on my tray, I pick it up, prop it on my shoulder and shoot him a wink. “That’s where you’re wrong, gorgeous. If you think I’m capable of being eaten alive, you have a lot to learn. Trust me, I’m not someone you should fuck with.”

“I think you and I are going to get along just fine, Nell,” he laughs.

“Don’t turn out to be a douche and I’d agree,” I return over my shoulder as I walk away from the safety of the bar and back into the lion’s den.

For the next few hours, things go smoothly enough. I’m surprised to see that these guys’ sole focus is on the table in front of them once Davies deals a hand. I walk around refilling drinks when necessary and getting rid of the empties. Despite their scathing looks, I even venture into the den of plastically enhanced pit vipers a time or two to fill drink orders. And bonus, my high heel is holding up like a champ.

Thank you Gorilla Glue.

Hopefully I’ll make enough in tips tonight to cover my half of the rent, utilities, and buy myself a new pair of shoes that doesn’t come from Payless. Fingers crossed.

I’m just starting to think that the night isn’t all that shitty after all when the sudden crash of glass shattering against a nearby wall echoes through the suite, startling a jump out of me.

“Goddamn it!” A man yells boisterously. I spin around just in time to see Pockmark Cowboy shoot up from his chair, sending it flying backwards. “This is fuckin’ bullshit! You stacked the deck! You just cost me three-hundred grand, you dumb cunt!”

To my surprise, the furious man is pointing his pudgy finger right at Davies who, shockingly enough, looks like the perfect picture of calm, cool, and collected. “I can assure you, sir. I didn’t do anything to the deck. You just played with a bad hand.”

“You callin’ me a liar, you stupid bitch? I know how the fuck to play poker. I’ve been playin’ for years! I didn’t have a bad hand!”

The man’s chest puffs out like he is ready to pounce and I feel my feet moving in his direction before my brain can catch up. No one else has moved a muscle. If the other men sitting around the table aren’t going to intervene, I sure as hell will. No way am I letting that piece of shit talk to my friend like that.

But before I can even move a foot, a large hand wraps around my upper arm, stopping me in place.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, gorgeous,” Nick whispers in my ear. “Just give it a second.”

“Fuck that,” I hiss angrily, tugging at my arm to get free. “If none of you are going to stop him, I will.”

“Relax,” he grinds between clenched teeth. “Nothing’s going to happen to her, I swear. This is all par for the course.”

“This is bullshit, is what it is,” I seethe in response.

Davies actually looks like she’s bored as she replies, “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to take your seat or you’ll be removed from the room.”

“By who,” the guy laughs hatefully. “You?”

At that moment, his paid company unwisely decides to enter the fray, wrapping herself around his arm. “Baby, why don’t you just calm down, huh?”

To my—and everyone else’s in the room—surprise, he rears back and shouts at the woman, “When I want your opinion, I’ll fuckin’ give it to you!”

My chest compresses in a sharp gasp just as the room to the suite bursts open and two men clad in black suits charge the cowboy. One plants his fist in his gut, causing the prick to crumple over in pain before dragging him out as the other man walks the woman out of the room behind her sugar daddy.

And just like that, in a matter of seconds, they’re gone. “Okay, gentlemen. Next game is starting, ante up,” Davies speaks as if nothing’s happened, and the men all start tossing their chips to the center.

“See, I told you everything would work out,” Nick tells me. The tension is gone from his voice and his light, jovial demeanor has returned, but I’m still shaken by the whole situation. And what’s worse, I’m pissed off that Davies just had to stand there and take the cowboy’s shit.

My earlier laid back mood is gone. I’m upset for Davies, I’m upset that I have to resort to refilling tumblers as a living, and I’m irritated at the male race for thinking they can take what they want, when they want it.

That’s why, a half hour later, when Ramos’s hand finds its way up the back of my skirt as I replace his empty Jack and Coke, it takes everything I have not to lose it. Gritting my teeth against the onslaught of curse words that desperately want to escape, I speak past a plastered on grin. “Sir, please remove your hand,” I hiss at him under my breath, knowing full well he can see right through my polite words.

A smug, chilling smirk spreads across his face. He no longer looks handsome, now he just looks like the slimy bastard Davies warned me about.

“Feisty,” he murmurs. “I like it.”

“Please don’t make me ask you again,” I say in the most professional voice I can while still getting my warning across. But for added measure—and because I can’t leave well enough alone—I add, “You won’t like what happens if I have to repeat myself.”

He does as I demand just as Davies says my name in a quiet warning. When I look her way she offers me a discreet shake of her head. I can read the look on her face clear as day and move away from the table before Ramos can do anything else. I’ve overstepped my boundaries when it comes to these men, and Davies just called me out on it.

The fake smile I’ve had painted on my face all evening has disappeared, leaving me ornery and less than pleasant to look at. Knowing this isn’t the best first day on the job, I work the last hour of my shift with a don’t fuck with me vibe radiating off my body. Luckily the tips I’d earned from earlier in the night are enough to cover me for a little bit.

By the time the last hand is won and the men collect their winnings, I’ve had enough. I just want to go home, crawl into bed, and forget this night ever happened. Unfortunately, I must have done something in a past life to really piss Karma off, because as I make my way around the table, collecting the empties, Ramos decides to press his luck.

I’m leaning over just slightly to pick up a tumbler when I feel his heat come up behind me. “You know, that attitude of yours really makes me hard, Mami,” he whispers just seconds before his palm lands on my ass with a hard, stinging crack. At the instant pain, I spin around, throwing common sense into the wind and letting my instinct kick in.

Before I can think or even stop myself, my knee comes up swiftly, hitting my target with perfect precision. Ramos goes down in a heap on the carpeted floor, clutching his balls as he grunts in agony.

Davies gasps from behind me. “Are you okay, Nell?”

“Oh shit,” is all I’m able to say as I stand in shock, eyes wide on the man writhing in pain on the floor at my feet. If my smartass attitude earlier didn’t do me in, this just did.

“What the fuck just happened?” Nick shouts, running over to us. The moment his eyes land on Ramos he mutters a low, “Ah, fuck.”

“I didn’t mean to!” I shout. “It was just a reflex!”

The door to the suite opens and one of the men in black from earlier steps in, his blank eyes trained on me. Without skipping a beat, he says, “Boss wants to see you, ma’am.”

“But…” I stutter, looking between the suit and Davies, “How…?”

Davies points to the ceiling. “Cameras all over the room, babe. I forgot to warn you,” she offers with a small, sympathetic smile, thinking the exact same thing I am.

I’m about to get canned.

It’s the perfect cherry on the shit sundae that is my life. My shoulders slump in defeat as I step over a prone Ramos and follow after the suit. The silent ride on the elevator does nothing to calm my suddenly frazzled nerves, and when the doors open on the fifth floor, I feel like I’m about to come out of my skin.

I let my feelings take over tonight, rather than my intelligence. I know better than anyone what my given situation is. Broke girls with glued together shoes, desperately trying to make it big in this city can’t afford to think with their heart, they have to think with their mind and decide what is best for them. Clearly I failed at that tonight, letting my emotions get the best of me.

Shit!

I not only need this job, but if I get fired from Hotel Paragon, it will ruin my abilities to try to find any other waitressing job on the Strip. Nerves start to ricochet through my body, and my stomach rolls as a queasy feeling takes over me. What have I done?

I feel like I’m taking the walk of shame as I follow the guy down a long hallway to a closed door marked “Personnel Only.” He swipes his card and I hear a faint beep before what sounds like a lock disengaging. Pushing the door open, he steps to the side and waves for me to enter. I take one step when the heel of my right shoe gives out and breaks right off.

And I lose it.

“Goddamned, son of a motherfucking bitch whore!”

Chapter Three

**GAVIN**

Very un-lady like swearing pops out of the most delicious lips I’ve ever seen as Brian opens the door for the little fireball of a waitress. Stumbling forward, she trips on her shoe and I stand up to catch the waitress before she falls face first onto the marble tile of the control room.

“Careful,” I say, examining her facial features up close. She’s even more stunning in person.

She grips onto my forearms and straightens herself, standing tall, one leg longer than the other. Her imbalance peaks my curiosity, so I venture my gaze down her petite body, past her beautifully toned legs, to her scuffed up high heels, where one is shorter than the other. Looking past her feet, I see the heel of the shoe that once was attached. Being the gentleman I am, I bend down and pick it up.

At a closer look, I examine the heel and notice a distinct glob of glue in the center. I quirk an eyebrow at her and hold the heel up in front of her face, “I believe this belongs to you?”

She swipes it out of my hand without a word and puts her hands behind her back, hiding the treacherous heel while trying to stand on her tippy toe to balance her stance. Embarrassment washes over her as her cheeks redden to a deeper hue. “Yeah, that’s mine. Thank you.”

She doesn’t look me in the eyes; instead, her gaze lands on the floor between us. She’s a different woman than the one I watched on screen, the one who singlehandedly brought Ramos down to the ground with a simple thrust of her knee.

Now, she’s reserved, calm, almost submissive in a way. I’m more than fucking intrigued.

“Brian, please open up the B room and escort Miss Prescott into it. I need to look over her file before I join her.”

“Sure thing,” Brian says in a thick Brooklyn accent.

Brian is a beast of a man, his chest the width of a basketball court, and his cue ball head shinier than the fucking sun. He’s intimidating on the outside, but softer than shit on the inside. Want to know his Achilles heel? Watch his three-year-old daughter walk in the room, calling out for him. The man crumbles faster than a hooker on Freemont Street presented with a hundred-dollar bill.

Once they’re gone, I sift through the file that’s marked Penelope Prescott. Thankfully Graham trusts me enough to root through his employee files and not give a fuck what I do with them.

Taking a sip from my tumbler, I read up on the fireball waiting for me in the B room.

Penelope Louise Prescott, age 21, lives in North Las Vegas.

Shit.

I pause. North Las Vegas? What was a gorgeous girl like her doing living in North Las Vegas? I’ve lived here my entire life and I’ve become accustomed to the good and bad parts of town. North Las Vegas is no place for a young, beautiful woman like Penelope to live.

Trying to wrap my head around her living location, I continue reading.

Has worked for Hotel Paragon for the past year waitressing on the main floor, moved from Tennessee.

A southern girl, I like that. There’s something about women from the south that always intrigues me. They’re polite, but have a blaze of fire under them, waiting to be set off. That could explain her recent snap of logic in the high roller room.

Which reminds me, I will be having a conversation with Ramos sometime in the near future. I don’t care how rich he is, or how much he believes his dick doesn’t possess a terrible case of gonorrhea, he has no right slapping a waitress’s ass. A graze here and there, I will let go. They tip high and the girls expect it, but slapping bare skin? That’s not going to fly with me. Graham would have my back on that decision.

I take one more glance at her file, skimming for anything I might need to know.

She received one warning back when she first started at Hotel Paragon for cussing out a customer on the floor. Yup, she definitely has a temper. Other than that, her birthday is in a few weeks, and her emergency contact is Page Blakely.

Why did that name sound familiar? Pulling out my phone, I search her name on the Internet and I’m immediately awarded with a match.

Page Blakely, highly regarded personal chef in Las Vegas. There is a picture next to her name. A beautiful blonde with deep blue eyes smiles brightly with a face I vaguely recognize. I think back to where I might have seen her when Graham sidles up next to me.

“What are you looking at?”

I show him my phone and say, “Do you know her?”

He grabs my phone and smiles. “I thought I paid you to look at my screens, not look up hot blondes on the Internet.” He pauses as recognition flashes over his face. “Uh, no. I don’t know her.”

I stand up and grab my tumbler. “Don’t fuck with me. I know you know her, who is she?”

“Why does it matter?” he asks.

“According to that file, she’s the roommate of the girl I’m about to talk to in the B room. I like to be well informed. Who is she?”

Graham glances back at the B room. “Who are you going to talk to? Is she hot?”

“Don’t change the subject, dick head. Answer my question.”

He sighs and tries to grab my drink from me for his own sip but I ward him off. Irritated, he finally says, “Remember a little while back, I had that intimate dinner party for some of the high rollers? I hired her to cook.”

The night comes flooding back to my mind. “Shit, I remember that night. She was prancing around in the shortest skirt ever, boobs on display, and a tiny apron wrapped around her waist.”

“Yeah, that’s her.” Graham grabs the back of his neck and looks away from me. I know that avoidance, something happened between them.

“I’m not even going to fucking ask. Seriously, dude, you never can keep it in your pants.”

“Speak for yourself,” he shoots back. “Who the hell are you talking to in the B room? Just another girl you plan on fucking in your villa?”

The thought might have crossed my mind, but more importantly, I want to find out more about her, and what that damaged look she hides behind her eyes is all about.

“She pummeled Ramos in the dick with her knee. Had Brian bring her up here for a talk before things could get any more out of hand.”

Shock registers across Graham’s face in an almost comical way. “She kneed him in the dick?”

“Right in the peen,” I answer with a chuckle.

“Shit,” Graham laughs but also pulls on the strands of his hair. “Are you going to fire her, not that you really have the right to.” He smirks at me.

“Nah.” I take a sip of my drink. “Ramos deserved it. I’m just going to scare her a little. She’s new to the VIP’s, she needs to know that kind of behavior isn’t appreciated and she’s going to have to tamp down the sass if she’s going to roll with the big players.”

I don’t mention to Graham that she can take that sass and fiery attitude and meet me in my bedroom, I would be more than fucking happy to take everything she can spit out.

“Think she can handle them?”

“No doubt in my mind.” I finish off my drink just as another is brought to me. Buttoning up my suit jacket, I send a wink in Graham’s direction, who rolls his eyes in return, and then head off to the B room, but not before stopping in front of the screen that monitors it.

I bring one of the earphones up to my ear and listen to her talk to herself.

“You couldn’t just let him slap you in the ass, could you? No, Nell, you have to go and be all high and mighty, I am woman, hear me roar, and knee fuck his junk.” I chuckle, loving the way she berates herself in a no holds barred kind of way. She’s looking at the broken heel in her hand as she sits patiently in the metal chair provided for her. “Then you have to go and snap off in front of Mr. Sexy Eyes, sending me flying into his arms. I nearly broke a tooth on his bicep. Why couldn’t you have just stayed glued for a little while longer? I could have at least been fired with a little bit of dignity left. But no, you decide to be a little bitch and snap off, you useless shoe heel.”

I’ve heard enough. I set the earphones down, straighten up, and walk through the door. Immediately her attention is focused on me as I stalk powerfully into the room, holding my tumbler in my hand. There’s a metal table in front of her that I use as a chair of my own.

Casually, I sit on the side of the table and take a sip of my drink as I let her eyes peruse my body. It’s a power move. Even though I’m eager to get to know this little hellion, I mask my reaction to her. Never show and tell, especially with women.

I can feel her eyes scanning me, focused on the bit of exposed skin near the collar of the shirt. They then travel down my stomach – little does she know what’s hiding underneath my clothing – and then to my crotch, then she immediately refocuses on her hands. I caught her though, she’s a goner as far as I’m concerned.

“Penelope Prescott,” I start, but I’m quickly interrupted.

“Nell.”

“Excuse me?”

“Everyone calls me Nell,” she clarifies.

I set my glass down and study her before saying, “Too bad for you, I’m not everyone.” Her mouth falls agape for a second before she closes it, trying not to let her shock show. I have a rather up front personality, it can catch some people off guard. Clearly, she’s one of them. “Now tell me, Penelope, how long have you worked for Hotel Paragon?”

I know the answer to my question, but when you’re holding the upper hand, you not only want to show power, but you also want to make the other person feel as though they have some control over the situation, when in fact, they don’t. Poker 101.

She wrings her hands together on her lap. Tell number one.

She’s nervous, but there’s a confidence in her eyes that almost boasts a cocky air around her. Unfortunately for her, I’m a master at reading people, so she’s doesn’t fool me one bit.

With her head held high, she answers, “A little over a year now.”

I nod. “And how long have you been working in the high roller room?”

She bites her lip before answering. Tell number two.

“It’s my first day today.”

I nod again. “And before you started, were you informed that the men playing at the table you would be serving are valuable members to this hotel, some of our most lavish and esteemed customers?”

She twirls a strand of hair around her finger. Tell number three.

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Saint,” I inform her.

“Sorry, yes, Mr. Saint.” She grits out my name, as if it’s painful for her to say.

Interesting. Even though she’s nervous, she apparently doesn’t enjoy dealing with authority figures. Any other person in her shoes would have stammered, their voice would have shook, but not Penelope Prescott. She might be shaky on the outside, but she is hard as steel on the inside.

“So when you shoved your knee into Mr. Ramos’s genitals, were you trying to be accommodating and showing him good hospitality?”

A slight smirk crosses her face at the word genitals, but is quickly washed away before I can commit the beautiful sight to memory. Tell number four.

“I was helping Mr. Ramos realize that he was being a giant ass, so yes, I guess I was being accommodating.”

And there it is, the smart mouth I was waiting for. I knew if I pushed her just enough, she wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore.

In defiance, she crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts up just a little bit more. I don’t stare, I don’t even look down because that would be giving in; that would be showing my interest. It would be calling my bluff, and I’m not about to give in. I never do.

“Please, Miss Prescott, tell me how kneeing one of our richest poker players in the crotch is accommodating. Because to me, it’s hostile and can result in immediate termination, but if you have some other reasoning as to why kneeing one of our VIP’s in the crotch is accommodating that I’m unaware of, I would love to be enlightened.”

Calmly waiting for her interpretation of the crushing of man-balls, I take a sip of my drink and rest it on my thigh as I wait for her answer, studying her brilliant hazel eyes. Her long lashes are dark, real, not those fake extension things women are putting on their eyelids nowadays. They frame her mysterious eyes, speckled with gold near her pupils. They are tantalizing, intoxicating, but unlike everyone else I can read, her eyes are not her tell, they don’t give her away. If anything, they are an unbreakable shield, protecting her from the outside world.

She clears her throat, and prepares her reasoning. This I have to hear.

“You see, Mr. Saint.” She enunciates my name. Her little act of rebellion is not lost on me. “I was helping Mr. Ramos avoid future disappointment.”

“How is that?”

“I’m a pretty easy going girl. I can take a lot, but there are women out there who are not as forgiving as I am when it comes to being assaulted by a man with power and money. So, by me kneeing Mr. Ramos in the genitals, I made him well aware of what kind of reaction he could expect to get from other women in the future.”

“How is that accommodating?” I ask her, enjoying her hilarious attempt to clear her name.

Taking her time, she thinks of her answer, her eyes still a steel façade. “Well, in the south, we believe being accommodating means helping each other out. Therefore, I was assisting Mr. Ramos with his future pickups of the female race, therefore being accommodating.”

For the first time in a very long time, I want to break my poker face. I’m tempted to smile at her pitiful explanation. So instead of letting her see me crack, I spin off the table and turn my back toward her, allowing myself time to collect my thoughts.

Shit, that never happens to me. For some reason, Penelope is knocking me off my game. I don’t like it, not one fucking bit.

I compose myself and turn back around, no expression on my face. “Miss Prescott, although I appreciate your eagerness to help Mr. Ramos out in his relationship endeavors, we can’t have our employees going around, smashing our VIP’s in the genitals.”

She nods her head and something in her snaps. She hops up from her seat and starts pacing the room, her hands flailing about as she speaks.

“So, that’s it? You’re just going to fire me because I wouldn’t let some man who’s richer than King Midas slap me on the ass?” I don’t react, I just watch her. “Well, then you’re a bunch of self-righteous, misogynistic pricks with nothing better to do than sit behind a bunch of TV screens watching women like me be fondled by disgusting, acne covered, needle dick men. Have fun playing God up in your little nerd-bomb room, because you won’t have to watch me anymore. I quit!”

A little stunned, but still not letting it show, I walk over to where she paces and stand proudly in front of her, towering over her petite frame. “Miss Prescott, I assure you, we are not planning on firing you. We don’t believe in our VIP’s assaulting our staff, it’s frowned upon.”

“What?” Her face scrunches up, confusion laced through her features. She looks fucking adorable.

“I brought you in here to discuss, that in fact, we don’t condone kneeing our VIP’s in the crotch, but we also don’t allow our VIP’s to be disrespectful to our staff. I wanted to make you aware of our security team that is available twenty-four/seven. When you are serving, we have a watchful eye on everything that is happening in that room, from cheating to inappropriate behavior. The minute we see something, we send in security to take care of the situation. We ask that our staff doesn’t discipline, but that our security does.”

“Oh,” she says, looking to the side and biting her lip once again. This girl would be a terrible poker player.

“Your altercation is no different. We had security in route to diffuse the situation, but unfortunately, you beat them to it. This meeting wasn’t to fire you, but to make you aware in case this were to ever happen again. It’s unfortunate for Hotel Paragon that you have resigned from your position, though. From the spirit you obviously exude, you would have been a great attribute in the high roller room. We wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors. I will have Brian see you to your locker and help you clean it out. Good luck.”

With that, I turn my back on her, and walk toward the door to exit, knowing full well what is going to happen next.

Three, two, one…

“Mr. Saint,” she calls out, chasing after me. I stop in my tracks and turn to face her. “Um, is there a chance I would be able to renege on my earlier decision to quit?”

“Oh?” I stick my hands in my pockets, loving the way she’s nervously fidgeting. “And why might you want to renege on your decision to terminate your employment?”

Taking a deep breath, her shoulders slouch and she answers honestly. “I need this job more than anything. I’m a prideful woman and I didn’t want to be fired, so I quit. It may have been a hasty decision on my part. But now that I know you’re not firing me, I would very much like to have my job back.”

She’s been tortured enough. I decide to ease up on her. “We would be happy to have you back on the team, Miss Prescott. But you will be in need of some training. Meet me in the high roller’s suite at two tomorrow afternoon, wear your uniform.”

“Thank you, Mr. Saint,” she says gratefully.

Letting my personality show just a little. I wink at her and say, “You can call me, Gavin.” Then I take off.

Chapter Four

**NELL**

“Morning, sunshine,” Page sing-songs, instantly making me want to punch her in her way-too-chipper throat.

My best friend is the complete opposite of me in every way. She’s a morning person to my night owl. She’s blonde to my brunette. She’s sweet to my sour. She’s tall to my petite…

You get the picture. Somehow, despite our massive differences, we seem to fit. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had.

“Too early,” I grumble as I make a beeline for the coffee pot, in desperate need of my morning fix.

“Long night?” Page chuckles from her place at the stove as she flips a perfectly round pancake. That’s another thing that makes Page the world’s best roommate. The girl can cook like her life depends on it. And she never withholds her culinary brilliance.

She works as a personal chef to the people living the lifestyle of the rich and famous. It’s not what she dreamed she’d be doing when she graduated from culinary school. The pay is pretty lousy, and she’s got some horror stories that could rival my own when it comes to working for dick heads, but there is one massive perk that comes with her job.

Leftovers.

We basically live off of everything her upper crust clientele deem unworthy to pass their pearly white veneers. Their paleo, gluten free, and Atkins diets are our gain.

“If by long, you mean quitting my job and then immediately begging for it back, then yeah, I had a long night,” I answer before hopping up on the counter next to her and sucking down a large gulp of caffeinated goodness.

“You quit?!” she yelps, shooting me a wide-eyed, worried look.

“In my defense, the only reason I quit was because I thought I was getting fired. It was a simple misunderstanding. It worked itself out.”

“Why did you think you were getting fired?” she asks as she turns back to the pancake and takes a sip of her own coffee.

“Because I kneed a dude in the junk.” That sip she just took sprays everywhere as she begins to choke. “Ah, man!” I pout, looking at the ruined food in the skillet. “You just ruined that pancake. That’s coming out of your stack, not mine.”

“You kneed a guy in the junk?”

“Yeah,” I shrug casually as I lift my mug to my lips.

“You know, it’s not all that surprising coming from you, but care to tell me why?”

I set my mug down and proceed to tell her about Ramos and his wandering hand, and the bizarre conversation that came after with Gavin Saint.

“Gavin Saint? You mean, the Gavin Saint?”

I nod, “Yep. The Poker King of Vegas, himself. Apparently when he’s not taking everyone’s money, he works security or something for Hotel Paragon. I didn’t recognize him at first, but when he insisted I call him Mr. Saint, it clicked.”

“Damn, girl. You got some one-on-one time with Gavin Saint. Is he as gorgeous in person as he is on TV?”

I think back to how those dark, nearly black eyes bore into me as he talked. I have to suppress the shiver that wants to work its way up my spine. Truth is, the man is sex on two legs. What we’ve seen when watching him play poker on TV is absolutely nothing in comparison to what he looks like in person. My body completely ignited under his gaze. But no way in hell am I admitting that out loud. Page is a hopeless romantic at heart, and if she thought I was interested in any way, she’d be playing matchmaker in a heartbeat.

“Meh,” I shrug. “He’s okay, I guess. Kind of an asshole, if you ask me. Just like all the rest of them, entitled, thinks his shit doesn’t stink because he has money.”

“Well that’s a shame,” she mumbles as she places the last pancake on the plate and flips off the burner.

We carry our breakfast over to the coffee table in front of the couch and sit on the old, faded carpet. As usual, the first bite melts in my mouth and I let out a moan of appreciation. Once we’re finished, I take the dirty dishes back into the kitchen and begin washing everything. That’s one of our deals. If Page cooks, I clean, and seeing as we don’t have a dishwasher, I spend the next ten minutes washing everything by hand and setting it on the drying rack next to the sink.

“So what do you have planned today?” Page asks. “I was thinking we’d hit up a couple consignment shops. See if we can find anything good.”

Page and I don’t live in the best part of town. Putting it bluntly, it’s shit. The apartment complex we rent out of is run down, and I’m pretty sure the dude under us cooks meth on occasion, but we try hard to make our place as nice and welcoming as possible… on a broke girl’s budget, of course. We hit up flea markets, consignment shops, thrift stores, estate sales… you name it. I like to refer to our home as hobo-chic. The furniture and décor might be noticeably old, but everyone who walks through our door has an instant sense that they’re welcome. It is the best we can do.

“Can’t today,” I pout. “Mr. Saint is making me come in for training this afternoon after last night’s ordeal.” Just the thought of seeing him again has my stomach twisting into knots.

“Fun,” she snickers at my expense. “Think you can refrain from junk punching anyone today?”

“I make no promises,” I answer with an evil smile.

***

By the time I’m in the elevator at Hotel Paragon, I’m a mess of jumbled nerves. I know I played it up as no big deal to Page, but I desperately need to keep this job. When I called my mom earlier for our weekly chat, she informed me that tips have been low at the diner she works at, and they haven’t been able to pay the phone bill. She warned me not to worry if I called and couldn’t get through and that she’d get the bill caught up as soon as possible.

My father’s disability checks and my mom’s work at the diner just isn’t enough to cover their household expenses, my dad’s medical bills from his injury, along with the debt they’d racked up for my years of gymnastics training. Back then, I didn’t have a clue how they managed to pay for all of the expenses that came with it, and if I were being honest, I didn’t care. I just wanted to be a gymnast. And as a self-involved child, I wanted my parents to do whatever they could to make that dream happen. And they had.

Now the guilt of everything they struggle with just to give me my dream weighs heavily on me. When I originally got to Vegas, I was so sure I’d show up, audition, land a part, and start raking in the money before I could blink. Then I’d be able to pay my parents back for everything they’d done for me.

Yeah, not so much.

I’m barely living hand to mouth as it is, and haven’t been able to do anything to lessen my parents’ burden. Every week they tell me not to worry about them, that they’ll be fine and to live my life. But every week I feel that dread in the pit of my stomach at the exhaustion in my mom’s voice or the defeated undertone of my father’s. Something has to happen, and soon.

Hopefully I’ll be able to get through this training, make some decent tips, and send them enough money to at least keep their phone on. I hate the idea of not being able to talk to them every week.

The door to the high roller’s suite is closed when I arrive, and unsure what to do, I reach up and knock.

“Come in,” Gavin’s deep, gravelly voice calls out through the thick wooden door. Gavin is sitting at the poker table, his strong forearms resting along the edge casually as though he’s completely at ease. Which, considering he looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world, is about right. He’s dressed in another impeccable suit, and that just fucked hairstyle he’s rocking makes my fingers twitch to run through it and see if it feels as silky as it looks. Damn, the man is just too good looking for his own good. Fortunately for me, he goes and opens his mouth, destroying the picture of perfection I can’t seem to get out of my head. “Nice of you to show,” he says sarcastically as I take a step into the room. Instantly, my hackles rise.

“You said two, didn’t you?”

His head tilts to the side as his gaze rakes up and down my body. His expression remains blank the entire time and I have no idea if he finds me attractive or beneath him. The man gives absolutely nothing away.

“I did,” he responds in a tone bordering on uninterested. “And you’re late. I don’t like being kept waiting, Miss Prescott.”

I glance down to the watch on my wrist before looking back at him in bewilderment. “It’s only 2:05.”

“And that’s five minutes I had to waste sitting here when I have more important things to do. Next time we schedule a training, I suggest you try a little harder to be on time. It’s a common courtesy, Miss Prescott.”

I feel my eyes narrow in a glare, and my mouth opens, words spewing out before I have a chance to stop them. “Well excuse me for throwing off your schedule, your Highness. I’m so sorry for inconveniencing you. It won’t happen again.”

At my sarcastic remark, something on his face changes. The blank, emotionless demeanor shifts away as his lips spread into a perfectly straight, white smile. It takes his already handsome face and bumps it up a thousand notches. With just one smile he went from hot to panty drenching gorgeous.

“Good to see that fire wasn’t just a fluke,” he mutters as he stands from his chair at the table and slowly makes his way to me.

“Huh?” My head starts to spin from a combination of confusion and Gavin Saint’s crisp, clean scent.

“Five minutes might not seem like much to you or me, Miss Prescott, but to the men who frequent this room, it’s an insult,” he speaks in a low, lulling voice as he circles me.

“Wait… so you were testing me just now?”

“I was,” he answers, coming to a stop directly in front of me. Those eyes glimmer nearly black as he gazes intently down at me. Despite the way my insides are melting into a puddle, I keep my chin held high, hoping and praying he can’t see that his very presence is turning me into an embarrassingly wet bundle of lust.

“I totally failed, didn’t I?”

“I wouldn’t call it a fail,” he chuckles. “You said all the right things, just be sure to drop the sarcasm next time. Oh, and I’d lose the your highness also. I don’t see that going over too well.”

“Noted,” I murmur, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep into my cheeks. When he reaches out to take my arm, just above my elbow, bolts of electricity shoot from the tips of his fingers throughout my entire body, and it takes everything I have not to shiver at his touch as he leads me further into the room.

“I see you got a new pair of heels,” he offers, looking back over his shoulder, scanning my body once again.

“Oh… uh, they’re my roommate’s,” I answer as a million butterflies take flight in my belly. Biting my lip, I try not to look directly at him as he takes the seat he vacated just a minute before. To my surprise, he uses his foot to scoot the chair next to him out and, using his hold on my arm, guides me into the seat.

“Well, they look great on you,” his voice rumbles. “You really have fantastic legs.”

That snaps my attention back to his face, and I see those nearly black eyes staring at my legs with laser focus. “Is this another test?” I blurt, drawing his attention back up.

“Do you want it to be?” he grins wickedly. I can’t help but feel like the situation is beginning to spiral out of control, and I need to do something to stop it.

“I’d like to get this training under way so we aren’t both stuck here for longer than necessary.”

That smile on his face brightens as he props an elbow on the poker table and rests his chin on his fist. “Tell me a little bit about yourself, Miss Prescott. Maybe getting to know each other will help smooth things along.”

“Um, well…” I start, wringing my hands in my lap nervously.

“There’s nothing for you to be nervous about,” he says, as if he is reading my mind. “You can speak as candidly as you want right now. No repercussions.”

I regard him skeptically, one brow raised on my forehead. “Really?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he answers, drawing a little X over his heart with his index and middle finger. The casual gesture works to lessen some of the tension in the room.

“All right. For starters, you think you could knock the Miss Prescott bit off? I feel like an eighty year old woman who should be driven around by Morgan Freeman. If you won’t call me Nell, at least call me Penelope, for crying out loud.”

His deep chuckle resonates through my chest. “If that will make you more comfortable.”

“It really will,” I huff.

“All right then, Penelope. Tell me something else about you.”

The way he’s looking at me, like he’s genuinely interested in hearing what I have to say, is flummoxing. Sure, I’m pretty used to guys hitting on me, but if my time in Vegas has proven one thing, it’s how rare it is to find someone who isn’t fake or has ulterior motives. But then again, Gavin Saint is a world renowned poker player with a notorious reputation as a player. Of course he’d put on a better act than other men.

“What do you want to know?”

“For starters, what was it you really wanted to do when you moved to Vegas?”

Briefly taken aback at his intuitiveness, I gape for several seconds before finally answering, “How do you know I didn’t have a burning desire to be a cocktail waitress at Hotel Paragon?”

“Please,” he scoffs. “That’s like a porn star saying he’s doing it for the art, not the money. It’s bullshit. No one comes to Vegas to be a waitress or a card dealer. Those jobs are filled with people who dreamed bigger before the real world knocked them down a couple of pegs.”

That assessment stings more than I care to admit. “Wow, you don’t hold back any punches do you.”

“I speak the truth,” he shrugs. “I tell it like I see it, and I’m rarely wrong. So tell me, why did you really come here?”

The way he’s leaning in to me, the lowered tenor of his voice, and the hooded stare are all indications that Gavin Saint is a man used to getting what he wants. And in this moment, what he wants is my story, my secrets, the things I only tell to those I feel close to. Sadly, for probably the first time in his life, he isn’t going to get what he wants.

I mimic his stance and lower my voice to a seductive level. “I came here so you could train me to be a proper cocktail waitress in the high roller’s suite, and nothing more. So if it’s all the same to you, I’d appreciate it if we get to that and stop screwing around.”

I catch a brief flicker of shock in his dark eyes before he quickly extinguishes it and replaces it with his blank mask.

“And where would you like to start,” he asks. “Perhaps I’ll teach you the right way to handle a VIP shoving his hand up your skirt.” Before I can formulate a response, his hand comes down on my thigh. Focusing as much energy as I can into not showing just how much the feel of his rough palm on my bare skin is affecting me, I pull in a calming breath and work to keep my face as blank as his as he slowly moves higher up my leg. “How would you handle one of the men in the room touching you like this, Penelope?”

Wrapping my fingers around his wrist, I tamp down the unwanted desire I suddenly feel to slide his hand further up my skirt and instead remove it from my leg. “I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t permit touching like that.”

“What if I make it worth your while?” he asks in a voice that is devastating to my insides.

Making sure my voice portrays the boredom I’ve painted on my face, I lie. “Trust me, there isn’t enough money in the world to make that worth my while.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he says softly, turning his wrist in my hold so that his big hand is now encompassing mine. I suddenly get the distinct impression we aren’t talking about VIP’s anymore. “I haven’t gotten any complaints so far. I wouldn’t knock it till you try it.”

“Charming,” I reply, giving my hand a sharp tug, but the bastard only tightens his hold. “But I think I’m going to have to pass. Venereal diseases aren’t really my thing.” I smile rather smugly as I lean closer, ready to impart my kill shot. “Besides, I’m sure you’re used to it feeling like a hot dog being thrown down a hallway by now. I’d hate for the reminder of what it feels like to be inside a woman who’s tight to ruin you for all other vaginas.”

Chapter Five

**GAVIN**

When I first arrived for my little training session this afternoon, I wasn’t expecting to be steam rolled by Penelope, and I’m not speaking of the fiery sass that pops out of her mouth with every other word. I’m talking about her sexy as fuck legs that rival Carrie Underwood’s, her fuckable lips, and the floral scent that keeps emanating off her body, surrounding me in a cloud of lust filled haze.

Still gripping her wrist, I can feel her pulse beating against my fingers. Funny thing about the beating heart, it’s a person’s biggest tell if you’re able to get close enough to it. Penelope might be putting on a front, acting bored, uninterested, flippant at best, but I know better, because by the pace her heart is pounding, I know I have an effect on her, I’m just wondering why she’s not giving in to my passes.

Backing away from her, I stand from my chair and close the middle button of my suit jacket. With a dominant and authoritative presence, I move behind her, pacing ever so slightly, preying on her like a hawk ready to strike. “Miss Prescott, are you always this vulgar when speaking to authority?”

“Why are we back to calling me, Miss Prescott?”

I grip the back of her chair and lean over her shoulder so my breath tickles her neck. “Because it seems to me by putting a sense of relaxation between us, you’ve found it easy to be disrespectful with that filthy mouth of yours.”

“I only call it like I see it,” she responds, her eyes fixated on the room in front of us.

“And how might you see it?” From the way my voice tickles the hairs on the back of her neck, I can see goosebumps pop up on the skin along her arms. I’m satisfied with the imposing impression I’m making on her.

“I… I know who you are,” she answers, a small stammer in her voice. “You’re Gavin Saint, Mr. Big Deal Poker Player.”

“Very good, you did your homework.” I retreat from her chair and start to slowly pace behind her again. “But what does that have to do with my question.”

“This is all a game to you. To see if you can make me crack. To see if I can handle the pressure of taking orders from a man of your stature in the high roller suite. And I’m going to tell you right now.” Confidence now springs from her voice, still looking in front of her. “You don’t have to test me on my will to protect myself, I’ve been doing that for the past three years now. So if you don’t mind, Mr. Saint, I would like to move on with the training. As I told you yesterday, I need this job and I need to do it well, so unless you truly have some wisdom to impart on me, I think we should call it.”

Never liking it when someone tells me what to do or how to run my own manipulative situation, I grip the back of her chair again, this time pressing my mouth right against her ear, not giving her an inch of space. “I will tell you when we’re done here, Miss Prescott, and we are far from ending this session. So, I suggest you be patient and cooperative.”

I can see her gulp, another tell. If only the inner workings of her mind were as easy to read as her physical ones.

“Since you’re so confident in your ability to hold your own on the floor, let’s see your serving capabilities.” I sit back down and rest one of my arms on the table in front of me, striking a casual, yet authoritative pose. I know it works by the blatant perusal she makes of my body. “I’m thirsty, Penelope. Please bring me a drink.”

“Easy enough,” she mumbles under her breath, parting from her chair and heading to the bar.

“Oh, Miss Prescott,” I call out, stopping her in her tracks. She turns on her heels, luckily not snapping them off their pegs, thanks to her roommate. “Care to venture what I’d like, or are you just going to wing it?”

Sauntering over to me with a wag to her hips, she stops in front of my chair and blinks her eyes at me in innocence. “Pardon me, Mr. Saint. I just assumed by the way you’ve acted since I’ve met you, you would be a Shirley Temple kind of man. Am I wrong with my assessment?”

Cheeky fucking woman.

“Two fingers of whiskey.” I don’t feed into her snark.

“Hmm… I was kind of hoping you were a three fingers kind of man.” Without giving me a second to respond, her back is turned to me and she’s walking away, giving me the perfect view of her shapely backside.

Once again, she catches me off guard. This time, using a sexual innuendo that nearly splits my face in half with a smile.

Shit.

I’ve been off my game. I haven’t played a round in a month or so. I’m out of practice and Penelope is making that obvious. Thankfully, I’m quick enough to hide my reactions before she can see them. The last thing I want her to know is that she has an effect on me, that would give her all the power, and that’s just one thing I won’t ever let happen, with any woman I’m with.

The minute you hand over the power, relinquish control of the situation, that’s when you lose. That’s when you fucking lose it all. It happened to my father, and like hell that it’s going to happen to me.

Jesus Christ. My dad.

I haven’t thought about him in a long time, despite him being the driving force behind my need to succeed. He’s the reason I am the way I am. No, he didn’t abuse me, He wasn’t the best father, that’s for damned sure, putting his parental duties to the back burner when it came to gambling, but I guess he could have been worse. He didn’t cheat on my mom—which was an easy feat, seeing as she’d bailed years ago—he didn’t even fall into a liquor induced oblivion.

He did the opposite, he fell in love.

Not such a bad thing, right? Love brings the universe together, it’s what everyone strives for in life, to find that perfect person to share the highs and lows this crazy world brings them. You would think I would have been happy for the man.

I was, until it killed him.

Let me back up for a second.

My father, the infamous Aaron Saint, was the greatest poker player in his time, rivaling my record until recently, when I surpassed him in money won. He taught me everything I know, from practicing a face devoid of emotion, to knowing when to bluff and when to call, to reading the tiniest hitch in my opponents his breath. Born and raised in Las Vegas, I’m a product of my environment, a successful case study for any psychologist, needing to follow in my father’s footsteps and exceed his success.

When I was a young little punk, freshly turned twenty-one and ready to put my trust-fund to good use, I thought I was God’s gift to the gambling world, spending money left and right, going at it hard, and failing miserably. Instead of intervening, my dad sat back and watched me, letting me make my own mistakes. To this day, I will forever be grateful for his approach because after some pretty huge losses and an offensive amount of depletion in my bank account, I learned that poker wasn’t necessarily about being cocky at the table, but rather, being smart and leaving all emotions at the door. You have one job, to forget everything around you, to lean on intelligence and not emotion, and to constantly read your opponents.

After I took my dad’s teachings to heart, I started winning. And fucking winning hard, to the point that the only casino that would let me play was Hotel Paragon. I became nationally famous from televised poker games, especially since I not only won, but showed up with no tricks of the trade besides my instincts. Hats, sunglasses, visors, they were all beneath me. All I needed was my pressed suit and two fingers of whiskey. Once I swept the tables in Monte Carlo, I became internationally known.

Poker isn’t really about the hand you’re dealt, but about utilizing your intelligence to read your opponents reaction to the hand they’re dealt.

What does my father have to do with this? Well, as I said, he fell in love.

Do you know what happens when you fall in love?

You forget who you are and get lost in the person who captures your heart. Not such a bad thing, but when you’re a poker player, it’s the worst thing that can happen to you.

Going into the highest stakes game my dad ever participated in, a game where he had many people in the gambling scene betting on him to win, he wasn’t clear headed, he was fixated on one of the chippies who he’d been seeing for a few months. She was testing his will and he was fucking letting her. Just a little poker knowledge for you; what’s a chippie?

Chippie: a woman who hangs off the arm of a poker player. Someone who is interested in nothing more than the chips that you carry home.

His third hand in, he lost all concentration, bet on a piss poor deal, and lost everything. That night, he was killed in a back alley of the hotel he was playing at by a man who’d lost a shit-load of money he’d bet on my father to win. Ironically enough, his chippie was found floating on the arm of the winner the next day. It was then that I decided women weren’t worth it. They weren’t worth the heartache, and they sure as fuck weren’t worth your life.

Call me an ass, call me the biggest prick you will ever meet, but that’s just the way I feel about the fairer sex. I want them for one reason and one reason only, to fuck at night, in the morning, and up against a wall whenever the mood strikes. Emotionless relationships are what I strive for.

So why the fuck am I letting Penelope break the finely cemented wall I’ve developed over the past few years?

“Your drink, sir,” she enunciates, pulling me out of my reverie.

There’s a curled orange wedge decorating the side of my glass, a garnish I didn’t place in my order. “Did I ask for the orange?”

“No,” she states matter-of-factly. “But you look like a man who can handle the fancy aspect of a drink.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, your suits are well tailored, your shoes cost more than my rent, and I’m betting you took longer on your hair this morning than I did. All I’m saying is you’re rather… fussy.”

“Are you suggesting I’m gay?”

“I don’t think personal information is part of the training. You can keep that to yourself. Now, shall we move on?”

I see the game she’s playing, and I’m not going to give in. Instead of jumping to defend my obvious attraction to women like she wants me to, I decide to show her.

“Take this drink, back,” I demand, thrusting it at her. “Remove the garnish at the bar and deliver it properly.”

Taken aback, but clearly irritated, she asks, “And how would you like it delivered? By a gaggle of monkeys holding up a gold encrusted plate with your name engraved on it?”

More sass, has she not learned anything?

“By placing it on my left side, Penelope. And if you truly want to keep this job, I suggest you rein in that mouth of yours. Don’t forget, this is a training and I have the ability to ask you to leave at the drop of an ante chip. Rule number one as a cocktail waitress in the high roller suite, mind your manners. Rule number two, get the drinks right, despite what you think is an unrealistic comic jab.”

Unhappy with my lecture, but following the rules, she returns to the bar to fix my drink. Instead of watching her return, I don’t give her the satisfaction of my perusal and instead, turn my back to her as if I were a real player she was serving.

I can smell her scent approach before she’s actually behind me. A mixture of fresh blooms and sweet undertones, it’s intoxicating.

“Here you go.” She sets my drink down to my left but I return it back to her tray.

“Try again. This time, serve in silence. The players aren’t going to want to hear you speak while they are concentrating on the game in front of them. The less distracting you can be, the better. Remember this, you are an enigma to these gentlemen. You are to remain invisible and only be called upon when someone needs something from you. Until then, you take care of empty drinks and refill them without being asked. Always serve to the left and never try to take a peek at their cards.”

“I can do that.”

Testing her once again, I glide my hand up her leg, running my fingertips just high enough that I’m inches from her panty line. Her breath grows stronger and her hands clench at her side. “And when a man other than myself touches you, spit in his drink.”

“Other than you?” she gulps, still allowing me to run my fingers softly along her skin.

I stand, removing my touch from her skin and circle around her, pressing my hand against her lower back and leaning over just enough so I’m speaking into her ear again. I’m about to answer her when the double doors of the suite burst open, Graham walking into the room with a cock blocking look on his face.

“What’s going on in here?”

As if I burned her, she retreats and straightens up from Graham’s appearance, she must know exactly who he is.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Larson. Mr. Saint and I are just doing some training.”

Yup, she knows who he is.

Tucking his hands in his pockets, he stands tall and says, “Are you the new cocktail waitress we hired for the high roller suite?”

“Yes, sir. My name’s Nell Prescott.”

He nods his head as if he recognizes her name. The fucker barely knows who works in his hotel, he leaves that “menial” work to his managers and head of house.

“And you said you’re training?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Interesting.” Graham walks around the room, observing the intricacies before walking straight up to Penelope. Looking her up and down, he asks, “And who might be training you?”

“Umm… Mr. Saint.”

What is this dipshit up to?

Graham turns to me, a smirk on his face but still talking to Penelope. “Miss Prescott, Gavin here has zero right to train you. He’s a poker player, a damn fine one at that, and he observes cheaters in the control room from time to time, but when it comes to training staff, he has no experience in the matter.” I give him no reaction; I know he’s looking for one. He turns back to Penelope and asks, “What would possess you to ask him to train you in such a high stakes case? Especially after the trouble you caused in here yesterday?”

“Wh-what?” Penelope shoots daggers at me. “I’m sorry, Mr. Larson, but Mr. Saint convinced me, under false pretenses, that he was in charge of me. If I was aware that, in fact, he’s not, I would have asked for someone else with the proper authority to train me.”

“A simple mistake that won’t go unnoticed. I’m sure he taught you a great deal, but please remember, Miss Prescott, fraternizing with the players as an employee at Hotel Paragon is frowned upon. Keep that in mind when you are serving Gavin to the left and his fingers are grazing your thigh next time.” He smiles brightly and says, “You’re dismissed. We’ll see you tomorrow. Be sure to clock out, you will be compensated for your time today.”

“Yes, sir,” she says quickly before scurrying off.

Once she’s out of sight, I turn my attention to Graham who is giddy with pleasure. “You’re a giant dick. You know that?”

He laughs a hoity laugh that echoes through the room. “Nothing like a well-executed cock block to put me in a good mood.”

***

“Then he walks in, with his dick leading the way, chest puffed out like the fuck boy he is and blows up my spot.”

“I cock blocked that motherfucker,” Graham adds. “You should have seen how quickly I shut down his poor attempt at seducing the unsuspecting waitress.”

Scott chuckles while taking a sip of his beer. “That’s cold, dude. You know Karma’s a bitch right?”

Scott Turner works in the corporate division of the National Fighting League, has a penchant for dating women completely and utterly wrong for him, and has been a good friend for years. Since Hotel Paragon hosts all the major fights, Scott is often on premises, dicking around with Graham and me.

“What the fuck ever,” Graham says. “The prick deserved it. If you were in the control room watching his power trip, you would have done the same thing.”

Wavering, Scott says, “Yeah, you’re right. What were you trying to do with this girl anyway, Gavin?”

Chewing down a bite of pizza, I swallow before answering, trying to gain myself some extra time to answer. In all honesty, I had no right training her, I’m not even in charge of her, as Graham pointed out, but when I saw her on camera, putting Ramos in his place, I had to get to know her better, I had to get my chance to talk to her up close. Therefore, I came up with my little training farce and held it at a time where I knew the room wouldn’t be occupied. What I managed to forget was Graham is a goddamned gossip and likes to stick his nose in my business whenever he gets the chance.

“She has hot legs,” I answer shallowly. “Plus, she’s a fireball. Just from the looks of it, I know she’ll be a good fuck.”

Giving me a disapproving look, Scott, the moral police, says, “Gavin, aren’t you ever going to settle down? Don’t you feel empty at all inside? Like you’re missing something important in your life?”

I give him a “go fuck off” look. “You should know me by now, Scotty, I don’t fraternize with emotions. They’re not for me.”

“In place of his heart is a second dick calling the shots. Our boy has zero ability to feel anything for another human,” Graham offers. “He’s just like me, a bachelor looking for the next pussy waiting to be twiddled.”

“Just like you?” I question Graham, not adapting his dipshit philosophy of pussy’s being twiddled. I don’t lie there and twiddle, that’s something a vibrator and some Energizer batteries can accomplish. No, I hover over her and fuck her senseless.

Glaring at me, Graham asks, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Want to talk about a certain personal chef named Page?”

“Oh, I do,” Scott encourages me, looking happy to also have something against the self-righteous Graham.

He’s my boy, but I’m not lying when I say he’s a pretentious asshole with the ability to make you feel inferior in the matter of seconds, just from one swipe of his AMEX. Too bad for him, Scott and I are the only two people not intimidated by his stature.

“What does she have to do with anything?”

“You tell me. You’re the one who didn’t want to talk about her.”

“Because she’s not worth it.” He quickly takes a sip of his drink. He should know better than to give me a blatant tell like that.

“I’m calling you on your bullshit. Next time you’re trying to bluff, don’t take a sip of your beer, asshole. You didn’t even drink with your pinky out like you normally do.” Both Scott and I take sips of our drinks, pinkies out obnoxiously.

“Fuck you both.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin and then tosses it on his plate. “I’m out.”

“Oh come on, don’t leave. We promise to stroke your ego if you stay. Scott will even use lube this time, make it nice and smooth for you.”

Graham walks to the front door of my villa. “Just for that, I’ll make sure your little girl toy is at every game of yours, distracting the shit out of you.”

“Never going to happen,” I call out before the door slams shut.

With his beer bottle next to his lips, Scott asks, “Pretty sure he just menstruated on the way out the door.” Scott sniffs the air and nods. “Yup, dude’s on his meriod.”

“We’re not going to talk about how disgusting it is that you sniffed the air just now.”

A deep chuckle escapes him. “So tell me about this girl.”

“Who, the personal chef? Don’t know much about her, just that Graham hired her a while back and something happened between them but he won’t tell me what.”

“I’m not talking about the chef. I’m talking about the waitress.”

“Penelope?” I shrug, holding a blank face. “Not much to say. She’s got an amazing body and is sassy and fiery as hell. Like I said, she would be a good fuck.”

Scott eyes me skeptically, trying to pick up on my vibe. Too bad for him, I give nothing away… not that there’s anything to give away. Penelope is just another girl on my list to check off, and she will be checked off, there is no doubt about that.

“We’ll see,” Scott says, reaching for another piece of pizza. “Maybe this Penelope girl will finally call your bluff.”

Doubtful.

Chapter Six

**NELL**

That cocky motherfucker!

After being humiliated in front of the owner of Hotel Paragon by the one and only, dickhead of a man, Gavin Saint, I retrieved my purse, shot a text to Page and told her to meet me at our spot and bring some pie.

Whenever one of us has a bad day, and I mean a really bad day, we are to drop what we’re doing – unless at work – and meet each other in the fourth alcove in front of the Bellagio Fountains. We eat pie, sit on the wall, and stare at the fountains. Sometimes we talk, but most of the time we just shove sugary confection down our throats.

Not only am I incredibly embarrassed, but I’m furious! If I wasn’t so desperate for this job, I would march my sweet ass right back into the high roller suite and introduce Gavin’s crotch to my knee. Show him the same action Ramos received the other day.

Where did he come off acting like he could train me? And why did I fall for it? I should have known better. He’s the most highly regarded poker player in the world, why would he be spending his afternoon training a cocktail waitress?

“Gah!” I yell in frustration just as a tourist walks by. He eyes me with a funny look and it takes all the energy in my body not to pluck my heel off my foot and shove it through his cranium.

“You know I love you, right, Nell? But you look like shit right now,” Page says, sidling up next to me and taking a seat on the wall.

From the canvas bag she has with her all the time, containing random ingredients and cooking supplies, she reveals a French silk pie, covered in whipped cream and ready to be consumed.

“I’m going to ignore your last remark only because of what rests in your hand. How did you know I was needing French silk in my life?”

She hands me a fork and I don’t even bother waiting for her invitation, I dig in. Tourists chatter, gazing at the fountains behind us, and occasionally eye the two girls sitting on the stone wall, sharing a full twelve inch pie with each other.

“Well, I know you had training today with the one and only Gavin Saint, and after reading your text, I just assumed it didn’t go very well. Am I right?”

With my mouth full of pie, I answer. “You’re spot on.”

“What happened?” There is a calming tone to her voice, it’s almost motherly. I’ve come to count on Page and her immense amount of empathy. She’s the yin to my yang. I’m short-fused and hot tempered, she’s sweet and patient, a distinct contrast that works for both of us.

“Would you guess that Gavin isn’t in charge of training the cocktail staff?”

“Oh no, did he not show up?”

Chocolate and cream flood my taste buds, cooling off the inner rage boiling in my body. “Oh no, he showed up and trained me.”

Page cringes. “Uh oh, I don’t like where this is going.”

“He was demanding, cynical, rude, and… powerful.” Not meaning to, I say the last word on a sigh.

“Powerful?” Page’s brow rises in question.

I wave my hand in front of my face and clear my thoughts. “You know what I mean.”

“So a powerful jackass.”

“Exactly!” I point my fork at Page. “He demanded perfection, whispered in my ear, and ran his hand up my thigh…”

“Whoa.” Page stops me. “He ran his hand up your thigh?”

I scoop some more pie into my mouth, muffling my speech. “That’s not important. What’s important is that he was mid finger to my panty line when Graham Larson walked in the room.”

“Why is that name so familiar?” Whipped cream flies out of her mouth when she says “why”. We both glance down at her black pant leg and ignore it; we’ve spit out worse.

“He’s only the fucking owner of Hotel Paragon.”

“Nooooo.”

“Yes!” I jab the pie and scoop up another bite. “Graham Larson walks in, chest puffed, wearing an ascot...”

“An ascot? What a tool.”

“Yeah, he reeks of money. Pretty sure he burns cash just for the hell of it. Wouldn’t be surprised if he uses it to wipe his ass, too.”

“I know of the man,” Page says, in a far off tone. I’m too far gone in my own situation to even question her acquaintance with him. “What did Graham say?”

“Funny you ask, because the whole time Graham was confused as to why his new cocktail waitress was being trained by a poker player who has no right to do such a thing.”

“Oh no.” Her face falls for me.

“Oh yeah,” I nod, taking another bite. “The arrogant prick lied to me, set me up for some unknown reason, and Graham caught him. I was excused from the room and sent home.”

“Were you fired?” Panic sets in her features.

“No. I wasn’t. But I didn’t make a good impression, that’s for damn sure. I mean, Gavin’s hand was up my skirt when Graham walked in. What is he supposed to think?”

Page shrugs. “That you are like every other cocktail waitress on the Strip, being panted over by horny men. At least your horny man is Gavin Saint. Pretty sure women would sell their right nipple for a chance at serving him.”

“I guess,” I sigh. “Still! Why the hell would he do something like that?”

“Maybe he likes you.”

I snort, shooting whipped cream out of my nose. Moving quickly I cover the milky snot from tourists passing by. “There is no way that man likes me. It’s just some sort of sick game to him.”

“But what if he did?” Page, the ever-present romantic. “Wouldn’t you just want to know what one night with him would be like? You’ve seen how he casually flicks his poker chips to the center. I bet he could do wonders with those fingers.”

Heat spirals up my back from the thought of Gavin’s fingers on my thigh. I might hate the man, but I can’t lie about the way his intense stare intrigues me, or the way his mysterious eyes make me want to know more about him.

I shake the thoughts out of my head. “Doesn’t matter. I can’t stand the man. He’s just a big… jerk!” I can’t think of any better terms at the moment. Taking another scoop of pie, I ask, “Did you make this?”

“Yeah. It was supposed to be for my clients tonight. But instead of pie, they’ll be getting fruit with yogurt now.”

“Wow, sucks for them,” I reply, not feeling a single ounce of remorse. I need this pie more than them, anyway.

***

Shit. I’m nervous. Why did I have to be so damned nervous at just the thought of seeing Gavin Saint again? I don’t even like the guy.

No, that’s an understatement. I can’t stand his cocky, pretentious, spoiled-little-rich-boy ass! But if that were really true, then why are my hands sweating like crazy?

The door to the suite opens just before a loud, “YAY!” echoes off the pristine marble floors. “You’re back! I was so worried they were going to fire you after… you know… the last time.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Davies,” I deadpan as I look over at my beautiful friend.

She waves me off. “Whatever, doesn’t matter anyway since you’re here and all. I’m just glad I get to work the room with you tonight and not one of those other bitches.”

“Yeah, well,” I begin, wringing my hands in front of me. “Let’s just hope everyone goes home with their nuts intact this time.”

Davies giggles as a deep voice calls out, “Glad to see you back, killer.” I turn around and smile at Nick as he makes his way to me, giving me a sideways hug and planting a kiss on my temple. “There isn’t another waitress in this place I’d rather pour drinks for.”

I chuckle lightly and reach out to smack his well-defined shoulder. “Stop flirting with me, it’ll get you nowhere.”

“She’s not lying,” Davies calls from the poker table where she’s stacking chips in preparation for the game. “Seriously barking up the wrong tree there, man. I’ve known the girl since she first moved here and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her go on a date.”

Nick looks at me, his wide eyes gleaming like the gauntlet has just been thrown down and he is totally up for the challenge. “Well, we need to change that, then. Don’t we, gorgeous?”

“Wouldn’t count on it, Nicky,” I tease back.

Nick makes his way to the bar to check that it’s properly stocked for the night, and I use his absence to my benefit, rushing over and leaning in to whisper to Davies. “So, tell me something. What’s your opinion of Gavin Saint?”

She gives me a sideways glance. “You mean other than he’s fuck hot and I’d give my left tit for a night in bed with him?”

At her too-loud question, I glance around the room nervously, checking all the corners for cameras. “Relax,” she laughs, “They aren’t wired for audio.”

Releasing a sigh of relief, I look back at her. “Yeah, besides that. What do you think of the guy?”

“Honestly,” she starts at the same time executing a complicated, one-handed shuffle with the deck of cards. “I don’t really think anything. The man’s a vault. I think he’s probably said about five words in all the times I’ve dealt a game he’s playing. It’s impossible to get a read on him, so I just gave up trying.”

My eyes dart over my shoulder to the door, making sure no one has entered. “You don’t think he’s, like, a dick or anything like that?”

“Always seemed nice enough to me,” Davies shrugs. “You know, for practically being a mute.” At that, she stops shuffling, turns to me and props a hand on her curvy hip. “Why are you asking all these questions, anyway?” she asks in a skeptical tone.

“Pfft,” I wave my hand in the air in front of me. “No reason. Just curious, I guess.”

She stares at me in total silence before her eyes go wide. “Oh my God,” she gasps, suddenly looking giddy. “You like him!”

“Do not!” I protest instantly.

“You do! You totally like him!”

“No I don’t!” I whisper-yell, darting a look over my shoulder to make sure Nick can’t hear us from the other side of the suite. “And would you shut up about it? God, I do not like the guy.”

Davies studies my face closely before finally humming, “Mmm hmm, if you say so.”

Before either of us can say anything else, the double doors to the high roller suite open and a group of men—along with their scantily clad bleached robots—walk in. I do my best to ignore the hitch in my chest at the sight of Gavin entering the room, both his arms surprisingly empty. I don’t know why, but I expected he’d have at least one woman with him on the nights he played in the high stakes game.

I found myself frozen in place as those dark, penetrating eyes hit me. It’s as though he’s seeing right through me in this very moment, and the disconcerting feeling leaves me somewhat breathless and shaky.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” I offer my standard introductory speech. “I’m Nell and I’ll be your server tonight.” As the men take their chairs, I make my way around the table, taking drink orders. A sense of relief washes over me when I notice Ramos is missing from the game. For some reason I refuse to analyze, my gaze continues to shoot to Gavin the closer I get, and I can’t help but feel slightly bereft that, other than the cursory glance upon his entry into the suite, he hasn’t given me another look.

“Hello, Mr. Saint,” I speak quietly once I get to him.

The jackass doesn’t even deem me worthy of a nod, the only acknowledgment I get that he’s even aware of my existence is his grunted, “Whiskey, two fingers.” I don’t understand why, but his casual disregard is like a slap in the face. I’m just about to step away when he continues. “Think you can remember that?”

I spin around, wide-eyed at his sarcastic insult of my waitressing skills, ready to lay into him as my instincts beg of me, only to find one corner of his mouth hooked up in a smirk. The motherfucker is testing me.

And the night has only just begun!

Refusing to be baited, I give him a small nod and a professional, “Yes, sir,” before heading off toward the bar.

Davies has dealt the first game and everyone’s anted up as I stand and wait for Nick to finish loading my tray, making sure to keep my back to the other side of the room.

“Is this one Mr. Saint’s?” I point at the tumbler filled with amber colored liquid. When Nick nods, a smile creeps across my face as I lean forward just slightly, hovering over the tumbler, and spit in it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Nick hisses frantically, shooting wide-eyes at the oblivious men sitting at the table.

“You didn’t see anything,” I mumble a warning, swirling the contents of the glass to mix everything together. “Just do your job and act like the past thirty seconds never happened.”

As I turn to walk away from the bar, drink tray firmly resting on my shoulder, I can swear I see Nick smiling at me with something akin to hero worship. Mindful to place the glasses down on the men’s left, I work as quickly and quietly as possible, so as not to draw attention to myself.

Just like Gavin had “trained” me.

“Ah, very good,” the arrogant ass uttered under his breath as I set his drink down. “So she can follow direction. All hope isn’t lost after all.”

Pasting a smile on my face, I move to the side and watch with a grin as he lifts the tumbler to his lips and takes a hearty gulp.

Serves you right, dick-face.

***

I can’t help but stare in wonder as Gavin wins yet another hand. Over the past several hours, the stacks of chips in front of him have grown into towers. It’s truly an impressive thing to watch. His facial expression remains completely stoic, no flinching, no twitching, as he studies his cards and lowers them, face down on the table.

Hell, the man’s spent more of the night watching the other people at the table than he has his own cards. I’ve never in my life seen someone so focused on a task they basically turn into a robot. It’s amazing, really.

“Jesus Christ,” Nick murmurs from behind me. “The lucky bastard won again.”

Spinning around on my heels, I place my palms on the bar top and face Nick. “How much do you think he’s won so far?”

He looks up and scratches his chin in thought. “If I had to guess, I’d say close to four hundred G’s.”

“Holy fuck!” I gasp. “I can’t imagine having that kind of money in one lifetime, let alone a night!”

Nick’s shoulder comes up in a shrug. “Yeah, well, when you have unlimited funds, it’s easy to throw them around.”

I’m still in awe as I look back at Gavin, sitting as still as a statue. “Yeah, but it’s not just that. He’s really good. I mean, I’ve watched him on TV before, but I guess seeing it in person is totally different, huh?”

“You’ll get used to it, gorgeous,” Nick grins.

As I scan the glasses on the poker table, checking to see if anyone’s in need of a refill, Nick’s fingers trail across the back of my hand, still resting on the top of the bar, jerking my attention back to him.

“What are you doing after this?” he asks in a low, sultry voice.

I shoot him a look that screams, you’re so not getting up in all this. “Sleeping,” I answer dryly. “It’ll be like, two in the morning.”

He rests his forearms on the bar and smiles unabashedly. “Then what about tomorrow?”

“Nick,” I say on a sigh, knowing exactly where this is going. “You’re a really nice guy, but—”

“Just think about it, Nell,” he interrupts, standing to his full height, palms out. “I’m not asking for anything serious, and I promise I won’t try and sleep with you.” He laughs at the sight of one of my eyebrows cocking up in doubt. “At least not on the first few dates,” he winks. “But in all seriousness, you’re a cool chick. I think we could really have fun together. Don’t you?”

God, he’s giving me the puppy dog eyes! Why does he have to be so damn adorable? “I’m not making any promises,” I tell him. There, that’s nice, right? Not a full-blown rejection, but not a promise to anything either. “But I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I’m asking for—oh shit,” he trails off, focusing over my shoulder. “Think you’re being summoned.”

Dread creeps over me, the skin on the back of my neck prickling as I slowly turn to face the poker table. Sure enough, Gavin’s glare is pointed at me like a goddamned laser beam. And he does not look happy.

On slow, unsteady legs, I make my way to the table, noticing his glass still has whiskey in it, so I can’t understand the disgruntlement rolling off of him in waves.

“Do you need anything, sir?” I ask in a very quiet voice.

“Yeah,” he grunts angrily. “I’d like for you to do your fucking job. Think you can manage that, Miss Prescott?”

I jerk back at his vicious tone, only getting my senses together enough to catch the whiskey tumbler as he shoves it at me. “And get me a refill while you’re at it.”

Unable to formulate rational thought, let alone an actual sentence, I walk back to Nick in a daze and refill Gavin’s drink order. All the while, trying to convince myself I don’t feel his hateful words like a punch in stomach.

I can’t understand why I’m having such a strong reaction, or why I seem to care so much, but as I stand silently, ignoring Nick’s concerned gaze as he refills Gavin’s glass, I give myself an internal pep-talk. Gavin can just go and fuck right off for all I care. I don’t need to put up with his shit.

Well, technically I do. But only for the next few hours, until this stupid poker game ends. Then he can go and fuck right off.

With a resigned nod to myself, I lift my chin, square my shoulders, and prepare to battle with the world’s biggest asshat. And I am going to come out the winner, damn it! So help me God!

Chapter Seven

**GAVIN**

“Mr. Saint, it’s your call.”

Two pair, aces high rest in my hand, one hundred and fifty thousand dollars sit in the pot, and I’ve earned an easy half mill already from reading the poor suckers at my table. I should be thrilled, relishing in my victory, focusing on sweeping yet another game, but my mind is elsewhere. It rests with the petite brunette flirting with the surfer boy over at the bar.

I’ve been a dick to her all night, to the point that I know my words have been hurtful, but I’m not trying to be her friend, I don’t really know what I’m trying to do, if I really stop to think about it. All I know is that she’s throwing my game off.

From an outsider’s perspective, you would never know I’m fighting a war in my head over what to focus on. I’m calm, neutral in my reactions, and observant. I give knowing glances to my opponents, letting them know that, once again, I’m about to sweep the pot. With every ante, I delicately flip my chip to the center, accurately landing it in the middle, a trick I used to practice when I was younger, now a superstitious act I must follow through on every round. I’m executing every step in my process of playing poker, except for ignoring the outside world.

My thoughts don’t escape me to the point that I can’t concentrate, hence the giant pile of chips resting to my side. They’re just annoying, irritating, and causing me a type of stress I don’t care to deal with.

“Call,” I say, knowing the unibrow to the right of me has nothing.

Just like I thought, he shows a pair, kings high. Flipping over my cards casually, I show my own pair, aces high, sending the poor fool into a frenzy of depression. The dumbass bet the rest of his loot on a pair of kings, pathetic showing at most. The only reason he’s in this room is because he can afford it. It’s rare I find a challenge anymore. Maybe that’s why I find Penelope so appealing. Appealing. Ha! More like fucking frustrating.

While Davies prepares for the next round, I let my gaze wander over to Penelope. She’s wearing the same heels she wore yesterday, her legs are bare of stockings, her skirt rides tight along her hips and falls just under the curve of her ass, and then there are her breasts, practically popping out of her shirt, wanting to be played with. Her smile is sweet, her demeanor is feisty, and there is something clouding those barely sparkling eyes that has the often present crinkle between her brows a constant tonight.

Money seems to be an issue for her, given the state of the first pair of heels I saw her in, but that doesn’t seem to be what’s bothering her. There is something deeper, something more meaningful manipulating her day to day structure.

But what the hell is it?

“Mr. Saint, are you in?” Davies asks, her smooth voice passing over me.

Instead of letting her see me startle out of my thoughts, I casually look down at my chips, take a sip of my drink and then flip my chip to the center.

Drawing my attention back to the game, I zone in and blank out everything else in the room. Penelope will be dealt with later. For now, I have money to win.

The group I’m running against is subpar at best. They’re easy to read. Timbers checks his cards every two seconds when he has a good hand, probably hoping they don’t vanish. Gibson wears glasses, he has shifty eyes, but what he doesn’t realize is that his eyebrows have more of a life to them than his personality. Sanderson is pretty steady, for the most part, but if you watch him carefully, you’ll notice that when he has a good hand, he taps his right index finger ever so slightly against the glass of his drink. It took me a little while to figure him out, but once I did he was easy to pick off. Then there’s Piccori. He’s a hot mess. He scratches his nose, shifts in his seat, and itches his right palm. The man is basically a giant, walking tell. Dude bleeds money whenever he comes into the suite. He doesn’t last very long.

Game after game, I find myself in the zone, ignoring the outside world. I don’t even notice when my glass is refilled, all I know is my stack of chips is growing and everyone else’s is dwindling as the night draws to a close.

The last hand is upon us, and I watch as Davies expertly draws us our cards. With every shuffle of the deck, I feel my soul awaken, a lighthearted feeling passes through me, like I’m getting a visit from an old friend.

Once the cards are dealt, I casually lift the corner of mine to see that I’m holding two jacks, a diamond and a heart. I glance over at the flop and see that Davies has turned over a six of clubs, a queen of hearts, and a jack of spades.

Fuck yes.

Despite the party happening in my brain, my face remains stoic.

Quickly glancing around the table, I look for any tells. Piccoi immediately starts fidgeting in his seat. Sanderson leaves his drink on the table, probably waiting for the turn card to be flipped over, and Gibson is studying his hand.

“Gibson, it’s your lead bet,” Davies calls out.

Playing with his chips, another tell showing that he’s bluffing. He puts in ten grand, we all call around the table. I don’t raise because I don’t want to scare away my opponents.

The turn card is flipped over, revealing a ten of spades. No help to me, but then again, I have three of a kind right now, I’m sitting pretty.

“Gibson,” Davies calls out. He stacks his chips together and throws in one hundred grand. I hold back the eye roll that wants to cross over my features. Dickhead is coming in too hot, especially for a bluff. We all call, except for Timbers who folds, a string of cuss words flying out of his mouth just in time for Penelope to bring him a drink to drown his sorrows. He swipes the drink from her rather rudely and downs it quicker than she can step away.

“Another,” he gruffs out.

I ignore the irritation that bubbles up in me from Penelope being treated poorly by the pricks at the table, then again I haven’t been better than any of them. I make a note to tip her well at the end of the night.

The river card, the fifth and final, is flipped over on the table, revealing a queen of diamonds. The gallery of legs and tits to the side that the men brought into the room all gasp. The hand just got a little heavier.

Carrying a full house in my hand, I gauge the men surrounding me. Piccori is an oozing mess, Gibson is counting his chips, stacking them up for his bet, and Sanderson still doesn’t pick up his drink. I’m pretty sure he’s out.

“Gibson.”

Outlandishly, he piles three hundred grand in the middle of the table, making the bet too steep for everyone’s hand, besides mine. Sanderson folds, which I knew was going to happen, and Piccori purses his lips together as he pushes his cards away, clearly not happy with his outcome tonight.

Casually, with a steady hand, I match Gibson’s bet, not wanting to push him any further with a raise. If I was at a high stakes game, with players that mattered, I would be raising, but I’m playing against a bunch of fuckwits. It doesn’t seem right to take advantage of their idiocies.

“Call,” I say, nodding my head at the man to show me his hand.

With a snarky smile, he turns over his cards, revealing three of a kind, queens staring back at me.

I nod my head, take a sip of my whiskey and use the edge of one of my cards to flip the other over, revealing my full house.

“Fuck!” Gibson shouts, shooting up from the table and tossing his drink to the side. I glance over at Penelope who is once again, talking to the bartender when she realizes she has to assist Gibson in his clean up, and when I say assist, I mean she has to clean up everything.

I lean back in my chair and finish off the rest of my drink. “Good game boys, but I’m going to have to call it a night.” Davies is stacking my chips for me and pushing them over in my direction. Security comes through the doors with black suitcases handcuffed to their wrists to collect the chips. I don’t even bother counting, I know I have over a million sitting in front of me.

Thankfully, I don’t have to worry about taking care of my chips, security takes them to the banker who then automatically deposits it in my account. Just another day at the table.

Before all the chips are taken away from me, I grab two green ones and stick them in my pocket.

Sanderson, Piccori, and Timbers all shake my hand, offering up their appreciation for being able to play with me once again while Gibson scowls from the corner.

Ignoring the petulant child, I flip a chip at Davies who thanks me with a wink and then I head on over to the bar where Penelope finds the need to reside.

She’s in the middle of talking to Nick when I interrupt her. “Miss Prescott, may I speak with you for a second?”

Startled by my voice, she smiles quickly at Nick and then nods to me.

Gripping her elbow, I pull her to the side of the room, trying not to be enveloped by the sweet scent of her perfume.

Buying us some good distance from prying ears, I say, “Have fun tonight?”

“As much as I can for serving drinks to a bunch of rich assholes.” She folds her arms over her chest, pumping up her breasts just a few centimeters higher.

“So you do remember the responsibilities of your job.”

She shakes her head at me. “Unless you have something to ask me, preferably in the drink department, then you can leave me alone because you have nothing to do with my job. You don’t make any decisions where my job is concerned. Got it?”

I can feel the tick in my jaw go off from her defiance. Instead of fighting her, I pull the chip out of my pocket and place it in her hand, letting my fingers rub against her palm.

“What’s this…” she begins before she sees what’s resting in her hand. Her eyes widen, and shock registers across her face. “This is a ten thousand dollar chip,” she hisses.

“It’s called a tip,” I tell her casually.

“A ten thousand dollar tip? Are you insane?!”

“Well you only served drinks, barely actually, when you weren’t flirting with the bartender. I thought a one percent tip would suffice.”

She holds up her hands, confusion in her eyes. “Wait, what? One percent?” she leans in and whispers, “You made over a million dollars?”

I lean forward as well, matching her whispering. “Yes.”

“Holy shit.” Her hand goes to her head, then she looks up. “Hold on, I wasn’t flirting with the bartender.”

I don’t even bother to argue. Instead, I say, “Whatever you say, Miss Prescott, I know what I saw. Remember, even if I can’t hear what you might be saying, I earn a living by reading people. From where I was sitting, it was blatantly obvious that you were flirting.”

Frustration bubbles up in her. “So you think you’re so great at reading people?”

“I know I am.” I place my hands in my pockets and rock on my heels.

“Well, then read this.” With a firm hand, she flips me off and then walks back over to Nick who is cleaning glasses. With a quick glance over her shoulder at me, she says, “You know what Nick. I would love to go out with you.” She grabs a napkin and pen and writes something down. “Here’s my number. Give me a call later.”

With that, she turns on her heel and heads out the suite doors, her hips swaying in satisfaction behind her.

Well Nick is going to regret ever talking to Penelope.

***

My foot is propped against the wall, my hands in my pockets, and my gaze fixated on the blank white space in front of me. It’s been twenty minutes and still no Penelope, how fucking long does it take to grab your purse and leave?

I should be up in my villa celebrating my win but I can’t seem to force myself to walk to the private elevators. Instead, I find my Burberry leather wingtips pounding against the cement of the employee corridor of Hotel Paragon, searching for Penelope.

I don’t know what possessed me, but all I know is I need to speak to her, to mark her, to make her realize that going out with Nick is the wrong move.

The telltale creak of the door to the women’s locker room opening echoes through the space. Penelope walks out, looking down at her phone, I take advantage of her lack of attention to her surroundings, grab her by the elbow, and pull her into the storage closet I’m standing next to.

In a whirlwind, I have her in my grasp, pressed up against the wall and panting heavily.

“What the fuck?” she screeches, searching my face. “What the hell are you doing, psycho?”

“I suggest you don’t speak right now, unless you want to piss me off even more.”

Defiance is written across her face. “What the hell did I do to piss you off to begin with?”

I’m the one asking the questions, so I ignore her. “Do you really think that going out with Nick is going to satisfy your need?”

“And what need is that?” she asks, her eyes lighting up.

I let silence fall over us as the tension between us builds, erotic electricity igniting the dim room we’re in. Our breaths are heavy, our beating hearts pounding against each other. The only movement in the room are our eyes searching one another.

Taking the first step, I glide my fingers up her delectable leg, pushing the tight fabric of her skirt up just a notch to gauge her reaction. She doesn’t move, she doesn’t even protest, all she does is continue to breathe heavily, her eyes full of lust, so I move them up a little bit further. I don’t think she realizes it, but in the most seductive way, she licks her lips, wetting them so they glisten under the stark light in the corner shining down on us.

I take that as an indication to go further. With both hands, I lift the hem of her skirt up to her waist, exposing an exquisite neon yellow lace thong, the color brilliantly bouncing off of her tan skin. She’s spent some time in the Las Vegas sun.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she asks in a shaky voice.

“What do you want me to do?”

I run my fingers along the lace of her thong, carrying them over her pussy, back up to her waistline in a circular motion, showing her my intent.

“I don’t know.”

Reaching for both of her hands, I clasp them in one of mine and raise them above her head, pinning them tightly against the wall so she can’t move. Taking a quick scan of her body, I revel in the way her breasts sit high and enticing, begging for my touch, the way her breathing continues to be erratic, and the heady gaze she gives me, her eyes clouded over with lust. Her mouth might be saying one thing, but her body is talking to me with every one of my moves, pleading with me to fuck her, to make her come.

Pressing my lips against her ear while moving my fingers along the most delicate part of her, over that scrap of lace, I say, “Don’t toy with me, Miss Prescott. What do you want me to do to you right now?”

Through the thin fabric of her thong, I can feel her arousal, wet, hot, and ready.

She doesn’t answer me; she doesn’t want to say it so I’ll just have to coax it out of her.

Moving the material aside, I press my finger along her slit, barely sliding inside, just resting above the surface.

The faintest, “oh god” slips out of her mouth while her hips wiggle ever so slightly from side to side, encouraging my fingers to slide deeper.

“Keep moving your hips and I will remove my fingers,” I test her. Immediately she stops and I can’t help the smirk that crosses my face.

With the scrape of my scruff against her cheek and my lips still pressed against her ear, I say, “Do you know that when you flirt, you casually flip your hair to the side? And when you’re nervous, you wring your hands together. And when you’re angry, your hands twitch at your sides. But my favorite is when you’re intrigued. Do you know why?” She shakes her head, unable to speak. “Because, when you’re intrigued, you stare.” I rub my cheek against hers, reminding her of the rough nature I possess. “I watched you tonight, I watched how your eyes were fixated on my fingers, flipping my chips around, gripping my tumbler, and playing with my cards. Tell me, Miss Prescott, why would you be so intrigued with my fingers.”

She still doesn’t answer. She remains frozen in place, her chest still rising and falling heavily with each inhale and exhale.

“Would it be because you want to see how they work? How they can play with this delicious pussy of yours? Were you wondering what it would feel like to have my fingers pressed inside of you, curled just enough to hit you in the right spot so you’re coming all over them, screaming my name, letting everyone know who’s finger fucking you into oblivion? Is that what you were thinking?”

Her eyes stay neutral but her legs spread apart, barely an inch, but her shift has opened her up more to me.

“Was that what you were thinking, Miss Prescott?” I ask, this time, pressing just above her clit.

“Oh god,” she says louder.

I run my nose along her jawline and back up to her ear. “All you have to do is tell me the truth. Are you throbbing for me right now? Is your precious little cunt begging for me to touch it, pulsing out of control for me to just move a little deeper? All I want is the truth, Miss Prescott.”

Sliding my finger up just a little bit more, I connect with her clit and rub circles along the bundle of nerves, making her spread her legs even further. My lips touch her ear again, “Tell me to finger fuck you, Penelope. Demand it.”

Her hands are still trapped above her head, her face is a combination of annoyance and pleasure, her skin is glistening with her sweat, and her body is begging for me to continue. I just need her to vocalize what she wants.

“Yes,” she says softly, her eyes looking up at the ceiling.

“Yes, what, Miss Prescott?”

She takes a big gulp of air and then relaxes her body. “Finger fuck me, Gavin.”

My name slipping off her tongue in that breathless tone is one of the most erotic sounds I’ve ever heard. I have her just where I want her.

With one more glide of my finger along her clit, I pull away completely, letting her hands fall from their pinned position and her body slump against the wall.

Confusion is written all across her face. Staring her in the eyes, I lift my finger to my mouth and suck on the glistening digit, delighting in the earthy flavor of her arousal. Her eyes widen, showing me a brief glimpse of life.

“You taste like heaven, Miss Prescott. This will hold me over until I get you where I want you. Call this anteing up, your cards will be dealt later.”

Frustrated and angry, she fixes her pulled up skirt and grabs her purse. She bursts through the door but not before looking me up and down and flicking me in the dick with her finger, making me hunch over in pain.

Clutching my crotch, I look up at her feisty little face and watch as she pulls the chip I gave her out of her purse. With a flick of her thumb, it hits me in the forehead and drops to the floor.

“Despite what you might think, Mr. Saint, I don’t need your pity tip, nor your overrated fingers. Buy yourself a hooker, I’m sure she’ll allow you to play around with her in your sick and twisted way. As for me, I have a date to plan.”

With that, the door slams in my face, enveloping me in the dim light once again.

“Motherfucker,” I mumble, forgetting that even though I possess a power over her, I still can’t quite get a read on the woman the way I want.

Chapter Eight

**NELL**

Almost there.

Almost.

Almost…

Damn it! I lost it again! I hurl my Rabbit across the room with a loud shout, causing it to bang into the wall with a crash before it falls to the floor, still whirring and buzzing away.

It is official. Gavin Saint has broken my vagina.

I’ve been hot and bothered to an almost painful degree since walking away from him—and stupidly enough, ten grand—just hours ago. Typically, my Rabbit never failed me. He worked hard to give me what I wanted every time, never quitting, never giving up. I could always count on him. But for some reason, he’s not getting the job done tonight. I’ve now moved past sexual frustration and straight into sexual agony. And it’s all that bastard’s fault.

My bedroom door suddenly swings open, banging into the wall behind it, making me shoot up to sitting in my bed and release a startled scream. Page stands in the doorway in her pajamas, a crazy look in her eyes, and a metal baseball bat extended in the air.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong? Who’s in here?” she shouts frantically.

“Are you insane?!” I yell, my hand on my chest as my heart beats painfully against my ribcage. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“I thought you were being murdered! You yelled then something crashed against the wall. I was going to save you!”

I can’t help it. She just looks so ridiculous in her Star Wars PJ’s, arms above her head, ready to strike, that I burst into laughter. “Sorry to scare you, Xena: Warrior Princess, but I’m not being murdered.”

“Then what the fuck was that?” she yelps, finally lowering her arms and propping the bat against my wall. “Seriously, whatever you hurled at the wall knocked a picture down in my room.”

At my silence, the still-buzzing Rabbit draws Page’s attention to the floor. Her lip curls up as she tip-toes away from the offending object. “Is there a reason you decided to abuse your love toy at three in the morning?”

“Because it doesn’t work,” I grumble, poking out my bottom lip and crossing my arms over my chest. “It’s broken.”

She looks from the object, with its still spinning head, back to me. “Seems to be working just fine to me.”

“Then I’m gonna need you to take me to the gynecologist, because something down there broke tonight.” When she simply stares at me with a perplexed expression, I press on with a heavy sigh. “Things with Gavin got a little… out of hand,” I admit weakly. Looking down, I notice my fingers twisting together in my lap and inwardly curse. Fucking Gavin Saint! He was right. I totally wring my hands when I’m nervous.

“Out of hand, how?” she asks with a narrow-eyed gaze.

“He kind of… uh… fingered me in a storage closet.”

“What?” she shouts so loud I’m pretty sure the stray dogs living in the alley three blocks over were able to hear her.

“It was an accident!”

“How? How could something like that ever be an accident? Did you accidentally trip, and catch your vagina on his finger?”

“Okay,” I shrug. “So maybe ‘accident’ isn’t the right word. It was… unplanned.” She opens her mouth to speak, but I lift my hand to silence her. “I was coming out of the employee locker room, looking at my phone, and he grabbed me and pulled me into the closet.”

Page crosses her arms over her chest and mutters drily, “If that’s not the definition of sexual harassment at the workplace I don’t know what is.”

“The pathetic thing is,” I continue, “once he started talking, I was hypnotized. I mean, my brain completely shut down, Page. I wanted it.”

Her face changes. I see that spark coming back in her eyes and I know I’ve just tapped into the romantic inside of her. Not good. “So? Was it fantastic? I bet it was,” she swoons. Yes. The bitch actually swoons. “I told you, those fingers of his…”

I cut her off. “It was awful.”

“Well that’s disappointing,” she mopes.

“No, I mean he didn’t finish. He teased me to the brink of exploding, then the fucker stopped!” To my delight, my friend lets out a gasp.

“That asshole!”

“Exactly. And of course, I had to brush him off like it was nothing. It’s not like I could let him see how much he was driving me crazy. That’s what he wanted. He’s some sadistic prick who gets off playing mind games. I can’t let him win. So I walked out of there like I wasn’t fazed at all.”

“Hence the self-love sesh you had going on in here.”

“Yep. But now I can’t get off. The jackass broke my vagina.” I fall back against my pillows with a groan. Seconds later the mattress dips and I feel Page lay down next to me.

“Aw, honey. I’m sorry you didn’t make it all the way to O-town,” she snickers.

“Ew, don’t say that. It makes me think of that stupid boy band everybody loved back in elementary school.”

To my utter disgust, she starts belting out the lyrics to that god-awful “Liquid Dreams” song, and I have to sit up and smother the sound with my pillow.

“The fact that you still know that fucking song by heart means we can’t be friends anymore. You know that, right?”

She giggles and shoves the pillow away. “It’s still top ten on my running playlist. It’s my lady jam,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows.

I fall to my back with a laugh of my own. “What the hell am I going to do, Page? I hate the guy, like, really hate him. But my body wants to rub itself against him like a freaking cat in heat every time he’s in the same room.”

“Then you know what you have to do,” she responds seriously.

“What’s that?”

“You’re going to have to kill him. I have a roll of duct tape, rope, and black plastic bags in my room. We just need to get some shovels from the hardware store and we’ll be set.”

“Oh my God!” I laugh hysterically. “Why do you have a murder kit in your bedroom?”

“A single girl in Vegas can never be too prepared,” she says casually before her voice shifts, taking on a concerned tone. “But seriously, are you going to be able to keep working the high roller suite if he’s going to be there?”

“Yes,” I answer adamantly. “I’m not going to let that bastard win. He already thinks he’s better than me,” I tell her, thinking back to that insulting ten thousand dollar chip he gave to me like it meant nothing to him, like I was his paid whore. “I’m not going to let him win. My goal in life has now become making Gavin Saint’s life a living hell.”

Page lets out a loud yawn and snuggles into the pillow. “Well, good luck with that,” she says sleepily. “My money’s on you.”

“Thanks, babe,” I murmur, feeling myself finally growing tired after such a trying night.

We’re both silent, and I’m just starting to snooze when Page’s voice pulls me back from Dreamland. “Uh, Nell?”

“Hmm?”

“Please tell me you’re wearing underwear right now.”

***

It’s been two days since my encounter with Gavin in that damned closet, and I still can’t get the image of his smug, knowing smile that night out of my head. I’ve had to resort to some drastic measures to try and purge Gavin Saint from my system.

That’s why I’m currently making my way out of the hot, Vegas heat and into the air conditioned Starbucks fifteen minutes away from my apartment on my day off instead of lazing the day away on the couch, watching re-runs of Fixxer Upper.

I totally have a somewhat inappropriate crush on Chip and Joanna Gaines. If moving to Waco and buying an abandoned house that was once a meth lab would secure my chance at meeting them in real life, I’d be all over that.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Nick grins as I make my way to the table he’s sitting at near the window.

“Hey,” I grin back, unable to help myself. Nick really is a fantastic guy. He’s sweet, funny, easy to work with, and it helps that he’s shit-hot. Not as hot as Gavin, but still…

Damn it! I’m thinking about Gavin again. The stupid son of a bitch!

Like the nice guy he is, Nick asks what I want to drink, and goes up to the counter to order and pay for my coffee. It isn’t lost on me the way the barista’s eyes linger a little too long on his ass. Not that I can blame her, the way his jeans hug and cup it just right is what dreams are made of. But I don’t feel that niggling sense of jealousy deep in my gut that I’ve had with boyfriends—or, hell, just guys I’ve crushed on—in the past.

“Here you go,” he shoots me a brilliant white smile as he places my white chocolate mocha down on the table and takes a seat across from me. I thank him and take a sip. “You know,” he says, resting his forearms on the table and leaning in, his striking blue gaze pinned on me. “I’m glad you agreed to come out with me today, but I want to take you on a proper date. And I’m pretty sure coffee at Starbucks doesn’t count.”

“I know,” I say softly, feeling those nerves in my belly that make me wring my hands. “I know, I just thought it would be easier if we got to know each other a little better first.”

“Isn’t that what a date is for?” he teases and I feel myself growing more comfortable in his presence. I’m not really sure why I’m suddenly nervous around him. I’ve worked with him more than once, and never felt anything but completely at ease. Maybe it has something to do with the fact I haven’t been on a date—coffee or otherwise—with a guy since high school.

“That may be how they do it in other states, but this is Vegas after all. A girl can never be too careful.”

“True enough,” he chuckles. “So, what do you want to know? Ask away. Anything to convince you I’m not a serial killer.”

I started off easy. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four. Turn twenty-five in three months,” he answered. “You?”

“Twenty-one, at least for the next few weeks. Born and raised in Vegas?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I’m originally from Colorado, but got sick of the snow. I came here with some friends a few years ago for the weekend and fell in love with the atmosphere and decided to stay.”

“Huh,” I mumble, cocking my head to the side and studying him closely. “I wouldn’t have guessed Colorado. You have that laid-back surfer dude vibe about you. If anything, I’d have guessed you came from California.”

He gives me another easy, contagious grin. That’s another thing I like about Nick. I always find myself smiling or laughing whenever I’m around him. It’s a welcome change of pace from how most men annoy the piss out of me, making me want to donkey punch every one of them. “Nope. No sun and surfing for me. I was all about snowboarding until I moved here though. Could have easily lived on the slopes.”

I find myself leaning in closer, mimicking his relaxed position as I ease into the flowing conversation. “Oh, fun! I grew up in Tennessee. I always wanted to try skiing, but never got the chance before I moved.”

“Well,” he came closer. “If there’s ever an opportunity, I’d love to teach you.” I should probably feel bad that, just days ago, I had another man’s fingers inside me, and now I’m sitting across from Nick, carrying on something in the hopes of it building into more, but I can’t bring myself to feel guilty about it. Yes, Gavin has some sort of weird power over me, but like I told Page, I can’t stand the guy. That one time in the storage closet was a fluke, never to happen again. I refuse to let it hinder my choices when it comes to more reasonable men.

“We’ll see,” I answer coyly, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Next question. Ever been arrested for a felony?”

“Nope,” he laughs good-naturedly. “Nothing on my record but a few speeding tickets and a citation for public intoxication back in college.”

“Good to know. Any felonious behavior you haven’t been arrested for?”

He tilts his head up and scratches his chin. “Well, there is the fact I’m a drug Kingpin. But I can’t tell you that or I’d have to kill you.”

“Ah,” I nod on a giggle. “Makes perfect sense.”

“I do all the dirty work out of my mom’s basement. You know, where I still live. Yeah,” he shrugs, “I should probably get my own place, what with being a stinking rich drug overlord and all, but she’s the only one who knows how to cut the crusts off my sandwich just right.”

“Not to mention the free laundry service,” I continue the joke.

He leans back and snaps his fingers. “Exactly! I just can’t get my boxers as snuggle fresh as Mom can.”

Once I’m able to get my laughter under control and wipe at the tears under my eyes, I see Nick staring at me intently. “You know, you’re gorgeous all the time, but when you laugh like that it gets even better.”

“I’m starting to think you’re too good to be true, Nick.”

“Need me to fart and scratch my nuts? Would that help bring you back down to reality?”

“Stop, please, or I’ll swoon to death,” I deadpan.

He props and elbow on the table and rests his chin in his hand. “So what do you say? Did I pass the test? Am I worthy of an appropriate first date?”

I narrow my eyes and shrug. “Meh, you’ll do, I guess.”

Nick places his hand over his chest. “Words every man wants to hear,” he laughs.

We hang around the coffee shop for a few more hours, simply enjoying each other’s company, until he has to leave for his shift at the hotel. Since it’s not an “official” date, we hug, and I give him a kiss on the cheek as he walks me over to my car.

“I had fun today,” I tell him, beeping the locks and opening the driver side door. And it was the truth. I really did have fun. I’m still not sure about how I feel about going on an actual date with him, but at least I know, no matter what, I’ll have a great time. Just because the chemistry I have with Gavin might not be front and center with Nick, doesn’t mean it can’t be developed over time, right?

“Me too.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Now get in your car and go home so I can get back to running my cocaine empire.”

“Pfft, cocaine,” I scoff. “That’s so 2002. Everyone knows heroine is the new it drug.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he mumbles as he comes close and plants one more kiss on my cheek. “See you later, gorgeous.”

“See you,” I grin as I climb into the car and buckle my seatbelt as he closes the door for me. I look up and give him one last wave as I pull away and start the drive back to my apartment, the whole time wishing I could somehow find a way to transfer my attraction from Gavin to Nick. It would make my life so much easier.

Chapter Nine

**GAVIN**

My feet pound against the pavement, my breathing has evened out, and I’m feeling my stride. Five miles in and I’ve never felt better as the blistering sun of Las Vegas beats against my bare back. I tore my shirt off after mile two and tucked it in the back of my shorts, letting it flop with my movements. Mumford and Sons blares through my earphones, Babel being my favorite album of theirs. Not typical running music but then again, I’m not a typical man.

Almost every morning I run the five miles to Prosperity Park, exhaust my body in their workout yard where I do endless pull-ups until I feel like my arms are going to fall off, and then I run back to my villa. It’s a routine I’ve become accustomed to, not because it’s a well-known fact that single women go to the park to feast their eyes on the men playing basketball and doing sit-ups on the equipment, but because it clears my mind, helps me manage my thoughts, and prepares me for the day, especially when I’m playing that night.

Lately, I’ve welcomed the workouts, thanks to the lack of sex in my life and the persistent morning wood I wake up with due to a certain petite brunette who I have to watch prance around the high roller room day in and day out. When I’m not playing, I have to see her on screen, flirting with that dickhead of a bartender. The dude’s body language toward Penelope is obnoxious. He might as well just stick his dick in her ear and call it a day. I pray I don’t look like that on camera, because if I do, I need to rework my image.

Doubtful though, I’m a hell of a lot smoother than that asshat. Pretty sure he bleaches the tips of his messy hair. There is no way in hell the sun is that accommodating.

What really perplexes me though, is the way Penelope reacts to him. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I’m an expert at reading people and Penelope doesn’t hide her reactions to Nick very well. From a distance, it’s obvious that she’s interested. How the fuck is that possible when I’ve made it clear what my intentions are? I’m not the kind of douchebag, like Graham, who knows his shit doesn’t stink. I get women can be interested in other men, but the chemistry between Penelope and me is, by far, superior than the meager interactions I’ve seen her have with Nick.

So why is she still talking to him and ignoring me every chance she gets?

Was she really bent out of shape about me not finishing her off in the storage closet? Fuck, I thought that would have made her even harder up to get me into bed. Then again, I’ve never had a woman flick me in the dick before either.

I shake my head at the thought. She’s a fucking wildcat, that’s for sure.

The workout yard is empty as I trot up to it. It’s the perfect place for bodyweight fitness, which is just what I need to maintain my physique as well as my sanity. I’m not the kind of man who spends hours in the gym pumping iron, striving for muscles bigger than my head. I prefer the lean, defined look. Makes it easier when trying on a suit. I’ve heard women compare me to some dude named Nick Bateman. Whoever the fuck that is. There was one girl in particular, who I brought home from the park that kept running her hands up and down my six pack, telling me how much I looked like him. It creeped me way the fuck out, but I made a mental note to look him up on the internet that night and I had to admit, the lucky bastard did look like me.

The rubber mulch of the workout yard bounces under my feet, a welcome sensation after the hard paved streets. Stretching my arms over my head, I shift side to side, preparing for my pull-up routine. I start with simple pull-ups and then do full on muscle ups. It’s fucking grueling, and kind of makes me want to die, but it’s given me the body I have today, and when I’m doing them, it’s impossible to think about anything else, so I suck it up.

Off to the side, there’s a basketball game going on, a bunch of older men living out their younger years, playing shirts and skins, some of them definitely should be playing on the shirts side. There are also some kids flying kites, moms walking strollers, and then there are the picnic tables.

I grip the pull up bar, feeling the heat of the sun on it, and start my routine while scoping out the picnic tables. It’s where the single ladies hang out. Today they’re empty, surprisingly enough, but to the side there are three women sitting on a blanket having a morning picnic. From my up and down vantage point, it looks like they have a bundle of grapes, some pastries, and juice. Keeping my eye on them makes it easier to work through my reps.

With each pull up, I try to figure out why the women look so familiar. It isn’t until I’m on the twentieth muscle up that I realize it’s Penelope, Davies, and a blonde who I’m going to assume is Penelope’s roommate, Page. I’ve only seen a picture of her on my phone, but she matches up with my memory.

They must all have the morning off. How fucking adorable that they wanted to have a picnic in the park together. I say that sarcastically. Women are so weird. Let’s eat on the ground and gab while ants crawl all over us, it’ll be fun.

Could you imagine if Graham, Scott and I decided to go on a picnic together, sit on a blanket in the grass and share a basket of grapes with each other? No fucking way. I have no interest in the matter.

After I tap out on reps and I can feel an intense burn in my arms, I drop off the bar and stick my feet in the sit up bench, bracing myself on the decline. With my hands barely grazing my temples, I sit up straight and fall back down. With each up, I glance in Penelope’s direction, taking in her appearance. Her hair is down with a chunk pinned up on the top of her head. The half up, half down shit looks good on her. She’s wearing a pair of white shorts and a navy blue tank top. Her toned arms are on display and so is that fantastic ass of hers.

She looks good in street clothes, that’s for damn sure. The only thing that’s truly different is that her tits aren’t spilling out of her shirt like they do in her uniform. Until now, I hadn’t given the fact she must wear a pushup bra any thought. I have to admit, I prefer her tits to be in a normal place. At least that way she isn’t attracting even more men’s attention.

Hell, even if her tits were dancing the tango with her belly button men would still be flocking toward her. It isn’t just her looks; it’s her entire personality. Sweet and beautiful, but a fucking wench at times. Why is that attractive, you ask? Because she’s a challenge. And if a man tells you he doesn’t like a challenge he’s a goddamned liar. Or a lazy bastard, in which case, you need to run in the other direction.

Watching them interact is interesting. They’re so much more animated than men. Watching the guys and me interact is probably boring as fuck. We say a few words, grunt, take sips of our drinks, and then continue with idiotic conversations, usually trying to one-up each other. Women are so much more complex. They use their hands when talking, their expressions are fascinating; even the ones just listening, they nod their heads, shifting their body language to look interested rather than passive.

Woman are, by far, more interesting to observe than men, and not just because you hope for a nip slip, but because they’re more fun to read, they have so many more tells than men.

I continue to do sit ups when I catch Penelope waving her hands in the air, mimicking something, making Page and Davies laugh. I’m curious to find out what she might be saying and then it hits me. Might as well crash their little picnic. I wouldn’t mind sitting on a damn blanket in the grass if it meant getting to pull on Penelope’s strings a little bit more. Plus, with my shirt still tucked into the back of my shorts, she’s going to get an eyeful of something that has caused lesser women to drop to their knees. I can’t wait to see her reaction.

Excited about my idea, I finish up my sit ups, cutting them a little short but promising myself to do some tonight, along with my pushups, and head on over to their little gathering.

As I approach, I make sure to do it so I’m behind Penelope. Davies is the first one to see me and I can’t help but relish in the smile that crosses over her face. Page is next, her eyes scan my body quickly, a light blush popping up on my cheeks. I hope whatever happened between her and Graham is in the past, because with just one look from her, I can tell she’s entirely out of Graham’s league. She is way too good for him.

Penelope is the last one to clue in. “What are you looking at?” she asks, turning around to see me towering over her.

With a shocked drop of her jaw, she gives me a very slow once over, taking in every contour and divot in my chest and stomach. I’m not being egotistical, honestly. It’s just a fact. I have a fucking great body that I work hard to maintain. It’s not ego when it’s true. Besides, it’s not like I run around with my shirt lifted up, yelling, “Look at me!”. Unless it’s brought up by someone else, I never outwardly brag about my body. I’m an asshole, not a narcissist. There’s a difference, believe me.

“Hello Miss Prescott. What brings you here this fine morning?”

Her eyes are glued to my chest, not a single word comes out of her mouth.

“Um, we’re having a picnic,” Page answers for her, poking Penelope in the back with a stick.

“Oh yeah, food,” Penelope answers, shaking her head quickly and turning back around.

Not waiting for an invitation, I take a seat next to her and say, “Well, don’t mind if I do. I’m famished.” Grabbing a few grapes, I pop them in my mouth and then hold my hand out to Page. “Gavin Saint.”

“Page,” she answers, awe in her voice. “Nell has told me so much about you.”

Grinning from ear to ear, I turn to Penelope whose face is bright red. “Is that so?”

“No!” she answers quickly, shooting daggers at her friend. “I have not said anything about you, at all.”

“Not even about the storage closet?” I ask, not ashamed at all.

Davies throws her head back and laughs while Penelope coughs into her drink. I pat her back in a calming gesture, occasionally rubbing my hand over the thin material of her top, wishing it were her bare skin.

“From your reaction, it seems like our little friend here did tell you. What did she say? Give me all the dirt.” I rub my hands together, loving the way Penelope is seething next to me.

Before any of the girls could cut in, Penelope says, “Just that you told me you had to use your fingers because you have a micro-penis and felt bad that you wouldn’t be able to please me any other way. We all agreed, you can’t have it all Gavin Saint,” she finishes with a sympathetic wince.

Should have seen that one coming. Fucking woman keeps me on my toes.

I lean over to Penelope, placing my hand on her lower back, and speak directly into her ear, keeping our conversation private. “You and I both know that’s a lie, but I’ll let it slide because I look forward to the moment when I fuck that thought right out of your head with my long… thick… cock.” I take my time speaking into her ear, eliciting goose bumps across the surface of her skin. With a quick glance, I also take in how her nipples have hardened.

Bluff all you want baby, I can read you like a fucking book.

“Shit it’s hot over here, isn’t it?” Davies asks, waving the top of a pastry box in front of her face. “How often do you work out Gavin?”

Davies and I haven’t spoken much, just some passing nods and thank you’s when I tip her, but from what I’ve read in her body language, she’s hardened. Something’s happened to her in the past and she’s just as good at hanging out with the guys as she is with the girls. She’s no bullshit, no drama, and no relationships. A blistered kind of woman who doesn’t plan on ever settling down, she says it all with her scorned eyes.

“Every day, unless I have a woman between my legs.”

“Ugh, pig,” Penelope scoffs under her breath.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” I ask her.

She crosses her arms over her chest in defiance. “Yeah, I called you a pig.”

“Because I like sex?”

“No, because you talk about it in front of three women. It’s rude to be crass in front of the female race.”

I shrug. “Just exercising equal rights for all.” I grab some more grapes and say, “Please tell me there’s some alcohol in those drinks.”

“Mimosas!” Page says with a lift of her glass and a rise to her voice.

“Shhh,” Penelope shushes her. “Page, we talked about this, if you can’t hold your breakfast liquor by staying quiet, then we can’t drink in the park.”

“Oops,” she hiccups, clearly a lightweight.

“So what were you pretty ladies talking about before I walked over, looked like Penelope was telling a good story.”

“Nothing,” she cuts me off. “We were talking about nothing.”

I tsk her. “You shouldn’t lie to me, Miss Prescott. You know I can read every move you make, so why even try?”

Her hands fly up in the air, exasperation in her voice when she speaks. “For the love of God, it’s Nell, or, if you must, Penelope. I’m sick of this Miss Prescott shit. How hard is it to remember someone’s damn name?”

I lean in close to her, Page and Davies tuned into the melodrama playing out in front of them, glasses of mimosa halfway up to their lips. “I assure you, Miss Prescott, I am well aware of your first name, as well as your nickname, but I enjoy the way your eyes light with flames when I address you properly, with sophistication and class, a show of respect you most certainly deserve.”

Her eyes study mine, wavering back and forth, she’s speechless and turned on. I know this because of the way she keeps licking her lips and looking at mine, as if they are preparing to attack her.

Fuck, I might just suck her bottom lip into my mouth, just for the hell of it to make a point.

“Holy shit,” Page and Davies whisper together, taking in the electricity bouncing off of Penelope and me.

I continue the staring contest with Penelope until she makes the first move, which is to place her hand to my sweaty, hard chest, and push me away.

“Get out of here…” she pauses when her hand connects with my muscles. “Oh… that’s hard.” She gulps, making Davies laugh even harder.

I wiggle my eyebrows at Penelope. “Like what you feel?”

“No!” she takes her hand away, shakes it and then rubs it on the blanket. “You clearly take steroids, which would explain the micro-penis.”

Having no shame, Davies leans over the pile of food and presses her hand against my chest. “Hell, who cares about the micro-penis, the man has a tongue and fingers, that’s all we really need as women.” She feels up my chest, wandering over my nipples and down my stomach before Penelope whacks her back.

“Jesus, Davies, have some self-respect.”

“The bastard is stacked, I can’t help myself.” Davies looks at me. “Your suits don’t do you justice now that I see what’s underneath. You should start playing shirtless.”

I chuckle. “I’ll keep that I mind. So, you were just about to tell me what you were talking about before I got here.”

“Were we?” Penelope looks at the imaginary watch that is not on her wrist. “Aw, what a shame, we have to get going.” She goes to get up when I put my hand on her thigh, urging her to stay in place.

“Miss Prescott, I’m sure you don’t have to be to work until late afternoon. I know this because that’s when I’m scheduled to watch the screen. So, why don’t you relax, have another drink, and welcome your guest to your picnic, am I right ladies?”

“Here, here!” Page says with another lift of her drink.

“Traitorous bitch,” Penelope hisses at her friend. Page just shrugs her shoulder and drinks some more. I like this girl. I can tell she’s Team Gavin, something to take note of.

“Well…” I press.

Without a worry or care in the world, Davies answers for everyone. “We were just talking about Nell’s upcoming date with Nick.”

My jovial mood immediately turns into a murderous one. I snap my head to Penelope and ask, “Nick the bartender?”

“Oh, do you know of him?” she asks with faux innocence.

“You know damn well I do.” I grit out. “I thought I killed the idea of you going out with that tool bag.”

“Was that in the closet?” Page asks, sloshing her drink around. “Because she’s already gone out with him once since then.”

“What?” I snap, this time pure distaste in my voice. “When was this?”

I just ran five miles and over-exerted myself on the pull-up bar and sit up bench and I feel like my breath is more labored now than it was during my workout. Penelope already went out with Nick? What the fuck? If I knew she was seriously considering going out with him I would have stepped up my game. That, or I would have thrown in the towel and fucked the first woman who made a pass at me.

Okay, so that’s a lie, I already tried that and realized within a minute that I was so hung up on fucking Penelope that I wouldn’t be satisfied until I had her for one night. Damn womanly power. I blame all fucking vaginas. They have way too much control over men.

“It was nothing,” Penelope answers, a shyness to her voice. “It was just coffee.”

“Yeah but they’re going to the Red Room tonight for dinner. Aren’t you going to wear that black dress we talked about?” Davies asks Penelope, something gleaming in her eyes, something underhanded. That’s it, she just cut her goddamned tip by at least half.

“Oh, the one with the deep neckline and short skirt that falls mid-thigh?” Page claps her hands.

“Sounds slutty,” I add my two cents, unwisely.

Page confirms. “It is. She got it one night when we were on Freemont.”

Oh, that’s good to know. She got the dress while strolling down Freemont Street, very reassuring. It isn’t like that’s where all the hookers resided. Fucking perfect!

“I haven’t decided.” A devious grin spreads across Penelope’s face as she turns to me. “You know, it would be great to get a man’s opinion. What do you think Gavin? Should I wear the black dress that has a neckline that falls down to here?” She runs her fingers down her cleavage, dragging the neckline of her shirt, giving me an eye-full. “Or, should I wear a dress that has no back, but a higher neckline.” She turns her body, lifting her shirt to show me a portion of her bare back. Her shorts ride just low enough that I can see the little dimples that reside above her ass.

Fuck me.

Keeping an impassive look on my face, I say, “The low neckline. Everyone’s already seen your tits, but that back and those ass dimples, those can be reserved for me.”

“Oh, you’re taking her out?” Davies asks, pushing this conversation the whole time. I eye her and all the evil little shit does is smile.

“You should take her out,” Page says excitedly. “Especially since you broke her vagina.”

“Page!” Penelope chastises. “You shut your mouth right now.”

“Oh, sorry,” she giggles. “I almost told him about your vibrator problems.”

“Oh hell,” Penelope huffs, taking a rather large sip of her drink.

Very pleased with Page right now, I make a note to hire her soon so I can pay her back for the wonderful information she’s divulged. Hell, I might even put her in my will. “You having some vibrator problems there, Miss Prescott? Anything I can assist you with?”

“I think you’ve done enough,” she snaps at me. “Now if you will excuse us, we don’t want you here anymore.” The way her bottom lip pokes out with an indignant pout makes me want to lean in and bite it.

“I don’t mind him, he’s a fine piece of eye candy,” Davies counters.

“I kind of like him,” Page sloppily winks at me, causing Penelope to fall on her back and stare up at the sky in frustration.

Caving into Penelope’s demands, only because I know for damn sure that I’ll be eating at the Red Room tonight now, I decide to leave, but not before testing Penelope one more time.

Leaning over her body, caging her head with my hands, I stare her in the eyes and talk softly to her, soft enough that Davies and Page would really have to strain to hear what I’m saying.

“I hope you have fun on your date tonight, Penelope.” She sucks in a deep breath at the sound of me saying her given name. “But I assure you it will be your last. Your next date will involve me in a suit, you in that backless dress, and a private dinner on my balcony where I’ll seduce you into my bedroom and fuck you until the sun comes up. Do you understand?”

She doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, just stares up at me, a little gulp working its way through her throat.

“Have a good day, Penelope.” I stand and tower over all three women. “It was a delight, ladies. Thank you for the grapes.” I adjust my shirt in the back of my shorts, turn Mumford and Sons back on and then part with a wink, leaving a confused Penelope behind me.

The Red Room and Nick the Bartender will have no clue what’s waiting for them when I arrive.

Chapter Ten

**NELL**

I should be nervous. It’s the first date I’ve been on in years. I should feel butterflies in my belly or have sweaty palms. There should be something indicating my excitement for this date, but instead, I feel… fine. No nerves, no giddy anticipation. I’m looking forward to going out because I know Nick’s a fun guy and I’ll have a good time, but as far as something romantic goes, I just hope it builds with time.

Because I refuse to let whatever is churning in my stomach when Gavin is around wear me down. No way in hell. Especially after that pathetic display he put on in the park today. Yes, the guy’s built like a brick shithouse. Yes, he’s one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever laid eyes on. The problem is, he knows it. And if there’s one thing I hate more than anything, it’s a cocky, self-absorbed asshole. I’d dealt with enough of that bullshit with my dickhead of a boyfriend back in high school. I’d be damned if I allow myself to fall for it again.

Nope. Nuh uh. No freaking way.

“Dayum,” Page snaps her fingers from the doorway of the bathroom. “You look hot, babe!”

I smile at her reflection in the mirror as I give my eyelashes one last swipe of mascara. “Thanks,” I say as I close the tube and spin around to face her.

“The backless dress was definitely the way to go. Nick’s going to swallow his tongue when he sees you.”

I give Page a wink as I make my way from the bathroom, toward the front door. Even though it’s a shallow win, I still feel like wearing this dress is a middle finger to Gavin. It’s my own little way of proving to myself that what he says doesn’t matter. I grab my clutch and spin around to face Page. “All right, I’m heading out. Lock the door after me, don’t answer it to strangers, don’t order any porn while I’m gone, keep all things metal out of the microwave. And for the love of God, try not to burn the house down.”

“Yes, Mom,” she laughs, leaning in to place a kiss on my cheek. “Have fun, and I want all the juicy details when you get home! I’m even willing to stay up late.”

“You got it.” I blow her another kiss and head out the door just as my Uber car pulls up. Nick had tried to talk me into letting him pick me up for the date, but I’m a modern girl, and these are modern times. I prefer meeting at the restaurant at the beginning of a potential relationship. It just keeps things from getting messy in case things don’t work out.

“Shit, gorgeous,” Nick breathes twenty minutes later as I climb out of the car in front of the Red Room where he’d been waiting. “Just when I think you can’t get any more beautiful, you prove me wrong.”

My cheeks heat just a bit under his praise. It’s nice to hear a man genuinely compliment me. Most men are easy to read, you can see the compliments come with ulterior motives, mainly, to get into the woman’s pants. But Nick doesn’t come across that way. The vibe I get every time we’re together is completely honest.

“Thanks,” I reply, wrapping my hand through his offered elbow as he leads me into the Red Room. “You’re looking pretty good yourself.” I scan the room on the way to the hostess stand. Needless to say, I’ve never been here before. It’s fancy, upscale, and way above my pay grade. Call me crazy, but I just can’t bring myself to pay a hundred dollars for a meal when I could be sending that money to my folks to try and ease their burdens. Hell, I’m surprised Nick would shell out that kind of cash. After all, bartenders can’t possibly make more than waitresses, can they?

Nick gives the petite blonde his name and offers up his signature polite smile, which, by the giddy expression on her face, she takes as her opening to flirt. It pisses me off. It isn’t jealousy, just plain old anger. Whatever happened to girl code, sisterhood, and all that Ya Ya traveling pants shit? I mean, by the way he’s holding onto my arm, it’s obvious we’re not here in a platonic sense.

“Right this way, sir,” she coos in a low, husky voice before batting her eyelashes and giggling. Seriously, I’m contemplating doing the world a favor and just snatching the bitch bald right here and now, but as I look up at Nick as Hostess Bitch leads the way to our table, I see he’s not even paying attention to her.

GAH! I scream internally. He’s such a fantastic guy! Why can’t I feel butterflies, damn it?!

We take our seats, and I can’t help but sneer up at the hostess when Nick offers her a mumbled “thanks” without so much as making eye contact. Once she’s gone, I pick up my menu and tease, “Well, aren’t you fancy. This place is really nice, Nick.”

He shrugs, his cheeks growing a little pink, only making him that much more attractive. A man with enough humility to blush is one of the sexiest things in the world. But still… no butterflies.

Maybe something’s wrong with my stomach. That has to be the problem. Because no sane, logical woman on the planet wouldn’t want to climb this man like a tree.

“I wanted to make sure you had a great time,” he offers almost bashfully. I might not feel butterflies, but I definitely swoon right then.

“I’m pretty sure as long as I have you as my company, I’ll have a great time,” I answer honestly.

Nick’s mouth opens to reply when a deep, masculine, shiver inducing voice cuts him off, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Would you look at that? What a coincidence!”

Nick’s eyes go wide as I turn slowly in my chair, heat filling my veins once I finally lay eyes on the stupid jerk-face that I can’t seem to get out of my head no matter how hard I try. “Coincidence my ass,” I seethe under my breath.

“Uh… hey, man,” Nick offers politely if not a little uncomfortably. “I guess it’s true. Great minds think alike and all that,” he laughs awkwardly and I can’t blame him. Seeing someone like Gavin outside of the high roller suite is like a culture shock. The outside world of people like me and Nick should never cross paths with the outside world of people like Gavin Saint. It’s off-putting.

“Hmph,” Gavin makes a strange choking noise in the back of his throat before drolly muttering, “For some reason, I highly doubt that’s the case.”

“Hey,” I snap, suddenly feeling protective of Nick. Whether this night builds into anything more or not, the simple fact remains, I absolutely adore him. I won’t let anyone, even someone as rich as Gavin Saint, talk badly about the people I care about. “You’re the one that stopped by our table, not the other way around, so you can keep your smartass comments to yourself, and do everyone here a favor and move along.”

From the corner of my eye I can see Nick fidgeting uncomfortably in his chair. The hostess, who’d been making googly eyes at Nick just moments ago is now glaring at me as though she takes my attitude toward Gavin personally. The bitch really needs to make up her mind.

“Well, wouldn’t you know it,” Gavin waved sarcastically, pointing at the table directly next to us. “It looks like we’re sitting next to each other, too.”

“Fuck my life,” I whisper to myself.

“What was that?” Nick asks, leaning closer, concern written across his face.

“Nothing,” I smile, hoping it doesn’t look as fake as it feels. I turn to Gavin, the smile immediately replaced with a sneer. “You can’t get her to put you somewhere else?” I hiss.

“We’re quite full this evening,” Bitch-Face Hostess answers in a snooty tone, making my palm twitch.

“See,” Gavin grins like the bastard he is. “All full. Looks like we’ll be having dinner together.”

“Uh… um,” Nick stutters at the same time I declare, “No we aren’t!” a little too loudly. “We are having dinner together,” I say, waving my hand back and forth between me and Nick. “You are sitting at your own table having your own dinner, and leaving us alone.”

“Um, am I missing something? Do you guys know each other outside of the hotel?” Poor Nick, I’ve never seen the guy look more confused.

“No!” I shout at the same time Gavin responds, “Yes.”

“We do not!” I hiss at him.

“Oh, but I think we do,” he replies lasciviously. “There as that time in the storage closet—”

“I got locked in!” I shout, cutting him off as I turn back to Nick and lie through my teeth. “I got locked in and Gavin helped me out. Forgot all about that,” I laugh, a bit manically. “Yep, I’m clumsy like that.”

One of Nick’s blonde eyebrows cocks up as he studies my red face. I can feel the sweat beginning to bead along my forehead. Why is it that when you pray for a massive black hole to open up and swallow you, it never happens, but then you turn on the news and see that some poor soul drove his car into a sinkhole that opened up out of nowhere.

It’s not fair, I tell you!

“You all right, gorgeous?” Nick asks.

“Fine!” I answer too brightly. “I’m fine. You want some wine? I think we should totally get some wine,” I ramble, grabbing the wine list off the table and scanning over it, like I have any idea what I’m looking at. Usually I just grab the bottle off the bottom shelf at the grocery store. You know, the one with a twist top that only costs five bucks.

“Um, okaaaaay,” he answers with uncertainty. I can see it written all over his face, he thinks I’m off my rocker.

“That’s a stunning dress, Miss Prescott,” Gavin says in a casual tone. When I turn my head to look at him, I notice his tone is deceiving. His eyes are pinned on my exposed back and I can practically see the fire dancing behind his nearly black gaze. It causes me to shiver. “It’s a rather daring choice.” He says the word daring in a way that I know means he’s cottoned on to the fact I wore it to spite him. “You wear it very well.”

“Th-thanks,” I stutter before looking back to the wine list.

Being the ever polite person he is, Nick tries to engage Gavin in small talk. “So, that was some game the other night. You’ve really got a gift, man. I envy you.”

“It’s not a gift,” Gavin returns banally. “It takes serious concentration and skill.”

I can’t help but to roll my eyes at Gavin’s cold demeanor towards my dinner companion. Nick catches the expression and one corner of his mouth tips up in a knowing grin and I find myself beginning to relax, the familiar companionship of having Nick with me has almost a soothing effect. We try our best to ignore the man sitting beside us, getting lost in our own conversation, and it’s going well. That is, until Gavin opens that goddamned mouth of his again.

“You know, I’m surprised you didn’t mention your date this morning.”

“This morning?” Nick asks in confusion.

“Yes, we were having a picnic in the park.”

I shoot Gavin a look that I wish would kill him dead on the spot before looking back at Nick. “I was having a picnic with Page and Davies. Gavin decided to crash it all on his own.” I look back at the bastard, “And I did tell you. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure you gave me wardrobe advice.” I spin back to Nick and smiled sweetly. “His vote was the one that tipped the scales in favor of the backless dress.”

Nick laughs and reaches his hand out to Gavin. “Then I guess I should be thanking you. That dress is killer.”

Gavin doesn’t return the handshake, simply looking down at Nick’s hand like it’s diseased. I take his silence as the perfect opportunity to get another shot in. “Yeah, don’t the gays have the best fashion sense?”

A snicker bubbles up my throat at the sound of Gavin choking on the water he is drinking.

Current score is…

Nell: 1

Ass-face: 0

God, I love winning.

That is, until the dickhead opens his mouth again. “Oh, Miss Prescott, I forgot to tell you, I love your taste in underwear.” The wine I’d just sipped suddenly goes flying across the table, right onto Nick’s shirt.

“Oh, shit!” I shout, garnering unwanted attention from the people around us as I lean across the table and dab at the offending stain with my napkin. “I’m so sorry! I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

Nick clears his throat awkwardly. “He’s seen your underwear?”

“She looks fucking phenomenal in lace,” the bastard says. “And that thong…” he trails off with a moan, closing his eyes as he lifts his wine glass to his mouth and takes a sip.

“I feel like I’m missing something pretty serious here,” Nick mutters.

“Those damned uniform skirts,” I smile manically, still rubbing at the stain that seems to be growing larger. “Can’t bend over an inch without them showing everything.” I sit back in my chair and shoot Gavin a look that explains, in great detail, the way I’m planning to murder him. “Obviously, Mr. Saint lacks all gentlemanly decorum since he brought it up.”

Nick pushes his chair back and stands. I have a sudden wave of panic that he’s bailing on our date, leaving with his feelings hurt and me alone with Gavin. “Excuse me for just a minute,” he smiles politely. “I’m just going to go put some water on… this,” he waves at the front of his ruined shirt.

“Oh. Oh! Yeah, sure!” I answer, relieved he’s not bailing on me, although I know I’d deserve it. Once he’s gone, I turn to Gavin. “You’re Satan, you know that?” I hiss. “Fucking Satan!”

“I’d say I just made your date more interesting, Miss Prescott.”

Current score…

Nell: 1

Prince of Darkness: 1

The fucker.

***

Nick and I leave the restaurant an hour later. The meal was delicious—even though I’d never admit that to Page—and once Gavin left, the night had somehow managed to have been salvageable. We had a great time. That’s why, as we stand under the awning of the Red Room, Nick’s hands caressing my cheeks tenderly as he smiles down at me, I want to cry, because I feel nothing.

Zip. Zilch. Nada.

I hold my breath as his lips descend on mine, only releasing the warm gush of air when it becomes impossible. His lips are soft, his mouth tastes sweet, and as his tongue snakes in and tangles with mine, all I can think is that it’s a nice kiss.

Nice.

That’s it. There’s nothing spectacular about it, not for lack of trying on either of our parts. We both have the mechanics of kissing down pat. We tilt our heads in just the right way, apply just the right amount of pressure being mindful of our teeth. But there’s something missing, something that really, really matters when you’re kissing someone.

And when Nick pulls back, it’s like a two-ton weight has been lifted off my chest, because if the look on his face is anything to go on, he felt it too. Or, I should say he didn’t feel it.

“Uh, wow… that was…” he pulls both his lips between his teeth and rubs them back at forth, as if trying to find the right words. Finally, he finishes with, “really awful.” I can’t help but to burst into laughter.

“Oh, God,” I croak past the hysterical laughs. “It was, wasn’t it?”

He’s smiling now and I’m hit with a wave of relief that, despite our epic lack of chemistry, we can walk away from tonight as really good friends. “I mean, no offense or anything. You didn’t do anything wrong, it was just like…”

“Kissing your sister?” I offer helpfully.

He curls his lips and says, “More like kissing my grandma.”

“Hey!” I shout, smacking him in the arm, playfully. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“True,” he grins. “At least your dentures were in.”

I lose it again, my sides aching as I bend to hold them. Once I have myself under control, I smile up at him. “Disastrous kiss aside, I had a great time with you tonight.”

“Me too.”

“I’d love to do it again. But, you know, platonically. And maybe at a bowling alley or something.”

“Sounds like a plan, gorgeous.” He opens his arms and I walk into them for a big bear hug, the kind I can only imagine a big brother would give. It’s nice, like a warm, soft blanket.

“I ruined your shirt, didn’t I?” I mumble into his chest.

“Oh yeah,” he laughs good-naturedly. “Ruined the hell out of it.”

“Sorry.”

“You know,” he starts once we’ve pulled apart, “I have to ask. What the hell is up with you and Saint?”

“Ugh,” I groan, my head falling back dramatically. “The guy’s an epic douche-bag. I’m pretty sure he lives to make my life a living hell. I’m guessing he showed up tonight just to sabotage our date and fuck with me.”

“You sure about that?” he asks, speculatively. “’Cause I gotta tell you, gorgeous. I’ve pulled shit like that before, and it wasn’t because I couldn’t stand the girl.”

There is no way I was confirming his suspicions. “Well, either way, I can’t stand the guy. He’s playing games and I don’t want to have any part of that.”

“I don’t know,” Nick smiles, rubbing his hands together in front of him like an evil genius. “Sometimes games can be a lot of fun.”

I take a step back at the dangerous gleam in his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“You say he likes to fuck with you, right? Piss you off?”

“Like it’s his purpose in life,” I respond dryly.

“Then let’s fuck with him right back. He doesn’t know our kiss was borderline incestuous because he already left. For all he knows, I’ve taken you back to my place and am buried balls deep at this very moment.”

I frown. “Thanks for the colorful imagery.”

“Any time,” he waves me off and continues, “What I’m saying is, let’s keep the fact that there’s no spark between just the two of us. The more you flirt and the more I grab your ass and tits—”

“Whoa! Who said anything about grabbing my ass and tits?”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Pretend you’re doing it for your country,” he sighs in exasperation. “Anyway, the more I feel you up and shit like that, I’m pretty sure we can make his head explode. What do you think?”

I scrunch my face and tilt my head, thinking hard before finally grinning ear from ear. “I think you’re the smartest man on the planet! I’m in! Let’s make Gavin Saint’s head explode.”

“Hey, gorgeous?”

“Yeah?”

“What really happened in that storage closet?” I glare at him and he gives me a cheeky smile in return. “He didn’t really see your thong just because you had a Britney Spears “Oops, I did it Again,” moment, did he?”

Chapter Eleven

**GAVIN**

What the ever loving fuck!

How could that dick stick end up getting a good night kiss after that pathetic excuse of a date? He didn’t even wear a suit coat, for Christ’s sake. What kind of barbaric human goes to the Red Room wearing just a button up? And I can’t even think about how his shoes didn’t match his belt.

Shit. I rub my eye with my palm. Maybe I am gay.

Nah, fuck that. No fucking way, especially not after the way my pants grew tight in the crotch from seeing Penelope in that backless dress. Of course she wore it. I should have told her to wear the tits dress, I should have known she’d defy me. Too bad for her I’m not worried about it, because when I do get her up to my villa, she won’t have to wear clothes at all, not for what I have planned for her.

What are they doing? Just talking? Dude, if that was me, I would have her hand in mine, dragging her up to my place, not standing on the sidewalk, talking to her in front of an Uber driver. Seriously, where is this guy’s game?

Like I should talk, I’m huddled in my Jag, scrunched against the window, trying to get a view of Penelope and her deplorable date. Yep, I’m that pathetic jackass. I try to convince myself I’m just making sure he doesn’t try to take advantage of her but I know that’s a lie. For some unknown reason, I need to see where this date goes, I need to have the last word with Penelope.

Leaning in, she presses her head against his chest, hugging him tightly. Anger and irritation twitch across my body from the intimate contact. It’s just a hug, but what seems innocent really isn’t in a guy’s eyes. A hug is a way to get a feel of a woman’s tits pressed against his chest, to soak in the intoxicating smell coming from their hair, to ever so slightly lower your hands down their back, almost caressing her ass. A hug is anything but innocent and by the way Nick has been grabby all night, I know the exact thoughts running through his mind and I don’t like it.

After what seems like hours but is in actuality only minutes, Nick releases her and helps her into the waiting car. Before I know what I’m doing, I pull out of my parking spot and I’m behind the Uber, following it all the way to her apartment.

I’ve had better nights, I’ll admit that. Nights where I don’t stalk women, crash their dates, and then follow them home, unseen… like a total creeper, but then again, I’ve never been this challenged before.

On the drive, I tell myself to turn around, to head back to my place, that what I’m doing is extremely unhealthy and borderline Dexter, but that doesn’t stop me. Do you know why? Because I have a massive dick sitting between my legs. Unlike an intelligent man with common sense, I listen to the little head poking at the zipper of my pants, telling me to get one more sniff of her perfume before I go home for the night. Alone.

Goddamn it.

Seriously, what the fuck am I doing?

I sit at a red light behind her Uber car, watching her silhouette in the car in front of me. She flips her hair to the side, the beautiful strands falling to the right, enticing me. What would it be like to hold that hair while I fuck her from behind, taking her in a primal way just to hear my name roll off her tongue in ecstasy?

Hearing her say my name is now an erotic fantasy to me, her husky voice, turned on from my touch. It’s mesmerizing, so to hear it while I’m nine inches—and no, I’m not over exaggerating—deep inside her, riding her from behind, thrusting into her until she has no choice but to scream my name… Fuck, I want that. I want that more than anything right about now.

The light turns green and before I can change my mind, I drive forward, following the car until we get to her apartment. I park quickly and step out of my car, buttoning up my suit coat and pressing the lock button on my key fob.

Penelope is gathering her items from the car, so I wait for her. The car door opens and out steps one toned, seductive leg, dressed in high, fuck me heels, followed by the devil dress that had me panting the minute I saw her in it.

Yes, I put on a front about not caring that she wore it, but I’m not going to deny how good she looks in it. She was born to wear backless dresses, from her petite frame to the curve of her hips, the dress kisses every part of her body, barely touching the top of her round ass. The silky fabric cascades over her, floating in all the right places. For once, I’m jealous of a piece of fabric, I want to be the one who discreetly caresses her smooth skin and when I finally have my way, I will.

“Good evening, Miss Prescott.”

The car drives off as she startles, looking up from her phone, her hand to her chest. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she says breathless. “What the hell are you doing here,” she looks around and continues, “besides being a psycho stalker?”

“Thought I would make sure you made it home safely. I would have thought your date would have done the same thing after he kissed you goodnight.”

“You saw that?” she asks in disbelief. “What have you been doing? Watching me with binoculars? That’s some real psychotic shit there Gavin.” She blows past me and heads up to her apartment. Having no shame, I follow her.

“Nothing gets past me, Miss Prescott. Nothing.”

She spins on her heels, facing me with her hands twisting together in front of her. I glance down at them quickly, taking in her nervous composure. Aware of my ability to read her, she releases her hands and places them at her side.

“Is there something you need? Or do you enjoy preying on unsuspecting girls at night? Like Ted Bundy.”

“There is something I need,” I say, walking up to her. Her eyes wander from the small expanse of skin exposed from the undone buttons at my throat, to where my hand rests in my pocket, down to my crotch, where they linger for two seconds too long. I’ve caught her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks, a tremor in her voice.

“Tell me, Miss Prescott, in the midst of that horrific date I witnessed tonight…”

“No thanks to you!” she cuts in.

I ignore her. “When Nick was trying to gain your attention, why were you insistent upon glancing over at me every few minutes?”

“I was not!”

I move even closer, backing her up into the wall in the communal hallway of her apartment building, not caring if her neighbors see us.

“I beg to differ. While I was enjoying my dinner, I kept watching your eyes track over to me, scanning me up and down, unable to stop glancing at my chest. Is it because you got a good look at it this morning?”

“You are so full of shit,” she shakes her head, not answering my question, so I push her further.

Pressing my hands against her hips, I trap her. If she wants to leave, I’ll let her. I’m not that kind of man, but right about now, there is no moving on her end, just some heavy breathing and a consistent licking of her lips. All signs that I’m doing all the right things.

“Answer the question, Miss Prescott.”

She rolls her eyes, exasperation evident in her posture. “Gavin, why do we have to keep going over this, call me Penelope.”

Leaning in abruptly so my lips are a whisper from her ear, I speak firmly, her chest rising and falling against mine. “I’ll call you Penelope once those pink lips of yours have been on every inch of my body, once you spread your legs for me, welcoming me into what I can only imagine is a sweet, tight pussy. Until then, you will remain as Miss Prescott.”

My cheek brushes hers as I pull away. She tries to look unimpressed but I can see past her façade. I might not be able to read those eyes of hers but the crinkle in her brow, the glisten on her upper lip, they’re all indications of my effect on her.

With her head held high, she says, “I guess I better get comfortable with Miss Prescott then, because the only image of my pussy you’ll see will be one made up in that sick, twisted mind of yours.” She shoots me a devilish smirk and adds, “Or ones you can borrow from Nick, who I plan on fucking on that poker table you claim to be yours.” She pats my cheek and pushes away from me.

Fuck, she got me good but I refuse show it, I don’t even show a tick in my jaw from her comment. She is not going to have the upper hand, ever. That’s not how I roll.

“Do you think he’ll be able to give you what you want?” I ask, walking up behind her, making my closeness known.

She doesn’t turn around as she answers me. “I know he will, Gavin. Unlike you, Nick knows how to treat a woman.”

“Is that right?” I ask, slipping my hand through the back of the dress wrapping around her stomach so my fingers caress the subtle ridges of the abdominal muscles that lie under her silky skin. Shit this girl is fit. Her breath catches in her chest as I bring her up against me. With my other hand, I pull her hair to the side, exposing the length of her neck. Slowly, with great deliberation, I run my nose ever so carefully along the skin of her neck until my face is, once again, pressed into her hair. I can feel goosebumps spread over her body as my thumb strokes the ridges of her toned stomach.

“I bet he doesn’t know how to make your skin tingle with anticipation, or make your stomach flip. I bet he has no clue how to trail over your nipples with precision, grazing them just enough to set you off.” I continue to move my lips along her skin, loving the way light shivers run up her spine. “I bet he doesn’t know how to fuck you with just his tongue to the point that your climax shakes you to your very core, and I sure as hell bet he doesn’t know how to make you come so hard that you black out from pleasure.”

I can feel her body melt into mine, but there is still a layer of refusal. I just need to break through that layer. But in order to do so, I have to learn what that layer is.

“And you think you can do all of that?” she asks, barely a whisper.

“I fucking know I can,” I grit out, ready to nibble on her ear, inches from licking the column of her neck. I’ll take her up against this wall right now if I have to.

I position my hand on her hip instead of her stomach, ready to make my move when her elbow flies back, right into my stomach and then to my utter displeasure, her fist shoots south, smacking right into my crotch, sending me buckling to the ground.

She looks over her shoulder as she walks away. “Too bad you’ll never find out, asshat.” She nods at my crotch. “Might want to ice that, you don’t want your balls to be bluer than they already are.”

With a wink, she’s unlocking her apartment door and disappearing out of my sight.

“Christ,” I mumble from my place on the ground.

Should have known she would go for the balls. I just got Ramos-ed. A-fucking-gain.

***

“There’s the pretty boy. I told you he’d be up here.”

I hear Graham but I don’t give him the decency of acknowledging him. Not because I think he’s a complete fuck head, but because I can’t take my gaze off of the screen in front of me. I should be watching the players, reading their tells and scanning the other screens, looking for cheaters, but I’m not doing that. Not one fucking bit. Nope.

Instead, I have the camera fixated on Penelope, watching her every move, or should I say, every one of Nick’s moves. Yes, the asshole has been all over her tonight, to the point that I’ve been seconds away from going up there myself and ripping his arms off his body. Would love to see him serve drinks then.

It’s been nauseating to watch them. Not because of their supposed chemistry, but because of the fact they’re trying way too fucking hard. With every pass Penelope makes, Nick grabs her, pulls her into his chest, nuzzles her neck, the asshole even gropes one of her tits.

Yes… gropes her fucking tit!

How do I know they are trying too hard?

For one, every time Nick touches Penelope, she briefly glances up at the camera, as if to make sure I’m watching.

Secondly, their dance of wandering hands is one sided, every move is coming from Nick.

Thirdly, the way he touches her, like it’s wrong but he needs to do it to prove a point, makes it obvious that they aren’t interested in each other. There is zero chemistry, nothing like what I have with her.

I’ve made a living off of reading people, a multi-million dollar living. What I’m seeing on screen is anything but a relationship. It’s more of a farce than anything. I’m not stupid, I can easily see what’s going on. They’re trying to make me jealous, trying to get into my head and make me think there is something between them.

My only question is, why the fuck is it working?

From the moment I started watching them, I haven’t been able to stop staring, I haven’t been able to look away, I haven’t been able to stop gripping my tumbler of whiskey in my hand to the point that I think it might shatter.

In my head, I know what they’re doing isn’t real, but for some godforsaken reason, I can’t calm the rage in my body.

“You look a little tense,” Scott says, gripping my shoulder. “Shit, man. You are. What the hell is going on?”

“That!” I say, pointing at the screen, letting my emotions show in front of my friends for one of the first times ever. Gathering myself and straightening my jacket, I calm the blood boiling in my veins. “Your employees are being inappropriate,” I reply, ever the picture of professionalism.

Graham looks down at the screen, recognition falling over his face before he throws his head back and laughs. “Dude, does that brunette still have your dick wrapped around her finger? I thought that was over a while ago.”

“It is,” I answer, not convincing anyone, least of all myself.

Scott pulls up a chair next to me and sits in it backwards, resting his hands on the back of the seat. “Kind of seems like it isn’t. Want to talk about it?”

Can you tell Scott is the sensitive one between the three of us?

“Nothing to talk about,” I answer, passing the whole thing off.

“Bullshit,” Graham calls out, rocking on his heels, a shit eating grin on his face. “You’ve been hung up on this girl ever since she walked through the high roller suite. Let me guess, the almighty Gavin Saint hasn’t been able to get what he wants and now he’s pouting about it.”

Kind of hitting the nail on the head, but like hell will I let Graham know that.

“I’ve gotten what I want.” I respond, taking a sip of my drink.

Graham raises his eyebrow in my direction. “Is that right? So you’re telling me that you’ve fucked her?”

Before answering, I take a calming breath, regaining my composure. It’s easy to make Graham seem like a prick and that’s what I’m about to do.

“You know Graham, life isn’t always about pulling a girl’s skirt up and fucking her from behind only to pull out a minute later and send her on her way.”

“A minute?” Graham scoffs indignantly, Scott laughing in the background.

“Oh sorry, are you down to thirty seconds now?”

“Fuck you, man.” Graham can never take it.

Ignoring his childlike composure, I continue. “Penelope is like a fine wine, you have to appreciate her. Take your time. Taste her one sip at a time. She’s not to be guzzled, nor to be chugged. With precision, a well thought out approach, and the right swagger, I’ll have her in my bed, calling out my name all night long. Instead of instant gratification that I’ll forget the next morning, I’ll have delayed satisfaction that will last me a lifetime. She’s one to remember.”

Both men are silent, taking in my speech. In all honesty, I’m pretty impressed with myself. I knew I could bullshit my way through anything, but… damn!

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” Graham chuckles. “Nice try dipshit. The girl has you by the balls and you have no clue how to get in her pants.”

Pretty much.

“I don’t know,” Scott adds. “It seems like Gavin has a point. She doesn’t appear to be someone you bang in a closet.” Scott raises an eyebrow at me. Quickly, I shoot a glare at Graham, who’s chuckling.

I point at him. “You’re a sick fuck, you know that? Stop watching me on the camera! Jesus dude. What is wrong with you?”

“Got to keep an upper hand on you at all times.”

“Ha.” I shake my head. Graham will never have the upper hand on me, ever. He’s too much of a self-absorbed asshat to maintain the upper hand. “Keep dreaming.”

“You do spend a lot of time watching him, Graham. It’s kind of messed up, man,” Scott adds.

“Hey, you watch him too.”

“Only because you are whenever I come up here,” Scott points out.

Defending himself Graham says, “It’s fun to fuck with him. I have access to everything in this hotel. He makes a shit ton of money off my high roller games, I have to keep him grounded. And if that means locking doors on him, making him wait for the elevator longer, and turning the lights out in a dark hallway…”

“I fucking knew that was you!” I punch Graham in the leg, making him laugh and bend over at the same time.

“You were scared shitless.”

“I had just gotten done watching The Shining. Those twins were mind fucking me all night and then you go and turn the lights out as I’m trying to find my way down the hallway. That’s messed up.”

“It was priceless,” Graham laughs some more, garnering another punch from me, this time to the arm.

“Come on,” Graham rubs his offended appendages. “You know I bruise like a peach.”

“No one will be able to see it over that fake ass tan you have,” Scott points out. “You look like a douchebag who rolled around in Oompa Loompa shit.”

“Oh yeah? Well can you even move your neck with those shoulder muscles,” Graham shoots back pathetically.

Scott and I exchange a glance. “Feeble attempt at an insult, dude.”

“Pretty piss poor,” I add. “You kind of deserve another punch for that.”

“Agreed.” Before Graham can move, Scott plows one in his shoulder, sending Graham backwards.

Yes, Scott has muscles. Working for the fighting league as made him more prone to spend time in the gym. He’s the bulkiest out of all of us.

While Graham nurses his wounds, I draw my attention back to the screen. During a break Penelope looks at her phone and texts someone. It can’t be Nick, he’s standing right next to her, reading her message with her. Davies is busy keeping track of the chips, so who is Penelope texting? And why does it matter to me?

It matters because I don’t want it to be another man. Fuck, it better not be another man.

Hell, it could be Page.

I think back to the picnic and Page’s funny little drunk self. I liked her, she could easily be an ally. If I can get Page on my side, then maybe I could get closer to Penelope.

Then it hits me.

“I’m going to host a dinner party,” I announce to Scott and Graham.

Straightening up, Graham asks, “When the hell did you become a woman?”

With a quick jab, I punch his side, sending him as far away from me as possible.

“I’m not hosting one for the hell of it. I’m hosting one for other reasons, reasons that will hopefully work out in my favor. So you two in?”

“Are you cooking?” Scott asks, knowing full well my specialty lies in quesadillas only.

“No, I know just the right chef…” I trail off, smiling at Graham.

“Oh, fuck no.”

I nod my head. “Yup, prepare yourselves boys, we are going to have one hell of a fun night. It’s time we give Penelope a run for her money.”

The girl thinks she has my number? Little does she know, I haven’t even begun to show my hand. Up until now, we’ve only been playing openhanded, it’s time to take the next step in this game.

Chapter Twelve

**NELL**

“Wow,” Nick breathes, amazement in his voice. “I can’t believe it.”

“What?” I ask, setting my tray on the bar between us.

“Wait… let me try again.” Before I can so much as blink, he’s reaching back over the bar and grabbing my boob for the millionth time that night. At this point, I’m resigned to simply sighing and rolling my eyes. He’s taking this whole make Gavin’s head explode thing a lot further than I expected. “Yep!” he declares. “It’s like, sorcery or something.”

“What?” I ask again, this time feeling more exasperated than before.

“Well,” he furrows his brow and gives my boob a squeeze. “I’m feeling you up and I’m not even hard! It’s crazy! I mean, a stiff breeze gives me a chubby at least, but this?” Another squeeze. “Nothing!”

“Thanks!” I bite, smacking his hand away. “Just what every woman wants to hear. That she’s literally less attractive than air.”

“Aw, pumpkin,” he teases with a smile. “You know I think you’re gorgeous. It’s just that something in my brain flipped after we kissed. Nothing against you, there’s just zero chemistry.”

I give him a dead-eyed stare. “You’re amazing for a woman’s ego,” I deadpanned, even though I understood exactly what he was saying. My boobs weren’t all that big, what with the years of gymnastics growing up, but I’d always had sensitive nipples. To take a page out of Nick’s book, a stiff breeze did it for me, but I’d just had a handsome guy’s hand on me, basically giving me a mammogram and there wasn’t as much as a tingle down below. He might as well have been my gynecologist, Dr. Wong, only without the ice cold hands. But still, did he need to go on and on about it? Geez, I get the damned point already. “Just fill my damn drink order,” I glare, earning myself a wink from across the bar top. Damn it, it was impossible to hold on to a good mad when he was so damned adorable. Like a cuddly yet stupid puppy… with a long, slobbery tongue.

Note to self: remember to tell Nick he reminds you of a dumb puppy. Serves him right.

I make my way back over to the poker table, carefully distributing drinks to each man’s left side when a high-pitched, squeaky voice speaks up behind me.

“Uh, excuse me…”

I turn to look over my shoulder and notice a woman teased, plucked, bleached, tanned, nipped, and tucked within an inch of her life scowling at me. In her defense, it might have been the Botox giving her face that weird, pinched effect, or maybe she was just immensely uncomfortable from being stuffed into a dress two sizes too small. Seriously, it was like she’d been stuffed into a sausage casing. Whatever the reason, she wasn’t happy, and I sighed internally, knowing I was about to get the brunt of it.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I’ve been waiting for a refill for-like-ever.” Wow. She somehow managed to turn one word into three. I have to bite my lip from making a snide comment for someone to call Mensa, they’d lost a member. And she hasn’t been waiting forever. The woman’s been sucking them back faster than I can get them in front of her all night long. It’s part of the reason she’s swaying unsteadily on her stripper shoes.

I paste on my professional mask and nod, “I’m so sorry ma’am, what would you like to drink?” I thought that came out nice enough, but she’s clearly not done being a nasty bitch.

“Ugh! Maybe if you weren’t busy slutting it up for your bartender boyfriend over there, you’d remember what I ordered in the first place!”

She said the words slut and bartender like they tasted offensive in her mouth. I can actually feel my blood beginning to heat in my veins. I can’t believe she has the audacity to call me a slut! Or to insinuate that Nick being a bartender is distasteful in any way. I saw the man whose arm she sauntered in on, and he’s most definitely nothing to write home about, not unless she wants her parents to know she’s fucking a man old enough to be her grandpa in exchange for a pair of fake tits and butt injections. Odds are, if it wasn’t for his money, she’d be hooking along Freemont, sucking dudes off for twenty bucks a pop.

Before I can comment, while I’m working on my deep breathing to stay in control, I feel a familiar, comforting heat at my back. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m going to have to ask you to keep it down so as not to disturb the players.”

I glance back over my shoulder and mouth thank you to Nick. He gives me a wink that lets me know he has my back.

She scoffs at Nick and props her hands on her boney hips. “Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?”

“If you can’t lower your voice, I’ll have to ask you to leave,” he replies. “I’m sorry, but those are the rules at every high roller game.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” she shouts.

“Okay,” Nick steps closer, “I’m not going to ask again—”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” she shouts. “You can’t tell me what to do!” Her long, Pepto-Bismol pink nail pops out to jab Nick in the chest, but I grab her wrist before she can make contact. No way am I letting her touch him. I’m very particular about who I let in my tight-knit circle of friends. So far it’s only been Page and Davies, now Nick. And I don’t do well with people screwing with my friends.

“You don’t want to do that,” I say in a low warning, one she does not heed. Surprise, surprise.

“Don’t you touch me!” she spits, giving her hand a sharp jerk that causes her to teeter on those ridiculous heels. “I’ll have you fired for that!”

Before I can so much as speak, the doors to the suite open and one of the Men In Black walks in. He moves for the screeching tramp, but another voice speaks up from behind them.

“We’ve got it, Brian.”

I clench my teeth to keep my mouth shut as Gavin, followed closely by my boss, makes his way to our little trio of chaos. It’s in that moment that I notice the entire room has fallen silent.

“Is there a problem here?” Gavin asks in a smooth, cultured voice that has the tingle between my thighs growing to full force… from just his voice! Son of a bitch!

“Yes,” the tramp curls her lip in my and Nick’s direction before looking back at Gavin and Graham with a seductive smile —or at least I think that’s what she’s going for, and she missed the mark... big time. “This… waitress has spent the entire night ignoring those of us in need of drinks so she could get felt up in public by her boyfriend. Then she actually had the nerve to put her hands on me!”

“Is that right?” Graham asks calmly, his shrewd eyes hitting me like a sledgehammer. And suddenly, to my horror, a knot of emotion clogs my throat and my vision blurs with tears I battle to keep in check as my nose stings. I can’t lose this job. I can’t. The only reason I’m still able to talk to my parents was because I’d saved enough of my tips up to be able to send the money to catch their phone bill up. For the first time in Three. Fucking. Years I’m not supplementing my diet with Ramen once a week in order to stay fed on a budget. It’s the only well-paying job I’ve had that gives me the hours off I need to audition. It has quickly come to mean everything to me and I can’t go back to what my life was like before.

“Mr. Larson—” I croak embarrassingly, but he lifts his hand to silence me. I feel Nick’s hand reach for mine, giving it a squeeze, but I’m too numb to return it.

“You got this?” Graham asks Gavin.

He gives a barely there nod before doing something that is so surprising, so out of character, it rocks me to my core. Taking my chin between his fingers, he gently tilts my head up until I meet his eyes. “You okay?” he asks in a low, velvety voice.

My mouth drops open as my eyes grow wide. The usually cocky self-assurance I see in his eyes every time we’re together is gone. I can’t exactly read what I’m seeing now, but I know it’s something different. The arrogance is gone. He’s genuinely concerned about my well-being.

“Uh…” I trail off, my brain short-circuiting at Gavin’s abrupt change of demeanor so I nod. He releases my chin and I take a wobbly step back, bumping into Nick, whose hands come to rest on my shoulders to keep me steady. I briefly catch a flash of something in those nearly black eyes as he takes in the sight of Nick touching me. Something not at all happy, but he turns to the tramp before I can figure out what it is.

“Henry,” he calls out in a loud voice, as his eyes stay pinned to the woman, drawing the attention of the old-as-dirt guy she’d shown up with.

“Yeah, Gavin?” the man asks curiously, seemingly oblivious to what’s going on around him. Maybe it’s dementia?

“What’d I tell you about keeping your women in line when they’re in this room?” My breath freezes in my lungs at the icy tone of his voice. He’s not screwing around, that’s for sure.

“Shit man,” Henry grumbles. “I’m sorry.”

Finally, Gavin looks away from the woman, who now appears a lot less sure of herself, having stood under Gavin’s scrutinizing gaze. “She’s out,” he addresses Henry, looking at him directly for the first time.

“You got it.”

I gasp at Henry’s easy dismissal of the tramp at the same time her annoying voice yelps, “What?”

“I don’t want to see her back in this room,” Gavin continues. “You got me?”

“I got you,” Henry nods solemnly. “Won’t happen again. She’s as good as gone.”

“Henry,” she turns around and coos, sugary sweet. “You don’t mean that, baby.”

“Sorry, sugar,” he shrugs and looks back down at his cards and he finishes with, “You knew the rules. Shoulda stopped yappin’ when you had the chance.”

Actual fear washes over her face as she stares at the old man beseechingly. Guess I wasn’t too far off about her life without her sugar daddy. “But—”

She doesn’t get another word out before Gavin waves his hand and Brian—formerly known as one of the Men in Black—takes hold of the girl’s arms and pulls her from the room, sputtering and screaming the entire way.

Then, just like that, the men at the table go back to their game as if nothing had happened. Even Henry doesn’t seem fazed by the loss of his most current fuck-toy. Guess they’re relatively easy to find in Vegas.

“You good?” Nick asks in my ear. I give another nod and feel his heat at my back disappear. Graham offers me a chin tip then heads out of the suite, leaving me standing there with no one but Gavin.

“Gentlemen,” he calls loudly again. “Your waitress needs to step away for a few minutes. Please be patient, it won’t take long.”

“What?” I gasp as he pulls me by the arm amidst grunts and mumbled agreements. The next thing I know, I’m in the hallway outside the suite, my back against the cool wall as Gavin pins me in place with his warm, hard body.

“Gavin,” I suck in a startled breath. “What are you doing? I need to go back to work, I can’t just—”

“Quiet,” he demands, his gaze shifting over my entire face, as if he’s trying to decipher some sort of riddle. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

I swallow audibly as my emotions clog my throat. Usually I’m okay in situations with Gavin. I can give as good as I get, or when I can’t, I go for the balls. But this Gavin, a concerned Gavin, well… I’m not prepared for it or equipped to handle it.

“Y-yeah,” I stutter. “I’m good, but I really need to get back to work.”

From the corner of my eye I see his hand come up. His thumb brushes along my cheek softly, coming away with moisture I hadn’t realized escaped my eyes until just now. “Then why did you start crying?”

“I… uh,” I can’t think up a suitable lie, not that it matters, because the next words from his plump lips are, “and don’t lie to me.”

Son of a mind-reading bitch!

With a resigned sigh, I admit the truth. “I was afraid I was going to be fired, that you and Graham would take her word over mine and I’d lose my job. I need this job, Gavin. I know I haven’t necessarily acted like it, but it’s true.”

He studies me closely. “Penelope…” My name rolling off his tongue sounds so good. “You have this job for as long as you want it. You’ve got my word on that.”

I let out an awkward chuckle. “Well, it’s not really your call, is it?”

He leans in even closer. “You have my word.” His tone leaves no room for argument, so I nod once again. “Now, I’ll let you get back to work, but there’s one last thing we need to address.”

My eyebrows tip down. “What’s that?”

His lips whisper against my ear as he brushes his chest against mine and says, “You and your bartender will stop playing games immediately, I know what you’re doing and I Don’t. Fucking. Like it,” he finishes on a growl so intense I actually jump.

“W-what are you talking about?” I try playing clueless.

He leans his head back so I can see his calculating gaze once again. “Don’t play me, Miss Prescott.” Great, I’m back to Miss freaking Prescott again. “You think I don’t know the two of you are putting on a show for the cameras?” His thumb traces over the skin of my cheek as a smirk tugs at his lips. “Or is it solely for my benefit?”

“I don’t know—”

He cuts me off with a tsk. “Don’t bother lying. Have you so easily forgotten how well I read people? Either young Nick in there is gay, uninterested, or his cock is broken. And seeing as he was on our security cameras fucking one of the casino dealers in the employee lounge a few weeks ago, I’m thinking options one and three are out.”

Okay, I’m officially lost. “Huh?”

“He’s had his hands on you all fucking night long and he hasn’t gotten hard once. For fuck’s sake, Penelope, I get hard just looking at you! Most of the goddamned men in that room do, too,” he sneered.

I don’t know whether to be flattered or afraid at just how well Gavin reads people and situations. In the end, I decide to shove away all memories of the softer, sweeter Gavin I caught a brief glimpse of, and get back to what we do best… fight. It’s the only way I can protect myself against Gavin Saint. And I need all the protection I can get.

“You’re telling me you just spent the entire night watching Nick’s penis on CCTV?” I cock a brow high on my forehead. “And you’re sure you’re not gay?”

My plan backfires the instant I feel his lips on mine in a hard, hungry kiss that weakens my knees. Gavin swallows my moan as his tongue duels with mine in an erotic battle. All too soon, he pulls away, grabbing my right hand and sliding it over the fly of his trousers, instinctively, my fingers wrap around his thick, hard length as best they can with the barrier of his clothing in the way. “Still think I’m gay, Miss Prescott?” he asks as he guides my hand up and down, thrusting his hips into my hold.

Stepping away from my grip, he eases me off the wall and turns me towards the high roller suite doors, his hands on my waist as he steps in close one last time, his chest to my back. “I’ll break you down sooner or later,” he whispers in my ear, “and I can’t fucking wait. Now get back to work.”

Chapter Thirteen

**GAVIN**

“So tell me, what’s this I hear about you parading around the high roller suite like some knight in shining armor?” Scott asks while he sips his ‘froo froo’ drink, legs extended on the lounge chair next to me, and one hand behind his head.

He’s wearing his pink swim trunks with navy blue seahorses and his black Ray-Bans. The man is positively ripped. I like to believe that the women around the pool are staring at me, given my sculpted body, but I know the kind of attention Scott brings to the table. Too bad for all the scantily clad women eye fucking him, he’s off the market.

No, he doesn’t have a girlfriend or a wife, he just doesn’t do casual relationships. He’s either single or all in, there is no in between for him. How the man can go months without sex is a marvel to me. Fuck, it’s been a few weeks for me and I’m barely surviving. The only thing keeping me going is the sweet image of Penelope in my head and a steady, well lubricated hand in the shower.

“Graham should really start his own gossip magazine,” I answer. “That fuck stick can’t keep anything to himself.”

“He called me immediately after, pretty sure he was talking to me in the hallway. He gave me a play by play of you talking to that waitress outside of the suite.”

“Of course he fucking did.” I shake my head. Graham needs to go to counseling. His need to be well-informed of my life is borderline psychotic.

“So…” Scott trails off, taking a sip from his drink, avoiding the umbrella sticking straight out of it. “Get your first kiss did ya?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me, hilarity in his eyes.

Sometimes I feel like my life has circled back to middle school, where everyone is in each other’s business, the buzz always being about who kissed who, and who broke up with whom. You would think at almost thirty, I would be able to escape that juvenile world, kiss a woman in the hallway and not have to dissect it the next day with my friends.

But it’s not that easy because my friends are Graham and Scott. Graham being the informer and Scott being the soother. They bring middle school back in full force with their antics, providing me with constant headaches due to how often I have to defend myself and my life choices. Thankfully, I’m talking to Scott who would rather talk it out than instigate me. Graham, the idiot, just likes to sit to the side like a kid with a stick, poking me every chance he can get.

Taking a sip of my beer – froo froo drinks are not part of my repertoire – I stretch out on my lounge chair and close my eyes beneath my sunglasses, letting the sun beat down against my bare chest. “You know damn well that wasn’t my first kiss.”

Scott chuckles. “I mean with the waitress.”

“She has a name,” I reply, not liking Penelope being referred to as the waitress.

“Oh that’s right… what is it?” Scott pauses. “Miss Peacoat?”

“Prescott,” I grit out, irritation taking over. “Her first name is Penelope.”

“It’s kind of adorable,” Scott responds, his tone completely devoid of sarcasm. He genuinely likes her name. “Penelope Prescott, has a nice ring to it.”

Penelope is anything but adorable. That’s how you would describe a grandma sitting on a park bench licking at a Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream cone, not Penelope.

She’s intriguing, mysterious in a way, guarded, beautiful, and sexy all tied up into a pocket full of sass that keeps you on your toes.

Adorable? Fuck no. Temptress is more like it.

“Sooo…” Scott presses. “Tell me about her.”

“We don’t have to do this. We can just lay here in silence and soak in the sun. Talking about our feelings isn’t necessary.”

Scott sits up on his lounger and eyes me over his tilted sunglasses. “Gavin, Graham isn’t here to press your buttons. Talk to me.”

Seriously, why does the man have to be so into talking? It’s good to have a friend who is invested in the well-being of your life, but being the kind of guy I am, I don’t talk about my feelings very often, especially in public places. I’ll leave that for the day I grow a vagina, making me and Scott twinsies.

“Nothing to say,” I shrug.

“Well, do you like her?”

Exasperated from his persistence, I answer, “Of course I like her. I wouldn’t be kissing her in hallways if I thought she was a troll, now would I?”

“I suppose not,” Scott laughs. “Is this just a mindless fuck for you, or are you looking for something long term?”

Perplexing question. I had no fucking clue at this point. At first, it started as a mindless fuck that I needed to get out of my system but the more vulnerability I saw in her, the more I wanted to protect her. No, the more I needed to protect her. She cut me to my core the other day when I saw the tears fall from her beautiful eyes. The inner rage inside of me boiled and I wanted nothing more than to rip apart the slut who made her feel so badly, then I wanted to tear Henry’s dick off and smack him in the face with it just because he was the one who brought trouble in the first place.

I’ve never felt like protecting someone before, ever, but there’s just something about Penelope that awakens my inner caveman. The need to beat my chest and piss all around her, marking my territory is almost too strong to control. Would I ever tell her that? Fuck no. That would be showing my cards. Would I admit it to Scott, the eager little beaver practically salivating at the thought of me actually falling for a woman? That would be a fuck no as well.

I just shrug my shoulders in answer to his question, not completely certain what I want.

“Oh come on man. Just give me something.”

“Why?” I ask, wondering why the hell Scott’s suddenly so determined to talk about this shit. It isn’t like we spent much of our friendship braiding each other’s hair and talking about our feelings. We’re men, for Christ’s sake! We don’t do that shit.

He turns to me and places his drink on the table that rests between us. “Aren’t you worried about dying alone? Going through this world never experiencing love?”

The fuck is this dude’s deal? “Nope,” I answer simply, not turning to face him. Love is off the table, that’s for damn sure. Love ruins people, just talk to my dad. Oh wait, you can’t, he’s six feet under because of that asinine emotion.

“You aren’t curious at all to see what it feels like to put another soul ahead of yours? To care so deeply for another human being that you would do anything for them, even if it means running to In and Out right before it closes to get a batch of animal style French fries?”

I scoff. “First of all, don’t talk about souls and shit, you sound like a twat. Secondly, do I look like a goddamned butler?”

“Dude…” he gives me a “get real” look. “Don’t act like Graham. You’re above that, douche nugget.”

“You’re right,” I answer. Scott’s always been successful at reprimanding me and Graham, making us feel like shit heads with just a look. “That comment was high on the douche scale. But no, I’m not curious about that.”

“What about protecting someone else other than yourself.”

Such a fucker. I hold back the grin that wants to paint itself across my face. Of course Scott would go there because of what Graham told him. He probably went on and on about how I had to go down to the suite and relieve Penelope of the horrible people treating her with disrespect. Yes, that was true. But now Scott is eating it up and using it against me.

“No,” I lie.

“That’s not very forthcoming of you, Gavin. I might not be able to read people like you can, but that was a blatant bluff. Try again.”

I roll my eyes under my aviators. This was supposed to be a relaxing Sunday afternoon by the pool, not some interrogation about my feelings. You’d think the guy spent his days conducting self-help seminars instead of working with some of the toughest fighters on the planet with all the bullshit he’s incessantly spouting.

I’m about to tell Scott to fuck off when a woman walking by us accidentally bumps into my chair.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” her voice trails off as recognition claims her face.

I sit up in my lounge chair, practically jack knifing off the damn thing in excitement because, standing before me in a tiny yellow bikini, is none other than the topic of our conversation. Penelope. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun with a pair of sunglasses stuffed in her hair. Her face is devoid of any makeup, giving her a fresh, natural look that literally takes my breath away.

Because I have no shame, I scan her body, taking in her lithe frame and toned limbs. Her stomach is flat, little definitions of abs poking through. And then there are her breasts…

I’ve grown accustomed to Penelope’s tits since first realizing her uniform could be somewhat deceiving. They might not be huge, but they’re still fucking spectacular. It’s good to know because I like breasts of all shapes and sizes. If it has a nipple attached to it, I’m interested.

“Miss Prescott, it’s nice to see you out and about this morning.”

“I told you this was a bad idea,” she mumbles to Davies who is standing next to her in a purple bikini, showing off a sexy as hell, curvy body. Good for Davies. Damn!

“It’s free drinks,” Davies counters. “How can you refuse free drinks on a hot, sunny day like this?”

Pulling on her friend’s arm, Penelope quickly waves me off and says, “Have a nice day.”

She’s not getting away that easily.

“Why don’t you join us,” I call out, stopping her in her tracks.

With a hand on her hip, she assesses our set up. “You have two lounge chairs and a table of empty drinks, there’s no room for us.”

“We’re good at making room, aren’t we, Scott?” I slap his leg, cluing him in to sit up and stop staring at Davies so he can move to the side.

“Oh, yup, plenty of room.” His legs straddle his lounge chair like mine and he scoots back, motioning to his new found space. “See, so much room. Have a seat ladies.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Davies says, eyeing Scott’s chest and taking a seat next to him. “Gwen.” She holds out her hand in introduction. “But everyone calls me by my last name.”

“Gwen it is,” Scott winks. “I don’t like to be like everyone else.”

“Davies,” Penelope hisses. “What the hell are you doing?”

Without even looking at her, Davies waves her hand in my direction. “Sit down, will you? I’m busy.”

Completely immersed in each other right off the bat, Davies and Scott start a conversation, not bothering to include anyone else, leaving me alone with Penelope. Just the way I like it.

I rub the lounge chair with my hand, a devious smile taking over my face. “Sit, Miss Prescott. I promise I won’t bite.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, defiance written all over her.

“I’ll only sit if you call me Penelope. The minute Miss Prescott slips past your lips, I’m leaving.”

She’s playing hardball, I fucking like it. I’ve felt energized since the last time I saw her so I concede.

“Done. Now take a seat. What can I order you?”

“I can get something,” she says, not allowing me to help her. “I just need to flag down a waitress.”

“I assure you Miss…” I catch myself and swallow my words just as she starts to stand. I clear my throat and start again. “I assure you, Penelope, I can have a drink ordered and delivered faster than you can flag someone down. What would you like?”

She eyes me skeptically and then says, “What’s your friend drinking, it looks good.”

Glancing at Scott, I take in the froo froo beverage he’s drinking shamelessly.

“Pina colada with a strawberry infused lava flow.”

She lights up. “Sounds good.”

Of course she would want a froo froo drink.

“Davies, would you like anything to drink?” I ask interrupting her conversation with Scott. She waves me off.

“I’ll have whatever this hunk of meat is having.”

Taking in his diminishing beverage, I ask, “Another drink for you, too, princess?”

The middle finger that is gripping his drink turns up at me, causing me to chuckle. He nods at me, still engaged in his conversation with Davies. Poor sucker, he’s in for a ride if he’s interested in Davies. Then again, little does Davies know, the man is balls to the walls relationship. He will fork the hell out of you and then spoon you to daylight. Davies doesn’t read as one of those kinds of girls to me.

Quickly texting in my order, I add another drink for myself and then put my phone down, bringing my attention to Penelope who I just so happen to catch staring at my chest.

“See something you like?”

“What?” Her eyes shoot up from my bare skin and to my eyes. Flipping her sunglasses over her eyes, she crosses her hands over her chest again and looks away from me. “Nope, don’t see anything.”

I can’t help but chuckle, loving the way the vibrations feel in my body. It’s not very often a girl can get me to laugh, but Penelope has that effect on me.

Wanting her to pay attention to me, I scoot closer and pull on her arm so she’s forced to face me. “Hey now, I’m playing by your rules, why don’t you give me the decency of at least letting me look at that beautiful face of yours?”

The tension coiling in her body eases slightly at my words. One of her legs bends and lays against the seat cushion as she turns to face me.

“Fine, this better?”

“Much,” I smile, scanning her up and down, appreciating how exposed she seems to me now. “So where’s Page? She didn’t want to get free drinks by the pool today?”

“She’s prepping for a dinner tonight, or else she would have been here. You know all too well how much she enjoys her mimosas.”

I chuckle. Yup, Page and her mimosas. That’s why I wish she were here, so I could get some more information out of her, knowing full well some free drinks by the pool would do just that.

But that reminds me, I still have to call Page about my dinner party. If anything, just to fuck with Graham now. That and any excuse to get close to Penelope.

“Yes, I do love talking to Page when she’s had a few mimosas in her stomach.”

“I’m sure you do.” I don’t need to see Penelope’s eyes to know she’s rolling them right now. “She’s a pretty blonde, anyone would like that.”

Picking her hand up, I trace her palm and look directly at her. “I meant, I like when she drinks because she gives me valuable information that, normally, I wouldn’t be privy to. You know, the kind of information that helps me break up dates that should never happen.”

Lucky for me, Penelope doesn’t take her hand away, she lets me run my fingers along her palm. For some foreign reason, I love the way her skin feels against mine.

“You ruined that entire date for me, you know that right?”

“Good,” I smirk. “If you’re looking for me to feel guilty over my actions, I have no remorse. Sorry about that, sweetheart. You and I both know that date was a disaster from the beginning, and do you know why?”

“Why?” she asks breathlessly, staring at our hands.

“Because, even though your body was on a date with Nick, your mind was thinking about me the entire time.”

“Not true,” she answers, one of her fingers grazing mine.

“Let’s not lie to each other, Penelope.”

She glances up at me through her sunglasses, tearing her eyes off of our physical connection. “It’s true. You weren’t on my mind the entire time.”

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips just as our drinks arrive. Penelope scoots back on the chair, removing her hand from my grasp. I immediately feel the loss, it’s a strange feeling for me, but I choose to ignore it.

“Three lava flows and a Dos Equis.” I flip a twenty from my money clip that’s resting on the table for her tip and thank the server.

Taking care of the lovebirds next to us, I hand them their drinks only to be rudely ignored. Scott’s going to have the tables turned on him pretty damn quickly once we get out of here. Bringing my attention back to Penelope, I hold out her drink. She reaches for it, but I pull back.

“Uh uh.” I wave my finger at her. “You have to come a little closer to get this.”

“You’ve got to be kidding? What do you want me to do? Sit on your lap?”

“Actually, that would be preferred.” I adjust my seat and make room for her while patting my lap.

“Not happening,” she bites out.

Knowing it’s a losing bet anyway, I straddle the lounger again, my feet resting on the ground, I deliberately direct my finger at her in a ‘come hither’ motion. “You can at least come closer. I won’t bite.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t still contract an airborne virus from you. Who knows where you’ve been?”

I hand her the drink and watch her press her gorgeous lips around the straw and suck.

Fuck. Me.

“I haven’t been anywhere since I pulled a sexy brunette into the B room for interrogation.”

Realization cascades over her expression mid-sip, her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. After swallowing, she clears her throat. “Um… that’s nice.”

I can’t help but laugh at her response. “Not so smooth all the time, are we Penelope?”

“Never claimed to be.” Her shocked demeanor lightens as she sips some more, taking down her drink faster than I expected.

Knowing she won’t be sitting on my lap anytime soon, or running her hands up my body, I lift the recline in my lounger, sitting upright, and lean against it, one hand behind my head, the other holding the beer that’s resting on the top of my thigh.

“So, tell me, how do you like it in the high roller suite so far?”

She shrugs. “It’s okay. The money is great, the plastics, not so much.”

I could agree with that. I hated that the players were allowed to bring in their boob brigade. There is no point, it’s simply so they can show off how much money they can drop on the table and how much money they will almost definitely lose. I tried addressing this with Graham a couple of times but it was one rule he wouldn’t let up on. He said one of the privileges of being in the high roller suite was to have an entourage of pussy near you. It was one of the reasons we had so many requests to play at Hotel Paragon. It’s a bullshit reason as far as I’m concerned. Why couldn’t it just be for the game? This is why I barely play anymore. To a lot of people, it’s about the show, not how you play.

“Why don’t you ever bring anyone with you when you play?” Penelope asks, bringing me out of my thoughts.

“Don’t need to,” I answer honestly. “Don’t want to.”

“Why’s that?” She nibbles on her straw, not looking me in the eye.

“For one, there’s no reason those women should be in the room, they contribute nothing to the game besides being a nuisance. Secondly, why the fuck would I want to bring a woman into the room when the only woman I want is already in there?”

At my admission she drinks more; long, slurping gulps until her drink bottoms out.

“All done,” she laughs nervously.

Leaning forward, I pull her closer, bringing her right up against the juncture between my thighs, her legs forced to drape over one of mine. I remove the empty drink from her hand and talk seductively into her ear.

“Are you trying to impress me with your sucking abilities, Penelope? Because if you are, it’s sure as shit working.”

Casually, not trying to draw attention, I move her fingers over the fabric of my green swim trunks, letting her lightly graze the hard on I’ve been sporting since the moment she bumped into my chair.

“Holy shit,” she mumbles to herself, unable face me.

With her hand still in mine, I press our palms together and entwine our fingers. For what reason? I have no fucking clue. All I know is that I want to feel more of her warmth, her skin against mine in any way I can have it.

“What are you doing, Gavin?” she practically whispers.

“Convincing you that you should go on a date with me?”

“A date?” she asks, a rise in her voice.

I’m about to answer her when a dark shadow falls over the both of us. I look up to see Ramos standing in front of us, a woman on both arms and a posse behind him.

Christ, one would think the d-bag is trying to emulate some mafia king. Too bad for him, I know better.

“Saint, you came out of your cave. I was starting to think you were becoming a hermit.”

He’s such a fucking tool bag.

Scott and Davies’ conversation ends and their attention is brought over to the jackass standing in front of me. Scott knows all about Ramos and his piss poor attempts to rile me up. He takes every chance he can get to try to dig his way under my skin.

“Ramos, pleasure as always,” I try to dismiss him with a nod but it doesn’t work. He stands firmly in front of us.

“Word on the street is Harley’s coming back and he’s out for blood. He’s already starting to call you out.”

Well fuck me. I don’t hold back my eye roll. Harley St. James. The second best poker player in the world. He lost to me in Monte Carlo, millions on the line and faltered with one wrong flip of his poker chip. I caught him and called him out on his bluff. Probably the most successful and memorable win to date. Anything after that has been incomparable. Harley was a good competitor, one I wouldn’t mind seeing at the table again.

“I welcome the challenge,” I state, rubbing Penelope’s hand with my thumb. She looks rather tense from Ramos’ sudden appearance, so I try to calm her down.

Looking around at us, Ramos lifts up his glasses once he notices Penelope sitting next to me, focusing on our connected hands. A sardonic smile stretches across his face. “What’s going on here?” he asks, pointing at our hands.

“None of your concern,” I answer as Penelope tries to pull away, but I don’t let her.

Studying us, Ramos rubs his jaw, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “You going to take a tumble like your old man?”

Just like that, he’s dug too deep, hitting me in a place he has no business aiming. Scott shifts in his lounge chair next to me, ready to pounce on my behalf but I hold him back. It’s exactly what Ramos wants, a reaction.

“I suggest you leave, Ramos, before I have Graham take you off the list indefinitely.”

Throwing his head back and laughing, Ramos starts to walk away, but not before calling over his shoulder, “Better watch out Papi. Like father, like son.”

Releasing Penelope’s hand, I grab my beer and take a sip, trying to calm the raging anger that’s boiling inside of me.

Like father, like son.

Fuck that. I’m nowhere even close to being my dad. Did I want to fuck Penelope? Yeah. Did I want to take her down to The Little White Chapel and proclaim my undying love for her in front of Elvis? Fuck no. I am nothing like my father. I’m not about to lose everything, including my life, over a woman.

“Are you okay?” Penelope asks, pressing her hand against my arm, concern on her face.

“Fine,” I answer gruffly.

Penelope doesn’t let up. “What was he talking about? Is your father okay?”

Standing up abruptly, I toss back the rest of my beer and throw the bottle on the lounger. “I have to bounce. Scotty, I’ll catch you later.” Needing some room to breathe, I take off, calling out a hasty “bye” to Davies and Penelope.

Weaving through the crowd, I find my way to the lobby and head to the elevators. A shower, that’s what I need. A nice cold shower to clear my thoughts. This is exactly what Ramos wanted. And, goddamn it, I shouldn’t let him win.

“Gavin!”

I turn to see Penelope running up behind me, her cute little bikini body shifting with her every move. For some reason, the tension in me eases and I have the urge to wrap her in my arms and bury my face in her soft, sweet smelling hair.

“What’s up?”

Stepping up to me, she grabs my hand, and I love the feel of her skin against mine now, just as much as I had earlier. She rubs her thumb over my palm, mimicking the motions I had been making just minutes ago, sending a shiver up my spine.

“Please tell me I didn’t upset you back there. I didn’t mean to pry.”

With the unoccupied I hand, I bring it up to her face and grip her chin with my thumb and forefinger. Hotel guests, drunkards, and gamblers walk around us, but they all fade into the background as I stare down into Penelope’s almost golden eyes.

“If you did, how would you make it up to me?”

Twisting her lips, she says, “I wouldn’t.”

“Liar,” I reply, stepping closer and running my thumb along her jaw.

Her eyes search mine, scanning them for something, but I know she can’t read them. It’s impossible to read my nearly black irises, it’s a gift I was blessed with, as far as I’m concerned.

“What’s happening?” Her whispered voice rolls over me.

“Something you won’t be able to say no to for very much longer,” I answer back, bringing my lips down to hers, waiting for her to pull away, or better yet, knee me in the fucking balls, like always.

But she doesn’t.

She stands still, waiting for me to make the final move.

So I do. Because I need one more fucking taste.

Pulling her in lightly, my lips gently touch hers, barely connecting. With a soft press, I move my mouth over hers, loving the way her hand grows tighter on mine just from a simple kiss. It’s hardly a caress, more of a graze, a tease to leave her waiting and wanting more.

Disconnecting our lips, I back away with our hands still connected. Her eyes open, hazy and dazed. My job here is done.

“Thanks for your time, Miss Prescott. It was a pleasure as always.” With a wink, I turn away from her and press forward toward my private elevator, all the while thinking how my intentions were to leave her wanting more. So why the hell was I the one desperate for her to spend the rest of the day with me, her lips on mine and our limbs tangled?

Like father, like son.

The words ring heavily in my head.

Never going to happen, I try to convince myself.

Chapter Fourteen

**NELL**

God, I am so stupid. I ignorantly let down my walls for just a fraction of a second, giving Gavin the perfect opportunity to climb in, only to watch in bewilderment as he closed himself off, pasting that arrogant persona back into place.

That goddamned mask he wears like a protective shield pisses me the hell off. Or maybe it’s not a shield, maybe that’s just the real him, and I idiotically let myself believe, for just a second when I thought I saw something in his eyes, that there was more to him. And like a dumbass, I’ve spent the past two days thinking of nothing but our poolside encounter… mainly the kiss that followed. I wanted to punch myself in the face for being such an idiot.

“Nell!” Page shouts as she bursts into my bedroom like a bat out of hell.

“Uh, right here, psycho,” I tell her from my place on the bed. “No need to yell the house down.”

“I need your help. And you aren’t going to like it, but I’m desperate and if you don’t help me the world will end. California will fall into the ocean—not that it’ll really be that much of a loss—volcanoes will erupt all over Earth, and nuclear missiles will explode in their silos.”

Ah, my sweet Page. When she isn’t being an incurable romantic, she’s a drama queen that could put every cross-dresser on the Strip to shame. “You know, you had me at California falling into the ocean, but you went too far with the missiles.”

“I’ll be sure to tone it down next time,” she replies drolly. “So are you going to help me or not?”

“Well I don’t know,” I answer sarcastically. “Seeing as you haven’t told me what the hell you need my help with yet. I’m inclined to say yes right off the bat, simply because I love you, but for all I know, you’re asking for the privilege of naming my first-born child. How can I trust you wouldn’t pick some God-awful name like Finius or Buckwheat? I just can’t allow that. You understand.”

Sarcasm is my go-to reaction whenever Page goes all dramatic, it’s a sure-fire way to calm her hyper ass down.

“Ha. You know I totally plan on naming your kid Brussel Sprout. But that’s not what I need. I was called in to cater a private dinner party. It was last minute and one of the waiters I usually bring in to help with these things has the flu. Can you help me?” She clasps her hands in front of her and begins hopping from foot to foot. “Pretty pleeeeeeeeeease.”

“What do I have to do?”

“I just need you to act as my runner for the evening, bringing out the food and all that stuff. I have another girl that will handle the actual waitressing. You won’t have to do anything other than set the plates down and keep me company in the kitchen. Kim will handle everything else.”

I give her an easy shrug. “Sure, sounds simple enough. Where’s the dinner party?”

It’s with that question that her face takes on a sheepish expression. “Hotel Paragon.”

The hairs on my arms stand on end as I ask, “And who’s hosting this party?”

She cringes, actually cringes, as she says, “Gavin Saint.”

“Oh come on!” I shoot to my feet and slam my hands on my hips. “You’ve got to be kidding. It’s like this guy’s invading every aspect of my freaking life! I can’t get him out! He’s like… he’s like…” it takes me a second to come up with a good enough analogy, then I hit money, “…toenail fungus!”

“Really?” Page gives me a blank stare. “That’s the comparison you’re going with? The dude you’ve traded spit with, more than once”—I never should have told her about the damned pool— “that has you throwing vibrators hard enough to dent drywall is like toenail fungus?”

“Yes,” I snap.

“All right,” she sighs, beginning to turn toward the door. “I was going to pay you, but if you’re dead set on staying as far away from him as possible, I guess I’ll have to find someone else to help me out.”

“Whoa,” I grab the hem of her shirt to halt her steps. “Let’s not be hasty here. I mean, I didn’t exactly say no…”

Spinning around, Page grins widely. “Does that mean you’re saying yes?”

“How much money we talking?”

“My rate for last minute private events is pretty steep. How about three hundred for the night? It’s easy money and only four hours tops. You can’t beat that.”

She’s right, I definitely can’t. And it will help having that extra money to send to my folks back home, that’s for sure.

“Okay, I’m in.”

With a squeal loud enough to pierce my eardrums, she pulls me in for a hug. Tomorrow night I’m going to be serving drinks and food to Gavin and a bunch of his rich, entitled friends.

For some reason, my gut’s telling me this might not be the best idea. We’ve been dancing around each other for way too long now, something I’ve been refusing to acknowledge building more with each passing day.

One of these days, it’s bound to explode. And I have a feeling that day is coming soon. And I’m definitely not prepared for the aftermath.

***

My chest is tight as I make my way through the parking lot, the sun beating off the concrete causing hot beads of perspiration to dot across my forehead in a matter of seconds. My body is sore, but it’s the pain in my chest that hurts the worst. It’s like my soul’s been battered so badly I can physically feel it. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. How many more auditions I can go on, how many more times I can hear that I’m just not good enough, before it finally becomes too much.

All my life, all I’ve ever been good at was gymnastics. It was my passion, the one and only thing that carried me through the hard times. And growing up poor, there were a lot of hard times. I knew I wanted to use my skills to do something with my life, but I never wanted to compete. I didn’t care about gold medals, or proving I was better than anyone else. That was the one aspect I’d disliked the most. I just wanted to perform. And when I saw the glossy pictures of La Magie du Cirque’s performers in a magazine while standing in the checkout line of the supermarket my sophomore year of high school, I just knew. That was what I was meant to do with my life, with my passion.

And since moving away from the only home I’ve ever known, it’s been three steady years of one rejection after another. I’ve all but given up on believing it will ever happen to me. I click the unlock button on my key fob and climb into my car, turning it on and cranking the AC as high as it will go as I just sit there, staring at nothing, trying to figure out what I could have done better during that audition. I lose track of how much time has passed when the sharp trilling ring of my cell phone pulls me out of my head and back into reality.

Digging my phone from my purse, I swipe my finger across the screen and hold it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, peanut,” my Dad’s deep, soothing voice resonates through the line and I can’t help but smile, despite the additional pang I feel in my chest at the sound of it. God, I really miss my parents.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“How’d the audition go? You blow ‘em away?” Of course he’d remember I had another audition. He and my mom were my biggest supporters. If they could, they’d probably be at every audition, cheering and holding up signs among the empty seats in the audience.

“Didn’t get it,” I tell him quietly, disappointment filling the empty space behind my ribs.

“Aw, honey, I’m sorry. You’ll knock ‘em dead next time. I just know it. You’re the best I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

A small laugh works its way up my throat. “You have to say that. You’re my dad.”

“Doesn’t matter if I’m your dad when it’s a fact.” I want to tell him that it’s not a fact, that if it were, I’d have gotten a spot with La Magie du Cirque years ago, but I can’t bring myself to burst my parents’ bubble. Honestly, I think one of the only reasons I haven’t called it quits, packed my shit, and crawled back home with my tail between my legs yet is because of their belief in me. They sacrificed so much my entire life so I’d be able to do what I love, I can’t stand the thought of disappointing them.

“How are things there?” I ask, changing the subject. “How are you and Mom?”

“Well…” At the sound of his voice trailing off, my stomach plummets to my feet, the air conditioning hitting my face suddenly feels like needles pricking my skin.

“What’s going on?” I push.

“Your mom was in an accident—”

“What?” I shout, nearly crushing the phone in my grip as panic courses through me.

“Now, hold on there just a minute, peanut. She’s fine. She’s gonna be just fine.”

“What happened? Tell me everything,” I demand to know.

“She was in a car accident,” he begins to explain, and the sweat on my brow returns with a vengeance. “The tires on the car were a little worn and we haven’t really had the money to replace ‘em. She hit a pothole on the way to work and had a blowout. The car swerved and hit a tree. Your mom broke her arm, but other than that, she’s just fine. More angry about the damned car being totaled than anything else,” he laughs lightly, and I know he’s trying to infuse humor into the situation to keep me from losing my mind completely.

“Daddy…” I whisper brokenly into the phone as I lean forward and rest my head against the steering wheel, my eyes clenched shut tightly against the onslaught of tears threatening to fall.

“Oh, baby girl,” he says quietly, knowing I’m struggling at this very moment. “It’s all goin’ to be okay. I promise.”

“I’m coming home,” I croak past the emotion clogging my throat. “You guys need me there. I’m not helping being so far away. I need to be with you.”

“You are not,” he says adamantly. “You’re stayin’ right where you are and livin’ your dream. Mom and I will be just fine. There’s no need in you gettin’ yourself all worked up over this.”

“How can you say that?” I cry, shooting up straight. “You guys couldn’t afford to replace worn tires. Now the car is totaled, Mom’s hurt, and there’s no telling how long she’ll be out of work because of this! I’m no use to you guys here. You need me there!”

“I can say that because I’m the parent,” he says in an almost reprimanding tone. “And because it’s our place to take care of you. Not the other way around. You already do too much for us as it is. We aren’t lettin’ you give that up, you hear me? We’re so damned proud of you, peanut. We wake up proud every single day for the simple fact we gave birth to such a lovin’, devoted, strong-willed daughter, and I’m not gonna hear of you givin’ up your life to come back here. That’s not the person we raised you to be.”

“You raised me to take care of my family,” I argue. “To help in any way I can. I’m not doing that from all the way in Vegas.”

“Oh, but baby girl, you are,” he whispers. “Just knowin’ you’re strivin’ for what you want makes our hearts strong. If that’s not takin’ care of us, I don’t know what is.”

I lose the battle with my tears and allow them to fall freely. “I miss you guys so much,” I choke out.

“And we miss you, too. But it’s not like we’re worlds away, it’s only a few states.”

“A few states is worlds away when none of us can afford to get back to each other.”

“You don’t go worryin’ yourself about that,” he says in a way that makes it sound as though he’s got it all figured out.

“How am I supposed to stop worrying, Daddy?”

“Like I said, we’re the parents. We’ll get it all figured out. You just take care of yourself out there. And don’t go gettin’ into any trouble, young lady. You might be grown, but you’re still my daughter. I got no problem tannin’ your hide.” I laugh at that, an actual genuine laugh. “And stay away from them foul mouthed rich boys. I hear Vegas is full of that kind. You find yourself a nice boy that’ll treat you good. Or, better yet, just… don’t date at all. That’ll definitely work wonders on makin’ me feel better.” I release another laugh, despite the tears that continue to trickle down my cheeks. If only he knew about Gavin… not that I’d ever tell my father about Gavin Saint. That would send him into cardiac arrest for sure. “I love you, peanut,” he tells me in a soft voice.

“I love you, Daddy. Tell Mom I love her too, will you, and that I’ll call soon to check on her?”

“You know I will.”

I disconnect the call, my heart feeling like a lead weight as I begin to cry harder now that I don’t have to worry about my father hearing me. This day has been one long emotional roller coaster, and all I want to do is go home, crawl into bed and sleep until it’s over, hoping tomorrow will somehow be better.

Only, that’s not an option. I don’t have the luxury of spending the next several hours throwing myself a pity party.

Oh no, I get to spend that time waiting on Gavin Saint and his merry band of rich assholes. I suddenly have no idea how I’m supposed to get through tonight without either having a complete mental breakdown, or ripping one of the rich asshole’s heads off.

One thing’s for sure, it’s going to be an interesting evening.

Chapter Fifteen

**GAVIN**

Page has been in my kitchen, chopping, sautéing, and stirring to her little heart’s content for at least an hour now. The villa smells like absolute heaven, my table has been decorated with rich purple and navy hues. Silver votive candles reflecting sparks of the dim light come from the ceiling. It’s intimate, bombastic almost, but not in an, ‘in your face’ kind of way. It wreaks of wealth which is what I want, but not because I want to show off my money. I want to make sure the man I invited over for drinks and a spectacular dinner feels at home.

Thankfully Page was able to accommodate my request for tonight, and gladly too, with a chipper voice and a go-get-‘em attitude. My one request was for her to bring Penelope. She didn’t seem surprised on the phone when I asked her. It almost seemed like she expected it.

And although she said it wasn’t a problem, Penelope has yet to show up, which has grated on my nerves more and more with each passing minute. I keep eying Page in the kitchen, who plasters on a happy smile every time she makes eye contact with me, but when she thinks I’m not looking, there’s a worried frown on her brow.

I know that frown has nothing to do with the elegant dish of filet mignon with pesto sauce and seasonal vegetables that I picked out for dinner, because from the smell coming from the kitchen, dinner will most definitely be a success. It has to be from the missing girl who has yet to show up.

“Place looks great,” Scott says, eyeing the dining room table. “Did you really invite Kit Henderson to dinner tonight?”

Kit Henderson is an investor in Las Vegas, always has a hand in starting up any hotel that decides to place itself on the Strip. He’s made a fortune off of this city and continues to look for business wherever he can find it.

I nod. “I did.”

“You going into the hotel business? Starting something I don’t know about?”

“No,” I laugh. “But it’s always good to have a guy like him on your side. Figured it would be good for Graham to meet him since he’s been dabbling in the idea of expanding Hotel Paragon beyond Vegas. Just trying to help a friend.”

Eyeing me skeptically, Scott raises his eyebrow, leaving me to believe that he thinks there are ulterior motives. There might be but he doesn’t need to know that.

From the front entryway, the door bursts open and in walks Graham, holding the lapels of his jacket like a pompous dick. He’s wearing a slate grey suit, black shirt and black tie. His hair is styled to the side, in a faux pompadour style, and his cufflinks twinkle under the light of my villa. He’s got style, I’ll give him that.

“I’m here. Dinner can begin now,” he announces to the room while looking around. “Shit that smells good. What’s cooking…” his words cut off when he sees Page walking around in the kitchen, utter dread falling over his face.

I completely forgot my initial reasoning for this dinner, to fuck with Graham and his Page complex. Inner glee spreads through me from just the look of his face.

Snapping his head in my direction, he stomps his pansy ass toward me, finger ready to poke me in the chest.

“What the fuck is she doing in your kitchen?”

“Who?” I ask casually, my hands in my pockets.

“You know who, dick-hole.”

“Page?” I ask, feigning innocence. “She came highly recommended. I can’t pass up an opportunity to digest some marvelously cooked food, now can I?”

“Count me out,” he tosses his hands in the air. “I’m not dealing with this bullshit.”

He starts to leave when I say, “You’re not going to want to do that, brother.”

Next to me, Scott has his drink up to his lips, chuckling the whole time.

“Why’s that?” Graham asks without turning around to face me.

“Just so happens I was able to invite Kit Henderson to dinner. Thought it might be good to talk about those expansion plans with him.”

The tension in Graham’s back eases as he spins on his heel. “Kit Henderson will be here?”

Checking my Rolex, I confirm. “In about ten minutes. Might want to get your elevator pitch ready.”

Mulling it over, Graham grinds his teeth and finally concedes. “I hate you.” He points at me. “I really hate you, you… evil genius.”

I pat his shoulder. “I know. You can thank me later.”

Leaning in close, he says, “But seriously, dude, Page?”

I shrug. “I had to have a little fun. Can’t make it that easy on you.”

A knock on my door tears my gaze from Graham. Wondering if it’s Kit, I stroll to the door, buttoning my suit jacket in the middle and plastering on a bright smile.

However, it’s not Kit, it’s Penelope, an hour late for the job. I glance down at my watch and say, “Miss Prescott, how nice of you to finally join us. I would have thought you got lost, although that wouldn’t have made sense since you already work here. I suggest you put your apron on and get to work before I ask you to leave.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. It’s the lack of fire in her voice that puts me on edge, causing me to really look at her. That’s when I take notice of her tear-streaked face.

“Penelope?” I question her, trying to get a better look at her.

“I need to get to work,” she says, trying to walk past me.

Before she can get far, I grab her by the arm and escort her down the hallway. Page eyes us but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she focuses on the food in front of her, tenderizing the meat and stirring the sauce.

With my hand holding on to her tightly, I guide Penelope into my library and shut the door. The room is full of books, mostly mysteries, some thrillers, and a small collection of erotica. I’m not going to lie, I love a good sex scene in a book. There’s nothing like reading the slow seductive process of foreplay. It can get me harder than a rock at times.

“Gavin, I have to get to work,” Penelope protests.

“I know you’ve been steered wrong in the past, but this time, you do work for me and I tell you when you’ll work,” I state, taking in her broken down appearance. “Why have you been crying?”

“Why do you care?” she shoots back, putting her apron on while staring at the ground, avoiding all eye contact.

With my index finger, I lift her chin so she’s forced to face me. “I care because I don’t like to see you upset. What’s going on?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” She brushes her hands over her apron, straightening it out and then places them on her hips. “Can I go now?” she asks, looking me dead in the eyes, a mask of strength falling over her.

“Not until you tell me why you came in here with tear stains on your cheeks,” I demand, not letting up.

Exhaling in frustration, she says, “Fine, I stubbed my toe on a corner, really thought I broke the damn thing. I’m prone to injuries and am sensitive when I get hurt. I’m a big wuss. Yup, ouch…” She shifts on her foot, “Hurts real bad.” If her voice wasn’t so monotone, I might have allowed her to walk away, both of us knowing she was lying, but not this time.

“Is that right? What corner?”

“Uh, one in the lobby. Jammed the sucker.” She thinks about it for a second. “A, uh, tourist was texting while walking. I fell victim to their carelessness, bumped into them and then shot my foot into the corner, stubbing it right then and there. It was a fly by, the person didn’t even say sorry.” She sucks in a deep breath. “The nerve of these tourists. It’s not like the Kitty Glitter slot machine is going anywhere. It’s still going to be there, waiting to suck them dry, but you know those kinds of people. Careless, careless, careless.” She shakes her head, almost believing her own damn story. “Anywhoo, I cried, pretty sure I split a toenail but don’t worry, if anything, I’m a woman of my word and I will be damned if I let this dinner party go to hell because of a walk by toe stubbing. I will prevail.” She holds her tiny fist to the sky and then awkwardly lowers it, knowing she’s gone a little too far.

I straighten my jacket, gathering my thoughts. “A walk by toe stubbing, huh? Sounds vicious.”

“It was,” she nods. She then bends down and rubs her right foot with her hand. “Poor little digit didn’t know what was coming. Guess I should wear steel toed boots in the hotel, huh?” She laughs awkwardly and then takes a deep breath, letting it out in a low whistle while looking around the room. “Lots of books in here.” She squints. “Is that Fifty Shades of Grey?”

Not answering her, I say, “I’d like to see your toe. I don’t want you walking on it if it’s severely injured. We might have to take you to the emergency room.”

“Not necessary!” she says in a squeaky voice. “You know,” she places her finger on her chin and thinks while shifting her stance. “It’s getting better. I’ve always healed pretty fast.”

“But you cried, Miss Prescott. If you cried over the pain, it must be bad.”

“Low tolerance for pain but really fast healer.”

“Penelope,” I warn. “Let me see your foot.” From the stern tone in my voice, she succumbs. I know full well that there is nothing wrong with her foot, but I want to see how far she will go with this farce. It’s almost comical.

Giving in for some asinine reason, she flops her body on the ground, her skirt up around her upper thighs, and kicks off her left shoe. She holds it out for both of us, wiggling her toes and plastering a look of pure shock on her face.

“Oh my gosh, look at that. It’s all better! I told you I was a fast healer.”

“It was your right foot,” I point out, making her jovial attitude fall flat.

“Ugh, what do you know,” she mutters, putting her shoe back on and getting up from the floor. She attempts to walk past me again, but I stop her, spinning her around so her back is pressed against the door and my body is flush with hers.

“I don’t like to see you hurting,” I admit honestly, trying to look past the armor over her eyes.

“You make it seem like you actually care about me, Mr. Saint.”

I don’t admit my feelings, ever, but my persistence has obviously shown one of my cards. For some reason, I do care about her. I don’t know why and I don’t care to explore it. All I know is that I didn’t like seeing her upset when she came in here and I needed to find out what was wrong.

“I don’t like to see my staff distressed,” I answer her, watching as disappointment flashes over her face.

With thinned lips, she nods her head. “Well, your staff is okay. So, stop delaying me from my duties.”

With a hefty push, she sends me backwards a few steps, just enough to escape the room and head back to the kitchen.

Fuck.

I run my hand through my hair, hating myself for what I just said. I didn’t have to show my emotions, but I didn’t have to be a dick either.

Frustrated, I walk out of the library and head back to the main room where I see Page talking quietly to Penelope who is shaking her head to whatever Page is telling her. From afar, you can tell they are good friends. Page is rubbing Penelope’s back, a mother-like nature radiating off of her as she soothes Penelope. I want desperately to know what she is saying, to hear how Page handles Penelope and gets her to relax. There is a deep ache inside of me that wants to be able to do that for her, to make her feel better, but all I know is how to be an asshole. There’s not much changing that.

“That was a quick fuck,” Graham pokes, licking his lips with a giant smile on his face.

Leaning into his ear, I whisper, “I didn’t fuck her you prick, she was upset. And I suggest, if you want to stay for this dinner, you show a touch more class than the shit spewing out of your mouth right now.”

“Damn!” Graham says loudly. “Someone’s got his dick twisted in a knot.”

And that’s all it takes. “Page,” I call out, staring Graham in the eyes, which have grown wide.

“Yes, Mr. Saint?”

“Will you come here for a second? I want to introduce you to my friends and talk about the dinner.”

“Of course.” I don’t have to turn around to know that she’s rinsing her hands, quickly drying them off on a towel and coming over here, I can see it all in the panic reflecting in Graham’s eyes.

Walking up next to me, Page stands tall and holds her hands in front of her.

“Page, this is Scott Turner, he works with the Fighting League in corporate communications. He’s a brick shit house, and a big eater.”

“Hope you have enough steak for me in there,” Scott chuckles, holding his hand out.

“I believe I do,” Page smiles politely back.

I turn to Graham who is now looking anywhere but at Page. “And this is Graham Larson, owner of Hotel Paragon, massive jackass, and cries when he’s tickled.”

“I’m not going to ask how you know that,” Page laughs, holding her hand out to Graham who doesn’t take it.

I snap my fingers, feigning my recognition. “Oh that’s right, Graham, you’ve already met Page, haven’t you? She catered a dinner for you one time, didn’t she?”

Seething, Graham looks me dead in the eyes. “You know damn well she did,” he hisses at me.

Ever the professional that she is, Page lowers her hand away and nods. “Good to see you again, Mr. Larson. I hope you find my meal well prepared tonight.” Graham doesn’t answer her. “Well, if that’s all, Mr. Saint, I’d like to get back to the kitchen to make sure everything is on course for our timeline.”

“Thank you, Page.” I dismiss her, a smarmy smile spreading across my lips.

Pointing at me, Graham says, “You’re a giant asshole, man.”

I can’t help the chuckle that comes out of me. Scott joins in with me. “You couldn’t have even shaken her hand? That was cold, man.”

“No,” Graham seethes back at me. “What you just did was cold.”

A knock sounds at the door, straightening all of us up. “That’s Kit. Better get that ‘I got kicked in the crotch’ look off your face if you want to make a good impression.”

“Fuck you,” Graham mutters, righting his pocket square.

Chuckling, I go to the door and open it wide, welcoming Kit to my home, a gorgeous woman standing next to him with an equally gorgeous woman standing next to her. They’re both leggy, blonde, blue eyed, and showing off amazing racks. They’re wearing skin tight black dresses and mile high heels, shaping their legs to perfection. Damn. They’re hot, too bad they do absolutely nothing for me. Not when there’s a little brunette on my mind.

“Kit, I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Thanks for having me,” he says, flashing that genuine smile, pearly whites staring back at me.

And here I thought Graham reeked of money. Compared to Kit, Graham was a meager piece of lint. Standing tall, his blonde hair perfectly coiffed, and dressed in all black, he looks dangerous yet welcoming, almost like he is part of a mafia…for surfers. His California looks make him attractive to women and his money makes him appealing to the masses. He’s suave, cultured, and an all-around good man.

“Come in,” I gesture to the inside of my villa.

Looking around, he nods in approval. “Great place, Gavin. I see that poker has been treating you well.”

“Can’t complain. Can I offer you and your guests a drink?”

“A scotch would be great.” He turns to blonde number one. “Jessica, would you like something to drink?”

“Water would be great,” she purrs.

“Meghan, what can I get you?” Kit asks blonde number two.

“Water as well,” she scans me up and down, eye fucking me to the point that I can feel the back of my neck starting to sweat.

Fuck, I few weeks ago I would have been all over that, but now, all it does is make me uncomfortable.

Quickly moving away, I head to my wet bar and pour the drinks for my guests. From the corner of my eye I can see Penelope trying to study me while she folds napkins with another one of Page’s helpers. If only I could read minds right about now.

With the glasses on a tray, I pick it up and start to walk it over to Kit and his ladies but I’m stopped when Penelope grabs the tray out of my hands and says, “Allow me, Mr. Saint.”

Startled by her gesture, I step back and let her carry the tray, handing the drinks to my guests.

Gesturing to Scott and Graham to join, I say, “Kit, I’d like you to meet my friends, Graham Larson and Scott Turner. Graham, Scott, this is Kit Henderson.”

“Pleasure,” Scott says, lending out his hand.

“You work with the Fighting League, don’t you?” Kit asks in recognition.

Nodding, Scott replies, “I do. I believe I’ve secured some rather good seats for you in the past.”

“You have. I appreciate your hard work in getting me those seats. You’ve never let me down.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Turning to Graham, Kit holds out his hand. “Graham, it’s good to finally meet you in person. I’ve been a fan of Hotel Paragon for a while.”

Dollar signs flash in Kit’s eyes as he sizes up Graham. Despite the rough beginning of Graham’s evening, I have no doubt in my mind that it will wind up being rather successful.

“Thank you.” Graham shakes Kit’s hand with pride. “I’m quite proud of the property. Looking to expand one day.”

An indulgent smile spreads across Kit’s face. “Just what I was hoping you were going to say.” Looking to the room, Kit sniffs the air and says, “Smells like heaven in here.”

“Compliments of our chef.”

“Remind me to get her number,” Kit winks, eyeing Page. Apparently he really likes leggy blondes. Jessica and Meghan don’t hold a candle to Page though. By the way Graham’s biting the side of his cheek in frustration at Kit’s perusal, I can tell this is going to be an interesting night.

Checking my watch, I wander over to the kitchen while Graham and Scott carry on a casual conversation with Kit. “How are we doing on dinner?” I ask Page, scanning Penelope quickly.

“About ten minutes. I’m searing the steaks now but will need to let them rest for a few minutes before I slice them up. Appetizers are ready, Nell will be happy to serve.” From the side, Page kicks Penelope in the foot.

“Oh, yep, let me get those set on a tray and I’ll bring them right out.”

“Thank you.”

I make my way back to the living room where everyone is standing, glasses in their hands, discussing the latest La Magie show.

“It’s incredible,” Kit carries on. “They’ve really stepped up the theatrics and stage sets. The colors are so vivid, and the light show just adds to the effects constantly spiraling on stage.”

Penelope walks up with the tray in her hands.

“I can’t remember the last time I went to one of their shows. I do remember it being breathtaking though,” I add.

Salmon En Cruet and mini asparagus mousse tartinis are delicately placed on a silver tray, napkins in the middle. Penelope offers to the women first who both hold up their hands in refusal.

“They look divine, but we both have to watch our weight. We have to fit into our spandex outfits in three weeks.”

“Spandex?” Scott asks, intrigued.

“Yes, Meghan and Jessica were just cast in La Magie this week. It was their first audition,” Kit states with pride.

“With a little help,” both the girls wink knowingly at Kit who puffs out his chest, clearly loving how he could pull some strings for the girls.

“That’s fantastic,” Scott congratulates.

“Hey, are you okay?” Meghan asks, pointing at Penelope whose face has paled, her expression frozen in place.

“Yes,” she says quickly, shoving the tray into my chest and then bolting to the kitchen where I see her sink down to the floor behind the counter.

“She didn’t look okay,” Meghan points out. Thank you for stating the obvious.

Casually, I slip a tartini in my mouth and then pass the tray over to Scott who won’t be a dick and will serve the rest of the group, unlike Graham who would probably shove the tray back at me.

“I’m going to check on dinner. Graham, why don’t you take Kit and the ladies out to the balcony and let them take in that million dollar view.”

Gesturing, Graham says, “Right this way.”

Wiping my hands together to dust off any rogue crumbs, I walk over to the kitchen where Page has a fake smile plastered on her face, cutting the meat. Her other helper is filling water glasses on the table and Penelope is curled on the floor, leaning against a cabinet, her knees to her chest and her face in her hands.

Visibly sorry, Page gives me a nervous look, like I’m about to lash out at her. Needing to make sure she’s comfortable, I press my hand against her shoulder and say, “Don’t worry about anything. I’ve got this. I’ll be right back.”

Squatting down next to Penelope, I hook my elbow under her knees and wrap my arm around her back. With one quick lift, I carry her out of the kitchen, past the group whose heads are turned in the opposite direction, and to the back of my villa where my bedroom resides.

She doesn’t put up a fight, she doesn’t even move, she just continues to cry quietly into her hands.

The moon barely lights up my room, only casting a glow on the silky grey comforter of my bed. Slowly, I lay Penelope down so her head rests on one of my pillows. Her body turns away from mine giving me the chance to study her shaking shoulders and cowed position.

I’ve known this woman for a few weeks and in those weeks I’ve learned one thing, she’s a guarded individual, a woman wearing a thick shield of armor that rarely cracks under pressure. The woman lying in front of me is not the same person I’ve grown to know. She’s frail, hurt, timid, and broken down.

Normally, such behavior wouldn’t affect me. I would move on with my plans and have the woman tended to by someone else. But not with Penelope. The minute I saw her beautiful skin go pale, I wanted to wrap my arms around her and find out what, or who, the fuck put that look on her face.

There is something about this woman that’s digging its way down into my bones. And honestly, it scares the shit out of me.

Her soft cries fill the quiet room, breaking my heart in two, making me uncomfortable but also building this need deep in my stomach to take care of her.

Instead of rolling her over to face me, I walk around the bed to where she’s facing and lay down next to her. I prop my head up on my hand and stare down at her. Instinctively, I use my thumb to erase her runaway tears.

“Penelope,” I say, hoping she’ll show me those beautiful eyes of hers, but instead, she squeezes them closed tighter, more tears managing to leak out. My heart grips in my chest. “Come here, baby,” I say, sitting up and pulling her onto my lap. Willingly she joins me. I wrap my arms around her and hold her tightly as she cries, mumbling something incoherent.

“What?” I ask.

“You… need… to… get… back,” she says in between sobs and sniffles.

Kissing her temple, I shake my head. “Not until I know that you’re going to be okay.”

“I am…” she sighs out a long breath, wiping her tears herself. “I need to get back as well.”

“No,” I kiss her temple again and then her cheek, which she presses closer into me, her tears are salty on my lips. “Stay in here, rest, collect yourself. I won’t be needing your services tonight.”

“But I need the money,” she protests.

Irritated at her refusal to accept my gesture of kindness, I spit out, “You’ll still get paid and do not fucking fight with me about this. Stay here, I’ll come get you when everyone is gone. Please, just rest.”

Her face turns to mine, our noses practically touching as her eyes search mine. I think she’s about to challenge me when she slowly nods her head in agreement.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Her right hand comes up to my cheek and cups it tenderly, her thumb running against my skin. Her eyes scan mine one more time right before her lips fall lightly across my own, barely grazing them. My stomach bottoms out before falling into a series of somersaults. It’s the lightest of kisses, not demanding, not sexual, but intimate, nonetheless.

Losing myself in her touch, she runs her tongue along the opening of my mouth, coaxing me to open further, to the point that I press my tongue against hers.

It’s not fast.

It’s not hard.

It’s slow, deliberate, sexy as hell.

A burning sensation takes over my body, heating it up to the point that I feel the need to take off my jacket. Everything about this kiss is intimate, lustful, and comforting. A kiss I’ve never experienced before.

What the fuck is happening to me?

Before I can dive into that thought, she pulls away and sinks down into the bed, turning away from me and gripping one of the many pillows decorating the massive California king.

My fingers press against my lips, feeling where she branded them. Confusion knits across my brow. Glancing down at the woman who’s slowly breaking me down, I can’t help but wonder why the hell I’m letting her.

From the living room I can hear laughter and I realize I can’t lie on this bed, next to Penelope, holding her and contemplating the affect she has on me. I have a dinner party to blow through so I can get back to this girl. This all-consuming, addictive girl.

Chapter Sixteen

**NELL**

As I lay in the dark room, which smells exactly like Gavin, I can’t help but feel like the world’s biggest idiot. I can’t believe I lost it like that, in front of everyone. I’ve always tried my hardest not to be that girl. You know, the one who whines about how unfair life is and throws herself a pity party on a regular basis? But hearing that those two girls knocked me out of the running during today’s audition, and all because their… whatever the hell he was… pulled some strings… well, it gutted me.

It isn’t fair, and I couldn’t keep up the act any longer. I just lost it, to my utter humiliation, in front of Gavin of all people.

Just fucking perfect.

I don’t know how long I lay there sniffling, my eyes continuing to leak before they finally grew too heavy to stay opened, but I must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing I know, the bed is dipping with someone’s weight, and I wake in a daze, unsure of where I am.

Shooting upright, I try and get my fuzzy brain to cooperate and remember where I am. Then I hear it, the sound of his rich, velvety voice, and I remember.

“Lay back down, Penelope. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What’s going on?” I ask, bringing one of my palms up to my aching forehead. Thanks to my earlier crying jag, I have a dull, annoying ache that starts behind my eyes and is moving its way up my skull. As my eyes adjust to the darkness in the room, I’m able to make out Gavin’s tall body, sitting with his back to my side of the bed.

“The party ended just a little while ago. Everyone’s gone home.”

“Shit,” I sputter, climbing to my knees and crawling across the bed. “I have to go. I can’t believe I fell asleep like that. I’m so sorry.”

His warm, calloused hand wraps around my ankle, halting my progress across the bed and jerking me back toward him. “Lay back down,” he repeats in a much sterner voice.

“B-but… I can’t!” I stutter. “Gavin, the party’s over. I need to go home. I can’t stay here.”

He stands from the bed and faces me. “You can and you will.” With one last yank of my ankle, I’m on my back, just inches from Gavin’s hard body. It’s in this very moment, with Gavin now hovering over me, that I notice his shirt is unbuttoned… all the way down. I can’t make out the definition in his stomach and chest, but I’m able to see just enough bumps and ridges to know they’re there. If seeing him sweaty and shirtless in the park hadn’t been the turn on of a lifetime, then witnessing him standing here, partially undressed with nothing but the moon and the faint lights of the Strip bouncing off of him is enough to make my panties grow instantly wet.

“Gavin…” I try again, it’s a feeble attempt at best, seeing as my mind has suddenly dived straight into the gutter.

His hands come down on the mattress on either side of my head, and I’m finally able to see into the depths of his dark eyes. “You showed up at my home, clearly upset about something judging by the tears on your face. You insist on lying to me about what the problem is, and only get through about fifteen minutes of the party, at best, before having a breakdown.” His face comes closer and I can feel his warm breath against my skin. It smells divine, like whiskey with a hint of mint.

All man.

All Gavin.

“I’ve already discussed it with Page,” he continues, and the news that he’s been talking with my best friend… about me has my jaw dropping open, “and she agrees the best thing for you is to spend the night here, where I can make certain you get the rest you so clearly need. I gave her my word, Penelope, and I never go back on my word. So stop struggling. It’s pointless.”

He stands to his full height and pulls the shirt from his broad shoulders before tossing it on the floor haphazardly. It’s something I never expected him to do, considering every piece of his clothing costs about as much as one month’s rent for Page and me.

To my dismay, the sound of his belt buckle clinking as he undoes it echoes through the space and I’m forced to suck in a deep breath when Gavin hooks his fingers in the waistband of his slacks and pushes them to the floor, leaving him standing in nothing but a light colored pair of boxer briefs.

Jesus, his body really is amazing, and the most mouthwatering sight of all is the outline of his cock behind the thin cotton of his underwear. Just the sight of it makes my mouth go dry at the same time another flood of wetness soaks my panties. It should be illegal for a man to be this good looking. How is a woman ever supposed to resist?

The feel of his touch on my right thigh pulls me from my perusal of his body and, before I know it, he’s skating his rough fingertips up, up, up, and over the material of my skirt until his hand snakes between my back and the mattress. He takes hold of the zipper, yanks it down, and in the blink of an eye, pulls my skirt from my body.

“Gavin!” I yelp as I try and move away, but as he said earlier, it’s pointless. He already has the hem of my shirt in his hands and is jerking it over my chest, forcing my arms up with the motion until I’m lying there in nothing but my bra and panties. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Getting you comfortable,” he returns easily, pulling me across the bed by my ankle once again. With a flick of his wrist, he has the comforter down and is depositing me in the middle of the world’s softest mattress and climbs in behind me, throwing the covers over our bodies and wrapping his arm around my waist, holding my back flush against his rock hard chest.

“Uh…” My brain flips in my head trying to figure out what the hell is happening as Gavin’s palm rests firmly on my stomach. Wait, is he… spooning me? It’s almost too insane of a concept to believe, but he is. Gavin Saint is spooning me.

Neither of us say a word for several minutes, and as his breathing grows even I begin to think he’s fallen asleep. Then… “Tell me what happened in there.” It’s not a question, it’s a command, but the softness in his voice removes any harshness.

My chest rises as I suck in a deep breath. “It’s stupid. I don’t really want to talk about it, okay? I’ll just get embarrassed when you realize what a big baby I acted like.”

“That wasn’t a request, Miss Prescott.” Ah, so I’m Miss Prescott whenever I don’t obey. “Now tell me, what had you so upset.”

There is no way in hell I’m telling him about the conversation I had with my dad earlier. When it comes to my parents, I’m extremely protective, and just the thought of discussing the problems they’re having, and my concerns about them, feels almost like a betrayal to them. Besides, that’s a part of my life I want to keep him out of. There is no place for Gavin in that part of my world. But I know he won’t give up, he’s relentless like that. So I give him part of the truth, knowing he’d read any lies that were to fall from my lips anyway.

“I was at that audition today,” I say in a small, quiet voice.

“What audition?”

With a sigh, I relent and give him the rest of the story, not wanting to drag it out any longer than necessary. “The one your friends were discussing at dinner. I was at that audition earlier today… and every one before that since I moved here three years ago.” The combination of darkness, and the fact I can’t see Gavin’s face makes it easier to pour everything out, like I’m purging at least some of the poison from my body that’s been dragging me under all day long. “It hurt, hearing how easy it was for them to just waltz in there and land a spot with La Magie without really even trying. I mean, I’m sure they’re talented…” I quickly back pedal, realizing I’ve just insulted his friends. “They’d have to be to get in with that troop, right? It just made me feel…” I trail off, so lost in my melancholy that I can’t form the rest of my words.

“Made you feel what?” he asks in a soft voice when I don’t continue.

I feel the tears build and my nose stings once again. “Like I’m not good enough. I’ve been trying so hard, and I want it so badly… it’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do! There’s just always someone better.”

Gavin’s body heat disappears as the hand on my stomach forces me to roll over, taking me to my back so he can hover over me, his entire face is a mask of fierceness. “Haven’t you learned yet, Penelope? This town isn’t about being good enough, it doesn’t care how much talent or heart you have. It’ll still chew you up and spit you the fuck out without giving a damn. I’m sure you have more talent in your little fucking toe than either of those two women tonight. But it’s not about talent in Vegas. It’s about who you know, and they’ve both been playing the game for a really long time.”

“But I can’t play the game!” I cry past the lump in my throat as more dreaded tears break free. “I’ve been doing this for three fucking years, Gavin. I have no connections, there isn’t anyone in my life whose name holds that kind of power. The longer I keep doing this the more I feel like I’m losing another piece of myself every single day. I can’t do it anymore!”

“That’s not true,” he insists adamantly. “You have a connection.”

“Yeah?” I scoff, lost to the pain that’s been sitting in my chest all damned day. There’s no pulling myself out of it now, I’ve been walking a fine line between holding it together and completely crumbling all afternoon, now the jig is up. I can’t hold it together anymore. I’m crumbling. “And who the hell do I know? Huh? One of the assholes in the high roller suite who’ll expect to get sucked off as a thank you for putting in a good word?”

I’m so absorbed in my rant that I don’t notice Gavin’s face grow thunderous with every word that spills from my mouth. “Me,” he finally grinds between clenched teeth. “I’m your goddamned connection, you hear me? No one else. And if I so much as find out any of those fuckers even propositions you, I swear to fucking God—”

I can’t explain what comes over me in that very moment, maybe it’s the tumultuous emotions that I’ve been struggling with all day, maybe it’s temporary insanity, or maybe it’s just sheer relief at hearing someone say they’ve got my back, someone who can actually do something about it. But no matter what the reason is, my brain completely shuts down, and I lift my head off Gavin’s pillow and press my lips to his in an unexpected kiss. I don’t allow myself to think, to question what I’m doing or the reasons behind it. I simply feel, I allow myself to stay in the moment as Gavin’s tongue teases the seam of my lips with a gentleness I never would have expected from him.

I expected him to command, to plunder, to dominate. But as I part my lips to allow him entry, he’s slow, methodical, almost careful.

I can’t help but moan at the taste of him in my mouth, and my needy sounds must do something to him, because the kiss grows in intensity. We nip and suck at each other’s lips and tongues, as if we’re unable to get enough of the other person. When I feel Gavin’s weight shift, his strong legs pressing between mine, forcing me to open wider, I’m all too happy to do it. I bend my knees as Gavin presses his cock against the soaked fabric of my panties and tilts his hips, the pressure of his erection against my clit so delicious my head falls back on a deep groan.

“Fuck,” he mutters against my neck as he trails kisses along its column. “I already feel how wet you are.” He snaps his hips again, sending a jolt of electricity from that swollen bundle of nerves all the way to my nipples, causing them to tighten into painful peaks.

As if he were able to read my mind, Gavin’s fingers grip one of the cups of my bra and yanks it down as he continues to thrust against me, making me wetter, achier. Those soft, lush lips of his surround my nipple and he sucks long and hard, pulling a keening cry from my throat as he bites down on the sensitive skin just hard enough that the twinge of pain causes me to shiver with want. He switches back and forth, lavishing each breast with the same amount of attention, all the while his cock continues to nudge against my pussy, driving me insane.

But it’s not enough.

I need more.

And I need it now.

“Gavin,” I whimper, my fingers curling into his hair so I can yank his lips away from my swollen nipples. “Please.”

“Please what, Penelope?” And once again, we’re back to first names. “Tell me what you need.”

“Fuck me,” I groan, lifting my hips to meet his in an attempt to increase the friction. “I need you to fuck me.”

“You want me inside that wet pussy?” he continues to tease, driving me out of my skin. “Tell me you want my hard cock inside you and I’ll give you what you need,”

“I want it,” I pant, “I want your hard cock inside me, Gavin. Please.”

His weight disappears, quickly replaced by cool air, and I whimper at the loss. I can hear him open a drawer and rummage around inside of it. Seconds later, he’s back, resting on his haunches above me as he places the foil wrapper of a condom between his teeth and rips it open. My eyes remain glued to the erection straining against his underwear until his suddenly rough voice speaks up. “Take it out, Penelope.”

Without objection, I reach down and wrap my fingers around the elastic waistband and pull, careful to get it over his cock without any unnecessary pain. I gasp at the sight of it in front of me, so long and thick, the wide head leaking precum.

Without a second thought, I wrap my fingers around him and lick away the salty droplet, suddenly hungry for more. I open my mouth to take Gavin in as far as I can, only to have him pull out of my hold. “Despite the fact that I’m dying to see your lips stretched around my cock, I need to be inside you, baby. Right fucking now.”

The combination of the hunger in his face and sound of his voice causes another shiver to wrack my body as he makes quick work of the condom. As soon as it meets the thick root, Gavin pushes me back against the bed, lines himself with my pussy, and plunges in. Filling me, stretching me, with one quick thrust.

“Gavin,” I cry, throwing my head back as he groans my name in the crook of my neck. I clench my eyes closed as he pulls out once and thrusts back in slowly.

He continues to move at a slow, almost tender, pace as his fingers twist and tangle in my hair, forcing my head to tilt back to his. “Open,” his guttural voice demands.

My eyelids snap open on command and what I see in his onyx gaze punches the breath from my lungs. Determination, hunger and appreciation all mingle together as he steadily fucks in and out of me.

“Keep your eyes on me. Don’t look away.”

I nod my agreement as his hips speed up just a fraction, but it’s the way he grabs the backs of my knees, forcing them closer to my chest that causes me to moan against Gavin’s lips. Thanks to the new angle, his cockhead hits that magical spot every time he pumps inside of me.

“Oh, God,” I whimper as something deep in my belly begins to twist and tighten. I’ve never come from just sex before, it’s always taken additional stimulation to get me there; but as Gavin continues to move, his gorgeous body in complete control, I feel my release building. “I’m close. Oh, God, Gavin. Don’t stop.”

“Eyes open,” he bites out when my lids drift close of their own accord. I immediately comply, opening them wide as I teeter on that thin edge. “Fuck,” he grunts as beads of sweat build along his forehead. “I can feel you. Christ, you’re squeezing the shit out of me, baby. Don’t look away. When you come, I want you staring right at me. I want you to know who made you feel so goddamned good.”

And just like that, I explode, screaming nonsensical words as my walls clamp down around his cock almost painfully. I come harder and longer than I ever have before, and by the time I feel him swelling inside my body, his movements growing erratic, I’m on the cusp of passing out.

“Holy fucking shit!” Gavin shouts as he buries himself balls deep and pours himself into the condom, the only barrier between us. Our eyes stay locked the entire time, his midnight gaze penetrating mine, burning into me as he continues to twitch, emptying every last drop. Our breaths mingle together as we stare, neither one us able to break contact first. No words are spoken as he lowers his head and places a soft kiss against my lips.

It isn’t until he whispers sweetly that he’ll be right back, gives me one last kiss, and climbs from the bed to get rid of the condom that the crushing weight of what I’ve just done settles firmly on my chest. I consider making a run for it, but know it’ll be no use, he’ll catch me before I even make it to the bedroom door. As I’m arguing with myself, the toilet flushes and Gavin returns to the bed, taking up the same position we were in before we wound up naked. My back against his chest, his strong arms holding me close. There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to sleep. I’m wide awake now, unable to calm my restless mind. Only one thought circles around my mind as Gavin’s breathing grows slow and even, sleep finally taking over.

What the fuck did I just get myself into?

Chapter Seventeen

**GAVIN**

An annoying beeping sound wakes me from my deep slumber, which I have to give Penelope credit for. I’ve been restless lately with her constantly on my mind, but last night, with her in my arms, it soothed my brain like a sedative, relaxing me for the first time in a very long time.

With blurry eyes, I turn off the incessant beeping of the alarm on my phone and then turn to cup Penelope against my body once again. Despite the inability to see straight thanks to the coma I just woke up from, I could still use a good morning fuck, and maybe a shower fuck as well.

Throwing my hand to the other side of the bed, I try to grip Penelope but come up empty.

What the hell?

Peeling one eye open, shielding my eyes the best I can from the bright morning sun reflecting off the tops of buildings and streaming into my bedroom window, I notice the other side of the bed is empty.

Sitting up, I rub my eye with the palm of my hand, trying to gain my bearings, the sheet slipping down my bare chest. I look around the room and notice the lack of women’s clothing scattered on the ground.

I know I flung her clothes to the side, not giving a fuck about folding them last night, so that could only mean one thing…

Throwing my feet over the side of the bed, I let my morning wood hang as I make my way to the bathroom. Hovering over the toilet, I prop myself up with one hand against the wall. As I do my business, I try to convince myself that Penelope is in the kitchen, maybe making me breakfast. There is no way after last night that she ditched me this morning. She didn’t run…

After flushing, I stand in front of the mirror and wash my hands, taking in my ragged appearance. My hair looks freshly fucked by a woman’s fingers and the dark circles under my eyes that are normally there in the morning are replaced by a man who looks completely satisfied.

Not for long, I think to myself. I don’t know if this insatiable craving for her will ever completely go away.

Putting on a pair of shorts, I take in the room one last time to make sure I didn’t miss a piece of clothing that belonged to the little brunette that rocked my world last night.

Nothing.

With dread stirring in the pit of my stomach, I make my way down the hallway and to my main living area, my bare feet padding across the cold hardwood floor.

To my dismay, when I reach the open concept space, I don’t see one sign of Penelope, only the fact that my front door is unlocked and the room doesn’t look like anyone spent any time in it since last night.

“Fuck,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes again.

And it’s not like I have her number so I can call her and ask her what the hell she thought she was doing leaving unnoticed this morning.

It shouldn’t matter to me; I shouldn’t care about her leaving. Hell, I usually have to push women out the door in the morning, or have my maid usher them out during her daily clean. I should be happy, fucking thankful that there is no awkward morning talk about what a great time last night was.

Shit, it wasn’t just a great time. It was the best fucking sex I’ve ever had. Not just because she had a tight pussy that sucked me dry, but because I felt her connection with me deep in my soul when I looked down into those guarded eyes of hers. The minute she looked up at me, with my cock buried deep inside of her, I lost all control of my ability to mask my emotions. I was needy, greedy as fuck. At first, I took her slowly and methodically, but then ravenous once I couldn’t hold out any longer. She gripped my back. I nearly bit her shoulder. The pressure… so intense from the spot I hit inside her with my cock, the screams coming out of her mouth, it was all too much. I came so goddamned hard I thought the end of my dick was going to fall off.

And then like a two-bit chump, I passed out, my arms wrapped around her petite, beautiful body while my nose buried itself deep in her sweet smelling hair. It probably only took me two minutes to black out completely, and stay out for the rest of the night.

If I had it my way, I would have fucked her at least three more times before the sunrise, taking advantage of her naked body, spreading her legs to an unimaginable width just to lick that luscious cunt of hers, flattening my tongue along her clit until I could literally feel it pulsing against my mouth.

That’s what I wanted, I wanted to feel the absolute and total abandonment against my tongue, her arms stretched above her head and my face buried in her pussy, lapping her up until she cried out, begging me to stop from too much pleasure.

“Fuck me.”

Working my way into my kitchen, I pour myself some coffee courtesy of my timed coffee pot and head over to the expanse of windows in my living room. Scratching my chest, I sip the brew and observe the quiet city in front of me, watching only those who have to work early in the morning wandering along the streets.

In the distance, I can hear my phone ring from my bedroom. For some desperate reason, I think it’s Penelope, so I sprint after it, tripping over my living room rug and stubbing my toe on the coffee table.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I curse, limping the rest of the way to my room, trying not to spill the contents of my mug as I hobble to my phone.

I don’t have time to notice the caller ID before I answer.

“Hello?” I say in a panic. “Is that you? Penelope?”

“If it is, then I have a pretty burly voice, don’t you think?”

Shit, it’s Scott. Thank FUCK it isn’t Graham. Holy crap he would never let me hear the end of it for the way I answered the phone.

“Oh hey, what’s up,” I say casually.

“I was calling to see if I left my wallet at your place last night but now I’m a bit more interested to hear about why you were wondering if it was Penelope calling you.”

“Where did you leave your wallet?” I ask, ignoring Scott’s attempt to get into my personal life.

“How about you tell me about how last night went after we left then I tell you where I think my wallet is?”

I lay across my bed after setting my mug on the table. “Is that supposed to be some kind of deal? You realize I couldn’t give zero fucks about your wallet, right?”

“There’s twenty dollars in it for you…”

I grip my forehead, massaging it slowly. “Is your love life really that pathetic that you’re willing to pay twenty bucks to hear about what happened last night?”

“The romantic comedies I’ve been watching just aren’t doing it for me anymore,” he jokes. “Come on man, just tell me what happened with Penelope. Is she okay at least?”

“Wouldn’t know,” I answer honestly. “She snuck out this morning before I could check.”

“Nooo.” If the man wasn’t two more bicep curls away from impersonating The Rock, I would think that he was a woman.

“Where did your balls go? Did you leave them in the locker room at the gym?”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone before he responds. “You knew what you were signing up for when you asked me to be your friend.”

“Why do you say that like I proposed to you with a goddamned friendship bracelet or something?”

“It was a watch and I accepted with happy tears,” Scott lies sarcastically. “Seriously though, did you fuck her last night?”

Why did it sound so bad when Scott said it like that? Normally I would fling that word around, no problem when it came to talking about any other woman I’ve been with, but with Penelope, it seems so crass. Penelope isn’t just a girl you fucked.

“Yeah, we had sex last night.”

“And…?”

Motherfucker is persistent. Knowing he isn’t going to let up until I tell him, I make him promise me something before I continue.

“If I tell you about last night, will you swear on your nut sac that you won’t tell Graham? I don’t need that prick making jabs at me right now, especially not after I hired Page last night to dick him around.”

“Promise,” Scott says a little too eagerly.

Sighing, I tell him all about what Penelope told me about her attempts at auditioning for La Magie, which I had no idea about. I knew there had to be a bigger reason as to why she was living in Vegas, living paycheck to paycheck, but I never would have guessed at her aspirations. Although, after experiencing her flexibility last night, I can now put two and two together.

“Shit, that must have torn her apart.”

“It did,” I answer, feeling my stomach churn for her all over again. “And when I told her I could help her with my connections, she kissed me. This whole cat and mouse game has been me chasing her, so last night, when she kissed me for the first time, I was caught off guard.”

“Sounds magical,” he fake swoons.

“Fuck off.” We both laugh.

“Then you did it? You dipped her doughnut.”

“What is wrong with you? No one says that, but yes, we did it. And fuck, Scotty, I literally felt like my cock was about to explode with how hard I came, and then I passed out like a shithead.”

“Really? You didn’t go for round two?”

“It was like I turned into a goddamned narcoleptic. I passed out cold. Didn’t wake up until my alarm went off this morning.”

“Damn.”

“Tell me about it.” I sit up on the bed and rest my elbows on my knees, one hand holding the phone to my ear. “It was like she drugged me last night. I’ve been so restless lately and having her in my arms changed all of that. That is, until this morning when I noticed she left without even leaving a single fucking note. Now I feel irritated and anxious all over again.”

“My, my, my, Gavin Saint, I didn’t think you had the ability to have feelings like all us other normal human beings.”

I grumble, “And this is why I didn’t want to tell you anything.” I head to my bathroom and turn on the shower. “The worst part is, I don’t have her number so it’s not like I can call her if I wanted to.”

Scott pauses, I can practically hear his mind working. “Hey, don’t you know where she lives though?”

As if the clouds part and the sun shines directly on me, the little bit of hope is nearly blinding. “Yeah, I do.”

“I say you bring her some muffins this morning. A little breakfast that she might have missed out on. Gives you a chance to have the upper hand again.”

For once in my entire friendship with Scott, I’m grateful for talking to him about bullshit women stuff.

“That’s actually a really good idea.”

“I know,” he says proudly.

“Thanks, man. I’m going to hop in the shower, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Wait,” Scott shouts over the phone before I can hang up. “Dude, my wallet. Did I leave it there?”

Seeing it earlier on the coffee table during my stumble across the apartment, I let him know it’s here. “Yup. You have a key, it’s on the coffee table.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

Rolling my eyes, I hang up the phone and think about what suit I’ll wear to offer Penelope a good morning. Time to turn up the fucking heat.

***

Let it be known, I really don’t like where Penelope lives. Not at fucking all. There is zero security in the communal hallways - any stranger could walk in - and the walls are incredibly thin, to the point that while I made my way through her apartment complex I heard three neighbors fighting, someone banging the fuck out of someone else, and a baby crying incessantly. This was not a place for a girl like Penelope to live… or Page for that matter.

Briefly, I ponder over what Graham would think if he knew Page lived here. Would he care? Would he want to offer her another place to live? Hell, I wanted to hook them up with a place in Hotel Paragon just so I didn’t have to come up here again. If a cockroach popped out from nowhere and started gnawing off my nipple I wouldn’t be surprised.

Oh look, and there’s a rat eating a cockroach. Fan-fucking-tastic.

With a box of freshly baked muffins stuffed under my arm and a drink carrier of to-go coffees in my hand, I knock on their front door.

From the other side, because the walls are so thin and cheap, I can hear Page and Penelope’s conversation.

“Who could that be?”

“I don’t know. Grab the bat just in case, creepy Dave could be looking for more used razor blades.”

Yeah, I didn’t fucking like her living here at all.

“It’s too early for creepy Dave. Let me check the peephole,” Page’s voice becomes more distinct as she steps up to the door. “Oh my God, Nell, it’s Gavin.”

“What?” Penelope’s voice is full of panic. I keep my face set in stone, in case they’re still looking at me through the peephole. “What’s he doing here? Don’t answer the door. If we stay quiet, maybe he’ll go away.”

“But it looks like he has food. I don’t feel like eating Ramen noodles for breakfast again.”

“Do not let him in,” Penelope grits out. “Not after last night.”

“Penelope, the box is pink. That means pastries.”

“Page, I swear to God if you open that door I will divorce you.”

Clearing my throat, I say, “You know ladies, these walls aren’t exactly conducive for secret conversations. I suggest, before you embarrass yourselves even more, you just open the door.”

“Oh my God! He can hear us,” Page hisses.

It sounds like Penelope groans.

“Page, I have freshly baked muffins, still warm from the oven…”

The door flies open to reveal Page with a side pony, wearing an oversized shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. Her eyes are fixated on the coffee and muffins in my hands.

“Come on in. Let me take those off your hands.”

“Thank you,” I laugh as she strips the breakfast treats from my grasp and sets them on the coffee table, just to kneel on the ground in front of them and tear into the box without permission. Before I can say hi to Penelope, Page has a blueberry muffin in her mouth with a look of contentment on her face.

Pulling my attention away from Page, I glance over at Penelope who’s wearing nothing but my button up shirt from last night and a shocked look on her face.

Fucking hell she looks good in my clothes.

“Good morning, Miss Prescott. Have a good night?”

She rolls her eyes at my formality. “Dandy,” she answers sarcastically, avoiding all eye contact with me.

“I wouldn’t just say dandy,” Page attempts a chubby-cheeked grin, her mouth full of muffin.

Furious, Penelope says, “Hey Page, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Staring down at the muffin, Page answers, “Yeah, at the Little White Chapel with this muffin, saying ‘I do’. I want to marry the shit out of this little fella.”

Shutting their door, I walk toward Penelope, taking in their small apartment full of used, torn furniture. The difference in our lives is dramatic, my walls are decorated with fine art I spent years collecting, whereas Penelope’s walls are decorated with water stains and random pictures I’m sure she purchased at the local dollar store. It isn’t pretty, it’s run down and way beneath the class that exudes out of both Penelope and Page, but it is comfortable. It’s obvious both of them have put a lot of work into making something deplorable seem almost livable. And I use the word almost very sarcastically.

I stare over at Penelope sitting on the edge of the couch, never shifting my gaze from her eyes. “So, Page, you were saying her night was more than just dandy?”

Penelope steps in before Page can answer. “She wasn’t saying anything.” Waving her hand in front of her face she continues, “Damn Page, is that you? I think you need to go take a shower. There’s some kind of stench wafting off of you.”

A little taken back, Page sniffs her under arm. “I don’t smell anything.”

“It’s hard to smell traitorous, rotten bitch on yourself,” Penelope sneers. “Best go wash it off.”

Insulted, Page stands tall, her muffin and coffee in her hand. “Well, you’re rude.” She takes off for her bedroom but not before calling over her shoulder. “Gavin, you were the best sex she’s ever had. She told me you almost broke her clit.”

“Page!” Penelope yells in protest. “Jesus! I’m never telling you anything ever again!”

Page’s door slams shut as the last words fall off Penelope’s lips. “Damn it,” she mutters to herself, playing with the cuffs of my dress shirt.

Sliding onto the couch and scooting closer, I turn my body so I’m facing her, trapping her so she can’t escape me this time.

“Best you’ve ever had?” I raise an eyebrow at her.

“For a man with a small dick, she forgot that part,” Penelope shoots back.

Leaning forward, I run my thumb across her bottom lip, a tsk to my voice. “Silly girl, you know damn well that’s not the truth, and do you know how I know that? By the way your little mouth dropped open when you saw my cock for the first time, the way your eyes lit up, and the way you screamed the moment I entered you. Not to mention how my long, thick, hard cock was able to bury itself so deep inside you that I hit that one spot I’m sure no other man has been able to touch.”

Her breathing is heavy, her eyes glazed over, while my fingers graze the base of her neck.

“Are you remembering it?” I ask her. “Are you reminiscing about how good it felt to have me inside you, filling you, stroking your sensitive nerves? Slowly at first and then fast, to the point that your pussy wouldn’t stop throbbing? Are you remembering that?”

“No,” she answers, the whispered words barely escaping her.

“Liar.” I lean forward some more, my hand on her thigh, gliding up to her hip, her naked hip. “You’re thinking about how it felt to have my tongue lapping at your nipple, how it felt to have the weight of my naked body on top of yours, the sound of my name rolling off the tip of your tongue the minute you came. You can’t stop thinking about it, that’s why your face is flushed and the reason why you’re wet right now.”

“I’m not wet,” she lies. I know she’s lying, it’s written all over her face.

“Prove it.”

“I don’t need to.” She crosses her arms over her chest in defiance.

I’m always right, and there is no way in hell she’s calling me on my cards just yet, it’s time to up the ante.

Dropping to my knees, I place myself between her legs, spreading them further than she was expecting, a gasp popping past her lips. I push her knees up so they’re on either side of my chest. Because she’s panty-less, her entire pussy is exposed to me, and by the way her slit is glistening, I know I’ve been proven right.

“Fucking liar,” I say before my mouth descends on her.

I expect her to fight me, to protest against my onslaught but instead of her telling me to leave her alone, her head falls back on the sofa and her entire body relaxes, well, except for the tiny bundle of nerves at her very core.

Getting comfortable, I hold her legs back and allow my mouth to do all the work, not caring that Page is only a stone’s throw away, in an apartment with walls made of paper.

Delicately, I run the very tip of my tongue along her clit, barely touching her, driving her mad to the point that she starts to wiggle her hips against my face. That’s when I plunge a little deeper, still using the tip of my tongue but applying more pressure. A soft, long moan escapes Penelope’s lips, encouraging me to continue.

I pull away, my voice raspy as I say, “Hold your legs where they are.” On command, her hands grip her knees, holding them in place, freeing up my hands to get to work.

I use two fingers of my left hand to spread her lips apart, exposing her even more so I can flatten my tongue and really lap her pussy, running the length of her slit, loving the heady taste of her on my tongue.

With my other hand, I push two fingers inside her, curling up just enough to apply pressure in the right spot.

“Oh God, oh God,” Penelope cries, her eyes closed, her head shaking back and forth as sweat forms along her skin.

Moving my fingers in and out, I flick my tongue rapidly along her slit. One, two, three flicks and then one long lick. I repeat the process over and over again, bringing her to the edge, and just when she’s about to fall over the precipice of pleasure, I pull away, leaving her breathless and moaning. I continue this delectable torture, not three, not four, not five times, but six fucking times. To the point that I’m about to come in my pants simply from the sound of Penelope’s moans and cries.

“Please,” she practically screams, tears dropping from the corner of her eyes. “I need to come. Please, Gavin, please stop teasing.”

I don’t listen to her. I tease her three more times.

Flick, flick, flick, one long lick.

Over and over again, pulling away when she’s about to scream at the top of her lungs.

I can feel the pulse of her clit on my tongue, her skin soaked in sweat, her body tense, just looking for that one perfect caress, the final push that will send her spiraling over the edge. I’m sitting on my haunches, looking up into her desperate, needy eyes.

“What do you want?” I ask, a whisper over her pussy.

“I want you to make me come. Please, Gavin.”

Without answering her, I suck her clit into my mouth right before plunging my fingers in deep, over and over again, bringing her to the brink of orgasm. Her bottom half thrusts up into my mouth and she cries out my name, loud enough for the entire building to hear. Her hands dive into my hair, pulling me farther into her pussy so that all I can do is hold my breath and bite, suck and lick her to completion.

It’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced. And my cock isn’t even out of my pants.

After a few more thrusts, she relaxes beneath me, twitching ever so slightly with every swipe I take. Once she’s settled down, her body melting into the couch, I pull away and wipe at my mouth, loving the way I can taste her on my tongue. Standing up and adjusting the crotch of my pants, I button my suit jacket and lean over her. Propping myself on the back of the sofa, I press my tongue inside her mouth so she can taste herself.

Her eyes go wide, but then she melts into me. Before she can get too comfortable, I pull away and give her a wink.

“Have a good day, baby.”

With that, I walk out of her apartment, leaving her wondering what the fuck just happened. I just raised the pot, let’s see if she can match it.

Chapter Eighteen

**NELL**

“Oh, my God,” I sigh, still reeling from Gavin’s unexpected pleasurable torment. The door to Page’s room opens and I rush to pull the shirt back down and cover myself just before she walks back into the living room.

“You dirty, dirty little whore,” she teases with a huge smile plastered across her face.

“Shut up!” With an embarrassed laugh that she—and probably most of our neighbors—had just heard me come undone as Gavin tongue fucked me on the couch, I slapped my hands over my reddening face.

Of course she doesn’t shut up, I’m not that lucky. “You know, I imagine the noises I was just forced to hear are similar to what orcas sound like when they’re giving birth. Should we search it to compare?”

All embarrassment fades as I continue to laugh genuinely. “You’re an asshole.”

“Yep, I am. Now just apologize for saying I smelled in front of a really cute guy and we can go back to being besties again.”

“I’m sorry,” I smile up at her.

Her head cocks to the side, her lips mashed in thought as she taps her chin. Finally, she says flippantly, “You’re forgiven. Now get your post-orgasmic blissed ass off that couch and scrub the hell out of it, slut-face. And be sure to use Scotch Guard.” She turns her back to me and heads for the box of muffins, no doubt planning on hoarding as many as possible in her chipmunk cheeks. I watch as she shoves a bite of blueberry muffin in her mouth. It’s an amazing sight to behold, really. For someone so fit, the girl seriously puts food away when she can. She’s like an anaconda, unhinging her jaw and stuffing her pray down her gullet. I’ve considered filming her at times and sending it in to Animal Planet.

“So what are your plans today?” she asks once she’s managed to swallow the muffin whole—poor thing didn’t stand a chance. “You know,” she smirks, “since you already got all your sinning out of the way before lunch time.”

“Bitch,” I grumble.

“Sinner,” she giggles.

I flop against the back of the couch and curl my legs beneath Gavin’s shirt. Grabbing it had been an uncontrollable impulse this morning. I had seen it lying there on the floor and didn’t think, I just grabbed it and slid it on over the clothes I’d worn the night before. Well, not all the clothes, considering I couldn’t find my panties anywhere. When I got home, I ripped everything off, planning on shoving it all in the washer as I scrubbed the ever-loving hell out of my skin. Only… the shirt still smelled like him. So I stupidly slid it back on my naked body.

“What the hell am I doing?” I whine to Page.

“You mean besides the dirty on the couch?”

I shoot her a withering look. “Obviously.”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs as she sits on the chair across from me, clearly not wanting to get anywhere near the couch. “I mean, you say you hate him—”

“I do!” I insist a little too adamantly, causing her to roll her eyes.

“As I was saying,” she glares, “you say you hate him, but you did the dirty with him last night. You haven’t done the dirty in all the years I’ve known you…”

“For the love of God,” I groan. “Please just say sex. What are you, ten?”

She continues like I didn’t say a word. “And by your own admission, you were the one to instigate it.”

“Are you getting to your point anytime soon, or are you going to spend the rest of the morning telling me shit I already know?” I snip sarcastically, earning myself a shot to the head with a piece of muffin. “Ouch!”

“For Christ’s sake, Nell, pull your head out of your ass, will you? You’re sitting there, right now, sniffing the shirt you stole from him before doing the walk of shame. You might want to hate him, but nothing about your actions are proving that’s the case.”

Shit, that’s what I was afraid of, and exactly what I didn’t want to hear. “So what do you think I should do?” I asked in a small voice, terrified of what may happen since my body and my mind refused to get along and play well with each other where Gavin Saint was concerned.

“Maybe just… let your guard down and enjoy the moment. From the wildebeest noises earlier, you have no problem enjoying it.”

I toss a throw pillow at her head and give her a small laugh before growing somber once again. “You know guys like him only break girls in the end, right?”

“I know,” she nods seriously. “But you aren’t just any girl. I know you don’t see it in yourself, but I do.”

“See what?”

“That you’re the only person I know so damned close to unbreakable.”

***

I tug at the microscopic skirt that’s part of the cocktail waitress uniform in the high roller suite. I’ve been working that room for a couple weeks now and I still haven’t gotten used to how uncomfortable I am showing so much skin. Which is weird since I spent most of my childhood and teen years in spandex leotards and little else. But at least then I wasn’t wearing a three-inch thick bra that jacked my boobs up to my chin.

Trying to gain as much coverage as I can, I continue to tug as I push through the door of the employee lounge only to crash into another massive brick wall that seems to have popped up out of nowhere.

“Son of a—” I shout, rubbing at my head where I’d just careened into what felt like a foot of solid concrete.

“Sorry,” the wall spoke and I look up into a pair of familiar eyes. Familiar eyes that are attached to a body that could give concussions with a single bump.

“Oh, uh…” I stumble over my words as I continue to rub my aching forehead. “It’s okay. My fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Nell, right? I met you by the pool the other day. And at Gavin’s dinner party?” I could have sworn I saw a mischievous glint in his eye when he said party.

“Yeah,” I answer. “And you’re Scott. Sorry for plowing into you.”

He takes my outstretched hand and brings it to his lips instead of giving it a shake as I suspected he’d do. “It’s no problem at all. I’ve been hit by people much less beautiful than you. Believe me, you can run into me any day of the week.”

My smile is friendly enough as I pull my hand away. “What the hell do you have in your pocket, anyway? A flask or something?” I touch the tender spot again and feel it forming into a lump.

“Um,” Scott looks down at the front of his shirt and begins patting the pockets along his chest. “I don’t think so.”

“You mean I nearly concussed myself on just your muscle?” Without thinking, I batted his hands away and started doing an inspection of my own. “My God, man!” I knock on his chest like he’s the tin man. “Are you bionic or something? Part robot?” I knock again and his deep laughter echoes off the white walls of the hallway.

“Cyborg, but don’t tell anyone,” he winks.

I grin in return. “As long as you don’t go all Terminator on my ass, I’m pretty sure we’re cool. Are you playing in the game tonight?” I ask, pointing in the direction I was headed, toward the elevators that would take me up to the suite.

“Oh, no,” Scott laughs. “Believe me, I’m not much of a gambler, I’d be out of money in a matter of minutes.” Suddenly his face changes, his smile grows somewhat calculating. “But I know someone else who’s playing tonight.”

I let out a frustrated huff and prop my hands on my hips. “Gavin told you, did he?!”

To Scott’s credit, he looks a little stunned that I caught on so fast. “How did you—”

“Please,” I wave him off. “You might as well just scrape your finger at me and say ‘shame, shame. I know your name!’ You couldn’t have been more obvious.”

“Did you just…” Scott’s mouth opens and closes for a second, as if he’s searching for words. “Did you just quote Winnie the Bish from New Girl?”

“Well… yeah,” I answer. “It’s the be—”

“Best show on TV!” he shouts at the same time I do. “I love that show! And I’ve got no one to talk about it with because Gavin and Graham would rather volunteer to have their appendix removed than watch it with me.”

I feel my eyes go wide as I clap excitedly. “My roommate hates it too! Oh my God, did we just become best friends?”

“Yup!” he declares, playing along perfectly.

“Yay!” I dance from foot to foot. “We can be New Girl sisters!”

And just like that, the sparkle in his eyes disappears. “I suddenly feel the need to crush beer cans on my head and pull a phonebook apart with my teeth to prove my manhood.”

“Oh please,” I tease him, “I’m not putting your manliness on trial. I’m pretty sure I almost got knocked unconscious by your pec.”

Scott squares his shoulders and lifts his chin as he tugs at the lapels of his suit jacket. “Good.”

“Even though you wear pink swim trunks with sea horses on them,” I giggle, unable to help getting that one last jab in.

“Damn it! My sister bought me those. I felt obligated to wear them!”

“Aw, I’m just playing with you.” I pat his chest of stone. “If I promise not to pick on you anymore will you be my New Girl buddy? I really want someone to talk to about that show!”

“Especially with CeCe and Schmidt planning their wedding this season,” Scott says in a thoughtful voice.

“Exactly!”

“Fine,” he huffs with fake frustrations. “But you’re going to have to talk me up to your friend, Gwen, too.”

“Gwen?” I ask, momentarily confused. “Oh! You mean Davies?” The smile that crosses his face makes him seem almost boyish, you know, if it weren’t for all those tattoos and muscles and stuff. Uh oh, poor sucker has it bad for Davies. “You know, she’s not really into relationships,” I tell him in a slow, careful tone.

He suddenly goes from boyish to a little too sure of himself in the twitch of his lip. “You just work your magic and let me take care of the rest.”

Did he just… yep, he’s flexing his biceps. Huh, who knows, maybe I’m wrong and Davies is just waiting around for the right guy. And it definitely can’t hurt if that right guy could crack a walnut with his thighs.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I tell him with a sure nod.

“Then I’ll see you next Tuesday.” Scott winks and heads in the opposite direction as I press the button for the elevator and wait. Now that he pointed out a particular person who’d be playing tonight, my stomach is suddenly swarming with butterflies.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Nick calls the moment I walk into the suite. Coming out from behind his place at the bar, he walks up and gives me a long hug, really hamming it up for the cameras.

“You don’t have to put on a show anymore, Nick,” I say as I take one step back. “We’ve been busted. The asshole’s just too damned good at reading people. He called me out the first night.”

The jerk actually has the nerve to look relieved. “Oh, thank God! I mean—” he immediately starts to back pedal when he sees the daggers in my eyes. “Nothing against you, or anything. It’s just amazing how un-attracted to you I am.”

“Thanks,” I grumble as I pick up a serving tray and use it to smack him in his toned stomach before grabbing my apron and tying it on.

“Evening, kiddos,” Davies says in a sing-song voice as she pushes through the door and heads to the poker table. I take the last few free minutes we have as the opportunity to inform her of her secret admirer.

“So you’ve really made an impression on someone,” I grin smugly as she starts counting her chips out.

“Who?”

“Scott.”

One of her brows cocks on her forehead. “Who?”

“You know… Scott. The dude from the pool? Huge muscles, sexy ink?”

“Oh! The guy in the sea horse trunks!” she snaps her fingers in recognition. “He seemed nice.”

“He is,” I confirm. “And hot. And crazy attracted to you.”

She barely gives me a glance as she brushes my statement off with a blasé, “Not interested.”

“What? Why?!” I yelp in disbelief. I mean, she did see the guy, right? “You did see the guy, right?”

“Yeah, and he’s hot as hell, I’ll admit that. But he’s also a relationship guy, it’s written all over him. And you know I have absolutely zero interest in shacking up behind a white picket fence any time soon.”

I’m not sure what happened to her in the past to make her so anti-relationship, but whatever it was must have been bad. She makes me look like I’m starving for commitment, and considering I haven’t had the desire for any action since moving to this God-forsaken desert, that’s really saying something.

“Okay, but it’s your loss.” I turn to head back to the bar, not wanting to push her and make her uncomfortable, just as the door to the suite opens and Gavin, in all his sexy, suited glory, comes waltzing in. Wait… no, that’s wrong. He doesn’t waltz, he swaggers. I don’t think he knows any other way to walk. I’m pretty sure he came out of his mother’s womb swaggering. Hell, he probably shot the doctor the finger guns and a wink on his way out.

“Miss Prescott,” he says that damned name in a tone that I can’t quite read. He’s either pissed off, extremely happy, or completely indifferent. And that’s one thing that drives me crazy about being attracted to him. I have no freaking clue what he is thinking or feeling, yet, all the while, my panties need to be replaced with every arch of his stupid, sexy eyebrow.

The jerk.

“Mr. Saint,” I address him formally, unsure what else to do. We are in the high roller suite after all, even if none of the other players have arrived yet.

He moves a step closer. He either hasn’t noticed Nick and Davies in the room with us, or he simply doesn’t care—my guess would be the latter—as he closes the very last bit of space between us. “Gavin,” he says, his voice having gone velvety. “You know how much I prefer when you say my first name,” I gulp and he finishes with, “Especially when you’re screaming it at the top of your lungs while I bury my cock inside you.”

Yep, he went there.

Davies chuckles quietly, Nick chokes on his spit, and I glare as Gavin moves in, trailing his fingers down my side, brushing against the curve of my breast as his fingertips trail lower until he reaches my hip where he grips tightly. “You’re coming back to my villa tonight,” he informs me in a not-so-quiet voice, no room for question in his words. “And this time you’ll be there, in my bed, when I wake up.”

I try my best to suppress a shiver, all the while hoping my face looks as unimpressed as I’m shooting for. “Just because you’ve been inside me one time doesn’t give you the right to boss me around,” I hiss quietly, shooting up a silent prayer that Davies is kind enough to move away from the seductive stand-off going on between Gavin and me. A quick glance over my shoulder confirms that she’s gone, not eavesdropping.

“Clearly you’re talking about my cock,” he lifts his index finger in the air. “Did you forget about my tongue and fingers, too?” he grins arrogantly as his middle and ring finger come up, and a gush of moisture drenches my thong. Damn it! “So by my count, I’ve been inside you at least three times. What does that give me?”

“The opportunity to keep me from crushing your balls under my heel?” I smile sweetly.

Gavin’s head lowers and his breath whispers across my lips, making me hungry for another taste of his mouth. “Kinky, I like it,” he growls. “I can definitely work with that.”

Even though his words make me hot and needy, I clench my teeth and fight back my desire to climb his body like a spider monkey. “I need to get to work,” I grind out. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Saint.”

His laugh is low and melodic as it dances in my ears. “Keep it up, baby. Punishing you is going to be so much fun.”

Why does that have to sound so goddamned tempting?

I don’t reply as I take another step away. “Oh, and Penelope?” At the sound of my first name coming from his mouth, I idiotically spin around to face him. His lips are against my ear in the blink of an eye. “If you flirt with him or so much as bat your goddamned eyelashes in his direction, I’ll have him fired. I swear to God.”

I pull back on a gasp, shocked at the venom in his voice as I look over his shoulder at an unsuspecting Nick, a nice guy who’s just going about his job, minding his own business. My friend. And suddenly, that insane desire to protect someone I care about comes back, full force, stronger than the desire I feel to fuck Gavin six ways to Sunday.

I step so close my chest is pressed against his. “Is that a threat?” I seethe quietly.

“It’s a fucking promise,” he growls again. “I’ve seen two goddamned men with their hands on you tonight.” I open my mouth to argue only to be cut off. “Don’t forget, Miss Prescott, there are cameras everywhere, including the hallway outside the employee break room.” Shit, he’s talking about Scott, not that he gives me a chance to explain. “I don’t share well, even if it is all for show.”

“And I don’t take people threatening my friends well,” I warned. “Word to the wise, Mr. Saint, you threaten someone I care about and you’ll never, ever get me in your bed again. Understand? And that,” I jabbed my index finger into his chest, “is also a fucking promise.”

Chapter Nineteen

**GAVIN**

Davies piles a stack of chips in front of me from yet another win. The talent in the room tonight is sub-par, amateur, barely passing the level of novice. It’s embarrassing. I could close my eyes for the next three games and still win only from listening to the sounds coming from the table. Heavy breathers, drink clinkers, chip flippers, they’re all accounted for tonight and ruining every chance they have at bluffing.

Normally, I wouldn’t play this many games. Before Penelope arrived in the high roller suite, I would have been seen in this room peering at cards no more than once a month, if that. It’s all become too easy for me. But knowing Penelope is working the room with that dick of a bartender and the leeches at the table, predatorily checking her out, it pulls me here more often than I want.

I meant it when I said I don’t share. I may not be the kind of man who spends his time with a woman more than once – thanks Dad – but there is something about Penelope that has me staking claim. I’ve had my cock buried deep inside of her, followed by my fingers and tongue, I’ve branded her with my scent and I will be damned if someone else tries to step in on my territory before I’m done with her – and Christ, I hope that will be the case. Because the last thing I want, the last fucking thing I need, is for the craving I feel for her to never end.

I take a sip of the amber liquid she brought me nearly an hour ago. I’ve kept my drinking light tonight, just for the mere fact that I can’t afford to be any more distracted than I already am, thanks to her heavenly scent and those luscious hips. They sway with every fucking step she takes, rocking me to my very core. How is that even possible, to be controlled by a woman’s sway?

There’s just something special about her, something I’ve never seen in another woman I’ve met before. Is it her determination? Her feisty attitude? Or the fact that I can read everything about her from the tips of her toes to that husky voice of hers when I’m buried deep inside her. But there is one thing keeping me from unveiling the true Penelope, from pushing past that strong veneer she’s erected around herself. It’s those eyes of hers, there’s something resting right past them, hurt and pain, but I can’t tell if I’m right or not and it’s driving me fucking insane.

I’ve been known to make grown men fall to their knees simply from reading them, sizing them up within a minute, but Penelope? I can’t get past those hazel eyes. There is something she’s not telling me and I can’t for the life of me figure it out.

But why the hell do I care? I shouldn’t care. I’ve never cared before, so why now? There’s just something special about her, something so goddamn addicting that I find myself tossing my cards to the center of the table and standing up from my chair.

Everyone looks at me, confused of my sudden departure from the game.

“Mr. Saint, is everything okay?” Davies asks.

“I’m calling it for the night, gentlemen. It was a pleasure. Davies, please be sure to have security stack me up.” Reaching down, I grab a chip and flip it in her direction. “Always a pleasure, beautiful.”

From the corner of my eye, I can see Penelope in mid stride, confused by my actions. I don’t acknowledge her, I don’t even speak to her. I just turn on my heel, and head out the double doors of the suite, never looking back.

I have some planning to do.

Threatening Penelope over Nick probably wasn’t the smoothest thing I’ve ever done, given her obvious loyalty to her friends. I should have known that, but at the time, I was so worked up from seeing her touching both Scott and Nick that I had to warn her.

Message received that threatening her doesn’t go over well.

For some reason, I want to win her over, break that strong façade she has up and help her relax. There is only one way I know how to truly unwind and if I want to make that happen, I have to get to work now.

I wasn’t kidding about getting her to go to bed with me tonight and staying in my bed, none of this leaving in the middle of the night bullshit.

For the first time in my life, I’m going to do something I’ve never done before, something I swore I’d never do.

I’m going to woo the fuck out of Penelope.

***

Waiting for her tiny ass has proven to be irritating. Graham texted me about half an hour ago that the game ended, meaning Penelope should have already changed and left the building, but there is no sign of her.

I don’t particularly like waiting for women, it’s never really been in my repertoire before, and I for sure don’t appreciate waiting for a woman outside of Hotel Paragon, wearing a pair of jeans and a navy blue Ralph Lauren polo. I don’t like people to see me dressed down very often; it’s a sign of weakness in my eyes. I want to always be recognized as powerful, it assists with every situation I come across.

But when I was getting ready for tonight, right before I called down for my Jag to be pulled around to the front, I put on a pair of jeans, my polo, and tucked it lightly in the front to show off my brown belt that expertly matched my shoes. Take that, Nick The Asshole. It wasn’t an outfit I wore very often but I felt it necessary to wear for tonight. I wanted to show Penelope a different side of myself. A side that didn’t flash money incessantly.

Who fucking knew why I felt the need to prove something to her, but I did… desperately.

I wanted her to see me not as Gavin Saint, master poker player, but as Gavin, a lonely man who just wants some genuine company. It’s a side of myself I’ve never met before, and if I’m being honest, a side that makes me more than just a tad bit itchy.

I check my watch again and shift my position. I’m leaning against my car with my arms crossed over my chest so I don’t miss her when she pops out of the hotel’s revolving doors. I’ve had many women approach me within the last half hour asking for a ride in my car, but instead of giving in like I normally would, only to have them blow me in some parking lot, I didn’t engage with them. I simply ignored them and peered past their needy bodies in search of Penelope.

“Christ, what’s taking so long?” I mutter to myself, checking my phone again.

Just as I’m about to text Graham again, I see Penelope exit the hotel with Davies by her side. Sticking my phone in my back pocket, I resume my relaxed posture and wait for her to notice me. Laughing at something Davies says, she looks up and stops in her tracks when she catches me leaning against my car. Her mouth drops open slightly as she takes in my entire outfit, her eyes roaming from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head.

“Hey baby,” I say, pushing myself off my car. “Are you free? I’d like to take you out.”

I can tell I caught her completely off guard and I love that I did because I get to see her with that wall lowered just a little. I figured I’d have better luck asking her if she was interested in going out rather than demanding it. She might be more receptive to riding with me.

Davies, the beautiful woman that she is, pushes Penelope toward me so she’s only a foot away. “Sorry chick, something came up, can’t take you to the party now. Looks like Mr. Saint will be able to, though. Have a good night.”

“Davies,” Penelope hisses, looking at her retreating friend.

With my finger, I turn her head so she’s forced to look at me instead. Once her eyes connect with mine, I smile. “You look beautiful. Where were you planning on going tonight?” She’s wearing a yellow sundress and a pair of brown sandals, her hair is still down but the heavy makeup she was wearing in the suite earlier is replaced with a more natural look.

“Um, I was going to go to a party with Davies, but apparently her plans have changed.”

“Good news for me then.” I cup her face gently and stroke my thumb across her cheek. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you about your friends. I get a little… possessive.”

“You think?” she snaps, showing me that fiery side I love so much. “It was totally uncalled for and if anything, you just made yourself look like an ass.” I silence her by putting my finger over her lips.

“I said I was sorry. Let’s leave it at that.” Yeah, so maybe I’m not all that good at apologizing. “Let me make it up to you. Go on a date with me.”

She bites her bottom lip and looks away. Does she not know me at all? Whatever comes out of her mouth next I know will be a blatant lie. “I’m busy.” Yup, a fucking lie, a weak one too.

“Penelope,” I refrain from calling her Miss Prescott, knowing that will only set her off. “You and I both know that’s a lie. Come on, I want to take you somewhere.” I grip her hand and pull her toward my car, opening the door for her like a gentleman. She stops before getting in and pulls out her phone.

“Stand in front of your car.” She holds up her phone.

“Why?”

“I need to get a picture of you in front of it.”

“Really?” I smirk. “You getting some material for future nights when we’re apart and I can’t get you off myself?”

The light of her camera phone goes off as she takes the picture followed by her typing away. “No, I’m sending this picture to Davies and Page so that if I don’t come home, they’ll have adequate information to give to the police.”

She hops in the car as I shut the door on her.

“Charming.”

When I get inside, I notice the look of awe on Penelope’s face. Her hand runs across the dashboard and for some reason, I wish it was my body she was touching rather than my car.

“It’s like butter, so smooth.”

“You like the car?” I reach over and grab her seatbelt, my face extremely close to hers, close enough that I can hear the short intake of breath she sucks in. Buckling her in, I wink at her, put my own seatbelt on, and then start the engine, letting it rev for a second before I take off down the Strip and toward the outskirts of town. It’s time to escape the city lights.

After a little bit of silence, Penelope says, “The car is kind of nice.”

“Kind of nice? If I didn’t have the entire interior polished with Scotch Guard, I’d be worried about the drool dripping out of your mouth.”

“I’m not drooling,” she defends while turning to the side and wiping her mouth discreetly. Too bad for her, I’m tuned in to everything she’s doing.

Once we get out on the highway and I no longer have to shift, I remove my hand from the stick and rest it on her thigh.

“Hey-o, what are you doing there?” she asks, practically jumping out of her seat.

Chuckling, I answer, “Trying to hold your hand, you okay with that? I can hold other parts of you if you want…” I wiggle my eyebrows at her.

“Hand is fine.” To my surprise, she presses her palm against mine and entwines our fingers. I rest our joint connection on her thigh and wonder when the hell holding hands with a woman became something I wanted to do.

“Where are we going?” she asks, looking out the window.

I rub the back of her hand with my thumb and change lanes so I can go just a tad faster, wanting to show off the speed of the Jag. “It’s a surprise, but I will tell you this, it’s one of my favorite places to unwind.”

“If we’re going to a strip club I’m going to chop your dick off.”

“As tempting as that sounds,” I grin, “We’re not going to a strip club. You have to think better of me than that.”

She shrugs her shoulder. “I don’t know. You do have the whole player vibe going for you.”

I grip her hand tighter and glance over. “Do you think that’s what I’m doing with you? Playing you?”

Is it? I have no fucking clue. I’ve played women before, plenty of times. I’ll admit it but whenever I’ve played them, I’ve never once held their hand or even thought about taking them on a date. There is no way in hell I am playing Penelope, this is something different. But I’ll be damned if I know what the hell it is.

“Sometimes I think it’s all a game to you.”

At her honesty, I nod my head. A few weeks ago she would have been right about that. Fucking women was a game to me. It has always been a game to me, one I win at every time. But with Penelope, I feel like I am fighting a losing battle. This is no game; this is a fucking challenge I have to overcome. This is war and she’s putting up one epic battle. For Christ’s sake, I’ve already had her and I’m still begging for more. That has to stand for something, right?

Quietly, I answer, “It’s not a game, Penelope. It’s real fucking life.”

Before she can say anything in return, I turn on the radio and play some music that I can’t even process because there are a million thoughts racing through my mind.

I want to turn around. I want to go back to my apartment and think about what the fuck I’m doing, and why I’m all of the sudden behaving like this.

And then there is another part of me that so desperately wants to open up to Penelope, to tell her everything, to expose myself to the very core, strip myself raw so she can see the real me.

I’m so fucking conflicted that I start to feel a heaviness in my chest. A sweat breaks out on my brow and I wonder if I should pull over because it almost feels like I’m about to have a panic attack.

Shit, what’s happening to me?

I’m seconds away from pulling off on the side of the road when Penelope leans over the center console and rests her head on my shoulder, her fingers still laced with mine. And just like that, the heaviness in my chest disappears, and the anxiety that consumed me just moments ago vanishes.

“Tell me something about you, Gavin. Something no one else knows.”

Her voice is sweet and sincere, a part of Penelope I’ve only seen a few times. She’s letting her guard down a little. I should do the same, right?

“Something no one else knows?” I ask, smelling the top of her head and getting lost in the scent of vanilla and coconut. “Hmm, it took me until I was ten to finally learn how to ride a bike.”

“Ten? Seriously?” she asks, looking up at me.

“I know it’s hard for you to believe that I’m not entirely perfect, but yes, it took me until I was ten because I didn’t have a backyard to practice in. I grew up in a hotel, I learned to ride on the roof with a bunch of security guards.”

“Your mom and dad didn’t teach you?” she asks in a sad awe.

“Mom wasn’t around and Dad was busy,” I answer vaguely. I wasn’t ready to go into great detail about my childhood, or lack thereof.

She’s silent, mulling over that tiny detail I coughed up for her, something I’m regretting now. “I bet you were really cute as a kid.”

Taken aback by her comment, I lightheartedly joke. “Is that right? Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. You have that devious smile that I could see on a little boy. You probably got away with a lot.”

“I did,” I answer, knowing full well it wasn’t because of my good looks, but because of the lack of parenting. “What about you? Do you think we would have been friends growing up?”

She laughs. “Definitely not.” I’m slightly insulted before she clarifies. “I grew up doing gymnastics, when I wasn’t at home sleeping or eating, I was in the gym. I didn’t have much time for friends.”

“I see. Well,” I kiss the top of her head, causing her to melt further into me, “I would have made it my mission to be friends with you, even if that meant taking up gymnastics myself.” That makes her full on belly laugh.

“Oh hell, I would have loved to see you in a leotard hopping around on the spring floor.”

Squeezing her hand, I say, “I’m into role play, baby. Who knows, I might just make your dreams come true.”

***

“There is no way you can fit twelve marshmallows in your mouth,” she laughs.

“Scouts honor,” I raise my hand.

“Yeah, twelve mini marshmallows,” she teases.

“Of course mini marshmallows, were you thinking the giant ones? What are you, crazy? I’m not some two-bit tramp down on Freemont.”

“You sure about that?” she laughs just as we pull up to our destination. She looks around then a bright smile crosses her face. “You brought me to Hoover Dam?”

“Yes, and just in time for sunset, come on.”

Wanting to make sure we’re in good position to see the sun set over the red rocks of the desert terrain surrounding the dam, I unbuckle and quickly run around to her side of the car where I open her door for her and offer my hand.

Without hesitation she takes it and stands up next to me, a magical glint reflecting in her eyes, the first ever tell I’ve seen come from those hazel eyes of hers. My breath escapes me and I can’t help the smile that tugs on both sides of my lips.

She’s so fucking beautiful and when she looks up at me like that, it’s pretty much fucking impossible for me to think about anything else besides her.

Clearing my throat, I ask, “You ready for this?”

“I am.”

Holding her hand, I lead her to my special spot and sit her up on the wall that looks over the dam. The colorful lights of the dam are already starting to light up as they prepare for nightfall. The affect makes it impossible to turn your head away. Despite the natural beauty surrounding us, I can’t help but stare at Penelope and the way the lights reflect off her smooth skin.

“Its so beautiful here, Gavin. Do you come here often?” She turns and catches me staring at her. A blush forms on her cheeks, making her that much more irresistible.

“When I need a moment away from the city lights, I come here. It’s always been a safe haven to me, a place to take in the organic beauty of the earth.”

“It’s gorgeous, I can see the appeal.”

Needing to be closer to her, I wrap my arms around her stomach and pull her into my chest. I rest my chin against her shoulder and watch as the sun continues to fall. A mixture of pinks and oranges paint the sky, the last few rays bouncing off the red rocks of the landscape, making the entire scene picturesque.

“If you could paint the sunset with your own colors, what colors would you choose?” I ask her.

“What do you mean?”

I kiss her shoulder and say, “If you could choose the colors of the sunset, what colors would you choose?”

“Hmm.” She thinks about my question, leaning her head against my shoulder and wrapping her hands over mine. “I think I would keep it the same. It’s so beautiful, I wouldn’t want to change anything.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” I answer, not speaking of the sunset, but speaking of the girl enveloped in my arms.

In silence, we watch the top half of the sun slowly disappear behind the desert, turning the sky darker with each passing moment. Usually, I feel the need to talk while in someone’s company. I always need to keep the conversation going, but with Penelope, I’m content just holding her in my arms and listening to the water flowing through the dam. It’s all a foreign feeling to me and I can’t help but like it. Scratch that, I can’t help but crave it.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Gavin. I needed this.”

“So did I,” I answer, kissing the side of her neck and then once again resting my chin on her shoulder, squeezing her a little tighter.

Fuck me. I think I’m letting this little brunette pull away a thick layer of armor I’ve been wearing for several years now. And I’ve never been more terrified in my life.

Chapter Twenty

**NELL**

My head is swimming as I stare out at the last remaining rays of sun kissing the horizon goodnight. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined Gavin could be so sweet, so caring, and his actions this evening have left me no other choice but to fall into his gentle embrace, melting against him. If I’m being honest with myself, I’m not quite sure how to handle this Gavin. Most of my defenses have crumbled in the short amount of time I’ve been with him, and I can’t seem to find it in me to care. I’m too overcome with his presence to do anything other than bask in his adoration.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, his smooth voice trailing over the bare skin of my shoulder, causing me to shiver.

“Honestly?”

“No,” he laughs lightly. “Lie to me, please. I love it when you do that.”

“Smart ass,” I giggle, throwing my elbow back, catching him softly in the ribs, not enough to hurt, just enough to be playful. “Truth is,” I continue, trying to find the right words to answer his question. “I’m not really sure.”

“You aren’t sure what you’re thinking?” he asks in a bewildered voice.

“Well… no, I guess…” I stumble. “I guess I’m just confused. I mean, this really isn’t a side of you I ever expected to see. Not that I don’t like it!” I add, quickly back pedaling. “Because I do. I like it a lot. I guess what I mean is I’m a little surprised by it. I didn’t know you had it in you to be sweet, Gavin Saint.”

“I didn’t either,” he answers in a voice devoid of any humor. He’s serious, and from the sounds of it, just as confused as I am. “I don’t… do relationships, which makes this whole thing with you feel so foreign.” I’m not sure if I should feel insulted, but before I can decide on an emotion, he’s talking again. “I’ve never met a woman I wanted to have a relationship with. Then you came along and I feel like I haven’t been able to catch up.”

I tilt my head to the side, my brow furrowed as I study his profile in the waning light. “What do you mean?”

Gavin’s body moves away from mine and I instantly miss his heat against me, but before I can protest, his strong hands grip my waist, and spin me around on the ledge so I am facing him. His narrow hips push against my knees, giving me no choice but to open my legs to accommodate him. His long fingers come up, cupping my cheeks, forcing my eyes to meet his.

“I love a challenge, Penelope, and God knows I haven’t gotten much of them in my life lately. Something in me had shifted before I even met you. Things that used to give me a rush, give me that high I love, have been leaving me disappointed and empty.” I stare into his inky eyes, mesmerized as he speaks, lost in his words and his dark gaze, almost the color of the darkened sky. “When I met you I’d been feeling complacent. Nothing seemed to matter as much as it used to. That void remained empty on a daily basis. When you walked in that room and I saw you on camera, throwing your sass around without a thought, I saw something I’d been craving for a while.”

“I was a challenge,” I finish for him, my stomach in knots at the thought that what I’m feeling isn’t real, that it’s just a high he’s chasing.

“You were, yes. But now it’s different. I’m not going to lie, and I won’t sugar coat the truth. I’ve been inside of you almost every way I can. If it was just a challenge for me, I’d be gone by now.” I try to pull my face away, suddenly feeling overwhelmed, angry, and a little sad. And I hate feeling that way, but he won’t let go. “But I still want you, Penelope.” I stop struggling, my gaze shooting back to his in surprise. “I don’t think it’s the challenge of catching you I love so much. I think that it’s just because you challenge me. Every single day.”

His thumbs rub slows paths along my cheeks, trailing down to my bottom lip as he leans in closer. “And it’s not just your attitude I’m talking about,” he says softly, with a cheeky grin. “It’s because you’re smart. Yes, you’re so fucking sexy you drive me out of my mind, but it’s more. You’re passionate, and caring, and loyal… so goddamned loyal. I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be worthy of your loyalty. Being around you challenges me to be a better man, and it’s the first time I’ve ever felt that.”

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, my lips parted in shock, but it takes me a few seconds to realize he’s gone silent in expectation of my response. “I… wow. I don’t…”

So freaking smooth, Nell.

“Holy shit,” he chuckles. “Did I just stun Penelope Prescott speechless? I didn’t know you were capable of silence.” At his words, I narrow my eyes and glare. “There it is,” he murmurs, leaning in kissing my lips softly, fleetingly. It’s just enough to have me craving more. “Call me crazy, but I much prefer your sass to your silence. I have to admit, that attitude gets me hard as a rock.”

“How do you do that?” I ask in exasperation.

“Do what?”

“How do you go from a man so sweet I’m actually terrified of what I’m feeling, to someone whose sole focus is sex? It’s infuriating!” I huff, leaning out of his hold just enough to cross my arms over my chest and pout.

Gavin’s grin is positively sinful. “Easy,” he shrugs. “Have you seen you? If there ever comes a day that I think about you and don’t get hard enough to break wood, I’m more than likely dead.”

I can’t help it, he’s so outrageous that I throw my head back in laughter, the sound echoing across the dam behind me.

“Penelope.” His voice is once again serious, immediately halting the laughter spilling from my lips. When I lift my head to look at him, he’s staring down at me, so many emotions flitting through his eyes that I can’t pinpoint a single one of them. “If it makes you feel better, I’m fucking terrified of what I feel for you. And the worst part of that is, I don’t know what to do about it.”

“I don’t either,” I shrug, giving him a small, uncertain smile. “I guess all we can do is take it one day at a time, huh?”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, a chilly gust of wind blows around us, causing my skin to break out in goose bumps. That’s one thing I’ve never gotten used to living in the desert. The days can be sweltering hot, but the moment the sun goes down the nights can be positively frigid.

“Come on,” Gavin coaxes, lifting me from the ledge and placing me on my feet before taking my hand in his. “It’s getting cold, we should go.”

As I let him lead me to the car, I’m suddenly overcome with a sense of loss, like the moment we just shared is at risk of disappearing the second we’re back within the city lights. I’m not ready for it to end yet. I need more of this Gavin before we go back to our real lives and run the risk of losing what we’ve gained tonight. Once we reach the car, Gavin releases my hand to reach into his pocket for the keys. I scan the area and realize just how secluded we are, not that it would have mattered, not with how I’m feeling at this very moment. And that’s what I’m doing… feeling. I’ve allowed myself to shut down my brain and just feel.

Gavin’s eyes come to mine when I take a step away from him. “Penelope?”

I don’t say a word as I reach beneath my skirt and hook my thumbs in the waistband of my panties, sliding them down my thighs until they pool at my feet.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice instantly going rough and gravelly. I can see it in the lights of the dam the way his pupils dilate, turning that dark brown almost completely black. The moment my thong hits the ground, he’s as consumed as I am.

Walking to the front of the car, I place my hands on the hood and look up, my eyelids heavy as I take in the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “Fuck me, Gavin. I need to feel your big cock inside me. Right now.”

He doesn’t hesitate. The instant the words leave my mouth he’s stalking toward me, and I want to cry out in relief because if he’d paused, for even one second, I don’t know what I would have done.

The heat of his chest hits my back at the same time the cold air brushes against my thighs as he trails his hands up, up, up. I’m too far gone to notice the drop in temperature anymore. I let out a needy whimper as soon as his fingers slide through my drenched slit.

“So fucking ready for me,” he growls in my ear before pulling the lobe into his mouth and nipping. “No one else can do this for you, can they? No one else makes you so wet, so fucking desperate.” I whimper again. “You want my cock, Penelope?”

“Yes,” I groan, my head falling back against his shoulder as he grinds his massive erection against my ass. I can’t think of anything in my life I’ve ever wanted more than him at this very second. “Please, Gavin. Please fuck me.”

He moves away just far enough to free himself from the confines of his jeans, and as I look over my shoulder to see that big, straining dick pointing directly at me, I moan, long and loud. I barely notice him removing a condom from his wallet and ripping the foil open with his teeth. In a matter of seconds, that feel more like a million years, he’s fully sheathed and pressing against me, lifting the skirt of my dress over my ass and shoving into me in a hard, brutal thrust that has me shouting his name into the dark night.

“God dammit,” he hisses between clenched teeth as he pumps into me, stretching me around his thickness at a relentless pace. “So. Fucking. Tight.” Each word is punctuated with a thrust that hits that most sensitive spot inside me. No man has ever hit that spot, and as the edges of my vision grow hazy, I feel the insane need to pay homage to Gavin Saint’s glorious cock. Luckily, all I’m capable of just now is a loud cry of pleasure as his fingers dig into the flesh of my ass, kneading and pulling at my cheeks as he fucks me better than anyone ever has before.

“Gavin. Oh, God. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. I need to come,” I chant, or at least I think I do. For all I know, I’m speaking in tongue as he manipulates my body in a way I’m certain only he can. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoing in the air is the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard.

One of his hands releases my ass and comes to rest between my shoulder blades, and before I know it, my chest meets the cool surface of the car’s hood. I’m bent over, completely at Gavin’s mercy, and there’s nowhere I’d rather be.

Each of his hands is braced on the metal on either side of my head as his cock pulls almost completely out, only to dive back in again and again with perfect precision. I swear to God, Gavin Saint was born to fuck me.

“Jesus Christ,” he grinds out. “Do you have any clue how fucking beautiful you look, spread out across my car like this?” His crude words are followed by a loud crack and what feels like fire stinging the cheek of my ass.

I throw my head back in a guttural yell, the feel of his palm slapping me only heightening the pleasure I’m already feeling. He does it again. And again. And again. It’s so good I think I might be able to come from him spanking me alone.

“That’s it, Penelope,” he rasps. “That’s it. Take every fucking thing I give you. Such a good girl. Squeeze my cock and I’ll let you come.”

I do what he says, clenching my walls around him. He gives me one last spank before trailing his hand along my hot flesh and down between my thighs where he presses against my clit just hard enough that, with a throat-burning scream, I dive into the blissful abyss of my release, coming so hard I see stars.

“Oh shit. Holy fucking shit! I’m coming! Uhn…” he groans as he buries himself to the root and follows me over. His cock swelling as he empties everything he has inside me. My head drops back down as I pant uncontrollably, reveling in the way his dick twitches inside me. I did that to him. I made him come so hard he collapsed on top of me, his breaths just as ragged as my own.

For long seconds, the only sounds are our heavy breathing. Then, “I’m never fucking washing this car again,” he declares in a tone full of worship. I laugh as much as my still deflated lungs allow.

Gavin’s fingertips brush my chin as he turns my head just enough for our lips to meet in a long, languid kiss that holds more emotion than any kiss I’ve ever received. I know we have to move, that we can’t stay like this all night, but that doesn’t mean I’m not sad when he finally removes his lips from mine and pulls out of me. I gasp as a cold breeze hits the wet, sensitive flesh between my thighs.

“You okay?” he asks as he helps me from the hood of the car.

I offer him what I have no doubt is a drugged grin. “I’m great. I’m more than great.”

“Me too,” he smiles back, and I’m lost again in his smile.

We’re both silent as he helps me into the car, closes me in, and makes his way around the hood to the driver side. We might not speak the whole way back to the city, but with the contentment thickening the air around us, there’s no need to. His fingers stay laced with mine the whole time, only letting go long enough to shift before coming right back.

The brightly lit Strip can be seen from miles away, growing closer and closer, and if I’d have had to pick a way to end our night, this is exactly what I would have wanted.

Only, it doesn’t end. Gavin doesn’t take me home. He takes me back to the hotel…

Chapter Twenty-One

**GAVIN**

Fucking hell.

What am I doing? What the fuck am I doing?

For the first time in my entire life, I’m feeling shit about a woman and not only am I accepting those feelings, but I’m expressing those feelings to said woman.

What the ever loving fuck!

I blame the sunset for making me lose my mind, for making me turn into a man who opens his heart to another human being.

This isn’t me. This isn’t the Gavin Saint that took the poker world by storm and annihilated all competition.

But do you know what? There is this weird sense of ease that washed over me the minute I wrapped my arms around Penelope and told her what I’ve been feeling. As if there’s been a clamp around my chest, tightening with each passing day, Penelope’s candid spirit and warm smile has loosened the vise’s hold, to the point that I almost feel like a completely different man.

It’s terrifying.

I’ve never been a pussy, I’ve taken what life’s given me and made my own royal flush, but with Penelope, I feel like no matter what cards rest in my hand, I’m going to lose. I’m going to lose the hard shield I’ve built to protect myself from a woman who can easily destroy a man. Even knowing this, the hand that rests in mine is one I don’t want to let go of.

When did I become so protective of this woman? When did the tables turn to the point that I no longer just wanted to fuck her, but that I have this desperate feeling of responsibility to bring happiness to her life?

“Why do I feel nervous?” Penelope asks as I walk her to my front door, her palm pressing against mine.

“Are you scared of me?” I ask with a jovial lilt, trying to ease the sexual tension that’s risen between us during the drive. We didn’t partake in conversation on the way back, we barely acknowledged each other. We simply held hands, our thumbs rubbing along each other’s skin.

I have no clue what she was thinking that entire time, but my mind was battling between what the hell I was thinking and reminiscing about Penelope sprawled against the hood of my car, her wet pussy crying out to me for more. Can you guess which thought gathered more attention?

She scoffs. “Scared of you? Never. You’re easy to read.”

I open the door to my suite and let her in. “I’m easy to read?” I ask, shutting the door and walking up to her. “Is that so? Enlighten me then, Penelope, what are my tells?”

With ease and precision, dodging furniture, I walk her to the span of windows in my living room and trap her up against the cool glass.

She bites the corner of her lip as her eyes search to the sky for answers. Will she never learn? “You like to button your suit jacket when you get serious…” she trails off. A sad attempt and I have no problem calling her out on it.

Lifting a rakish brow, I study her. “Is that all you’ve got? I button my suit jacket?”

“It’s a work in progress.” She shrugs. “Before spitting out ideas and showing what I know about you, I’m confirming all my hypotheses first.”

“Is that right?” Raising her hands over her head, I say, “Keep studying, baby. You’re not going to find much. As for you,” I lean closer, nipping at her mouth, “this lip right here, this plump and luscious one, every time you bite on it, not only do I know you’re about to lie, but I also get extremely pissed at you.”

“Why?” Her breathing starts to grow heavy with my proximity.

“Because, that’s not your lip to bite Penelope. That is not your lip to hurt, it’s mine. And every time you bite it in front of me, I want to punish you.”

Her teeth rake over her lip, testing me. Such a fucking vixen. “How do you plan on punishing me, Gavin?”

Leaning over to her ear, I speak softly, “What happened to the girl who was nervous a few minutes ago? Was that all a ruse?”

“You’re not the only one who can bluff,” she says in a whisper.

Christ, this woman. One minute she’s showing a side of vulnerability I’ve never seen and the next, she’s tempting me, testing my restraint. Unbeknownst to her, where she is concerned I have zero restraint.

“Keep your hands here,” I say, pressing them against the window for emphasis. “Do not fucking move them or what I’m about to do to you will become a distant dream. Understood?”

Looking up through her eyelashes, she asks, “And what are you about to do to me?”

Smiling devilishly, I say, “I’m going to fuck you up against this window, Miss Prescott. We’re going to give the voyeurs of Las Vegas a show.”

Without waiting for an answer, I grab the hem of her dress and tear it over her head, tossing it to the side. Underneath, she’s only wearing a strapless bra, her thong from earlier in my back pocket. Guiding my hand behind her, I release the clasp of her bra, letting the fabric fall to the ground, revealing her perfectly round breasts. I kick the bra to the side with her dress and take in the picture perfect woman in front of me.

Penelope is unlike any woman I’ve ever been with. Her body is lithe, toned, and tempting. Her breasts are smaller than she promotes, but funny enough, I love how they fit in my palm. Just enough that I can clamp my hand around them, feeling her perky little nipples against my palm. Her stomach is taught, defined, her waist narrow, leading to slight hips and a mouthwatering pussy.

Fuck, her pussy is impeccable, tight and needy.

“Tell me, Miss Prescott, would you rather face everyone while I fuck you against this glass, or would you rather have your back against the glass, showing off that divine ass of yours?”

“Neither,” she says, her chin lifted high. “I don’t fuck anyone who calls me Miss Prescott.”

My fingers gently run across her jaw, her arms are still propped up so I know she’s not about to leave, she’s testing me. “You and I both know that’s a lie. Pretty sure my swollen cock has been inside that tight cunt of yours a few times now, despite the fact that I call you Miss Prescott.”

“It ends now,” she answers sternly.

My lips tug up in a smile from the little ball of sass in front of me taking a stance. “Or what?”

Lowering her hands, I think she’s about to leave, but instead, she unbuckles my jeans and pushes them down with my boxer briefs. She then lifts my shirt up and over my head, exposing my body to her.

Her fingers caress the divots in my stomach as they work their way down to my hard, erect cock. Swiftly, without warning, she grips my length and holds onto it tightly. “I know what you’ve been wondering for a while, Gavin, I know what’s been going through that handsome head of yours.”

“You think I’m handsome?” I tease.

“Really? That’s what you’re concerned about?” She glides her hand up my cock and then back down, pulling me back into her conversation.

I clear my throat. “You were saying?”

“I can see it in those midnight eyes of yours, Gavin. You want to know what my lips look like wrapped around your dick, don’t you? You want to know what it feels like to have my wet, hot mouth encasing your cock. You want to know how deep I can take you, how it feels to be nine inches inside my throat while my tongue leisurely licks your balls. Don’t you?”

If I was a teenager, I’m pretty sure I would have just come.

Instead, my cock is harder than ever, fucking throbbing in the palm of her hand, looking for her to stop teasing me and to cash in on that picture she just painted for me.

Grinding my teeth and taking a deep breath, I answer, “I do.” Honesty is the best policy, especially when your dick is being held by an evil temptress.

“Then tell me you what you want me to do, using my name, Gavin.”

Easy enough. Leaning a little closer, her hand still wrapped around me, I tilt her head up and kiss her lips softly, intimately. “Penelope,” I breathe out, kissing one side of her mouth to the other. “I want to know what it feels like to have these delicious lips sucking my dick into your sweet, sassy mouth. How’s that for asking what I want?”

“That works,” she says right before dropping down to her knees.

My legs shake beneath me from the heat already pouring off of Penelope. Support is desperately needed, so I press my hands on the glass in front of me, while Penelope glides her hands up my thighs to my straining erection.

Right when I think she’s about to grip the root of my length, her fingers slide back down my thighs, a naughty smile on her face.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask, breathless and throbbing uncontrollably.

“Testing your will.”

“Not necessary, it’s strong. No need to check it.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.” Her fingers slide back up where they barely caress the bottom of my balls. The scratch of her nails running along the sensitive skin throws my nerves into a frenzy.

“Fuck,” I bite out.

“Does that feel good, Gavin?”

“Do you know what would feel better? Your mouth around my cock.”

Gripping my balls now, she rubs her thumb at the base of my dick, playing with a sensitive vein on the underside. I spread my legs further apart and lean my head against my arm, my erection straining right by her face, dancing dangerously close to her lips.

That will she’s testing, it’s paper thin right about now. If I could, I would hump the air just for any kind of relief from the pressure building at the tip of my dick from the blood pooling at the head.

“Tell me, Gavin, how much do you want to thrust your swollen cock into my mouth?”

My throat is tight, I can barely get out the words. “More than fucking anything.”

With a smile on her face, her little pink tongue sticks out of her mouth and flicks across my cock, from the bottom to the top, barely caressing me, just fucking teasing me.

My palm slaps the glass, my restraint completely gone. “Penelope,” I warn.

The licks stop. “Yes?”

Breathing heavily, I say, “Payback is a bitch.”

Her hand gently squeezes my balls and then slides up my length, using the saliva of her licks as lubrication. “I look forward to it,” she says with mirth, right before her mouth encircles the head.

The minute her mouth wraps around my dick, I can’t help it, I thrust forward needing more. And to my delight, she takes it, opening her mouth and letting me thrust in and out of it. Brief relief encompasses me before she removes herself completely, hands and all.

“Fuck, Penelope!” I shout, pre-cum on my tip, waiting to be licked off.

She stand. Fucking stands!

With my arms straddling her shoulders, she lifts her hands over her head, replicating the position I had her in before.

Seductively, she smirks at me and says, “Weren’t you going to fuck me against the window?”

I growl.

A guttural, feral, rugged growl escapes me. A sound I’ve never made before, a sound I never expected to ever escape my lips.

Flipping the rest of my clothes off, I quickly retrieve a condom from my wallet and sheath myself, taking no time at all in delaying gratification.

“How many condoms do you usually carry with you?” she asks, her face twisted in disapproval.

“Since, I’ve met you, at least three. Before I met you, none.”

It’s true. Yes, I enjoyed sex with random women before I met Penelope, but I wasn’t one to fuck someone sporadically in a hallway. With Penelope, that thought has changed. I can’t get enough of her, I want her all the time and wherever there aren’t prying eyes. To hell if I will let anyone else see her body. Fuck no, she’s for my eyes only.

Desperately she tries to hold back the smile that wants to peek out. Caressing her face and looking deep into her eyes, I say, “Don’t hold back that smile, baby.”

Just as she lets it loose, I cup her ass and hoist her against the glass. Spreading her legs so my cock is at her entrance, I take a deep breath and then plunge in.

“Oh God!” she cries out, her arms falling to my shoulders.

“Arms up,” I grit out. Dutifully, she listens, thankfully quickly because once they’re in place, I thrust into her, at a relentless pace.

There is no finesse in my movements, it’s carnal, out of control, and even if I tried, there is no turning back. I pound into her, hitting her g-spot with each thrust. What started out as a slow perusal of my body is now an all-out, animalistic grinding of our bodies.

“Harder,” she calls out, her breasts swaying with each of my thrusts.

“Christ.” Holding her tighter, my fingers imprinting her legs, I exert myself, driving my cock harder and deeper into her.

Her cries echo through my villa, my groans matching hers. “I’m going to come,” I tell her, feeling my impending orgasm taking over my body.

“Me. Too.”

Clenching rapidly around me, her pussy pulses against my hardened cock as she screams my name, her arms falling over my shoulders as well as her head. Her muffled cries reflecting off our joint bodies.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” I shout, pounding into her, not letting up until the entire space around me turns black and all I can do is feel the total euphoria with Penelope’s cunt clenching me and my dick claiming her as mine.

Unable to stand, I collapse to the ground, Penelope still in my arms, our connection still intact. She lays on top of me and giggles, an addictive sound I will never get enough of.

“Lose your balance?” she asks, her hair dancing with my bare chest.

“You fucked me unsteady,” I say, gazing up at her and bringing my hand to her cheek, rubbing it with my thumb.

“Pretty sure you’re the one who fucked me.” She kisses my lips, settling any tension I’ve ever had.

Little does she know… she’s fucked me.

Chapter Twenty-Two

**NELL**

A shiver rolling up my naked spine wakes me from a fitful sleep. It takes me a few seconds to clear my groggy mind and remember where I am, but I still can’t figure out why I’m cold, or why I have an uncomfortable crick in my neck. It isn’t until my eyes fully clear and I’m able to see what little of the room lit by the sunlight peeking through the small gap in the curtains that I realize the problem.

“Son of a bitch,” I grumble, never one to be described as a morning person. I’m lying in Gavin’s bed, still naked after a marathon of all night sex, next to the man in question… well, next to him is probably the wrong way to describe it, seeing as he’s basically starfish-ed across the entire bed, all the sheets and pillows pulled around him to form a warm, comfortable cocoon, while I lay here, curled into myself in the very minuscule amount of space he’s left for me.

It’s a revelation I never thought I’d be having. Gavin Saint is a massive bed hog.

Not feeling so polite after being kept up late—even though the sex was phenomenal—sleeping like crap, waking up before my body’s ready, and currently running on no caffeine, I do what any red-blooded American woman who thrives on getting her eight hours would do. Or at least, that’s what I’ll tell myself until the day I die. I twist my body, plant my cold feet in his side, and shove with all my might, sending the obnoxiously attractive bed hog to the floor.

“What the...!” Pressing my hand over my mouth, I try my best to stifle a giggle as Gavin’s head, complete with sexy, rumpled hair and a pillow creased face, pops up with a startled and confused look. “What happened?” His head darts side to side, the shocked expression in his eyes nearly making me lose it completely.

I swallow down my laughter the best I can. “Whoops.” I shrug my shoulders, playing the innocent doe-eyed dandy the best I can.

“Whoops?” he asks in bewilderment.

“You must have fallen off the bed,” I answer, grabbing a handful of sheet and yanking it over my body before confiscating a pillow and cuddling back into the plush mattress. My eyes are barely closed for a second when suddenly I am plummeting to the carpeted floor on my side.

Shooting up to sitting, I whip my hair from my eyes and look at the bed to find Gavin sitting there, a smug grin painted over his lips.

“Did you just push me off the bed?” I shout incredulously.

“You shoved me first!” he declares, clenching his fist.

“Only because you’re a freaking bed hog! You stole all the sheets, took my pillow, and sprawled your big, annoying body across the entire thing!”

He lets out a snort, crossing his arms over his chest as I stand from the floor, wrapping the sheet securely around my body. “You weren’t complaining about my body last night. If I recall, you spent a good thirty minutes running your tongue over every square inch.”

I shoot daggers from my eyes as I grab a pillow and smack him in the face with it. “That was before I knew you hogged all the covers and left me an inch of space.”

“Well excuse me,” he harrumphs, still looking adorably sleep rumpled and agitated. “I’ve never shared a bed with a woman before so it’s not like I’d know if I had a tendency to take up every inch.”

At his words, my frustration vanishes into thin air and a slow smile spreads across my face. “Aw, was I your first?” I ask teasingly, placing my knee onto the mattress and scooting his way. “That’s so cute!” I pepper his face with a thousand little kisses as he bats at me, still trying to hold on to his hissy fit, even though I can see the corner of his mouth hitching up.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, no anger in his words whatsoever.

“I was your first,” I continue, because honestly, it’s the only thing I can do to keep myself from jumping up and down, fist bumping the air in victory because I’M THE FIRST WOMAN TO SPEND THE NIGHT WITH GAVIN SAINT! That knowledge makes me positively giddy.

Somehow, my kissing his face turns into a full-blown wrestling match and by the time he pins me to the mattress I’m completely out of breath from laughing so hard.

When I finally get a hold of myself and look into those deep brown eyes, my lungs deflate at what I see in them. I know I haven’t known Gavin long, but this has to be the first time I’ve ever seen him so… happy. He’s staring down at me, his eyes smiling with total unguarded happiness.

“Morning, baby,” he says in a low, gravelly voice that makes my body tremble.

“Morning,” I smile, feeling the happiness leak out of him and into me.

“You look good in my bed.” Instant swoon. Seriously, every one of my lady bits quivers at the sound of Gavin admitting I look good in his bed. There isn’t a woman on the planet who would be able to withstand that kind of charm.

“Thanks,” I say in a quiet, breathless voice.

“Sleep good?”

At that I laugh, “Hell no. You’re a pain in the ass to sleep with. And I once had four girls in my bed during a sleepover, so that’s really saying something.”

Instead of being insulted, I watch as Gavin’s pupils dilate, nearly turning his eyes solid black. “Four girls, huh?” I feel the telltale signs of his erection pressing against my thigh. “Let’s talk about that. In great detail. Maybe with some diagrams or something. How are you at drawing? You know what? Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a vivid imagination.” He closes his eyes and scrunches his brow like he’s concentrating hard. “Oh, yeah,” he groans.

“Pervert.” I smack him in his arm in a fit of giggles, earning myself one of his heart stopping smiles. I’m quickly becoming addicted to those smiles. I don’t know what I’d do if I ever found myself not on the receiving end of them. And just like that, the thought of whatever is happening between us ending is like a bucket of ice water pouring over my head.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Gavin asks in a soft voice as his index finger comes up and runs along the wrinkle in my brow.

“Nowhere,” I lie, smiling up at him again. The last thing I want to do is lay my insecurities on him the morning after. I’ve never been clingy or self-conscious and I’d be damned if I started acting that way now.

“You sure?” he asks skeptically.

“Yep. Positive. Just need caffeine. STAT.”

“I think I can take care of that.” He pushes up, briefly hovering over me, the muscles in his arms straining in a way that makes my mouth water. It takes everything I have not to turn my head and bite into it. I let out a beleaguered sigh as his body heat leaves me and he climbs from the bed, his delectable ass twitching with each step he takes toward his dresser. I want to cry out as he steps into a pair of boxer briefs and covers up what should be plastered across billboards for all the world to see. Yeah, I wasn’t in love with the idea of women—and quite a few men—lusting after Gavin’s ass, not when it is technically mine. But I’m a fair person, and a work of art like that should be shared with the world.

“You coming, or are you going to spend the rest of the morning drooling over my ass?”

I have no shame. Reaching up, I wipe at the corner of my mouth. Yep, that’s drool all right. At the sound of Gavin’s deep chuckle, I cut my eyes at him and climb out of the bed, still wrapped in the blanket. I follow after him, our bare feet barely making a sound as we pad through the villa and into the kitchen. I’d expected him to call room service and order coffee and breakfast, so it’s surprising when I see him heading for a machine on the kitchen counter that looks like something out of The Jetsons. He fiddles with it for a few seconds, pushes some buttons, and miraculously, it starts hissing and whirring and the kitchen is filled with the delicious aroma of coffee.

“Marry me,” I whisper in awe.

Gavin spins around, looking a little shell-shocked. “What?”

“Not you,” I answer, tilting my chin toward the space-age coffee maker. “That. I want to marry it, that way I can keep it forever.”

He stares at me like I’ve grown another head before saying, “So let me get this straight. You’d rather marry the inanimate object—which I’m pretty sure is impossible—than the person who owns it.”

I make grabby hands in the direction of the now full mug. Gavin gets the point and pulls it from the machine, replacing it with another, and hands it to me. I inhale deeply, a serene expression on my face. “The machine won’t talk back or boss me around. Where’d you get that anyway? Can I pick one up at Bed Bath and Beyond?” I’m sure it would eat a pretty chunk out of the money I’d been saving lately, but from the taste of the coffee alone, it would be totally worth it.

Gavin lets out a loud bark of laughter. “That’s a fifteen hundred dollar machine. I had it shipped directly from Italy.”

I stare at him in silence for several seconds. “So… that’s a no on Bed Bath and Beyond?”

“That’s a hell no,” he continues to chuckle. I momentarily consider throwing my cup at his smug ass, but wasting this cup of liquid gold would be a sin. “I guess you’ll just have to keep me around for a while.” He prowls around the island to where I’m standing, each predatory step sending a thrill through my body. “You know, for my coffee maker.”

“Yep,” I say, feeling a little breathless the closer he gets. “All I want from you is your coffee maker.”

He grins smugly, knowing as well as I do that I’m totally and completely full of shit. He leans in so close I can feel his breath on my lips, and my tongue darts out, running along my bottom one in anticipation of his kiss. A kiss I very much want at the moment.

“What are you doing to me?” he growls, causing me to shiver.

“I don’t know,” I pant. “But whatever it is, you’re doing it to me too. And I don’t want it to stop.”

Just as his mouth comes down on mine the sound of the door to his villa opening and slamming shut echoes around us.

“Hey, dick breath!” a familiar voice shouts followed by footsteps coming closer. “I made that call you wanted. Don’t know what the fuck’s got you all interested in La Magie, but—what the fuck, man! Really?!”

At the sight of Graham Larson—my boss—standing across from us, I shoot back, distancing myself from Gavin, my heart beating rapidly against my chest.

I stand there like a deer caught in the headlights. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. This is not good. The employee handbook clearly states that employees of Hotel Paragon aren’t allowed to fraternize with the guests, and seeing as I’m standing in Gavin’s kitchen wearing nothing but a goddamned bed sheet, there’s no talking my way out of this one.

“Uh…” I mutter as Gavin walks over and pulls his mug from the machine and lifts it to his lips.

“Can I help you with something, cock blocker?” Gavin grumbles. I somehow manage to choke on air at Gavin’s callous remark. Shit! I’m so getting fired.

“You know the rules,” Graham declares as my body begins to tremble. I cannot lose this job.

“Mr. Larson, it’s not…” I trail off because I can’t possibly say “it’s not what it looks like”. It’s exactly what it looks like.

“No fucking hotel employees in the hotel man! I’ve been lax with you in the past because you’re like a brother to me, and I get it. The cocktail waitresses are hot—”

Wait… in the past? What the hell?

“Shut the fuck up, Graham,” Gavin growls, his jaw ticking.

“But I do not want to deal with another fucking waitress sobbing her eyes out ‘cause she saw another goddamned employee coming out of your room!”

What the fuck?!

“Graham!” Gavin barks, but he’s clearly oblivious to the tension suddenly thickening the air. “I said shut the fuck up!”

Just how many waitresses has he fucked? I wonder. My chest feels like it’s going to cave in as Graham continues. “If I have to let go of one more hysterical woman I’m opening myself up to a wrongful termination lawsuit. And I love you, but not that fucking much.”

I begin moving back. “Um…” I stumble over my words and the sheet currently tangling around my feet. I need to get out of here. There’s no freaking air! “I’m just going to…” I don’t finish, I just turn and bolt from the kitchen, tripping and nearly falling face first into a wall before catching myself. Great, just what I need. “I’m just going to get dressed!” I yell over my shoulder, not taking a full breath until I’m closed off in Gavin’s room, the musky smell of sex still lingering in the air.

The only thing I can wonder as I woodenly move around, snatching clothes from the floor, is: Did Gavin mean everything he said last night… and this morning? Or am I just part of some fucked up waitress fetish?

Chapter Twenty-three

**GAVIN**

“I’m about to tear your dick off and feed it to you for breakfast,” I grind out between my teeth, approaching Graham with my fists curled at my sides.

“What the fuck for?” he asks, completely oblivious to the damage he’s just done.

How long have I spent trying to get Penelope to trust me, to give me a small semblance of a chance at letting me bring her into my world? Then this jack off comes waltzing into my villa, balls dragging on the floor and a shit-eating grin on his face, just to wash it all away.

Yup, he’s eating his dick for breakfast.

Last night was something I never thought I would wish for. Taking a girl to my spot, letting her see a side of me only Scott, by force on his part, has seen. And then this morning, finding Penelope, rumpled and fucking adorable in my bed. Shit, it felt so right. From the moment she shoved me off the bed, to the way she stared at my ass while I put on my briefs, to the lustful look she gave my coffee maker – yeah, I’m jealous of the machine – it all seemed so fucking right.

I didn’t want to kick her out, I didn’t want Gertrude, my housekeeper, to shove her out, and I sure as hell didn’t want to cut all ties with her. It was the opposite. I want her to hang out with me all day, naked preferably, I want to tell Gertrude to take the day off, and I not only want Penelope to stay around, I want to learn more about her. I want to know everything about her, about her childhood, her family, her gymnastics. Fuck, I want to see some of her moves, and maybe fuck her while she’s doing them.

I desperately want to bury myself inside her again, edging her to the brink of orgasm until she’s panting, writhing under me to the point of explosion. I want to see those hazel of eyes of hers glaze over again while her little mouth forms that tiny, adorably little “O”. I want to feel her tight cunt squeeze my cock, greedily sucking me dry until the convulsions of her wet pussy finally give out.

But this fuckhead is ruining all of that for me, all of my hard work. My chasing, my giving in, my fucking desire to change and be a better man. All because of her; it’s fucking teetering on the edge of being lost forever because this prick, Graham, can’t properly read his surroundings, or at least keep his mouth shut for two seconds while I explain.

Coming within inches of his face, I stare him down and say, “I’m going to make you eat your own dick because you wouldn’t shut your damn face.”

“What does it matter?” he asks, as if he didn’t just make my day exponentially harder.

I can feel my jaw ticking, the anger boiling inside of me, ready to explode. Before I can answer, a smarmy smile appears on Graham’s face while understanding flies through his eyes. “Holy fuck! Was she a virgin? Is that why you’re acting like a piece of shit, going against my wishes? Tell me, was her pussy super tight?”

He’s an idiot, the biggest shit head I know. But it’s not like he’s always this fucking stupid. He doesn’t mean the things he says most of the time, he’s an instigator, loves to poke the fire, like a douchebag. But underneath it all, really, really deep, he has a good heart. Unfortunately, he just doesn’t think before he speaks.

That’s at least what I try to tell myself, holding back the rage that has me wanting to plow my fist through his stupid ass face.

I count to three to calm myself.

One, two… nope.

Cocking my fist back, I give him an upper cut to the stomach, causing him to keel over in pain, buckling at the waist.

“What the fuuuuuck,” he drawls out, squatting down to the floor, one arm wrapped around his stomach, the other steadying his weight against the floor.

Bending down to his level, I speak closely to his ear. “If you ever talk about Penelope like that again, it’s going to be my fist to your fucking face next time. Got it?”

Needing some space, I stand and head back to my mug which I left on the counter. Casually, I take a sip and wait for Graham to collect himself.

Standing, but keeping his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths, he looks up at me, malice clearly registered across his features. “You know my hotel is one of the only hotels that will actually allow you to play poker anymore, right? You need to start treating my staff and me with respect. You don’t own this property, Gavin. I fucking do.”

Honestly, his threat has no effect on me. Poker has become a task, rather than a game, I get off on. I don’t play for the challenge, because there isn’t one. I’ve played recently because I wanted to be closer to Penelope, but now that I have her, I have no urge to hit the table again.

Graham approaches the counter, still bent over slightly in pain. His voice is stern as he talks. “I’m serious Gavin, you have to stop bringing my staff up here to be your play things for the night. Penelope is good at her job, the players like her, if you fucked this up—“

“I didn’t fuck anything up,” I cut him off.

“Really? By the looks of it, you once again stuck your dick where it doesn’t belong and put her job at risk.”

“It’s not like that,” I say with irritation.

“You’re fucking delusional. This is a huge conflict of interest, and for what? One night?”

I slam my mug on the counter, causing it to shatter and spill coffee everywhere. I rest my hands on the counter, my heartbeat pounding against my chest. “It’s not like that,” I repeat. “I fucking like her, okay?”

“What?” Graham presses, confusion in his word.

Throwing my hands in the air in frustration, I pace the kitchen as I shout, “I fucking like her, Graham. This isn’t some one-night stand for me, I like her.”

Defeated, I walk to the span of windows in my living room and take in the quiet of the morning below. Silence stretches between us as Graham processes my confession.

Hell, I try to process it as well.

For as long as I’ve known Graham, he’s only ever seen me as one person, a hustler, in the high roller suite and in the bedroom. I’ve never expressed feelings for a woman, let alone cared about one. I’ve been his wingman, the guy he’s counted on when it comes to banging anything with two tits and a pussy. This new side of me is just as much of a shock to me as it is to him.

The silence in the room is broken by a loud thud. Turning toward my bedroom door, I see Penelope sprawled across the floor, one shoe in her hand, the other on her foot, laying in the doorway of my room.

“Shit,” she mutters as she slowly slides back across the floor, trying to hide herself and her obvious peeping.

The sound of skin rubbing against the floor echoes through the space as she continues to attempt to hide herself. The movement only pushes her dress up to her waist causing the bottom of her ass to peek out.

“Christ,” she swears quietly, pulling on her skirt and doing a spin move on the floor to work past the doorframe and back in the room.

I hope to God she’s much smoother when it comes to performing for La Magie.

Turning to Graham, I say, “Get the fuck out.”

Crossing the room, I grab Graham by the arm and escort him to the entryway, blocking Penelope from view. I don’t need him getting an eye full of my girl.

“This isn’t over,” Graham spits out.

“It is,” I answer back. “There is nothing to talk about. This isn’t some fling for me. Hurt Penelope and her job and I will make it my mission to make sure your dick never sees another vagina again. You have my fucking word on that.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that? You expect everyone around you to do your bidding without so much as batting a fucking eye.”

I turn Graham around as I shove him out of my door. “No, I don’t actually. But I expect my friend to understand that this is the first woman I’ve ever even remotely cared about. Don’t fuck this up for me, Graham.”

Realization crosses his features as what I’m telling him finally begins to sink in. And what I think is going to be a mutual understanding, turns Graham into the smiling dickhead he is.

“Oooo… Gavin’s in love!” he teases.

“I will literally shove my fist through your skull.”

“The hustler has been hustled himself. How cute. Shall I inform the press?”

I know he’s teasing me, it’s obvious by the humor in his tone, but it still grates on my nerves, more than ever.

“You have three seconds to leave before I plow you in the balls.”

Wiggling his eyebrows, he says, “Kinky. I like it.”

“You’re done.” I slam the door on his face and lock the top deadbolt. He has a key to my place but at least with the top lock engaged, he won’t be able to get in.

Turning to my bedroom, I survey the situation. The door is wide open from Penelope’s fall but she’s nowhere in sight. She’s most likely hiding from embarrassment. If I wasn’t so mad about Graham barging into my apartment and running his mouth, I’d probably be chuckling, enjoying the view of Penelope trying to crawl across the floor to hide herself, ass hanging out of her dress.

Feeling a little more light-hearted, I retreat to my room, looking for the girl in question. Just as I suspect, she sits tucked in the corner, her hands to her head.

Leaning against the wall, I cross my arms over my chest and say, “Get a good ear full?”

She perks up from my presence and rests her legs on the ground, straight out in front of her and smooths her dress. Picking at a piece of lint, she says, “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“Is that right? Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were eavesdropping on my conversation with Graham, lost your balance and fell through the doorway.”

She pauses and looks up at me, her chin held high. “Funny thing.” I get ready for an onslaught of lies. This should be good. “I was putting my shoes on and just so happened to lose my balance, causing me to fall forward, through the door and into your conversation. Imagine that.”

“Yeah, imagine that,” I reply, lifting a skeptical brow. “How convenient that it happened during a time in the conversation that was silent, as if you didn’t think you could hear us anymore so you leaned just an inch closer.”

She bites her bottom lip and looks at her lap. “Yeah, weird huh?”

Striding to her, I lift her up by her arms and stand her up. With my index finger, I lift her chin, forcing her to look me in the eyes.

“Penelope, when are you going to learn that I can read you like a fucking book when you lie?”

She’s silent, her eyes searching mine right before she says, “Umm… you like me?”

I can’t help it, a bark of laughter flies from my mouth at the sweet, innocent way she asks that question. She knows I like her, I practically shouted it to the entire hotel, but she still wants to hear it from me while I look her in the eyes.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, swatting my bare chest.

“You,” I smile down at her, pulling on the hem of her dress and quickly lifting it over her head, exposing every inch of naked skin. I scoop her up in my arms while she kicks and protests and bring her over to my plush bed.

I toss her in the middle and then climb on top of her, making sure to settle the blankets over us, enveloping us in a cocoon of warmth.

I straddle her body, my arms on either side of her head, holding myself up on my forearms to keep from crushing her. My arousal starts to grow as her hardened nipples dance lightly across my chest.

I’d bet my hand that she’s wet right now, that if I reached between her legs and felt that delicious pussy of hers, it would be ready for my cock. No doubt in my mind.

“Get off of me,” she says, not sounding the least bit serious.

“Do you want to hear it? Do you want to watch the words comes out of my mouth?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, turning her head away from me.

Stubborn fucking woman.

“Look at me, Penelope.”

She doesn’t move.

“Penelope…” I warn.

Nothing. How could there be something more enticing to look at on the wall than the man straddling her? Knowing how to really get her attention, I pull the card she hates.

“Do not make me ask again, Miss Prescott.”

Her gaze snaps to mine, fury in her eyes.

Bingo.

A knowing smile crosses my face while she stares daggers up at me. “Don’t call me that.”

“Got you to look at me, didn’t it?” I say as sweetly as I can right before I kiss her nose. The crease in her brow unfolds at my affectionate display. “Did you overhear our conversation?”

“Maybe,” she winces.

“Do you believe what I said?”

The corner of her mouth perks up, a smile wanting to escape. “I can’t really recall what I heard.”

“Let me refresh your memory,” I say, placing incredibly soft, slow kisses along her jaw, lingering on her skin just enough to make her squirm beneath me with every press of my lips. “You heard Graham questioning my actions, he acted like a dick by bringing up my past, and I confessed my feelings for you.”

Breathlessly, she asks, “And what might those feelings be?”

In between kisses, I answer her. “I. Like. You.”

It feels stupid saying such menial words to a woman who’s made me feel things I’ve never felt before, but to me, those three words mean more than anything I’ve ever said to another person.

I like you, it seems too simple, right? Not to me, though. It’s taken someone incredibly special to put me in my place, to challenge me, and to make me want affection, not just sex, but straight up affection. The press of another human’s palm against my heart, the feel of a warm body against mine at night, a simple hug that goes further than any quick fuck in a bar bathroom.

She’s made me want a relationship.

Cupping my cheek with a bright smile on her face, she replies, “I like you too, Gavin. A lot.”

Nuzzling her neck, I say, “You better fucking like me.”

Just as I’m about to work my lips down her body, my phone sounds off, alerting me of a text. Taking a quick peek at the preview, I see a message from Graham.

Graham: Audition tomorrow at nine. I put a good word in for her.

Graham might be a giant prick and a douchebag at times, but he truly is a good guy and can act like an actual human being at times, showing his sensitive side when it matters. Now I kind of feel bad for punching him in the stomach.

Wait… Nope. Check that, he deserved it. No asshole will ever talk about Penelope like that, not when she’s sharing my bed.

“What is it?” she asks, noticing my momentary pause in the perusal of her delicious body.

“Nothing,” I shrug it off, kissing her again, this time, lowering my head down to her breasts. I play with her nipple, lapping at it with my tongue before nibbling on it, causing her to lift her chest in pleasure. In between licking, I say, “Just an audition I was able to score.”

“An audition?” she asks in between breaths. “For what? What are you auditioning for?”

“I’m not auditioning for anything. It’s for you, for La Magie.”

In rapid movements, my head is lifted off her chest and directed toward hers so I’m forced to make eye contact with her. Damn the woman can be strong when she wants to be.

“What are you talking about?”

“My baby wants to work in La Magie? My baby gets what she wants,” I answer, quickly pecking her on the lips. “Graham has a friend in production, I asked him to make the call. There’s an audition for you tomorrow at nine. He put in a good word for you.”

“You’re kidding!” she says, shooting out from under me and sitting up on her knees.

Looking at the empty space below me, I say, “Uh, I would appreciate it if you got back underneath me. Kind of was in the middle of seducing you.”

“Now is not the time for that,” she says excitingly, clasping her hands at her chest. “You seriously got me an audition? They’re expecting me?”

Knowing I won’t be able to get her pinned down to the bed and between her legs until I answer her questions, I roll over and prop my head up with my hand. “Yes. This could be it, baby. You might start in a small position, but I know you’ll be able to work your way up.”

“I don’t care if I stand there and hold up a stupid banner, it’s a foot in the door.” She climbs on top of me and I watch in enjoyment as her tits bounce around above me with her movements. “Gavin, I can’t tell you how much this means to me. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, baby.” I rub her thighs with my hands. “I’m just happy to see that smile on your face.”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re making it very hard for me to keep your devilish charm at a distance.”

“Good.” I give her my best smile. “It’s my plan to sweep you off your feet.”

“Words I never expected to hear you say to me.”

Words I never expected to say to anyone.

Chapter twenty-four

**NELL**

“You better be laying in a ditch dead somewhere, calling me this early,” Page’s groggy voice mumbles through the line.

“If I were dead in a ditch, how would I be calling you?” I snicker.

She lets out a pained groan through the phone. “Too early to use brain power.”

My eyes dart to the clock on Gavin’s bedside table. “It’s already ten. That can hardly be considered early, Page.”

Another groan. “I had a shitty day at work yesterday. One of the assholes decided to try and cop a feel, and had the nerve to get all butt hurt when I decided to slap him in the face. Needless to say, I won’t be working for that washed up rock star anymore.”

“Oh, honey,” I murmur sympathetically. “You got fired? I’m so sorry.”

“No worries, I still have the other douchebags I work for to keep me paid. But I was feeling sorry for myself so I came home and drank all the wine because my roommate wasn’t here to console me.”

I inwardly wince at my epic fail as a friend. “I’m sorry, Page.”

“Meh. No biggie. I just went through and deleted all your DVRed episodes of Fixer Upper in retaliation.”

I release a shocked gasp. “You didn’t,” I seethe. “You bitch! Don’t make me cut you!”

She lets out a tiny giggle and I can hear what sounds like the rustling of bed sheets, as if she’s sitting up in bed. “Where’d you disappear to anyway?”

Pulling in a deep breath, a slow smile creeps across my lips as I think about what’s happened in the last several hours. “I’m at Gavin’s,” I respond quietly, my gaze shooting to the opened bedroom door.

“You’re what?” she yelps through the line excitedly. “You dirty whore! You totally banged him, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” I giggle, unable to stop myself. “And it was fan-freaking-tastic!”

“So are you coming home soon? Did you effectively fuck him out of your system once and for all?”

And there’s the kicker. All Page knows from my past rantings is how much I used to despise Gavin, despite the sexual attraction I couldn’t deny. “Well…” I trail off momentarily. “That’s the thing. He, um… he likes me.”

She’s silent for several seconds. “He likes you?”

“Yeah?” I answer giddily, nodding my head like a stupid schoolgirl even though Page can’t see me.

“He likes you. What is this, middle school?” she teases.

“Oh shut up,” I shoot back. “I know it sounds kind of lame when I say it out loud, but… I don’t know. If felt pretty huge when he said it, like it wasn’t something he normally says.”

She pauses for a second. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I sigh, feeling all soft and swoony as I think about it again.

“Wow. Well… then I’m happy for you? I mean, this is a good thing, right?”

I silently play over her question, thinking hard on my answer. “I’m not sure, I think so. I don’t know.”

“Wow,” she chuckles deeply. “That’s super convincing, Nell.”

“Shut up, whore.” I huff out a breath and collapse back on the mattress. “I’m scared. I’ve never felt like this about a guy before. And this is Gavin Saint we’re talking about for Christ’s sake! You know his reputation. It’s legendary.”

“Yeah, but you said it felt huge, right? Maybe you need to take a leap of faith on this one, babe. The worst that could happen is you get your heart broken.”

My forehead creases in agitation. “You make it sound like that’s no big deal.”

“Well it’s not, if you really stop to think about it,” she responds. “Yeah, heartbreak freaking sucks. It hurts like hell, but it doesn’t kill you, Nell. You’ll eventually pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and move on.”

“Jesus,” I grumble. “Whatever you do, don’t apply for a job at Hallmark. You’ll have people slitting their wrists in no time.” I put on a mocking voice. “We’re sorry about the death in the family. Now rub some dirt on that shit and get back to the real world.”

Her laughter tinkles through the line. “I’m just trying to put a positive spin on it for you, Nelly Belly.”

“Ugh!” I interrupt. “Don’t call me that or I really will cut you.”

“Look, I’m just trying to make you see that maybe this isn’t a bad thing. A super-hot, sex on a stick guy likes you. And you like him back. I say jump in feet first. Who knows, maybe this’ll end up being better than you can imagine.”

I close my eyes and suck in a deep lungful of air. “He got me another audition with La Magie.”

Page’s voice goes high-pitched. “Are you kidding me?!”

“No, I’m not,” I answer once it’s safe to put the phone back to my ear. “He even had his friend vouch for me. This could be it, Page. And Gavin did that for me.”

“Oh, sweetie, that guy doesn’t just like you. This sounds like a lot more than like.”

My stomach feels like a million butterflies are flitting about in it. “I think so, too,” I smile so big my cheeks ache. “And as a thank you, I was thinking…”

“Ugh, you suck!” she cut me off, reading my mind. “Fine, I’ll make a fancy dinner. But I’m not delivering it to you! If you want your man to eat well, you bring his ass here.”

“You’re the best!” I squeal, shooting from the bed and doing a happy dance.

“I know,” she grunts. “I’m so awesome it sometimes hurts. Like now, for example, because my evil bitch of a best friend won’t let me sleep off the rest of the wine hangover so I can get up in a few hours and make her and the man giving her multiple orgasms a spectacular dinner, while I’ll be spending the night replacing the batteries in my vibrator.”

Completely ignoring her sarcastic diatribe, I tell her, “Love you too! See you in a few hours!” I’m pretty sure she was cussing me out as I pulled the phone from my ear, but I’m in far too good of a mood to care.

***

I can’t help but imagine what Gavin’s seeing as he pulls up to my apartment building. Worrying about how someone else views the place where I live has never been something I concerned myself with, and honestly, I’d been so overwhelmed the few other times Gavin’s been here that I never gave it much thought. I never even stopped to consider the difference in where we’re going to where we’d just come from until this very moment. But as he pulls his sleek car into the parking lot full of potholes and cracked concrete, I feel nervous. The drug dealer supplying a crack head only a block away, completely out in the open doesn’t help any either, and I’m suddenly overcome with embarrassment at the thought of what Gavin must think. Does he consider me someone who belongs in such a place? Self-doubt is an evil bitch. That fear is almost worse than my current embarrassment.

“You don’t belong here,” he says in a low growl.

My head shoots to the side just in time to see his jaw tick as he puts the car into park and stares up at the building. “What?”

“You and Page, you don’t belong here. This place is beneath the both of you.” He turns and levels me with an intense look. “You deserve nothing less than pure luxury, Penelope. The idea that you’re living in this fucking place makes me want to hit something.”

While I love that he thinks I deserve better, it still rankles on my nerves that we’re from such opposite worlds. “Yeah, well, Vegas is expensive and this is what we can afford.”

His forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Do you not get tipped well working in the suite? The rules clearly state that the players are supposed to tip at least—”

“Yes,” I cut him off. “I get tipped very well, but…” I shrug helplessly as I stare down at my lap. “I have bigger priorities than finding a nicer apartment at this point in time. Besides, if I get this job with La Magie, I know I won’t be pulling in as much as I do right now anyway.”

“What could possibly take precedence over moving out of a goddamned crack den?”

“My parents,” I answer in a hard voice, looking up at him so he can see the determination on my face. “My parents are. They’re struggling right now, and they did everything for me growing up so that I could do what I wanted. It’s my turn to pay that back. Every spare dime I have goes to taking care of them. My mother’s medical expenses alone are fucking outrageous.”

His head jerks back as he takes in what I’ve just said. “Wait… medical expenses? Is she sick?”

“She was in an accident,” I answer, feeling the tears beginning to sting the backs of my eyes as I think about it. I’d just spoken with her yesterday, and while she tried to convince me that everything was fine, I could hear it in her voice. She was in pain and worrying. I’ve been checking my bank account daily in the hopes of seeing that the checks I put in the mail have cleared, but the money’s still there. I keep telling myself that maybe they just haven’t gotten them yet. I have a strong feeling I’ll have to make another call and strong-arm them into cashing those damned checks. “She broke her arm and isn’t able to work. She’s a waitress at the diner in town. The longer she’s out of work the longer they’re without pay and medical benefits, the worse off things are going to get for them.”

“What about your dad?”

“Disability,” I reply in a small voice. “He broke his back on the job a few years ago and physically can’t work.”

I feel the tips of his fingers beneath my chin as he tips my head up. When I meet his dark gaze, I’m surprised at the compassion I see shining back at me. “You carry more on your shoulders than I ever imagined,” he says in quiet reverence.

“They already sacrificed so much for me. What kind of person would I be if I went about my life and acted like what they were dealing with didn’t matter? I can’t imagine ever being that selfish.”

“Penelope.” The sound of my name on his lips is like a gentle caress. “You have to be the least selfish person I’ve ever met in my entire life.” The kiss he gives me is sweet, gentle, and when he pulls back and I open my eyes, the smile on his face is too contagious not to mimic. “Now come on, I’ve sampled Page’s cooking once already so I know what I’m in store for. Plus, I’m starving.”

With a laugh, I grab the handle and push the door open, meeting Gavin on the sidewalk at the hood. We make our way into the dilapidated building hand in hand, and for the first time since moving here, the dread at my surroundings is long gone. All I can see is him. Gavin Saint is all encompassing.

“Page!” I call out once we enter the apartment even though, given the paper thin walls, she probably heard us coming. “It smells fantastic in here.” I tug Gavin’s hand, leading him further out of the drab, water stained walls of the hallway and into our apartment that Page and I work tirelessly to give that homey, comfortable feel.

“Of course it does,” she answers, her head peeking around the half wall built to divide the kitchen and living spaces. “I’m a freaking genius in the kitchen.”

“What are you making?” I ask, letting go of Gavin’s hand long enough to round the tiny eat-in bar in an attempt to get closer to the stove where those amazing smells are coming from.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Page slaps my hand as I reach into a sauté pan and try to snatch at a mushroom. “Back off, bitch. They’re not ready yet.” I pout as I pull my hand away and rub the sting out of it. “And to answer your question, I’m making steak topped with mushrooms sautéed in garlic and butter, roasted new potatoes, asparagus with a hollandaise sauce, and for dessert, a chocolate mousse.” I almost squeal with joy, only to be quelled by her raised hand. “And before you get all excited, no, it’s not a filet. I’m not Mr. Moneybags over there,” she says, tipping her chin at Gavin and gives him a playful smirk, “The best I could do on a budget was a New York strip.”

“Still,” Gavin starts. “It appears you’ve outdone yourself yet again, Page. I can’t wait.”

“Pfft,” she snorts, lifting the pan of mushrooms and doing that cool wrist-flippy thing, not dropping one of them onto the floor. Damn, I’m jealous. I’ve tried that move once or twice with a completely different outcome and a few first-degree burns. “This is what I do. If it’s not going to be spectacular, I don’t bother trying. I could make Spam taste like a gourmet meal.”

“She really can,” I tell Gavin with a sage nod. “I know for a fact. She’s had to do it more than once before.”

“You’ve eaten Spam?” he asks with a disgusted curl of his lip.

“We do what we have to do,” I answer with a lazy shrug. “We live like two broke college girls, only, you know, without the college.”

“You’d be amazed what I can pull off with a packet of ramen and pre-sliced sandwich meat,” Page adds.

I point in her direction. “Yep. I guarantee you, we might have less money than you do, but we eat like kings because of this one here. You should feel super jealous right now.”

“I’m insane with jealously,” Gavin smiles, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me flush against him, causing my belly to swoop with pleasure.

“No hanky panky in my kitchen!” Page warns, jabbing her wooden spatula at us. “Get out. I’ll call when dinner’s ready.”

With a laugh, I lead Gavin out of the way and lean into his side, whispering conspiratorially, “Wanna see my bedroom?” lowering my lids in a sultry stare.

“Page?” Gavin calls over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off of me.

“Yeah?”

“How much longer until it’s ready?”

“About twenty minutes.”

One corner of his mouth kicks up in a sinful grin as he starts walking me backwards towards the bedrooms. “Not enough time for everything I want to do to your body, but I’ll make good use of the time.” And just like that, I’m wet. “Now, Penelope, let’s see if you’re capable of being quiet.”

I wasn’t. Twenty minutes later when we come walking out of the bedroom, Page is staring at us both with a knowing, yet slightly annoyed expression. “Real nice, assholes. I’m in here slaving away making you a dinner fit for royalty, and you’re back there acting out your very own porno.”

I can’t even bring myself to feel ashamed as I reach up and pat my sex-mussed hair. True to his word, Gavin had made great use of those twenty minutes… twice, and I’m on too much of a high to feel bad for nearly screaming the building down.

Gavin’s wearing a smug grin as he pulls out a chair for both Page and I at our tiny dinette table before taking a seat himself. The conversation flows easily between the three of us as we devour Page’s five-star meal. Seriously, if vaginas didn’t somewhat scare me, I’d have put a ring on her finger long ago, simply because of her cooking alone. We talked about nothing important and laughed at each other’s stupid jokes. Well, the stupid jokes came more from me and Page, but a genuine grin is plastered across Gavin’s face the entire time and I know he’s enjoying my and my best friend’s shenanigans. What can I say? We’re a hoot.

We’d only made it halfway through dessert when a loud crash cut through my moans of appreciation as I ate a spoonful of Page’s chocolate mousse. To. Die. For.

“What the fuck was that?” Gavin asks.

“Sounds like 3B is at it again,” Page mumbles with a look at the wall before going back to her meal.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I hold a finger in the air. “Just wait for it. You’ll see.”

Then, like clockwork. “You sorry muthafucka! I’m gonna make you wish you’d never been born!” followed closely by, “Bitch, you done lost yo damn mind! Put the knife down!” Page and I have heard this exact same fight so many times that we mouth the words as they’re hollered through the wall. As usual, I take Fat Albert—yes, that’s the name he dubbed himself with when he got into pimping—while Page acts out the roll of Felicia, the wayward prostitute that truly believes her overweight pimp’s in love with her. It’s sad, really.

“I should cut your goddamned dirty dick off, you piece-a-shit!” Felicia/Page continues.

“Woman!” I mouth along with Fat Albert. “You go anywhere near my dick with that blade and I’ll bitchslap the hooker outta you!”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Gavin growls as he throws his napkin down on the table and climbs to his feet. “That’s it. Pack your shit.”

“Huh?” Page asks at the same time I cock my brow in confusion. “Why?”

“Because there’s no goddamned way I’m letting you stay here with that shit happening next fucking door. Now go pack a bag. Both of you.”

“Gavin,” I say in a soothing voice. “It’s okay. Really, they do this all the time.”

“So I gathered from the spot on lip-sync you and Page just did,” he grinds out, that tick in his jaw coming back full force.

“In a few minutes, Felicia will put the knife down and it’ll change from shouts to sex moans. Not saying that’s better or anything. Trust me, I’ve seen Fat Albert, he comes by his name honestly, but I’m just saying they’re harmless.”

“Harmless?” he asks in exasperation. “That’s not fucking harmless, Penelope. And if you two have become so desensitized to that shit, I’m seriously worried. Now. Go. Pack. A. Bag. I’m taking you two back to the hotel with me.”

“Gavin,” I say at the same time Page pipes up with, “We can’t afford to stay at Hotel Paragon! Are you crazy?”

“Don’t you worry about that,” he replies in a low, ominous voice that makes the hairs on my arm stand on end. I’ve seen Focused Gavin, I’ve seen Intense Gavin, hell, I’ve seen In The Throws of Orgasm Gavin. But I’ve never seen him with such fierce, calculated determination before. The vibe in the air is don’t fuck with me and it’s thick.

“But what about Graham?” I ask. “Is he going to be okay with us taking another one of his rooms?”

“Let me handle Graham. You handle packing your shit so I can get you out of this hell hole.” His last statement is punctuated by a thud against the wall we share with Fat Albert and Felicia, followed closely by her moaning as Fat Albert begins to grunt at a fast pace. Gavin looks positively horrified. “You’ve got three minutes, make it count.”

“Should we tell him they’ll be done by then?” Page whispers with a giggle as we head to our rooms to pack.

“Nah, we’ll let him figure that out. I can’t believe he’s making us leave such a peaceful place. I’m going to miss it.”

We both laugh as we break apart and step into our rooms. “I’m not,” Page calls. Three minutes later, we’re toting bags on our shoulders and waltzing back into the living room just as Fat Albert lets out a high pitched squeal.

“Thank fuck,” Gavin sighs. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Page and I look at each other with wide grins before turning back to the wall. Then together we call out, “Bye Felicia,” before hurrying out the door.

Chapter Twenty-Five

**GAVIN**

“And then pudding came flying out of her nose, all over Ronald Halgram’s Valentine’s Day card. The poor guy spent hours cutting and pasting foil hearts together only for Nell to pudding snot all over it in return.” Page laughs hysterically in the back of my car, slapping the leather of her seat out of pure joy.

“I think that’s enough,” Penelope grinds out, clearly not happy with Page’s over sharing.

I chuckle, only to receive death stares from Penelope in the seat next to me. I shrug my shoulders in innocence. “What? It’s funny.”

“It is not funny. I was sick and sneezed at the wrong time. I wasn’t used to the pollen in the Springtime just yet and Ronald was being sweet. I ruined his hard work.”

I reach for her hand but she denies me her warmth. Cutting a glance at her, I convey through my eyes that her neglect is unacceptable. In a warning tone, I say, “Penelope, give me your hand unless you want me pulling this car over so I can spank you in front of your friend.”

“You wouldn’t,” she seethes.

I turn my blinker on and start to pull off the road. “Test me.”

Groaning in frustration, she gives me her hand and I twine our fingers together.

Page laughs in the back, enjoying the interaction in front of her. “Oh shit, Nell, you’ve met your match. I didn’t know you hated to be spanked. Maybe I’ll start using that in my repertoire to get you to get off your ass and vacuum every now and then.” Page uses a deep voice as she speaks. “Nell, you vacuum this apartment right now, or else I’ll spank you.”

“She actually likes to be spanked,” I cut in. “Gets her so fucking wet.”

“Gavin!” Penelope scolds.

“Oooo, really? You naughty little ho,” Page teases. “I never would have guessed. What else does she like?”

“Well,” I ponder for a second. “As you know, I’m sure, she likes to be eaten out—“

“We are done with this conversation,” Penelope says, cutting me short. “Unless you want your secrets spilled, both of you, then I suggest you shut your mouths. God,” she huffs out. “I don’t like you two hanging out.”

Silence falls over the car from Penelope’s threat, only the hum of the car’s motor filling the small space. At a red light, I drum my thumb on the steering wheel, trying to figure out what to say that doesn’t involve what Penelope likes in bed. Hell, I have a one-track mind whenever the thought of having her underneath me comes up.

Breaking the silence, Page shouts, “She piddled her pants when we watched Saw IV. Legit, pee in her panties.”

Turning in her seat, Penelope shouts, “Page!”

“I made her queef before dinner,” I admit, remembering the awkward moment in her bedroom that still puts a smile on my face.

“Gavin!” she reprimands.

Both Page and I erupt in laughter as we pull up to the valet of Hotel Paragon.

Before I can even put the car in park, Penelope storms out of her passenger seat and heads to the trunk where she crosses her arms over her chest, a pout on her face, and waits for us to exit as well.

“Jeez, she’s sensitive,” Page laughs. “Can’t take a little joke. Did she really queef?”

I shut off the car and turn to her. “What do you think? I fucked her like a jackhammer, making her come twice before dinner, the girl was bound to have air escape.”

“Oh God.” Page licks her lips and brushes her hand across her neck. “Penelope is right, you do talk dirty.” She shakes her head, clearing her thoughts, and mutters under her breath. “Man, I need to get laid.”

Chuckling while I let myself out of my car, I flip the fob to the valet attendant who salutes me with a “Mr. Saint,” and then help Page out from the back. She brushes off her clothes while I tend to a wounded Penelope.

Walking up behind her, I wrap my arms around her waist and speak closely to her ear. She tenses from my touch but I brush it off, she can act mad all she wants, the minute I get her in my villa, she’ll be begging for my cock. “You’re fucking adorable when you get mad.”

“Yeah, well you’re a dick.”

“You don’t mean that,” I trail kisses along her neck causing her body to melt into mine. I knew it wouldn’t take much. “Fuck, you smell like me. If that isn’t the sexiest thing ever, I don’t know what is.”

“Hey, not fair,” Page says, interrupting us. “I can’t put the moves on her to ask for her forgiveness.” Page pauses in deep thought and then puckers her lips and closes her eyes. “On second thought…” she leans forward, lips first, aiming for Penelope who pushes back, causing Page to plant a big old wet one on the valet’s arm as he reaches for one of their bags. “When did you grow a mustache…” her words are cut off when she opens her eyes to see her face inches away from the terrified valet’s arm. “Err… hello there.” She wiggles her fingers at the boy and puts distance between them. “Consider that a down payment on a tip.”

“Okay,” the boy eyes her skeptically.

“Wait!” Page shouts, understanding crossing her features. “I don’t mean that as a sexual down payment. I know I just told Gavin I need to get laid but I didn’t mean by you. Not that you’re not attractive!” she back pedals. “You’re quite the looker, a strong lad with beefy muscles.” She squeezes his arm and squints. “Eh, with muscles.”

“Page, you can shut up now,” Penelope helps her.

Page motions to zip up her lips and then clasps her hands together, stepping away from the poor nineteen year old who right about now wants to crawl under a car out of embarrassment.

“Would you like the bags brought to your villa, Mr. Saint?” the boy asks, avoiding all eye contact with Page.

“Put them on hold for now. I’ll call down with more information in a bit.” From my money clip, I pull out a hundred and hand it to him as he smiles with gratitude.

I escort Page and Penelope into the lobby and guide them toward the control room where I know Graham is currently working. I figure if I corner him with both girls in tow, he will be less likely to say no than if I asked him by myself.

“Do you ladies mind waiting in the B room for a second? I need to go grab someone.”

“Not at all,” Page coos, looking around.

Still a little salty, Penelope just nods and follows me in the room. She starts to walk to one of the chairs when I grab her hand and close the space between us. “Hey.” I press my index finger under her chin so she’s forced to look into my dark eyes. “When we get back to my villa, I promise to make it up to you. You have my word on that.”

“And how would you make it up to me?” she tests.

Gliding my hand down to her ass, I grip it tightly and speak directly into her ear, spreading goose bumps over her skin. “First, I will dive my tongue into that sweet pussy of yours until you’re on the verge of coming on my face, then, I’ll drive my cock inside of you and fuck you senseless, making you scream my name from the sheer force. And I won’t fucking come until you do… twice.”

Her breathing is heavy and her hands that are now gripped onto my back are digging into my skin from pure arousal.

“Hell, I would take it,” Page sounds off, waving her hand in front of her face, sitting in one of the chairs with her legs crossed.

Shaking my head in mirth at Penelope’s best friend, I pull away and kiss her forehead softly. “Be right back, baby.”

“Okay,” she barely croaks out as I shut the door behind me.

Fuck. I rub the back of my neck as I gather myself. Even my little speech got me fired up. The quicker I get this conversation over with, the quicker I can get Penelope back in bed. Despite the amount of times I’ve taken her today, I still crave her, to the point that I’m starving to have her pussy wrapped tightly around my dick.

I push my key card in the slot of the control room door and enter, looking over all the employees hard at work. Off to the side, Graham is leaning against the wall, a knowing look in his eyes and a glass of what I can only assume is scotch in his hand.

“Look who it is, gentlemen,” Graham talks to the room, his eyes fixed on mine. “The Gavin Saint, the pussy whipped ass hat who pulled his dick out of his girl’s vagina long enough to grace us with his presence.”

He was pushing my buttons for a reason, he must have seen us walk in the hotel. I swear the man has nothing better to do with his life than watch over every move I make in the hotel.

“Did you implant a chip in me while I was sleeping so you can watch over me every second of your life?”

Tipping his glass back and draining the contents down his throat, he sets it to the side and then strides toward me, his hands in his pockets. “What are you up to, Saint?”

“Nothing,” I smile, giving him my best grin. If I wasn’t about to ask him to put up Page and Penelope in the hotel, I would have sent my fist flying into his face for his earlier comment. I will after… maybe. I don’t want to jinx the girls’ chances.

“I don’t believe you. Why are Page and Penelope in the B room?”

Ahh, so he only saw us go into the B room, well that helps my case. If he saw me down at valet with both of them, their bags being hoisted out of my trunk I would be up against a tidal wave when it came to asking him.

Thinking quickly and using my straight face, I say, “Something happened in the poker suite the other day that Penelope needs to talk to you about. She was nervous to talk to you alone, so Page is here to comfort her.”

Graham drops his tough guy act and runs his hand through his hair. “Shit, really? Is she okay?”

“I think you should talk to her,” I say somberly.

“Fuck, just what I need. Who was the asshole?” Graham asks, charging through the control room. “Was it Ramos? That dickhead is one more ass pinch away from being removed from the roster for good.”

I don’t give him answer, I just let him think what he wants until he’s in the B room. I close the door behind us and block the only exit.

Straightening his tie, Graham walks over to Penelope and kneels in front of her. A horrified expression crosses her face as she looks over at me, questions in her eyes. I hide the smirk that threatens to peek out. Keep it still, Saint.

“What happened? I’m going to need to know every detail in order to file a proper report.”

Mouth agape, eyes wild, Penelope looks for answers. Wanting to play just a little bit more, I nod at her. “Go ahead, baby. Tell him everything.”

Looking between both of us, she’s at a loss for words, completely unsure of what’s happening. Page has the same expression on her face.

“This is a safe place,” Graham adds. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

The room is still in silence until Page lifts her finger in question. “Um, is this about the queef that happened earlier? Pretty sure we don’t have to go into detail about it or file a report.”

Graham stands up, a little caught off guard. He straightens his jacket and glances at me for a second before returning his attention back to Penelope. “You queefed in the high roller suite?”

“What? No!” A very pissed off Penelope looks my way. Damn it Page and her blonde hair.

“It was in our apartment, but that’s not why Gavin wants us to live here. It’s not like it was a gas bomb, setting off the entire apartment like a grenade. I didn’t even know it happened until we were driving over here.”

“Seriously,” Penelope grinds out. “Shut up, Page.”

“Wait.” Graham presses his fingers to his head as he tries to understand. “What the fuck is going on? What’s this about them living here?”

Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I lean against the door and say, “They need a place to stay, their apartment is unsuitable for two young women, two very attractive young women.”

“Aw, you think I’m attractive?” Page asks, winking at me. Penelope whacks her in the stomach, clearly over Page’s antics tonight.

“This was a bad idea,” she stands from her chair. “Forget about this whole conversation. Come on Page.” Seizing her by the arm, Penelope pulls up her friend and walks her toward the door where I stand solid in place. “Move, Gavin.”

I shake my head. “No can do, baby. You’re not going back to that apartment. It’s entirely too unsafe for you.”

“We’ve been living there for three years and nothing’s happened. We’re fine.”

I grind my teeth together, trying to hold back my temper. “You’re not going back there,” I bite out.

Penelope crosses her arms in challenge, preparing for battle. “What, you stick your dick inside me and now you think you can tell me what to do?”

“Pretty much.”

“Wrong.” She pokes me in the chest. “That’s not how this works, Gavin. I’m a big girl. I know what I’m doing. I’ve taken care of myself up until this point, I don’t need you swooping in on your white horse trying to ‘save’ us. We’re fine, right Page?”

Biting her lip, Page looks at the ground but is brought back to the conversation when Penelope elbows her. “Yeah,” she forcefully says. “We’re fine.” From the tone in Page’s voice, I know they’re not fine. It can’t be easy coming home late at night, drug deals going on in your parking lot and loud, knife stabbing fights sounding off in the apartment next to you. I don’t care if they made the damn place homey, it’s not fit for them, it’s not fit for the girl I’m fucking dating.

“Is that right? Care to explain the little conversation we overhead before we left your place? The one about some hooker stabbing her pimp.”

“They were having sex while we were packing. It’s how they roll,” Penelope answers flippantly.

“Well it’s not how I fucking roll,” I say, stepping closer to Penelope who visibly gulps under my hard stare. “No woman of mine will be staying at an apartment like that. There is no fucking way I will allow it. You have no choice in the matter. I protect what’s mine, Penelope. The minute I came inside you, I claimed you. I fucking branded you. That means I protect you. I take care of you.” My voice trails off, becoming horse from the intensity in the conversation.

I never expected to become so territorial over a woman but I knew the minute I walked back into her apartment, it would be the last time they would eat a dinner there. I refuse to let her go back to that hellhole where she could be raped, stabbed, or drugged.

“Where do you get off—“

“Inside of you,” I interrupt her, a smile spreading across my face from the annoyed look she’s giving me.

“Gavin…”

“Penelope…” I counter.

“Graham…” Page says, joining in. We draw our attention to her to see her shrug her shoulders. “What? I was feeling left out.”

“Fuck, this is probably one of the most asinine conversations I’ve ever been a part of,” Graham says. “Jesus. Just to get out of that hellhole, take one of the suites but you’re paying rent. This isn’t a free ride.”

“I’ll be paying their rent,” I interrupt. Penelope’s eyes narrow in slits at my announcement, but she wisely keeps quiet. She knows as well as I do that they can’t afford to stay here. I can, so that means I’m paying.

“Whatever,” Graham huffs. “Just make sure your checks clear, and for the love of God, stay out of my way.” He glances at Page with his last sentence and then pushes me to the side, taking off down the hall back to the control room.

Smiling back at the girls, I say, “Well that was easier than I expected.”

“You thought that was easy?” Penelope asks. “That was torture, thanks to Page.”

We both turn to her and instantly notice the change in her demeanor. “Hey, are you okay?” Penelope asks, a gentle hand resting on her friend’s shoulder.

She nods, “Yeah, let’s just get our bags and get settled. I’m tired.” Her voice is withdrawn, her eyes are cast down and in that moment, I know Graham has a lot of explaining to do.

Once the girls are settled in their modest suite, which is complete with a small kitchenette, living room and two bedrooms with connecting bathrooms, I talk to Penelope softly in their entryway. She looks back at Page’s room and says, “I’m going to stay here tonight. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

Not exactly what I had in mind but I can handle staying at her place now.

“Alright, let me go grab my stuff and I’ll stay over here.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “I need to have some girl time with her. You being here won’t help, especially if your hands are all over me.”

“I can keep my hands to myself.” She gives me a knowing glare. “I can try really hard.”

“No.” Standing on her tippy toes, she plants a kiss on my lips and guides me out the door.

“But…”

She presses her fingers to my lips. “Good night, Gavin.” With a wink, she shuts the door in my face.

Graham is about to get one hell of a beat down, that motherfucker! Cock blocking me even from afar.

Chapter twenty-six

**NELL**

I’m a nervous wreck as I pace back and forth backstage, waiting for the auditions to start. I’ve been through this process more times than I care to count, yet knowing Gavin will be sitting in the audience watching my every move, I’m a trembling mess.

“Oh, sweetheart,” my mother’s soft voice coos through the line as I hold my cell phone to my ear. I called her just minutes ago for a pep-talk, giving her the cliffnotes version of what has been happening in my life since Gavin entered—well, forced his way—into the picture. “You’re going to do great. You know this performance like the back of your hand. Just go out there and show them what you’ve got.”

“But...” I stammer. “He’s going to be watching,” I finish on a somewhat childish whisper.

“And you’ll knock his socks off,” she replies adamantly. God, I really love my mom. “And speaking of your young man, I’ll expect a longer phone call from you telling me all about him. It’s not every day my daughter becomes so enamored by a boy.” Just the sound of my mom referring to Gavin as a boy makes me laugh. If she only knew. Not that I’d ever share the nitty-gritty details.

“Okay, Momma. I gotta go, but I’ll call you after and let you know how it goes, okay?”

“Okay, my sweet girl. Knock ‘em dead.”

“I will. I love you, and I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“I love you, too, baby.”

I disconnect the call and drop the phone back into my purse before stowing it in the little cubbies back stage.

“Okay!” the stagehand calls out in a loud voice. “Can I get…” her eyes scan the clipboard in her hand, “…numbers one through twenty to come to the front of the stage.”

I look down at the paper number pinned to my camisole. Number thirteen. I’m not sure if being assigned that number is a curse or a lucky charm, either way, I don’t have time to contemplate the answer because I’m up. I’m up. I make my way to the front of the stage with the rest of the girls auditioning today, careful to keep my eyes off the enigmatic man sitting in one of the audience seats, the only one there other than the people involved with the auditioning process.

“All right,” a voice calls and I instantly recognize her as the director for all of La Magie’s shows. “Since this is the callback auditions we won’t be going through choreography.” Wait… what? Call back auditions? My stomach riots as the nervous butterflies begin kicking up an even bigger fuss. My eyes briefly scan the rows of empty seats until I land on Gavin’s handsome face. He’s smiling at me with all the confidence in the world and, suddenly, a sense of ease washes over me. He believes I can do this. My parents believe I can do this. I believe I can do this. I’ve auditioned enough times that I know all the performances by heart. I don’t need to run through the stupid choreography. When the director calls out the name of the performance we’ll be doing, my heart kicks with excitement. It’s my favorite one, the one that truly forecasts my skills as a gymnast.

“Even numbers,” the director calls. “I want you doing floor work once the first scene finishes. Odd numbers, you’ll be doing the aerial acrobatics.”

Yes! It takes everything in my not to fist bump the air. I freaking kill with aerial acrobatics. Before I know it, we’re in place and the slow, melodic music begins. I move through each step like I was born to do it, swaying my body to the low beat, landing each move with perfection. As I dance, I can’t remember the last time I felt so confident in an audition. With each turn, each tumble, all I can think is I got this. The music quickly changes, the beat coming faster, heavier and my body guides me over to the long silk drape hanging from the ceiling.

Without having to think of my movements, I wrap my right leg around the silk and use my arms to pull me up the fabric in smooth, flowing motions. It’s as if the choreography is in my blood as I seamlessly execute every step of the performance. It’s like the drape is an extension of my body as I use it to flip and spin through the air. When I grab hold of the second drape, using both of them to hold me in a center split thirty feet off the ground, I can feel my muscles stretch and sing in delight as I flow from one position to the next.

The tempo of the music is building up to the crescendo and I know exactly what’s coming next. And I know, without a doubt in my mind, that I can do it. With the silk wrapped around my waist strategically, I stiffen my entire frame so I’m hanging parallel with the stage. The beat of the drums kicks up, the sound reverberating through the theater.

This is it.

Releasing my hold on the drape just enough, my body begins to spin, down, down, down, until I’m just ten feet from the floor. I tighten my hold at the exact moment I’m supposed to and I stop on a dime, swinging my left leg out to catch the second drape and twist it around my ankle. The last beat of the drum sounds, and I hit my final position with perfect precision, and just like that, it’s over.

I did it.

I fucking did it!

As I make my way back stage in a complete daze as the next group heads to the stage, two strong arms circle my waist like a steel band, lifting me off the ground. I let out a surprised yelp as Gavin spins me around wildly. “You were fucking brilliant!” he declares as he places me on my feet, but keeps his hold tight, pinning me to his chest. “That was unbelievable!”

When I look up into his eyes, those deep, dark depths are glittering down at me, full of delight, and I know, in this very moment, I’m not falling for Gavin Saint. I’ve already landed. I’m completely and madly in love with this man. He holds my heart in the palm of his hand. He’s got the power to shatter it completely, but I don’t care. What I feel for him right now is too strong, too powerful to protect myself against, and the euphoria coursing through my blood is worth any potential heartbreak I might experience in the future.

“Thank you,” I whisper up at him, my eyes stinging with tears.

“For what, baby?” he asks just as softly, brushing a loose piece of hair from my cheek.

“For everything. For getting me this audition, for having Graham put in a good word, for getting me out of that God forsaken apartment, just… everything. If I get this job it’ll be because of you.”

His face lowers, his lips brushing against mine tenderly as he says, “When you get this job, it’ll be because you fucking nailed it, Penelope. It’ll have nothing to do with me, or Graham, or anyone else. It’s all you, baby. If you’d have seen what I just saw…” his awe-filled voice trails off as he pulls away, giving his head a shake. “It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Watching you up there was like watching water move.”

A giddy smile stretches across my lips as I wrap my arms around his neck. “Really?”

“Absolutely. It was inspiring.”

My heart beats rapidly against my chest as I stand on my tiptoes and pepper his jaw with light kisses. “The most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, huh?”

“Well…” I drop back down to get a better look at his face when he trails off. “Maybe second most beautiful.”

“What’s the first?” I ask with a laugh as his eyes grow darker and his hold on me tightens.

“Watching you come while I’m buried deep inside you and you’re screaming my name. Now that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Watching you perform is a really close second.”

I laugh again as warmth pools low in my belly. “Well, I’ll just have to give you another performance later tonight, now, won’t I?”

With a feral growl, Gavin’s mouth crashes down on mine in a fierce kiss, and as I meet his tongue with my own, I can’t help but bask in the love I feel for this man.

***

“To Nell!” everyone at the table calls out, glasses lifted in the air in cheers. When my name was called earlier today as the newest performer for La Magie du Cirque, Gavin had insisted we celebrate. I thought he meant in bed, and he did… but he also meant at dinner with friends as well. That’s why I’m currently sitting at a large round table at Luxe, the posh, five star restaurant in Hotel Paragon, surrounded by my and Gavin’s friends. Scott’s here, putting the moves on Davies even though it’s a lost cause, Graham and Page are sitting on separate sides of the table, occasionally shooting daggers at each other, but being well behaved, nonetheless. She wouldn’t open up and tell me what’s going on between the two of them last night, but I knew something had gone down, whether she admits it or not. To his credit, Gavin only pouted for about a half hour when I insisted on inviting Nick to celebrate with us. He’s well aware there’s nothing romantic between either of us, but Gavin’s nothing if not territorial.

“What did your mom say?” Page asks, lifting her wine glass to her lips and taking a sip.

“She cried,” I admit, a watery smile spreading across my face as I think back on my parents’ elated reaction when I called to tell them I got the part in La Magie. The both of them had shouted their congratulations, declaring how proud they both were before my father passed the phone to my mom and we’d talked for another ten minutes. “She’s so happy for me, but she wishes she’d have been able to see me.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” Page soothes, reaching for the hand on the table.

“She can see you,” Gavin says, cutting through my sadness.

I look over at him and see he’s focused completely on my face. “What?”

“I recorded the entire thing with my phone. I’d be happy to send it to your parents so they can see what an outstanding performer their daughter is, although I’m sure they’re already well aware.”

All I can do is stare, flabbergasted, as Page lets out a delighted squeal. “Give it to me! I want to see!”

Gavin graciously hands his phone to Page and she and Davies lean into each other to watch, occasionally gasping at something they see on the small screen. “Thank you,” I mouth to him, all the while wanting to say, “I love you,” instead, but not having the courage just yet. He smiles down at me and leans to press a kiss to my lips.

“Well, I’m happy for you, gorgeous,” Nick speaks up. “I’m just sad you won’t be in the high roller suite with us anymore. Gotta say, it’s going to be boring without you.”

I smile across the table at him as Gavin lets out a low, possessive growl.

“Relax, dude,” Nick laughs good-naturedly, holding his hands up in surrender. “She’s like a sister to me. My balls actually draw up in my body whenever I think about her naked,” he informs the table, earning a loud round of laughter from everyone.

“Thanks, Nick,” I deadpan. “As always, so flattering.”

“Stop thinking about her naked,” Gavin all but pouts at my side. I lean into him and place a hand on his thigh in an attempt to tame the beast.

“Well, I have to say,” Graham interrupts Gavin’s stare down. “If I have to lose my number one cocktail waitress, I’m happy to be losing her to Las Vegas’s number one show.” From the corner of my eye I can see Page rolling her eyes.

“Here, here,” Scott chimes in, lifting his glass in the air. Everyone follows with another round of cheers just before two waiters begin placing our appetizers on the table.

The seared Ahi tuna and steak tar-tar on crostini look to die for and I dig into the food eagerly. Everyone at the table is silently enjoying their meal, that is, before Page speaks up.

“Could someone please pass me the salt?”

Uh oh.

“What?” Graham asks with narrowed eyes, his crostini paused midway to his mouth.

“I need salt,” Page answers.

“That’s ridiculous,” Graham harrumphs. “The food’s impeccable, adding salt to that would ruin it.”

Page gives him a shrug and begins sprinkling salt from the shaker Scott just handed to her. “Tastes a little under seasoned to me.”

“Stop that!” Graham shouts. “You’re ruining it!”

Everyone’s eyes bounce back and forth between them like we’re watching a tennis match as Page lifts the crostini to her mouth and hums appreciatively. “Much better.”

It takes everything in me not to laugh as Graham nearly chokes on his own spit. I lift my own food to my mouth and take a bite. It’s good, very good, but I’m inclined to agree with Page on the seasoning, not that I’d ever say that out loud. Scott, unfortunately, isn’t as smart as me.

“You know what, man? I think she might be right.” Taking the saltshaker, he sprinkles a liberal amount on his food before popping it in his mouth. “Yep, that’s all it needed,” he says with a nod, all the while, Graham’s beginning to turn an unhealthy shade of red.

“You two don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters as he takes a bite. “Tastes fantastic to me,” he says around a mouthful, even though the expression on his face belies his words. He knows damn good and well Page is right, he just won’t admit it.

“Here, you big baby,” Page salts another crostini before leaning across the table and dropping it down on his plate. “Taste that.”

Graham stares for several seconds before finally relenting and lifting the food to his mouth. The instant the properly seasoned tar-tar hits his taste buds, his eyes go wide before he catches himself. Swallowing the bite, he lifts his napkin to his mouth and clears his throat. “Must just be a fluke.”

Page smiles mockingly before saying, “Or your chef doesn’t have the first clue on properly seasoning his food. Properly salting something is Cooking 101. You’d have to be an idiot to screw that up.”

“That’s preposterous!” Graham yelps indignantly. “I’ll have you know that Jean Gusteau is a world renowned chef! He has a Michelin star for Christ’s sake!”

“Good, for him,” Page replied nonchalantly. “The tar-tar was still under seasoned.”

I do my best to swallow down my laughter, but a strangled, choking noise still manages to escape my mouth before I cover it with my hand. “Sorry. Went down the wrong pipe,” I offer as Graham shoots me a disgruntled look. From the snickers around the table, everyone else finds the stand-off between those two just as funny as I do. We somehow manage to finish off our appetizers without more drama, talking about menial things, staying away from the topic of our food, just as the main course comes out.

Then the shit really hits the fan.

“Excuse me,” Page stops the server with a kind smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a pain…”

Graham snorts, “That’s unlikely.”

She shoots him a dirty look before wiping it clean and looking back up at the waiter. “As I was saying, I don’t mean to be a pain, but my Beef Wellington isn’t prepared right.”

“Bullshit!” Graham shoots up from his chair and charges around the table. “I’ll give you the salt on the tar-tar, but now you’re just lying you… you… liar!” Seriously, I can’t help it, I giggle behind my hand because a flustered Graham is just hilarious! Gavin squeezes my thigh under the table and I look up at him, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

“I am not a liar! See!” Page cuts another chunk from her Beef Wellington. “The beef is clearly overcooked. It should be pink in the middle. This is gray. And the puff pastry is soggy, not flakey. The dough hasn’t even been cooked all the way! And once again,” she waves her hand in the air. “The seasoning is off.”

Graham grabs the fork and lifts the skewered Beef Wellington to his eyes, his shoulders slump as he sees just what Page was talking about, but being a stubborn man, he refuses to admit defeat. “Looks fine to me,” he says, the obvious lie written across his face.

“Taste it,” she grinds out between clenched teeth.

With a visible gulp, Graham brings the fork to his mouth and closes his lips around the bite, chewing slowly as we all watch on in rapt fascination.

“The puff pastry should have flaked off in your mouth, and the beef should have been tender and juicy. That’s not what you’re experiencing right now, is it?”

Graham swallows down the beef and shoots Page a murderous look. “You think you can do better?” he asks sarcastically.

“I know I can. Your chef might have a Michelin star, hell, he could have cooked for the goddamned President. I don’t care! That meal is subpar at best, and you know it. If you want to stand there and act like what I’m saying isn’t the God’s honest truth, go right ahead, but I’ll be there to say I told you so when this restaurant goes under because you’re too pig headed to listen to someone you know is right.”

Placing the fork back on the table, he brushes at the lapels of his jacket before reaching for Page’s plate and picking it up. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” he addresses the table. “I’m, um… I’m just going to have a quick word with the chef.”

He turns on his heels and all but runs towards the kitchen, the poor, flustered server scurrying after him.

“Well,” I state, finally laughing openly. “That was entertaining.”

“Are you kidding me?” Scott guffaws. “That was amazing! Page, I think you’re my new hero, I’ve never seen someone put Graham in his place like that.”

“Agreed,” Gavin chuckles, lifting his wineglass to Page. “That was a thing of beauty. That fucker needed to be knocked down a few pegs. We’re forever in your debt, Page.”

“Well, fuck me sideways and call me Susan,” a gruff, masculine voice states crassly from behind us. “If it isn’t Gavin motherfucking Saint.”

The light mood at the table suddenly grows glacial, and it isn’t until I turn to face the foul asshole that’s just spoken that I understand why. Gaudy gold chains hang from his neck, a woman who’s clearly just been picked up off Freemont hanging from his arm. With one look, it’s obvious he’s so beneath Gavin it’s not even funny, but from the way Gavin’s entire frame has grown stiff as a board, it’s clear they know each other, and well.

And something in my gut tells me that Gavin seeing this man again is not a good thing.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

**GAVIN**

Every last nerve ending goes on high alert the minute I hear the gravely, smoker’s voice of Harley St. James. I don’t even have to turn around in order to confirm it’s him, I can smell the pungent scent of his over the top, classless cologne he claims comes straight from Italy.

Wiping my mouth with my napkin, I look over my shoulder to see the rotund man staring down at me, the evil glint in his eyes telling me right off the bat that he’s not here for small talk.

“Harley, what brings you around these parts?”

He cracks his knuckles, trying to appear intimidating, but the only impression I get from the man standing before me is that of a Class-A douchebag. “I’m back in the states and I’m looking for some competition.”

I nod just as Penelope’s hand squeezes my thigh. The tension between Harley and I is evident, you don’t have to know of our past to understand it is one full of animosity just from the way we address each other. “Hotel Paragon has the best high roller suite on the Strip, I’m sure you’ll find great competition here. I’ll be sure to inform Graham when he gets back about you sneaking in on the roster.” With a curt nod, I dismiss him, willing him to leave us alone. I don’t want anything to ruin the celebration we’re having in honor of Penelope.

Giving her a calm smile, I squeeze her hand that’s still resting on my leg and try not to show the palpable tension that’s rising on the back of my neck. Just from him breathing behind me my hackles are rising. Harley St. James is not one to be trusted. I’ve learned this well.

During my poker playing prime, I played Harley quite a few times, never letting up and always taking the cake. I’ve seen him grow from a meager player to one to watch for. It wasn’t until we hit the tables in Monte Carlo that he gave me a run for my money. That was until his signature chip flip sent him spiraling in the opposite direction. I took a chance and called his bluff, giving me the most victorious win of my career, putting me on the map as the best poker player in the world. From there, my high for the game dwindled because I’d just accomplished all there was in that world.

I play here and there now just for the hell of it. Not because I need the money, but because it passes the time. Thankfully, after I got my head out of my ass as a young kid in this torrent game, I wised up and invested my money, tripling my earnings over the years to the point that I can sit easy for the rest of my life, never having to pick up another hand.

From the look in his eyes though, I can see Harley wants a rematch. Too bad for him, I really have no desire to sit back at the table with him.

“I don’t want back on the roster, I want you.” Harley says from behind me, clearly not catching on to my dismissal.

I lift my joined hand with Penelope and show it to Harley. With a smart ass smile, I say, “Sorry, Harley. I’m taken.”

A growl escapes the man as he shoves my shoulder forward, causing Scott, Nick, and me to stand while the women at the table all shrink back in distress. “You know what I mean,” he grits out.

Brushing at the spot on my shoulder his slimy hand just touched, I say, “I suggest you fuck off before you get yourself into some trouble.”

Stepping up to me, toe to toe, he seethes. From the corner of my eye I can see Scott round the table, prepared to jump in when needed. “Cut the shit, Saint. I want a rematch.”

“I’m out of the game,” I answer honestly. “So you’re going to have to find someone else to play.”

“You and I both know there is no one out there good enough to give me the kind of challenge I’m looking for. You can’t just quit the game, Saint. I can see from the glint in your eyes that you’re interested, so what’s holding you back?”

I know the dick is lying through his teeth because right now my face is stoic, unreadable, not giving away one ounce of the emotions roiling through me. “Nothing is holding me back. I’m out, so get over it and move on before I have my friend Scott show you the door by way of his foot up your ass.”

Scanning the table, Harley’s eyes connect with Penelope and immediately the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I can feel a sweat start to creep up my spine. It’s a foreign sensation for me, one I’ve never experienced before. Is it fear? Panic? Whatever it is, I don’t fucking like it, especially since it’s correlated to Penelope.

“Got yourself a girl there, Saint? She’s a pretty little thing.” Reaching out, he fingers a strand of Penelope’s hair.

Without thinking twice, I pull my arm back and slam my fist into Harley’s face, sending him back a few steps. Pain vibrates through my hand as my chest heaves. “Don’t fucking touch her,” I bark, causing the entire dining room to grow silent as they watch our interaction in rapt fascination.

“What the fuck is going on out here?” Graham demands to know, two plates of Beef Wellington in his hands as he reenters the dining room.

Staring down at Harley, I say, “This dickhead was just leaving.”

Harley grips his jaw as he stands tall, not letting my punch affect him, even though I can see his face is already starting to bruise and swell. From my side, Penelope grips my hand, a very worried look on her face.

“Gavin…” she trails off softly, trying to calm down the inner rage burning through me.

I stare down at her and try to convey that everything is going to be alright just as Harley throws his head back and laughs, a maniacal cackle that echoes through the restaurant, causing all diners to look our way in discomfort.

“Oh Christ, I never thought I’d see the day.” The girl standing next to him who, just moments ago, looked almost terrified, joins in on his laughter, clearly unsure of what else to do. Together, they laugh until Harley straightens and shakes his head. “The apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree, now does it?”

Just like that, every vein in my body is put into overdrive as my blood pumps rapidly, igniting a flame from the past just from the mere insinuation of my father.

Stepping up to Harley, Graham now next to me, Beef Wellington cast to the side, I make myself very clear. “If you ever want to play another game in this town, I suggest you don’t ever bring up my fucking father again.”

I can practically feel Penelope’s concerned confusion blazing behind me. She’s no doubt wondering what the hell is going on. My father is someone I don’t talk about, ever. Scott and Graham know of his past not because I’ve mentioned it to them, but because they’ve grown up on the Strip, they know the stories, they know the history. From the way I’ve cut them off from asking questions, they know my father is an off limits topic, one I don’t plan on discussing with anyone… ever.

And fuck him. The apple falls so fucking far from the tree, people probably think it’s from another goddamned orchard. I won’t ever fall in my father’s footsteps. I’m not stupid enough to make the same mistakes he did.

“Don’t agree with me?” Harley shoots back. “Then prove it. I have the television crew ready, they just need you to sign on. Meet me in the suite, bring your A-game and prove that you’re nothing like your old man.” With a quick scan, he leers Penelope one last time before taking off and calling over his shoulder, “At least you have better taste than him.”

“Motherfucker,” I seethe as I start to go after him but am stopped by two sets of strong hands.

“Let him go,” Scott says close to my ear. “He’s not worth your time.”

“I’ll have him removed from the premises,” Graham states, pulling out his phone and stepping to the side to make a quick call to security.

Adjusting my suit jacket, I take a second to calm the burn running through me before I take a seat.

From my vantage point, Penelope is reading like a worried little fawn, her eyes wide with concern, her petite hand waiting to grasp mine and offer comfort.

Once I take a seat, I unbutton my jacket and take hold of my fork. Lifting my head to the table, I put on a passive smile and say, “Sorry about that. Please, eat up.”

I stick my fork in my chicken and try not to grind my teeth as I replay Harley’s words over and over in my head. He has no clue what he’s talking about. Yeah, Penelope might be by my side but she’s nothing like the relationship my father had with his woman. Right? The bitch was a goddamned chippie for Christ’s sake!

Fuck. I need to clear my head. The urge to rub my palms over my eyes to try and erase the past five minutes is daunting, but I manage to refrain. Performing such a move would be showing my anger, my uneasiness and I never show a fucking tell, and I’m not about to start now.

“Are you okay?” Penelope leans over, her hand pressing against my leg in concern.

Giving her a bright smile, I pinch her chin with my index finger and thumb and say, “Of course, baby. Now enjoy your dinner.”

She studies me, trying to look past the dark depths of my eyes for any kind of answer besides the one I gave her, but I show her nothing, I’m a mask of perfect calm. However, still worried, she gnaws on the corner of her lip before turning back to her dinner. I do my best to relax as I try to think of anything other than the battle raging inside of me.

I’m nothing like my father… fucking nothing like him at all.

***

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Penelope asks as I shut the door to her bedroom. “You haven’t spoken more than a few words since that guy left.”

“I’m fine,” I say, removing my jacket and unbuttoning my dress shirt, exposing my bare chest to her.

She removes her fake pearl earrings, ones that I know she probably bought for twenty dollars at some consignment place. I can tell they’re not real by how cheap they look next to her silky brown hair. A part of me thinks I should get her some real ones, ones that would reflect the beauty of her face, but then I think about the conversation with Harley. It’s nagging at me, taking over every aspect of my mind to the point where I’m second guessing everything I’ve done with Penelope up to this very moment.

“Okay,” she answers, sounding skeptical, obviously not buying what’s coming out of my mouth. Turning her back to me, she asks, “Can you unzip my dress for me?”

Now that’s something I don’t have a problem doing. Knowing she’s feeling a little insecure, I run my hands up her bare arms to her shoulders, sending a shiver up her spine. With my left hand caressing the back of her neck, I run my thumb along the smooth skin. I pull on the zipper of her dress with my right hand, slowly exposing her matching black lingerie.

“Thank you,” she says but before she can pull away I stop her, letting my hands do the rest of the work, sliding the dress off her shoulders, past her hips until it pools at the floor.

The night sounds quiet from so high up, only the slight traffic noise filtering through the window, filling the space of her modest room. Page is tucked in on the other side of the small suite, giving us some much needed time alone.

Penelope stands still, her back to me, waiting for my next move. Needing to forget about tonight, to get lost in her sweet scent, I make quick work of her bra, undoing it and tossing it to the side. With her back still facing me, I slowly loop my hand around her front and stroke up her stomach to her breast, gripping one tightly, rolling her nipple between my fingers until she moans. That’s all the indication I need that she’s ready.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Penelope?” I ask her, leaning toward her ear, brushing my chest against her back.

“Yes, fuck me Gavin.”

“Take your thong off and bend over on the bed, head to the mattress, ass in the air. I’m not going to be light or sweet. I’m going to be hard and unforgiving. Speak up now if you have a problem with that.”

She doesn’t answer me, she simply slips off her thong and gets into position, showing me her willingness to help me forget, to help me get past the torment ringing in my ears.

I take my time to undress, loving the way her tight cunt glistens up at me, telling me how ready she is. She’s always ready for me, always willing to be fucked by me. It’s a beautiful thing, something I’m grateful for, despite the turmoil clogging my brain.

Walking up behind her, my cock sheathed with a condom, I run the tip along her slit, loving how wet she is. Without warning, I pull back my hand and slap her ass, hard. Her body flinches as a low moan comes from her mouth and her pussy clenches just the tip of my cock that’s resting at her entrance. Loving the feeling, I do it again. This time, spurring her to call out my name in pleasure.

I rub the red mark on her ass, the mark that claims her as mine, and bring my hand down in the exact same spot again.

“Oh God,” she cries out.

“Is your pussy throbbing, Penelope? Is it greedy right now, begging for my dick?”

“Yes,” she answers breathlessly.

Another slap on her ass rings out through the room, and this time I can hear the torture in her voice, the strangled passion trying to escape past her mouth that’s currently pressed into the mattress.

“Please…” she trails off. “Fuck me, Gavin.”

My dick throbs in my hand from the way my tip is being sucked into her pussy, from the sounds of pleasure coming from her sweet, fuckable mouth, and from the arousal starting to run down her leg. I can’t hold back any longer, with one long push, I plunge deep inside her, causing her to throw her head back just enough that I grip her hair and wrap it around my fist a few times. Gripping her ass in one hand, her hair in the other, I start to thrust, not giving either of us a second to breathe. I’m rough, I’m sharp with my movements, I’m relentless, not letting up until she’s screaming my name at the top of her lungs, her pussy clenching around my cock, sending me into a fit of pleasure, sucking me until there’s nothing left inside of me.

Spent, I collapse on top of her, my feet feeling numb, my dick still throbbing with completion inside of her, our sweaty bodies tangled together.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter. Never in my life can I recall having come so hard.

I release her hair and massage her scalp, hoping I didn’t hurt her too much during my wild abandon. With her bent over like that on the mattress, ass in the air, pussy beckoning me, there was no way I would have been able to stop, to control myself.

I buried myself deep inside her, silently begging her to help me erase the demons that are plaguing me, that are making me think foolish, idiotic things, like questioning my entire relationship with Penelope.

Cleaning up, I toss the condom out and quickly get back into bed with a very naked and satisfied Penelope. She slides close to me and rests her head on my shoulder, her fingers dancing across my chest.

“Sorry if I hurt you,” I say quietly, our hearts winding down from the exertion I just put us through.

“It felt good,” she answers and then shyly tucks herself closer to me. “I can’t believe I like to be spanked.”

“It’s fucking hot as hell. Watching how you get wet every time I slap your ass is a huge turn on.”

“Good.” I can feel her smile against my chest. She lies there quietly with me for a few more minutes before finally asking, “What happened with your dad?”

I knew it was coming. I’m actually surprised it took her this long to ask me. I could see the questioning look in her eyes the rest of dinner, wondering what the hell just transpired between that dick face, Harley and me. What she didn’t know was that I didn’t want to talk about it. My father is in the past, he made his mistakes, no use harping on them.

“Nothing,” I answer flatly, letting her know the conversation is going nowhere.

But she doesn’t receive the message. “Clearly it’s not nothing if you’re upset over it.”

“I’m not upset,” I grit out. “So fucking drop it, Penelope.”

My tone is rude, disheartening, not a way I would ever want to talk to her, but she’s pushing my limits and she needs to know that if she wants to share a bed with me, my dad is something we don’t discuss.

“Sorry,” she says meekly, her small voice enveloping me in an instant wave of guilt.

Shit. My stomach starts to gnaw at itself, twisting and turning, sending my nerves into a frenzy. This is not the kind of guy I am, I don’t let little things like this bother me. So why the fuck am I letting not just Harley, but Penelope as well, get under my skin? And why the fuck do I feel guilty? I didn’t even know I possessed that type of emotion.

And just like that I’m starting to feel claustrophobic. Penelope’s hair rubbing against my neck almost feels like it’s choking me. My body feels itchy, my stomach bottoms out and I have the instant urge to run, I need to get out of here.

Shooting up in the bed, I cause Penelope to jolt, a shocked look on her face as I slide from beneath the covers and start dressing myself.

Propping up on her elbow, her breasts swaying with her movements, she asks, “What are you doing?”

“Leaving, what does it look like?”

“Why?”

Lying through my teeth, I say, “I have some early morning shit I have to do.”

It’s not the most convincing lie I’ve ever told, that’s evident in the way Penelope gathers a sheet around her naked body and walks up to me.

“Gavin, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Please just stay.”

“I’m not upset,” I insist in frustration. “I just have shit to do. Fuck, where is my other shoe?” I call out, looking around the room in a panic, needing to get the hell out of here before the anxiety boiling inside of me pours over in front of Penelope.

“Here,” she bends down to pick it up and hands it to me.

Shoe in hand, shirt unbuttoned, and clothes askew, I walk out of her bedroom to her front door in record time.

“Gavin,” she chases after me, catching me right before I exit. “Please, just tell me everything is okay. I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”

I drop my head and take a deep breath. This isn’t her fault; I need to at least give her something to calm her nerves. Turning in place, I pull her into a hug and press my lips against her temple. Quietly, I say, “I’m not mad at you, baby. Have a good night. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Pulling away, I exit her apartment and frantically press the up button to the elevator so I can fall apart in the privacy of my own home.

Chapter Twenty-eight

**NELL**

It’s been a week since Gavin’s run in with that Harley guy and with each passing day I can feel him pulling further and further away from me. And the most upsetting thing about it is I have no clue how to stop it.

With rehearsals every day and my first live performance happening in a week, on top of my constant worry about Gavin, my days have been insane, driving me to the brink of exhaustion by the time the sun goes down. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help, especially when he refuses to tell me what’s wrong in the first place.

“Why don’t you just talk to him?” Page says from her place in the armchair. We’re still in the lush suite at Paragon, taking full advantage of the top of the line cable package the room offers. I’m sprawled out on the couch, my eyes trained to Chip and Joanna as she tells him to remove yet another wall. I’m so physically and emotionally spent from this week that I’ve yet to change out of my sweaty rehearsal clothes. I should be thrilled, freaking ecstatic with the way my life has turned on a dime. Unfortunately, the deep, knowing pain in my gut telling me something bad is coming has cast a shadow over any joy I might have felt.

“I’ve tried,” I mutter. “Believe me. I’ve tried talking to him every goddamned day this week.” My eyes burn and my nose stings, but I refuse to cry. Crying is only something I’ve allowed myself to do in the solitude of my room, late at night after Gavin’s made some excuse as to why he can’t sleep in the same bed as me.

The excuses have run the gamut of I’m exhausted, I just need my own space tonight to I have an early morning, I don’t want to wake you up before you need to. No matter how often I tell him I don’t mind, he won’t relent. And on the nights he’s not throwing a pathetic excuse my way, he’s at the table in the high roller suite. For a man who supposedly only played a few games a month, the three nights this week has been excessive. We haven’t even made love since the night of my dinner celebration, if it could even have been considered that. It had been good. Fantastic, really, but I couldn’t shake the sense that he’d been using my body to exorcise some demons I couldn’t see.

I miss him. It’s only been a week and I still miss him terribly. And I hate myself for that weakness.

I know Page has been worried about me. She’s seen the puffy eyes and splotchy cheeks when I come out of my room each morning, but to her credit, she never pushes me, she simply offers a strong shoulder to lean on while I try and figure out what’s gone so horribly wrong in my relationship with Gavin. And can I even consider what we have as a “relationship”? I mean, we’d barely been together a handful of days before he started pulling his disappearing act. I guess that’s what happens when you fall in love with a man who you know can, and very well might, break your heart.

Page’s voice breaks through my revelry. “He seems like he’s been under a lot of stress lately. Why don’t you surprise him? You have a key to his room, right? Maybe you should just show up and make him a nice dinner to take his mind off things?”

It’s not a bad idea, really, but for some reason, I find myself arguing with, “You’re the cook here, Page. I’m lucky if I can boil water without burning it.”

“Then track his ass down and demand he tell you what the hell is going on,” she insists adamantly. “I can’t stand watching you hurt like this and he needs to start giving you some answers.”

I give her a side-eyed look before saying, “I would if I knew where the hell he was. I’ve called him and texted twice already and he hasn’t answered.”

“Then track Graham’s ass down and find out. There are cameras all over this fucking hotel. Hell, I’ll go with you just to squeeze his balls until he tells you where the fuck Gavin is.”

At her suggestion of talking to Graham, I shoot up. “That’s perfect!” I cry, running to my room and sliding my feet into a pair of flip-flops before coming back and placing a kiss on Page’s forehead. “Graham will definitely know. You’re a genius.”

“Well no shit,” she smiles. “You need me to go with you?”

“No thanks. I think I’ll get more answers without the threat of bodily harm.”

“Just sayin’,” she shrugs, going back to the bottle of bright pink polish she’s been painting her toenails with. “You need me, you know where to find me.”

Making sure my room key is tucked in the waistband of my spandex shorts, I bolt from the room toward the elevators, mashing on the button until the one on my right dings as the doors open. I make a judgment call and press the button for the floor the control room is on.

It isn’t until I make it to the solid steel door that I realize the flaw in my plan. I don’t have access to the control room. And I don’t have Graham’s number, so it’s not like I can call him and tell him to let me in. Running through my options, I decide on the most logical one that won’t have me turning tail and heading back to my suite without any answers.

“Graham!” I shout as I begin hitting and kicking the door. “I know you’re in there! Open up! I need to talk to you!” Looking up and to the right, I notice a small camera on the ceiling so I know he can see me. I continue my physical and verbal assault on the door until I finally hear a loud buzzing sound.

“Damn woman!” Graham declares as he swings the door open and grabs me by the arm, pulling me into the familiar hallway that leads into the massive control room. “You know, I have a reputation to uphold at this hotel. I can’t have women screaming and beating the shit out of doors willy-nilly. It’s bad for business.”

Yanking my arm from his grasp, I spin around and look him straight in the eyes. “Where is he?”

“Where’s who?” he asks, playing dumb, but I’m not having it. I’ve been dealing with one man’s bullshit for a whole week and no way in hell am I going to put up with Graham’s dishonesty as well. Turning on my heels, I charge into the control room and begin scanning the screens manically, looking for any sight of Gavin.

“He’s not here,” Graham sighs, running a hand through his surprisingly disheveled blond hair.

“Not in the hotel?” I question. “Then where the hell is he?”

Graham’s hesitance is written all over his face, but the look on mine must convey my warring emotions, because he finally relents and tells me, “He picked up a high stakes game at the Mirage.”

“What?” I snap. “Why? What the fuck is going on, Graham!”

He holds his hands up in a placating gesture, and from the corner of my eye I see the other men in the room shifting uncomfortably in their seats, as though they’ve never been witness to a woman on the brink of losing her shit at any moment.

“Look, I’d tell you if I could, I swear. But it’s not my place. It’s Gavin’s call what he tells you and what he doesn’t.”

“Well that’s funny, seeing as he hasn’t told me shit for the past week!” I yell, throwing my hands in the air. “All I know is I had this great guy for all of two fucking days before some douche-nozzle showed up at dinner one night and fucked everything all to hell! Who’s Harley, Graham, and what the hell is Gavin’s deal about his dad?”

“I wish I could tell you, Nell, I really do—”

“You just can’t,” I finish for him, heaving a disheartened sigh. “Does he want to break up with me?” I ask in a small voice, embarrassed of the tears that have broken free and are sliding down my cheeks, but helpless to stop them. “Is that what’s going on? Because if that’s the case, why can’t he just nut the hell up and do it already, huh? I’m a big girl,” I state, my indignation beginning to rise with the more tears that fall. “It’s not like I’m going to make some scene or beg him to stay with me. I do have some pride.”

“Look, just… calm down.” His eyes dart around the room like he’s embarrassed at my outburst. “Come here,” grabbing my arm once again, he pulls me from the main room and into the B room, a place I’m starting to get really freaking annoyed at being stuck in. Once the door is closed behind us, he reaches into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out a rolled up magazine, slapping it down on the metal table in front of me.

“The article’s on page twenty-nine.”

I open it, completely unaware that magazines solely about poker even existed. “What is this?”

“World Poker is the top magazine for all things gambling related. It’s like Cosmo, but for gamblers and without all the How to Have the World’s Longest Orgasm bullshit. Basically, if you’re anything at all in this world, you’re in there,” he finishes, pointing at the pages in my hand. Taking his word for it, I flip to page twenty-nine, my lip instantly curling at the large picture of the man from dinner in all his hairy chested glory. God this man is seriously ugly.

“Harley St. James publically challenges Gavin Saint,” I say, reading the article headline out loud. “Are you kidding me? It’s not enough he made a scene in the restaurant, now he’s putting it in print?”

“Yep, pretty much,” Graham shrugs. “And because of the way he did it, Gavin has no choice but to accept the challenge. If he doesn’t, he’ll look like a fool. That’s not a risk he’s willing to take.”

“Oh my God,” I throw my head back in sarcastic laughter. “This is a glorified pissing match, Graham,” I declare, throwing the magazine back on the table. “Of course Gavin can ignore it. This Harley guy just wants to prove he’s got a bigger dick, which he obviously doesn’t. If you ask me, Gavin will look like an even bigger fool cowing to this asshole. He’s a grown-ass man. He can make his own choices.”

“You’re right about that,” he nodded. “He can make his own choices. And he’s already chosen to accept Harley’s challenge. What you’re wrong about is him being wrong in doing so. Like I told you, it’s not my place to talk about Gavin’s past, but let’s just say, ignoring Harley would have proven Gavin’s legacy right, and he’s busted his ass for years to show everyone he’s nothing like his father. This is something he has to do, Nell. You need to stick by him, show him you support him no matter what, and hopefully, when he beats the shit out of Harley again, he’ll get over whatever mind-fuck he’s currently dealing with. Just give him time.”

I stare up at Graham, completely aghast. “Did you really just tell me to be the good little girlfriend and stand by my man while he basically ignores me and treats me like shit in the hopes he’ll pull his head out of his ass when everything’s said and done?”

At least he has the decency to flinch as he reaches up and scratches at the back of his neck. “Well, when you put it like that it sounds pretty fucked up.”

“No shit!” I spit, pushing past Graham and out of that stupid, God forsaken B room. Fuck the B room. Fuck Graham and his shitty-ass advice, and fuck Gavin Saint if he thinks I’m going to tolerate his bullshit for one more second.

I stomp out of the control room and into the hall, I jab the button for the elevator as I take deep breaths, trying my best to calm my nerves. I’m giving Gavin one more chance to tell me what the hell is going on. If I don’t get the answers I’m looking for, I’m walking, before I become even more invested than I already am.

***

The door to Gavin’s villa doesn’t open until well after midnight, and unfortunately for him, I managed to find his whiskey stash hours ago and make a little dent in one of the bottles. It’d serve him right if it was the most expensive one.

“Win big?” I ask in a cold tone as he steps around the corner, coming to a halt at the sight of me sitting at his kitchen island, tumbler of whiskey between my palms.

“How long have you been waiting here?” he asks, coming out of his stupor. Reaching up, he tugs at the tie around his neck, loosening it just enough to undo the top button. Normally, I’d find the movement sexy, but right now, I’m too pissed to think straight. After I left Graham earlier, I’d pulled the article back up on my phone and noticed one very important thing.

“Ever since Graham told me you accepted Harley’s challenge and plan to play in a televised game to prove you’ve got bigger balls.”

He heaves a put-out sigh as he yanks the tie the rest of the way off, throwing it carelessly on the floor. “It’s not as simple as that, Penelope. You don’t have the first clue how things work here.”

“You’re right, I don’t!” I bark, standing from the barstool and stomping in his direction. “And you know what? I don’t give a fuck! I don’t care how things work or whatever your fucking ‘legacy’ is,” I say, using air quotes to get across just how ridiculous I find this whole thing. “All I know is some hairy gorilla talked shit about your dad, and because of it, my boyfriend’s turned into an asshole. And I’m sick of it! You don’t have to play him, you know. You could just walk away, Gavin. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

“You don’t fucking get it!” he shouts, startling a jump from me. “I can’t back down! That’s exactly what he wants. I’m the best goddamned player there is. Only one man has been better than me, Penelope. And you know who that was?”

I shake my head at the venom in his voice.

“It was my fucking father!”

“So, what?” I ask, raising my arms at my sides, “You’re doing this to prove you’re better than him? Come on, Gavin! Don’t you see how childish that is?”

“You’re fucking right I’m doing it to prove I’m better! He was a shitty father who only cared about one thing, the fucking game. At least until a woman out of his league started sniffing around, making him think he was more important than he actually was. He might have been the best, but he was still fucking stupid enough to get involved with a woman who was using him for his money. He was stupid enough to get himself in some shit he had no business being in, all because he let some gold digger lead him around by his dick. And he was stupid enough to get himself killed over that same woman who wasn’t worth it! No woman is worth that, and I’m going to prove once and for all that I’m not only a better card player, but I’m a smarter man than my father ever was!”

I take a step back as a hysterical laugh bubbles from my throat. “Is that what you really think of me? Oh my God,” I gasp as tears begin trailing down my cheeks. “That’s really what you think of me.”

“What?” Gavin’s brow furrows as if he doesn’t even realize what he just said. “No. No! Christ Penelope, I’m not talking about you. I just…”

“Then don’t play against him,” I interrupt, lifting my chin defiantly.

Gavin freezes before me. “What?”

“Don’t play against him. Prove you aren’t your father by not playing at all. Put me before a stupid fucking poker game.”

His eyes go wide as he shakes his head frantically. “I can’t do that.”

My heart cracks at his words, because somehow, I figured that’s what he’d say. “Do you even realize when this game is?”

“I—it’s Wednesday,” his expression is a mask of confusion, the date not holding a single ounce of significance to him at all.

My laugh is bitter as it passes my lips. “Wednesday, yeah. Figures you wouldn’t remember anything that didn’t have to do with you,” I poke my finger in his chest. “You agreed to play Harley in a televised game in Hotel Paragon’s high roller suite the exact night as my first performance with La Magie.”

“Shit,” he hisses, raking his fingers through his hair. “Shit! Penelope, I forgot. I’m sorry—”

I hold up my hand to stop him. “Save it. I don’t want to hear your fucking apology. What I want to hear is that you’re going to back out of this game.”

Anguish. Complete and total anguish washes over his handsome features as he gives his head an almost indiscernible shake. “I can’t,” he whispers in a ravaged voice.

Doing the best I can not to break down completely, I blink back the deluge of tears that want to fall, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin, because when I walk out of here, I’m doing it with my pride intact, goddamn it. “Then, good luck. I hope beating him gives you what you’re looking for.”

I step past him, only to be stopped by his hand on my arm. “Penelope, just… goddamn it! Just, wait, okay? Please. You have to understand—”

“Nope, that’s where you’re wrong, Gavin. I don’t have to understand anything. See, I grew up with parents who showed me that when you love someone, really love them, you’d be willing to compromise anything you could to make that person happy. That’s what they did for me my whole life. And that’s what I was willing to do for you.” My bottom lip trembles as I slowly pull my arm from his grasp. “I’d have done anything to make you happy, Gavin,” I whisper in a pained voice. “But what I’m not willing to do is settle for a man who isn’t willing to do the same for me. Play your game, and I mean it when I say I hope you win. I really do. I want you to win. Because the knowledge of that is going to be the only thing you’ll have to keep you warm at night. I hope that can be enough for you. But it’s not enough for me.”

With that, I fly from his villa like the hounds of hell are nipping at my feet. It isn’t until I’m in the sanctuary of my room with my face buried in a pillow to muffle the sounds, that I let the gut wrenching sobs break free.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

**GAVIN**

“You look like absolute shit,” Graham says, walking up next to me as I push the button to the elevator to head back up to my villa. It’s been a long fucking day going through press junkets, interviews, and sitting in for another pickup game over at The Bellagio.

Now that my name is plastered all over the headlines again—thank you Harley St. James, you asshole—every hotel on the Strip and outside of Vegas is offering me a spot at their tables, wanting to get a little piece of the media frenzy swarming me.

Every hand I’ve played has been a joke. Every man who sits at my table, a sparkle in their eyes as they hope to strike it big against the best in the world, leaves sour, salty, and with a huge hole in their pocket. I’ve earned more money in the few days than I did all last year, and it keeps coming.

It isn’t about having a good hand when it comes to these games. It’s about being smart. There are times I fold because I’m not dumb enough to raise someone who has a good hand. I take my time, I read my competition and then I annihilate them when the time is right, just like the repeat performance I’ll make when I play Harley.

“Thanks, asshole,” I respond, waiting for the elevator to open. “Is there something I can help you with?” We both step in and I press the button to my floor, one hand in my pocket and exhaustion written all over my face.

I haven’t played this much poker since I was young and just starting out, wanting to get my hand in any game I could. Back then, I would even sink to the level of touristy gambling tables, just to feel the cards in my hand, to feel the thrill of winning yet another deal.

Now, there is no thrill. Every time I’m awarded with the pot, I don’t feel the electric buzz coursing through my veins, I don’t feel the pure elation of once again taking down another opponent, and I sure as shit don’t feel like celebrating with a random fuck up in my villa.

“I haven’t seen you in a while, thought we could catch up,” Graham says tentatively.

“Not in the mood,” I shoot back, walking out of the elevator to my villa where I use my key card to get in. Without an invitation, Graham follows behind me and sits in one of the barstools at my kitchen island.

Ignoring him, I go to my bar and pour myself a glass of whiskey, two fingers. Staring out the window at the neon lights that brighten the Strip on a daily basis, I ask, “What are you really doing here, Graham?”

Sighing, he says, “Scott and I are concerned about you.”

“Why?” I turn to him, an indignant look on my face. “There’s no need to be concerned.”

“You’ve been closed off recently. We haven’t heard from you in a while and the only time I really see your fucked up face is when it’s on TV.”

Stepping up to Graham, I pat his face, sarcasm dripping from my lips. “Aw, does my little lady friend need some attention?”

“Don’t be an ass,” Graham says, pushing my hand away. “Have you even talked to her at all?”

“Talked to who?” I ask, knowing damn well who he’s talking about but I want to stall because every time I think about Penelope, I can only picture her beautiful face, crushed and bruised from the words I spat at her. The hardest part is knowing she’s still living in the hotel, so close to me, yet completely unreachable.

“Nell,” Graham answers without skipping a beat. “Don’t act like you don’t know who I’m talking about. Have you spoken to her?”

“Why would I need to talk to her? She made it quite clear that we’re done, not that there was really anything between us. She was a good fuck for a while, but those things only last so long before you get bored.”

Every word uttered out of my cold, fucked up mouth is a lie, a lie dripping with so much self-hatred that I can barely listen to what I’m saying. It’s easier to get angry, to let that anger ferment, and then use it against anyone who tries to “fix” your problem. There is no fixing of anything where I’m concerned.

This is my life.

I’m a hustler.

I was born a hustler, raised a hustler, and I will be damned if anyone takes that away from me. Even a little brunette with hazel eyes and a heart of fucking gold can’t shake who I am.

Coming up from behind me, Graham pushes my back, sending me forward into the crest of my couch. “What the fuck,” I seethe, looking down at my hands where some of my whiskey has spilled.

“You know, Gavin, we’ve known each other for a long time now. I’ve seen you go through a lot. From winning big in Monte Carlo to visiting your father’s grave with you. I’ve watched countless women slip in and out of your villa with no intention of returning that night. I’ve seen you depressed and going through the motions of life instead of actually living it. But I’ve never seen you genuinely happy, like sappy fucking happy to the point that your smile stretches from ear to ear. That is, until Nell came along.”

“We’re not talking about this,” I warn, my heart pounding against my chest with every mention of Penelope’s name.

Never in my wildest dreams would I expect Graham to approach me about Penelope. He’s a self-centered asshole who spends more time looking at himself in the mirror than the people around him. So for him to stop being vain for two seconds and see how I’m doing is more than a little shocking, and seriously unwanted.

“Why is this so important to you?” Graham asks.

“Me?” I point to myself, rounding the kitchen to wipe my hands. “Why is this so fucking important to you, Graham? When have you ever cared about a woman I’ve slept with?”

“I haven’t and Nell isn’t just some woman you slept with, Gavin. She’s more than that. So my question to you is why are you letting her go over some goddamned poker game? You already know you’re the best, what’s the point?”

Wiping my hands, I stare Graham directly in the eyes, my hands twisting the towel painfully tight. “The point is simple, Graham. I’m not interested in anything long term.”

“Bullshit. That’s such fucking bullshit and you know it. Is it because you’re scared?”

“Why the ever loving fuck would I be scared of a woman? I would think you knew me better than that.”

“You’re not scared of Nell, dipshit, you’re scared of people believing you’re your father.”

Well if that’s not the God’s honest truth, then I don’t know what is. I’ve spent my entire adult life doing everything possible to not end up like my dad, losing his game and his life over a woman who forgot about him the second his body grew cold, why would I start now?

“I’m not scared of being like my father, I just don’t want people to see any correlation between us.”

“And why the hell not? From what I can remember, your father was a passionate man, a good man, he might not have shown it in the best way, but he was someone who loved you dearly…”

“He didn’t fucking love me!” I shoot back, cutting Graham off. “If he loved me, then he wouldn’t have spent every waking hour at the table chasing after something he already had.”

Stepping back, Graham taps the counter in front of him and then sticks his hands in his pockets. “If that’s the case, then you are your father, Gavin.” Shaking his head, he saunters over to my front door. “You’ve won it all, you’ve proven yourself. There is nothing left on your docket of success.” Taking a deep breath, he says, “Don’t be like your dad and keep chasing after a dream you’ve already accomplished. It’s time for you to live your life outside of cards and poker chips. I just hope Nell will be there for you when you finally pull your head out of your ass. That is, if you actually do.”

Not saying another word or waiting for a response from me, Graham leaves, the click of the door lock echoes through my very empty, very cold apartment.

“Fuck,” I mutter, gripping my forehead with my hand, feeling an intense headache starting to form at the base of my skull.

As I head back to my bedroom and start stripping out of my clothes, I think about Graham’s final statement. Am I so fucking fixated on not falling for a woman like my dad did that I’ve been blinded to the fact that I’m chasing after something that will never truly make me happy? Suddenly questioning everything you’ve based your life around is a fucking disconcerting feeling, and I feel the tension begin to build in my body as my stomach sinks at the questions swirling around in my head.

Making quick work of getting ready for bed, not even bothering with dinner, I slip between the cool sheets and stare up at the ceiling, my hands behind my head, images of Penelope running through my mind.

When I first saw her, I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to fuck her more than any woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. So I did what I do best, I hustled. I chased her, captured her, and branded her.

But that wasn’t enough.

For some foreign reason, I needed more. I needed to make her mine, to make sure she screamed my name every single night, to see her bright smile when I woke up in the morning, and to feel her petite, lithe body pressed against mine just to get a good night’s sleep.

And you know what? Fuck if I didn’t enjoy every aspect of having her around.

But it was bound to end. I knew that going into it. Being labeled as following in my father’s footsteps is a daunting fear of mine and I refuse to paint that on my shoulder like a scarlet letter.

But why does it feel so fucking wrong? Why do I feel like I’m spiraling out of control? Why does it feel like I can’t catch my breath? I pinch my eyes closed as images of Penelope flip through my mind, pictures of her hair floating over my bare chest, her sweet smile and sassy attitude cloud my brain just as a sharp pain shoots to my very fucking core.

This bed is so cold, so empty, so lifeless without her. Everything in this room seems so dark, bleak, and worthless without her.

“Fuck!” I shout, slamming my fists on the mattress.

Breaking, I grab my phone and pull up my text messages. The last one I sent to Penelope was over two weeks ago.

Two fucking weeks ago!

Shit.

Because I’m a masochist and need some sort of fix, I type out a message to her.

Gavin: I miss you.

It’s not a lie; it’s the God’s honest truth. I fucking miss her. I miss everything about her from her broken heel on her worn out shoes, to her spitfire attitude, to the way she moans my name at the point of climax.

Before my mind can wander anymore, my phone dings with a response, pulling me back to reality.

Penelope: Save it, Gavin. Are you still going to play in your game tomorrow?

I don’t even hesitate.

Gavin: Yes.

Penelope: Then there is no reason for us to talk. Have a good life.

Because I can’t fucking help the asshole that comes out of me, I text her back out of pure spite, refusing to let my wounds show.

Gavin: You too, Miss Prescott.

***

This is too easy.

Harley sits across from me, flipping his chip in his hand, stuttering with his flip every time he has a good hand, as if his fingers are shocked he’s been able to grab ahold of decent cards. There are cameras all around the room and under the table, showing the viewing audience what we’ve been dealt.

Easily after the first few hands I’ve been able to knock out Ramos – fucking moron – Samuelson, and Baker. Now it’s myself, Harley, and a new guy by the name of Tucker Reed, who actually shows a lot of promise but is way too fidgety. At least he’s been smart enough not to go in for a big bluff just yet, it’s the only reason why he’s still around.

Before I came into the suite today, dressed in one of my impeccable suits and sporting a fake smile, I had a conversation with Scott about my intentions going into this game. The jackass must have spoken with Graham because I received the same pep-talk Graham gave me the night before. Him telling me I didn’t need to do this, I had nothing to prove, and by no means would I ever reflect the man who raised me. Blah, blah, fucking blah.

He then proceeded to tell me that he wouldn’t be staying to watch, and neither was Graham, they were all headed over to the theater to watch Penelope perform her first show. I was fucking cast aside by my own friends. The traitors.

I can still hear the entire conversation on replay in my head.

“Gavin, what is the point of doing this? You have nothing to prove.”

“I’m not going over this again,” I seethe to Scott. “Fucking drop it.”

“I love you man, but you’re being an idiot. You’re just too stubborn to see it.”

“You don’t get it.”

“Oh no, I do,” Scott cuts me off. “I get it, man. You grew up in this atmosphere, you watched it destroy your dad and you’ve made it your mission to make sure it doesn’t happen to you as well. Message well received, but what you don’t realize is that you’re following in your father’s footsteps more than you ever have. You’re casting aside everything that’s ever meant anything to you and attempting to beat a loser like Harley who means absolutely nothing in your life. Be the bigger man, be the better man.”

I have no response because I know, deep down inside that Scott is right.

“Here,” he hands me a ticket. “If you change your mind, there’s a seat waiting for you. Hopefully I’ll see you there.”

Scott left with a disappointed and sorrowful look on his face. Everything about it made me sick to my stomach and that nagging feeling that kept telling me over and over again that I was making the wrong choice grew stronger, to the point now that I can’t even take a sip of my whiskey I feel so nauseous.

“Mr. Saint, are you in?” the dealer asks. Davies opted out of this game, just like everyone else, so she can see Penelope perform, so there’s a strange man talking to me now, asking whether I want to participate.

Shit.

“Yeah,” I respond, flipping my chip to the center like every other ante I’ve ever made.

As the cards are meticulously dealt, I look around the table, the spark in Tucker and Harley’s eyes is the same spark I once had. I used to feel a rush with every hand shuffled, with every card flipped, now, all I can feel is a burning hole in my jacket pocket from where the ticket rests, singeing me to the point that my entire body starts to heat up.

Trying to ignore the feeling of self-hatred and regret coursing through me, I take a look at my cards with a slight lift at the corners. Double aces, fuck that’s a good hand.

Glancing around the table, Tucker seems calm, not excited or fidgety, just calm. Harley is flipping his chip casually glancing down at his cards and waiting in anticipation for the community cards to be laid out.

Normally, after seeing two aces in my hand, I would be elated, having a party inside, ready to take down the table, but right now, I feel nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. I’m empty, there is no excitement, no thrill, just… nothing.

Keeping a blank face, I watch as the flop card is dealt. Six of hearts. No use to me. As if I’m watching from above, in an outer body experience, the game plays out, bets are placed and the turn and the river cards are dealt. Leaving me with three of a kind, aces high. A fucking good hand, a winning hand, especially since the rest of the cards are crap.

Eyes fixated on the cards, Harley flips his chip in the opposite direction and then raises the bet, turning in a hundred thousand. I resist from shaking my head at his outlandish way of bluffing. It’s clear from this tell that he has nothing for cards but is trying to use leverage from the ace facing toward the sky on the table.

I can take him down, right here, call him out on his bluff, so I do just that. I raise him another two hundred thousand just for the hell of it. Tucker is out, smart move, but Harley? He raises me again while his fingers fidget with his poker chip, stumbling occasionally.

I pause and reflect on my next move. Do I raise? If I do, he’ll no doubt match and raise again, trying to scare me away. If I call, I can end it here and take the winnings, add more cash to the pile and continue to move forward with destroying Harley until he’s out.

But where does that leave me? With a fuller bank account and the knowledge of being the best player in the world, a fact I’m already aware of. Do I prove that I didn’t let a woman affect me, that I, for once and for all, am better than my dad?

Graham and Scott’s words ring through my head. I’m no better than my dad at this very moment. There is nothing fun about this, there is nothing exciting. I’m just an empty man inside, reaching for something he already has.

But there is something I don’t have, something that’s replaced the thrill of a hand of cards, something that’s awakened me, something that makes me so fucking alive, and I’m the world’s biggest ass for not realizing it sooner.

Penelope is everything I should be chasing after, everything I should be focusing on, but instead, what am I doing? I’m sitting around a table with a bunch of men who I used to share a like mind with, accomplishing absolutely nothing.

Jesus.

For the first time ever, I show a tell, giving myself away. What Harley must think is a show of uncertainty over his raise, it’s actually realization that I am a goddamn moron and could have possibly thrown away my future over a stupid game.

I grip my forehead and try to calm the pounding of my heart that’s waging a war inside my chest. This is all wrong, I don’t belong here… not anymore. Looking up at Harley, I call.

Shock floats over his eyes as I nod at his cards to flip them over. He sets his chip down that’s he’s been manhandling for the entire length of the game and uses one of the cards to flip the other over, revealing a pair of sixes. What an idiot.

The audience already knows I’ve won, they can see the cards we have because the special cameras in the table. But this isn’t about winning, this is about moving on from this game and showing everyone once and for all, I don’t need this. This isn’t me anymore. My reign of the poker world comes to an end tonight. Nodding, I toss my cards face down—I don’t need him to see my hand was actually better—in the center is false defeat.

Tipping my whiskey back, I say, “You got me.” Then I lift from my seat and flip a chip at the dealer. “I’m out gentlemen. I have another engagement to attend.”

“Where the fuck are you going? We’re not done.” Harley spits, clearly not happy that I’m leaving.

Turning to him and buttoning my suit jacket I say, “You just won, why don’t you celebrate before the little vein in your head pops?”

“You still have over a million left to play.”

“Yes, I realize that. But unlike you, poker’s no longer my life. I have nothing to prove here.”

Leaving, I know security will take care of my money and I take off to the entrance to hail a cab. I might not have something to prove at the poker table, but I sure as hell have a lot to prove when it comes to Penelope.

***

The heavy beat of death defying music pounds through the theater just as Penelope finalizes the wrapping of her ribbon. Lights flash all around her and the two other women who are all hanging in the air, upside down in nude, skin tight leotards. In tandem, just as the music crests, they let their grip on the ribbons loosen and they spiral down to the floor, stopping a few feet from the bottom just as the lights go off and the crowd erupts in cheers.

Chills spread over my skin because of how magnificent she was. I made it to the theater just in time to catch her act and I couldn’t be happier with my decision to leave the game, I would have hated myself forever if I missed this. This is more of a thrill I’ve ever gotten with a game of cards.

Thanks to being the best poker player in the world, the producer of the show allowed me to stand in the wings to watch Penelope. Yes, Scott got me a good seat, but it wasn’t good enough, I want to be the first person to congratulate Penelope on her first ever performance. Plus, I had a pretty good angle to record the whole thing for her parents.

The crowd continues to cheer while the lights are dimmed and I wait in anticipation for my little brunette to approach me.

Unlike all the other acts during the show, the ribbon performers are the most natural in their costumes with their flesh-like leotards, wavy undone hair, and barely there make up. From what I could see, they had a few diamonds encrusted on their suits and framed around their eyes, but that’s about it. She looked beautiful up there, magical, and fuck if I didn’t get hard watching her. Her fluid movements, the way she gripped the material with her thighs. What I wouldn’t give right about now to have those strong legs wrapped around my waist as I pound into her relentlessly, her eyes scorching up at me with lust…w ith love.

“That was amazing ladies,” someone calls to the side as Penelope and the two other girls approach, laughing and congratulating each other.

The smile on her face is priceless and right at this moment, I realize, poker is my past and Penelope is my future. I would do anything for this woman, and I mean anything. Even if it’s throwing a game to my biggest competitor, anything to see those beautiful eyes looking up at me.

She’s full of glee as she walks toward me but the minute her eyes connect with mine, her face falls and the once jovial expression she shared with her friends is nowhere to be found.

“Gavin,” she says, looking around and stepping to the side. “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask, placing my hands on her hips only to be pushed away. Clearly this is going to be harder than I expected.

Wanting some privacy, I pull her into an alcove off to the side and trap her against a wall, the only exit being behind me. If she wants to flee, she’s going to have to get through me first.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Without skipping a beat, I press my lips against hers and get lost in the feel of her mouth moving against mine. Fuck she feels so good. Every last bit of tension in my body flees as I grip her face with my hands and melt into her, getting lost in the best way possible. Pure euphoria encases me as her tongue reaches out to mine, searching for more. It’s an indication that she hasn’t given up on me yet. It’s all I need. It’s everything.

Reluctantly, I stop the kiss and rest my forehead against hers, trying to look into her eyes. I’m about to tell her how sorry I am when her hands meet my chest and pushes me away, sending me backwards a few steps, shocking the hell out of me.

“You can’t just kiss me like that, Gavin!”

Straightening myself I ask, “And why the fuck not?”

“Because you lost that privilege the moment I walked out of your villa!”

Gripping the back of my neck, I prepare myself for the grovel of the century.

“What if I told you I was scared, that I had no clue what I wanted until I lost it, that the last few days without you have been so fucking miserable that I haven’t been able to sleep because you’re not next to me, pressed up against my side.”

Her shoulders relax just slightly as she shifts in place, arms crossed over her chest, head tilted to the side. “I’d say you can keep saying things like that,” she replies, her voice full of the sass I’ve fallen so in love with.

Yup, she isn’t making this easy on me at all.

Sighing, I take a deep breath, ready to pour it all out on the table for her.

I take her hands in mine and look her straight in the eyes. “For the longest time, ever since I can remember, poker has been what my life’s been about. I haven’t known anything else. My father taught me everything I know. Hell, it’s the only thing he ever taught me, and I used that to my advantage to get to where I am today, but slowly as time ticked by, I started to realize the game was no longer fun. It no longer challenged me, it was just something I did to kill the time. And then you came along…”

I bring her hands up to my lips and kiss her knuckles softly.

“At first, you were a nut I had to crack, I had to get inside you because everything about you is alluring, tempting, fucking heavenly. I needed a taste. I couldn’t have possibly known you’d put up such a goddamned fight, challenging me in a way that I’ve never experienced before, and just like that, I became addicted. I became addicted to our little cat and mouse game, to our push and pull. You thrill me, excite me, you question everything I do, but at the same time, you make me feel so fucking full, it amazes me.”

I kiss her again, pulling her in closer and she actually allows me to. Thank fucking God.

“Then you let me behind that tough exterior of yours, you let down your walls and gave yourself over. I remember the first night I sank into you. In my bed, the moon shining down on us. Fuck, Penelope, it was the single most fulfilling moment of my entire life. More fulfilling than any poker win. Knowing I was a part of you, that I’d finally earned you. That was what fueled me, that’s what has been fueling me ever since. I may have lost my way, I may have lost my head when approached by my past but that’s exactly what it is now, my past. You’re my future.”

Releasing her hands, I bring mine up to her face where I cup her cheeks gently and stroke my thumbs against her soft skin. Her lips part and her eyes sparkle up at me. I have her where I want her, seconds from falling over. There is just one more thing I have to say to her before I win the biggest fucking bet in my life.

“Everything about you, from your determination, your soft soul, your fiery spirit, and your sassy mouth turns me on and eats me alive. You’re a part of me, Penelope. You’re in my blood. I’m so fucking yours, I would do anything to have you in my life, even walk out on a poker game just so I can see you perform.” This is it, I let my nerves settle in my stomach and I speak softly as the words pour out of me. “I love you, Penelope. I love you so fucking much. Please say you forgive me, please let me be the man you need, the man I want to be. Let me be the man who gets to love you and claim you as his.”

Her eyes well up with tears and her hands grip my arms. Through my suit jacket I can feel the burn of her touch, scorching through me. Fuck, I need her to forgive me. I need it more than air.

I wait with bated breath. Her eyes search mine for answers and just when I think she’s going to pull away, her lips part and she smiles.

“Your eyes are so dark, I can never read them,” she says in a whisper. I can barely hear her over the music playing in the background. “I’ve never been able to tell if you’ve been bluffing when it came to me, but right here, right now, there’s a spark in them, a spark I’ve seen maybe a few times at a glance. But it’s there now. It hasn’t gone away.” Standing on her tippy toes, she kisses me lightly on the lips.

“That’s because I’m ready to be the man you need in your life. Someone to love you unconditionally and to compromise with you to make sure you’re happy, just like your parents.”

Bonus material right there, remembering what she said when she walked out on me. And it’s not a lie, I will do anything to make her happy.

“God, I love you so much,” she says right before her lips take mine and we get lost in each other’s mouths.

Our tongues tangle, our hands wander and heat starts to build up between us. I press her up against the wall, lifting her so her legs wrap around my waist. With her positioned tightly against the wall, I place my hands on either side of her head and drive my tongue into her mouth relentlessly, soaking up every last bit of her.

My cock is hard, my breaths are erratic and I need to be inside of her, this very minute, to make sure she’s mine. To make sure this isn’t some fleeting feeling. That this is real, that everything about this is a dream I never expected, nor thought would come true.

“I need to be inside of you,” I say huskily against her lips. “How do you take this costume off?”

“Not here,” she whispers.

“Yes, fucking here. So either tell me how this costume comes off or expect me to rip it in two seconds.”

“Gavin…”

“I’m not a fucking patient man, Penelope, you should know that by now. I just told you I love you. I need inside you, so take off the fucking costume… now.” I grit out.

“Zipper is in the back,” she answers breathlessly.

Dropping her to the floor for a second, I turn her around, find the zipper and undo it quickly. She steps out of it and without even thinking twice, I grip the string of her thong and rip it apart, making quick work to shove the broken scrap of fabric in my pocket.

“Pull me out,” I demand, speaking closely to her ear. “And grab a condom from my wallet, you have about three seconds.”

Working quickly, she undoes my pants, grabs a condom from my wallet and sheathes my aching, hardened length. Before she even has time to stand. I lift her up and replicate the position we were in only mere seconds ago. Instead of placing my hands on the wall, I hold onto her legs and with one thrust, I enter her.

Every nerve ending in my body sets on fire as I pound into her, not giving her a moment to adjust and by the moans coming from her beautiful mouth, it doesn’t sound like she needs any time.

Her head moves forward as her lips kiss along my neck up to my ear where her teeth nibble on my lobe, pulling on it with each thrust of my hips. Her moans slide through her teeth straight into my ear, turning my steady motion into a crazed frenzy. There’s no holding back, I pound into her over and over until I can feel her start to constrict around me.

“Oh God!” she moans into my ear. “I’m coming, Gavin.”

And just like that, my balls tighten, my legs go numb, the spiraling tension in my core unravels and I come so fucking hard inside her.

“Shit… Penelope,” I moan, thankful for the loud music playing around us.

We stay still for a few moments, basking in our connection. I move so I can look her in her eyes, which are glazed over from lust… from love. “Fuck, I love you.”

She giggles as she looks at me.

“What’s so funny about that?” I ask, feeling a little sensitive to my new confession.

“You have one of my jewels resting between your eyes. I fuck-dazzled you.”

Not even caring that there’s a jewel resting on my face. I kiss her on the nose. “If it makes you happy, I’ll let you fuck-dazzle me every day for the rest of my life.”

“I might have to take you up on that offer,” she winks.

I would be damned if I ever said no to this woman now. She owns me in every way possible. Who knew the biggest game of my career was going to involve a cheeky cocktail waitress turned love of my fucking life.

Epilogue

Two Weeks Later

**NELL**

My body is completely exhausted as I make my way from the elevator to Gavin’s—well, now our—villa, seeing as I moved in with him the moment we got back together. The morning after my first performance, Page pulled me down on the couch and forced me to watch the DVRed poker game Gavin had played in with Harley St. James. It wasn’t necessarily my idea of fun, but watching the man I love, the man who could read anyone’s tells, call it a loss while he held three of a kind, aces high, just so he could get to me, made me fall for him even more. Since then, things have been pure bliss. Don’t get me wrong, I can’t say there haven’t been bumps in the road. I mean, I’m me and he’s Gavin so it’s a guarantee we’re going to butt heads, but the making up is so worth it.

Fact of the matter is, I’m happy. I’m performing for La Magie three nights a week, doing what I love. I’m shacking up with the man of my dream. And thanks to finally swallowing my pride and admitting I needed someone to lean on, Gavin’s stepped up in order to help my parents. They fought him at first, but once he informed them that he had every intention of being in my life long term, and he couldn’t stand seeing me worry about their wellbeing, they accepted his help in the form of covering any and all medical expenses. He even bought Mom a new, top of the line truck to get her to and from work. I still miss them like crazy, but thanks to having Gavin in my life, I’m looking forward to being able to travel to see them. As a matter of fact, I’m taking him to Tennessee at the end of the month to officially meet the parents. I can’t wait to see how he handles that. It’s foreign territory for him, considering I’m his first serious girlfriend, so I imagine it’ll be quite hilarious.

The other major change that’s taken place over the past two weeks: Gavin’s officially out of the poker game. After his intentional loss, he announced he was done playing cards—which didn’t make Harley too happy, considering he knew Gavin had the winning hand. Instead of being paid under the table to watch the cameras, Gavin is now officially on Hotel Paragon’s payroll. He still drinks whiskey while watching the cameras, and he still gives Graham shit on a regular basis, but now he does it with a 401K and medical benefits. And he seems really happy about it.

“Mmm,” I hum as Gavin rests his hand on the small of my back, reaching his other hand into his pocket and pulling out his key. “Tonight’s show was exhausting,” I yawn. The back to back performances after three years of inconsistent exercise are wreaking havoc on my poor muscles, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. “I’m looking forward to soaking in a nice, hot bath, crawling into bed, and passing out. You can take full advantage of my unconscious body, just as long as you don’t expect me to be mentally present while you’re doing it.”

His low warm chuckles sweeps over my body like a gentle caress. “How could I possibly turn down such an enticing offer?”

“You can’t,” I tease back, poking him in the stomach. “You know you can’t resist my body.”

“You’ve got that fucking right,” he growls in my ear, nipping my lobe and sending tingles down my spine. Maybe I’ll be more mentally present than I thought. “Unfortunately, taking advantage of your sexy as hell body will have to wait.”

“What?” I ask, looking at him over my shoulder as he inserts the card in the lock. “Why?”

A wicked grin takes over his face as he shoves the door to the villa open.

“SURPRISE!”

I jump back and let out a startled yelp at the sight of everyone crowded in our villa, streamers and balloons seemingly covering every available surface. “Happy birthday, baby,” Gavin leans in and whispers in my ear at the same time tears begin to well in my eyes. He threw me a surprise birthday party. This hard, alpha man actually took the time to plan and execute a birthday party.

Turning to face him, I wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face in his chest. “I love you,” I whisper, breathing in his intoxicating scent.

“I love you too, baby.”

Once I’m no longer at risk of crying, I move out of his chest and allow him to lead me into our home and to our waiting friends. Everyone I care about is here. Page, Davies, Scott, Graham, even Nick is present, along with some friends I’ve made from the show, all of them holding noisemakers as they smile and shout happy birthday.

“Oh, my sweet baby girl. You look so beautiful!” At the sound of her voice, I yank out of Scott’s hug and shoot around, tears instantly filling my vision.

“Momma!” I yell, rushing over to where her and my dad are standing. “Oh my God!” Launching myself at them, they both catch me in a hug, squeezing so tightly the air pushes from my lungs, but I don’t care. My parents are here. My parents!

“What are you doing here?” I ask, pulling back so I can take the sight of them in. “Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re here!” I cry, happy tears running down my cheeks. “But… how?”

“Well,” Dad starts. “That man of yours must really love you. He flew us in early this morning and put us up in a swanky hotel room. This place is fancy, peanut.” Dad grins. “He even got us tickets to your show tonight,” my mom adds. “You were stunning, sweetheart. It was like watching an angel up on that stage.”

Looking over my shoulder as I go in for another hug, I catch sight of Gavin watching me, a content smile on his face.

“Thank you,” I mouth to him from across the room.

“I love you,” he mouths back.

“You should know, baby girl, your momma and I more than approve of your young man.” That means the absolute world to me, knowing my parents like Gavin for me.

“Well!” My mother pulls back, wiping at a few tears before clapping her hands. “We’re here for a party, so let’s get it started!”

My parents mingle with our friends like they’ve known them for years, seamlessly blending with our hodgepodge circle of loved ones.

“What are you thinking?” Gavin asks softly, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist as I look over the room, watching everyone I love having a great time.

“That I’m so unbelievably lucky to have found you,” I whisper as I spin in his hold, wrapping my arms around his neck and looking up into those dark eyes, so full of love and devotion as he gazes down at me.

“Funny, because I was just thinking I was the lucky one.”

I scrunch my face and squint my eyes, like I’m deep in thought. “You know what? You’re right. You’re totally the lucky one in this situation. I’m a freaking catch.”

His deep laugh vibrates through his chest into mine as he leans in and plants a kiss on my lips. “No arguments here. I know what I’ve got and I have no intention of ever letting you go.”

God, I love this man.

Just as I’m about to go in for another kiss, there’s a loud clang, followed by a, “Have you lost your fucking mind, woman!”

I turn just in time to see Page dump a tray of appetizers into the trash before tossing it onto the granite bar, causing another clang.

“Those canapés taste like shit,” she spits out, hands on her hips, chin tipped up defiantly. “I refuse for subpar food to be passed around at my best friend’s birthday party.”

“You’re insane!” Graham rakes his hands through his hair. “There was nothing wrong with the canapés. You just want to give me an aneurism!”

“My word,” my mom mumbles as she and my dad join Gavin and me. “Those two are going to spontaneously combust if they don’t hurry up and get together already.”

“What?” I choke. “What are you talking about? They hate each other.”

“Oh, peanut,” my dad laughs. “When you get to be our age, you can spot attraction like theirs a mile away. That right there, is grade-A sexual tension. Nothing else to it.”

I catch Gavin’s eye, the smile on his face matching my own. “Oh, this is going to be fun to watch,” he chuckles. “So much fun.”

Looking back, I see Page and Graham in a standoff, staring each other down like they’re each about to attack. My smile widens.

“I can’t wait.”

**THE END**

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Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Hustler

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Epilogue