Chapter 8
8
Ashley
O n the one hand, I’m pissed that I’m even here. What the hell? What was I thinking? Why did I bet my curves, and then lose to this godawful asshole?
It’s my sassy nature that got away from me. I wasn’t over-confident because a full house is a good hand, but it’s obvious that it’s not a perfect hand. There are better ones, and higher-scoring full houses at that. Still, three queens and two fives are nothing to sneeze at, and on a whim, I put my curves on the line. Now, I have to pay the price as this assholey billionaire grins at me.
Then again, I’m not even sure what I’ve lost. Patrick O’Lachlan wants something sordid, to be sure, but does it mean that he now has a right to gaze upon my naked curves? Touch them and stroke them, like they belong to them? Will he suckle at my teats, or kiss me between my legs? A shameful heat courses through my form, pooling in a telling wetness between my legs, and it’s as if the billionaire knows. I haven’t moved an inch, and yet his grin flashes again, a blinding white in the dim light of his suite.
“Second thoughts?” Patrick drawls in a careless voice before taking another sip from his tumbler. “It’s too late, Ashley. You bet your curves, and they belong to me now.”
What a douche. He’s stating the obvious, and I don’t appreciate that. Hell, he didn’t even get up to welcome me into his suite! He didn’t offer me a drink, and merely sits there, casually handsome in his tux. Seriously, I want nothing more than to beat that handsome face in before strangling him with his bow tie.
But I manage to keep my dignity.
“I’m not having second thoughts,” I say in an arch tone, looking down my nose at him. “I’m perfectly fine, thanks. Not that you care.”
A black brow goes up at my snarky attitude.
“Quite the hellcat, aren’t you?” he purrs. “I like it. But I do care about you, sweetheart. Come, sit down,” he gestures. “Make yourself at home and we’ll talk.”
I take a few steps to the sofa next to him and manage to lower myself down somewhat gracefully. My red column dress is tight around my waist and hips, and the fabric seams strain when I sit. Not only that, but the red column dress has a deep vee at my décolletage, and as Patrick stares, the shadow between my breasts deepens and darkens with my movement. The man’s blue eyes gleam, and I get the distinct feel of a predator. He’s masculine, dangerous, and obviously, very, very hungry.
But Patrick comes back to his senses, his blue eyes flicking up to mine. A dimple deepens in his right cheek, and outrage fills my form again. OMG, he’s not even embarrassed to be caught ogling my curves! Most men would be ashamed but instead, he just grins, flashing those white teeth.
“Where are my manners?” he asks, rising to a great height. “Let me get you a drink, sweetheart. What are you having?”
“An old-fashioned.”
He shoots me a look.
“It’s not my place to ask, baby girl, but I’m going to. Are you old enough for alcohol? I noticed that you didn’t have a cocktail earlier tonight.”
I swallow because this is so embarrassing.
“I’m old enough,” I grit through clenched teeth.
That black brow raises again, his hand poised in the air as he reaches for a decanter of some sort.
“Are you now? What year were you born?”
My mind spins furiously, but at this moment, I’m incapable of any math whatsoever, even basic addition.
“Fine,” I huff, spots of burning color on my cheeks. “I’m eighteen. Not old enough to drink, but I’ll take an old fashioned just the same.”
Patrick grins at me, his visage so handsome that it’s frankly unbelievable. This man could be a male model, and yet here he is, sparring with Ashley Finnegan as I stew helplessly on the couch. He finishes mixing the cocktail and then slips the glass to me.
“You’re drinking under the supervision of an adult,” he winks. “Although I made your old fashioned with just a splash of bourbon. We don’t want you getting drunk, do we, on a night like this? But I did add two cherries because I know little girls adore cherries.”
I stare at him, an even hotter blush covering my cheeks now. OMG, I probably look like a fire engine because he makes me so mad! But I manage to keep my cool and merely smile in his direction.
“Thank you so much. I do love cherries, and I’m sure I’ll love your concoction.”
Then, I take a sip and true to his word, there’s practically no alcohol. I’m sipping on what tastes like sugar water mixed with orange juice, and Patrick grins again as he takes a seat on the couch next to me once more.
“So tell me how an eighteen year old came to be playing at the high ante table in the Degas,” he says in a silky tone. “Your presence tonight was unexpected.”
I take another sip to fortify myself and then look him in the eye.
“Well, I’m a high school dropout,” I say baldly. “I never got my degree, and would be considered uneducated by most standards.”
The dashing billionaire shrugs.
“Doesn’t bother me. Are you from Vegas originally?”
I shake my head slowly.
“No, I’m from Buffalo, New York. My hometown is about as far from Vegas as you can get, in both miles and style,” I say in a soft tone, my gaze going faraway for a moment. “Buffalo is in Upstate New York. It’s freezing cold in the winters, and has been in the throes of an economic downturn for oh, about five decades now.”
Patrick’s black brows rise.
“I can’t say I know Upstate New York very well. But I’ve heard it’s beautiful. That’s Westchester County, isn’t it? Sorry for my ignorance. I’m Irish, if you can’t tell,” he winks.
But I shake my head, blonde tresses swaying.
“No, Westchester is the area directly outside New York City. Buffalo is way on the west side of New York State, bordering Lake Erie. In fact, that’s part of the reason why we’ve been in an economic downturn for so long. Buffalo used to be a center of transportation linking trade between the Erie Canal and the Hudson River, but the rise of trucks and trains kind of obliterated the centrality of the Erie Canal. As a result, Buffalo went down with it.”
Patrick looks at me for a moment, pausing.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he speaks in a low voice. “But you got out. You left Buffalo and came to Vegas.”
I take a deep breath and nod.
“Yes, and it’s not because I hate my hometown. I love my hometown, and Buffalo was good to me. There were a lot of arts and culture centers, and my mom signed me up for ballet when I was just a little girl. In fact, I fell in love with dance, and was serious about becoming a professional ballerina. That’s why I’m in Vegas. I came here to dance with the Las Vegas National Ballet, but they went kaput,” I add in a wry tone. “They never got off the ground, so I turned to high stakes poker to pay my bills.”
Patrick starts on the sofa, his expression surprised.
“Holy fuck, I wouldn’t have guessed.”
I shoot him a wry smile.
“Yeah, most people wouldn’t. When people hear high school dropout, they think I’m a lazy, uneducated bum who smokes pot on the reg. But they couldn’t be further from the truth. Ballet is a demanding sport, and we practiced hours every day, in addition to going to classes. I only dropped out of high school because a ballerina’s best years are around this age. Most dancers don’t last past their thirties. It’s sad, but it’s the truth.”
Patrick is thoughtful as he takes another sip of his drink.
“Yeah, I can see why. A lot of demanding sports chew up an athlete’s body and then spit them out. Athletes don’t last much even beyond their teens sometimes.”
I nod, my shoulders slumping.
“Yes, so I took a chance while I had it. I’m young, eager, energetic, and ballet is what I live for. But again, LVNB collapsed and so I had to find another way to pay the bills.”
The billionaire nods thoughtfully.
“Have you thought about going back to Buffalo and getting your degree?”
His comment is innocuous enough, and yet to my horror, tears begin to fill my eyes.
“I have thought about it,” I say in a stilted voice. Then I smile through the sheen in my eyes, even as the lump in my throat thickens. “But I won’t do it. I’m too proud to go back with my tail between my legs and not a penny to my name. Everyone in my hometown knows that I left Buffalo for bigger, better things, and I don’t want to embarrass myself or my family. My mom was so excited that she threw me a goodbye party when I left, and it would be such a disappointment to turn tail and head home as a huge failure.”
“A failure for them, or for you?”
I swallow again thickly. How the hell did we even get onto this topic? Why am I so emotional too? I thought I was here for some dirty play, yet instead, I’m baring my heart and soul to a man I barely even know.
Yet somehow, I feel comfortable with Patrick O’Lachlan. Maybe it’s his stern yet gentle demeanor. Maybe it’s the way he’s asked probing questions about my life, when hardly anyone ever inquires about my well-being. Maybe it’s just that I’m lonely and depressed here in Vegas, and he’s the only person who seems to want to get to know me.
“I would be a disappointment to everyone I know,” I mumble, looking down at my clasped hands. My vision blurs because these drat tears are back, and I swallow again. “I just can’t face the shame.”
Suddenly, Patrick moves. He’s so fast that I don’t realize what’s happened for a moment, but in a blink of an eye, he’s on the couch beside me and has lifted my curvy form so that I’m nestled in his lap. Those strong arms support my waist as he gently strokes the hair back from my face.
“My guess is that no one would be disappointed, sweetheart. At least not your friends and family, and certainly not anyone who loves you.”
To my utter horror, I begin to cry for real. Liquid slips down my cheeks as my face crumples, and a sob erupts from my throat.
“No, they would,” I stammer through my tears. “I was the golden girl, ready to embark on a professional career as a ballerina. And now look at me! Wearing slutty dresses while playing cards with men who are double my age. Not only that, but I’m trying to swindle them. I’m trying to take their money while making them look at my breasts.”
Patrick merely continues to stroke my hair, tenderly brushing it back from my forehead.
“It’s not swindling, sweetheart. Sure, you’re sexy, but there’s nothing wrong with providing a little eye candy as we play cards. It adds pizzazz to the game.”
I shoot him a look through the tears.
“ Pizzazz ? You’re very kind, but I’m not sure they would put it that way.”
Patrick chuckles deep in his chest, a sexy, masculine sound.
“I’m sure every man in the room tonight was thinking the same thing I was, which is that we were lucky to have a breath of fresh air in the stale rooms of the Degas. You know that the casino shit gets old, sweetheart. It’s always the same dudes ready for a hand, the same garish show girls, the same old people from Florida with an oxygen tank next to them. It’s rare for someone as fresh and pretty as you to show up. Maybe you were there to win, but who isn’t? I wouldn’t respect a dilettante.”
I clutch is broad shoulders, leaning against the comforting bulk of the alpha male.
“But Patrick, it’s worse than that,” I confess in a sob. “I was trying to swindle you. I cased the room yesterday afternoon, looking for advantages. I even took the measurements of the room because I wanted to see if there was any way I could gain an advantage.”
The huge man is silent for a moment, his chest like granite. Oh shit , I think to myself. I’ve blown it. Patrick O’Lachlan is going to dump me on the floor and then report me to the Degas. Not only that, but all the casinos in Vegas know each other. I’ll be banned from every table in Sin City.
Yet the big hand on my back begins rubbing comforting circles again, warming to my core. I turn to the billionaire, still a teary mess.
“Did you hear what I said?” I repeat in a whisper. “I basically cheated.”
The hand pauses for a moment, but then continues its circles.
“I know,” Patrick speaks in a low voice.
That gives me pause.
“You know ?” I parrot dumbly. “What do you mean, you know? How could you know?”
“I was there,” he says, meeting my gaze with that piercing azure one. “In the room.”
His admission is so startling that I sit bolt upright in his lap.
“ You were there? Where? When? What...?”
Even worse, suddenly I remember what I did with the laser pointer and the diamonds. My pussy was used to transport precious gems, and hot color floods my cheeks once more.
“Please say you didn’t see,” I murmur with a panicked look at his features. “You didn’t see, you didn’t see,” I chant hopefully.
But Patrick shakes his dark head.
“I saw everything, sweetheart.”
Suddenly, the floor drops out from beneath me and I’m in free fall. My head rushes as my vision blurs, and I realize that I’m up against an opponent who will smash me to smithereens ... while I say please and thank you.