Epilogue
EPILOGUE
RAE
Six months later
T he crowd is amazing.
From my raised platform, I get a look over the top of the dance floor to the booths circling the floor at the Vegas club.
In the two months since my residency started, each time I take the stage, my mind is blown again.
Still, tonight is special.
I take a sip of the vodka soda in front of me, the buzz going to my head. I spent my life keeping secrets, but suddenly I have news, and I can’t wait to share it.
The nearest booth is occupied by half a dozen execs in suits with Harrison in the center.
I take advantage of my angle and drink him in. His sharp jaw and nose, firm mouth, muscled shoulders and chest beneath the custom suit.
I send a text quickly after a transition.
Rae: Charm them yet?
He glances at his phone, typing with a smirk.
Harrison: That’s your job.
He shoots me a hot look and pockets the device before returning to his conversation.
This isn’t his club, but he came to see me, and brought some prospective partners to discuss collaborating on a new project. While he didn’t give me all the details, I’m praying it works out.
Harrison likes Vegas. It suits him, its flash and flair with an edge beneath the surface.
He has zero problem getting businesspeople to come here to see him, and I’ve been pleasantly surprised how little he’s traveled since we arrived here.
I don’t hate it either.
While we spend most of our time living at our penthouse at the Wynn, we do days off in LA and we’ve been to London twice to see Ash.
The only wrinkle is that a top DJ is normally travelling two hundred nights a year or more, something we knew we’d have to take a hard look at once my residency was up.
I can tell Harrison would rather stay put. But it hasn’t been clear how long we can make that work.
I refocus on my set, and the crowd is lost in the music, in me.
At one point, I see the execs shake hands like they’ve done a deal.
I dash off a text.
Rae: Looks like my magic worked.
This time, Harrison looks my way in an instant. His expression, full of love and admiration, steals my breath.
He lifts a hand, and I think he’s going to flip me off. My heart kicks as I think of our old Ibiza tradition.
Instead, he blows me an air kiss.
Fuck me.
I’m grinning like a moron, and I don’t even care.
His gaze stripped me bare when I dressed for tonight, my mermaid-inspired getup an homage to the water-themed club, with a cropped, lilac lace top that leaves my navel exposed and green pants that hug my hips and butt.
My body tingles with anticipation because after my set, I have more to go home to than a hot bath and a sleepless night.
I have a man who loves me.
Two years ago, all I wanted was to play La Mer, but I didn’t realize who I’d become in making that dream come true.
Now, I’m in love with the man who owns it.
A trustee in charge of Mischa’s business assets until Eva’s unborn child can inherit decided La Mer was too huge to run effectively and should be sold to an attractive buyer.
Good thing an attractive buyer was available.
Very attractive, if I may say so. But I’m biased because every night, he wraps those very attractive arms around me.
I wrap my set to screams and applause and head out of the booth. After, I’m lingering with fans to take selfies when my phone buzzes.
Harrison: Come find me.
I shake my head, typing back with a grin.
Rae: A little busy. Why don’t you come find me?
A few moments later, there’s a response.
Harrison: Because if I come find you, I’ll drag you into the nearest corner and fuck you senseless. I don’t care who’s watching.
I’m already damp with sweat, but now my panties are sticking even more.
When I’m good and ready, I weave my way toward his booth.
As if he feels my presence, he turns and reaches for my hand.
“Gentlemen,” he says. “This is Raegan Madani. My...”
He trails off, and I look up, arching a brow.
He typically introduces me as his girlfriend. Though we think of ourselves as partners, it’s a possessive thing for him, and I don’t hate it.
But now, he doesn’t say anything.
I’m spared overthinking it when men whisper-shout compliments on the show.
A booth girl shows up and begins pouring Dom, handing out glasses starting with me.
“Raegan“—Harrison takes his own glass and lifts it—“these gentlemen have agreed to invest in an expansion of Echo Entertainment in America.” He pauses, and I see the emotion behind his eyes. “We’re going to rebuild Kings.”
My heart kicks hard in my chest as he clinks his glass to mine.
I ignore the champagne and press up on my toes to kiss him hard. “Hell yes,” I tell him with a grin.
When he tugs me against his side, stroking a hand down my back to my ass where they can’t see, my happiness is overtaken by a sudden jolt of arousal.
“Perhaps we can talk her into an exclusive partnership next year,” another man suggests.
I raise a brow. “Unfortunately, that’s going to be impossible.”
Harrison’s hand on my ass stills. While I like playing for him once in a while, we’ve learned it’s best if I keep my work separate, but he’s noticed my firm words. “Why is that?”
I think of the news that’s been bubbling in my chest all night.
“Because I’ve committed to playing here for another six months.”
Harrison’s mouth parts in surprise. “Since fucking when?”
I bite my cheek. “This afternoon. I had a meeting with the owner, and we discussed it.”
Six months in one place. The penthouse Harrison found personally. Our luggage stored in the closet, Barney lounging on the carpet.
I can’t tell if he’s upset I didn’t let him in on it or simply stunned. At least not until he threads a hand into my hair and jerks me toward him, taking the kiss I planted on him before and raising it to straight-up tongue-fucking, audience or no.
The fact that I matter more to him than work makes me move into his lips, the invitation of his body, the way his arms drag me closer.
When we come up for air, he’s only looking at me.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your business,” I pant, innocent. I flick a glance to the men who’ve started talking amongst themselves given the awkwardness.
Harrison’s eyes flash. “Business is over. I’m taking you home.”
“You want to wrestle for the good side of the bed?”
Harrison leans in to whisper against my ear. “You can have it. After I fuck you in it until you’re too sore to move.”
* * *
HARRISON
When we get back to our penthouse at the Wynn, Barney’s passed out on the carpet. He lifts his head as we enter, ears twitching while Raegan sets her bag on a hook, then flops back down.
“I’d say he’s adjusted rather well,” I comment, stretching my neck.
Rae steps out of her heels, groaning a little when her feet hit the carpet. “Why not? It feels like home.”
Some days I can’t believe she’s here—in front of me, beside me, under me. She is every bit the queen I never knew I wanted.
No, needed.
I shrug out of my jacket and toss it on the hall table without looking.
“When were you going to tell me you decided you wanted to stay?” I ask.
We’d talked about it as a possibility, but I didn’t want to pressure her. While we’re becoming more comfortable together with our routines as a couple, her career means being available to play to crowds all over the world.
It’s part of the job, and part of the thrill.
“Just recently. Everything I want is here.”
This is good news . I drag her against me. “Dinner at Picasso?” I think of the restaurant at the Bellagio.
“And shopping,” she deadpans breathily against my lips.
“But mostly...”
“...Barney,” she says.
The dog perks up once again.
For that, I toss her over my shoulder. “You’re in trouble.”
“Put me down! Being British doesn’t make this any less caveman.”
“No, but it means I can stare down my nose at you imperiously when I decide to drop you.”
I flick the lights by the door with my free hand, and the soft glow from behind the dark wood headboard brings our bedroom into focus.
I toss Raegan on the bed, taking a moment to appreciate the view from here.
Her costume is sexy, a joke and a provocation at once, like only the woman I love can pull off. Her curves are decadent, but it’s the confidence beneath, the ownership of who she is, that’s most attractive.
“This outfit is ridiculous,” I rasp.
Rae angles her chin up, offering me full lips and knowing eyes in the semidarkness. “And here I figured you’d like it. Seeing as how you’re the clothes whore.”
I’m already hard in my pants.
I take my time stripping her out of her obscenely sexy costume and tossing it on the floor.
The lingerie beneath is lace, matching the color of her skin. As I shift over her, I imagine it darkening when it’s wet from my tongue, her slickness.
Her fingers thread through mine, and I drag her hands over her head, pinning them against the headboard.
“Save your breath, love,” I murmur. “The only thing you’ll be calling me in a moment is a god.”
She grins, and I go to work making it so.
I touch every curve, following my hands with my mouth, until she’s moaning and incoherent. Then she helps strip my shirt and trousers off, and when I turn her over and yank up her hips to slip inside her bare, my gaze locks on the floor-to-ceiling mirror across from the bed. Watching her take me, arching her back while I grip her ass and sink deeper with every stroke, is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Oh shit,” she groans.
“You like how fucking deep I am, love?”
“Yes, more.”
“More,” I agree, thrusting in until my balls slap up against her, and she’s grabbing fistfuls of sheets while I indulge in one of my favorite fantasies and fuck her from behind.
Every day, her fans worship her.
Every night, I do.
When I let my hand drift up between her legs to circle her clit, she explodes, clenching on my cock so hard I come with a jolt. I grind against her, turning her chin to catch her moan of completion in a deep kiss as I follow her over.
The second time I take her, she’s on top and we’re face-to-face. Her nails rake my back, and I’m lost.
Turns out having someone brand you is fucking perfect, if it’s the right someone.
I want this forever. Me, planning the next stage of my business—one that’s no longer tethered to the past, but free to expand in the future. Her, triumphing in the club or working on a track. After, both of us coming together like this.
“I love you,” I say after, pulling her toward me.
She traces the outline of my face, my jaw. “I love you too.”
We lie across the satiny sheets, the glow from the headboard the only light in the bedroom. Behind the blackout curtains, the city throbs with its own nighttime energy.
“But...?” I prompt.
She’s wearing that look, the one that says she’s thinking hard about something.
“Tonight, you started to call me your girlfriend but didn’t.”
I can’t stop the chuckle. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
“Not worried. Curious.”
I stare her down until she starts to shift away, but I drag her back and tilt her chin up to me.
“I like you curious,” I murmur against her neck.
“Go to sleep,” she retorts, but she’s smiling.
“And leave you awake to spin in that beautiful head of yours? Never.”
One thing that hasn’t changed is that it takes her awhile to wind down after a gig.
I brush my fingers through her hair.
“Not spinning. Thinking about your birthday next weekend,” she says. “I have plans.”
“You can’t because I have plans.”
“That’s not how birthdays work.” But her protest is softer, her breaths longer and slower.
I stroke down her arm and thread my fingers through hers, rubbing my thumb across each of her bare knuckles and memorizing the feel.
“It is now. I’ve been working on something too,” I murmur.
But she’s already asleep.
I smile.