Authors: Rachel Gibson
She kept her hand on his, and her thumb brushed across his knuckles. Mixed within all that anger was dark pain. She could see it. Feel it, sharp and tangible. The kind of pain she knew all too well. The kind that could steal your breath if you let it. “Tonight, I want to ride the roller coaster at New York New York. I think it’ll be cool to look down on the Strip all lit up.”
He took another drink of his wine, and she felt the tension ease, sucked back inside wherever he kept it. “I have to meet the guys at the Voodoo Lounge tonight. Why don’t you come with me instead of riding a roller coaster.”
She slid her hand toward her and tucked it into her lap. There was only one part of her body that she wanted to ache for Sam, and it wasn’t her heart. Anything beyond lust was too risky. She shook her head. “Why don’t I meet you there?”
His brows drew together, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a bemused smile. “Are you playing hard to get?”
She needed some distance. Needed a little space to breathe and clear her head before she did the unthinkable and started to have feelings for him. “Maybe.”
“Honey, it’s a little late. Don’t you think?”
Maybe, but she had to try. If not, she was afraid she might start to think of him as more than just a wild Vegas hookup. And that couldn’t happen. That was impossible.
He reached into his wallet and pulled out a VIP pass. “This will get you in the door,” he said as he handed it across the table toward her. “We have a table on the balcony. Try not to be too late.”
How late was too late? Autumn was an on-time girl and had never understood the concept of fashionably late. But that night she arrived at the Voodoo Lounge after eleven. It just about killed her to wait that long. She spent her time shopping for a strapless dress and a black thong. She took a long bath and put her hair up in big curlers. She put on more makeup than usual, and beneath the black tube dress, she only wore her tiny panties. She caught one last glimpse herself before leaving the room. She looked like herself, only different. She looked… sexy. Which was a new look for her. Especially after the last few years.
It was Sam. Sam made her feel good about herself. It was the way he looked at her. The touch of his hands. The way he whispered her name in her ear. He made her feel desired and sexy.
The Voodoo Lounge was on the fiftieth and fifty-first floors of the Rio, and Autumn walked to the front of the line and flashed her VIP pass. She’d never had a VIP pass to anything and was immediately taken up in a glass elevator and shown down a black-lighted foyer. Like most bars, the Voodoo was dark and smelled like booze and too much perfume. It had neon pink and blue lights, and a hip-hop band played in one corner of the small space. She rose onto the toes of her black pumps and looked through the crowd. She didn’t spot Sam right away, so she made her way through the bar to the large outdoor balcony. A breeze caught her hair, and she pushed it behind her ears. In one corner, a DJ spun records from the sixties and seventies, and on the perimeter of the balcony, were groups of cozy tables and chairs and Sam. He stood within a cluster of people, mostly women, laughing and chatting and having a good time. He wore a blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Compared to the women, Autumn looked conservative. A platinum blond, wearing a tiger-print haltered minidress, put her hand on his arm, and he didn’t seem to mind. Autumn turned toward the bar and looked over the menu. A gentleman parked at the bar suggested a Witch Doctor, but she didn’t want anything big and bulky that she would have hold with two hands. She ordered a mojito and watched as the bartender threw the glass into the air and caught it behind his back. She cast a glance over her shoulder at Sam, who was still occupied. This time, one of the women touched his chest. She turned back and dug a twenty out of the little black purse hanging from a silver chain on her shoulder. The guy next to her tried to buy her drink, but she declined. He seemed okay, and if it weren’t for Sam, she might have struck up a conversation with him. He had short dark hair and a thick neck and kind of reminded her of Vince.
She pointed to the smoke rising from the guy’s big fishbowl of a drink. “What’s in your Witch Doctor?”
“Rum, coconut rum, banana rum, more rum. Wanna sip?” He turned the straw toward her.
She shook her head and laughed. “No thanks. Four shots of rum is about three too many for me.” She handed the bartender a twenty and felt Sam behind her a fraction of a second before he slid his hand around her waist and pulled her hair to one side.
“Who’s the asshole?” he asked next to her ear.
She supposed she could get all jealous and indignant because he let women touch him, but she didn’t have any right, and jealousy was such an ugly emotion. “Hi, Sam.”
“What are you doing?”
“Getting a drink.”
“I see that.” His voice was a dark, seductive rumble across her skin. “What took you so long to get here?”
She smiled at the bartender, who put her change and mojito on the bar. “I was buying underwear.”
“Mmm. What kind?”
She shoved her change into her little purse, then turned her face into Sam’s. “Black thong. ” He smelled a little boozy. Like he’d been at it a while. One thing she did notice about Sam, besides his six-pack and massive good looks, was that he drank a lot. At least to her, and she’d spent three years at the University of Idaho. A notorious party school, but this was Vegas. Most people drank a lot in Vegas.
“Sexy.”
For the first time in a very long time, she felt sexy. “I’ll show you later.” Another thing she noticed about Sam, besides his smooth voice and smoother hands, was that he never really seemed drunk. He didn’t slur or get sloppy. He was never obnoxious, and all that booze did nothing to impede him in the bedroom. He never forgot a condom or the job at hand.
He kissed her neck, then took her hand, and they weaved their way past the dance floor to a table near the edge. They passed a big staircase leading to the upper deck, where a big American flag waved in the breeze.
He introduced her to a guy named Daniel and another named Vlad. One was Swedish, the other Russian. They were both huge and both had women hanging off their arms. Over “Sweet Home Alabama” playing in the background, the two introduced the women in the party. Vlad’s accent was so thick, Autumn thought she caught the names Jazzzzzz and Teeeeeena, but she wouldn’t bet on it.
Daniel’s quizzical gaze seemed to pick her apart and put her back together. “You’re the reason Sam can’t make it to Scores.”
“Or Cheeetaz,” Vlad added.
The boys obviously loved the strip clubs, and Autumn wondered if the women with them grabbed poles for a living. “The first night we met, Sam thought I was a dancer.” She took a drink, then set the glass on the table. “I think he was disappointed.”
“I wasn’t disappointed.” He slid his arm around her and pulled her against his side.
Daniel’s brows lowered. “You okay, Sam?”
“Yeah.” He turned his attention to the glittering city below. The brilliant, flashing skyline of the Strip and the surrounding area lighting up the desert like stars. “You wanna get out of here?”
She looked up into his profile, at the blue neon light and night shadows against his cheek and jaw. “Is something wrong?”
His grip on her waist tightened. “It’s the thirteenth.”
“Are you superstitious?”
The last strains of “Sweet Home Alabama” trailed off into the breeze, only to be drowned out by the city below. “Yeah.” He looked down at her. “Is ‘have sex in a limo’ on your list?”
She felt his grasp ease to a soft caress. “No.”
“Wanna add it?”
He had to be joking. “Got a limo?”
“Yep.” He flashed her a grin as he reached inside his pant’s pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “Good night, everyone,” he said, as his hand moved to the small of her back, and they headed toward the bar. In the elevator on the way down, his palm slid to her behind and stayed there until they stepped outside the Rio.
A stretch Hummer waited by the curb, and she guessed he wasn’t joking. He helped Autumn into the enormous vehicle and paused a moment to speak with the driver before crawling in after her.
“Does he know what you have planned?” she asked, as the door shut and closed them in the dark interior. Running lights lit up the floor like a 747, and a small bulb shone on the control panel. Even if he wasn’t joking about sex in a limo, could she really go through with it?
“Probably.” Sam fiddled with buttons, and the privacy window slid up.
“I’ve never had sex with someone watching.” And she wasn’t so sure she could do it now.
“He can’t see.”
“Are you sure?”
“Reasonably.” He found a radio station and turned up the volume of Green Day’s “Boulevard of Broken Dreams.”
Through the dark interior, his mouth found hers, and there was a sort of desperation in his kiss that she’d never felt before. A sort of need and greed. Like he wanted to eat her up. Consume her, right there in the back of a stretch Hummer.
She was leaving in a few short days, and so was he. She’d never see him again, and having sex while speeding through Vegas was a lot better than thinking about going home, alone. The car sped away from the curb, and Billy Joe’s voice filled the limo. As he sang of loneliness and shallow hearts, Autumn straddled Sam’s lap and placed her hands on the sides of his face. She kissed him long and hard as his hands crept up her thighs because this was Vegas, and apparently she didn’t have a problem with sex in a limo. Not even with only a reasonable assurance that the driver couldn’t see. Nothing was real there. Not the façades, nor the fake canals and volcanos. Not the promise of easy money or the feelings threatening to overtake her good intentions. Certainly not the affair that had nothing to do with love.
Sam’s big hands slipped over her hips and up her sides. He tugged at the top of her dress until it was around her waist, and her bare breasts rested in his palms. His thumbs brushed across her hard nipples, and he said things.
“I need you,” he groaned. “I need you to fill me up.” He said other things. Dirty things. Things about what he wanted to do to her and how. Things about what he wanted her to do to him. Things that only a man like Sam could get away with saying.
He reached between her thighs and pushed her thong aside. He touched her and did those things he said he was going to do. Later, in her hotel room, she did things to him that made him groan and beg her not to stop. Things that brought a smile to his lips.
It was good to see him smile.
The next morning, she woke alone. She didn’t know whether to be sad or glad. She turned over and went back to sleep. At noon, Sam called her room to tell her to meet him in the lobby at six and to wear something comfortable but not flip-flops. She wondered what he had planned, and when the time came, she wore a jeans skirt, white tank top, and leather sandals. He wore jeans and Clint Eastwood T-shirt, and they ate Chinese and drank Tsingtao.
“What’s left on your to-do list?” Sam asked, and took a long pull from the green bottle.
“A lot. I haven’t done half the things on it.”
“Yeah.” He smiled and lowered the beer. “Sorry about that.”
“You don’t look sorry.”
He shrugged. “You should thank me. Your list sucks.”
She gasped. “No, it doesn’t.”
“I’ve never seen a suckier list. It’s like you got out Frommer’s and circled things you wanted to see.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Fodor’s online.”
“Same thing. I wasn’t on your list. Sex in a limo wasn’t on your list. Hell, you’re in Vegas, and you don’t have one damn strip club on your list. Not even a male review. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a nun.”
Her nose wrinkled. “I really have no desire to see men dancing around with their wieners out.”
He blinked. “I can’t believe you just said ‘wiener.’ ”
She ignored him and glanced about the Chinese restaurant to make sure no one was listening in on the conversation. “I don’t want some guy’s balls flying around my head, and if one of them actually put his… penis… on my shoulder, I’d freak out.”
He tilted his head back and laughed. Long and loud and attracting attention. She didn’t care. He had a great laugh, and she wished he’d laugh more.
“I cannot believe you’re the same girl who jumped on me in the limo last night.”
She couldn’t either.
“And you didn’t seem to mind my balls flying around your head last night.”
She bit the corner of her lip to keep from smiling.
He lifted one hip and pulled out two tickets from his back pocket. He handed them to her.
Her mouth dropped open. “Cher?” She looked up into his face. “How did you get tickets?”
“I got my ways.”
“Are you going to Cher with me?”
“That’s why there are two tickets.”
He hated Cher. “But you’re not gay or desperate to get laid.”
“That’s true.”
“You don’t like Cher.”
He grinned. “I like you.”
Oh no. She was in trouble. Big bad horrible trouble with blond hair and smiling blue eyes. Her throat got tight, and the air left her lungs. Her heart felt like it was expanding in her chest, and if it didn’t stop, it would burst. Right there in Beijing Noodle No. 9. Her eyes watered. This was horrible. From that very first night, she’d known he was the kind of trouble she should avoid. She just hadn’t realized he would overwhelm her and make her fall for him.
“Don’t cry. It’s just Cher, and they are nosebleed seats. No big deal.”
It was a big deal. Huge. She swallowed hard, past the big lump in her chest. She didn’t care about Cher. She’d only wanted to go because she was in Vegas, and it was a farewell tour. She wiped the tears beneath her eyes. “I don’t know what to say.” And she didn’t. Despite knowing better, she was developing dangerous feelings for him. It was stupid and rash and real. It felt real, but she didn’t know if he felt the same way.
During the concert, she wrapped her arm around his and watched the bright stage show and Cher’s parade of costumes. She liked it more than she thought she would, but when Sam started to snore, she woke him, and they left early. They moved to the casino and played blackjack and craps and roulette. Mostly he played and she watched. They drank free booze until about 1:00 A.M. Autumn felt light and hazy, and as a joke, she bought Sam a Cher T-shirt. They’d both laughed like it was the height of hilarity when he put it on. And when Sam decided that they needed to find an Elvis impersonator, she thought it sounded like a great plan. “Elvis impersonator” was on her list, but unfortunately, the only one still awake was at the Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel.