Chapter 6
six
PETER
When I decided Las Vegas would be a good place to recharge after climbing in Yosemite, I must have been out of my mind. I booked two nights and two rooms in one of the nicer casinos.
That was before Geneva fell down the mountain. Her ankle is still swollen, and a bruise wraps around it. I know this because her foot has been in my lap for the last seven hours. She keeps insisting that it’s fine. I don’t believe that for a second.
We pull onto the strip, and her eyes immediately light up. She’s almost vibrating with excitement. This doesn’t bode well for me for the next forty-eight hours.
I’m already a little worried she’s scheming how to break every single one of the rules I established. They don’t seem unreasonable. No nudity, sexual innuendos, or discussions involving sex should keep me away from Rand’s little sister. Right?
“I love the lights,” she says again.
“It is something to see.”
“It’s like the beacon to debauchery.”
“We’re not here long enough for debauchery,” I say with a scowl.
“There’s time for a little debauchery.” She holds her fingers, almost touching them together, to prove her point. She’s in for a shock though. If I don’t get to see her naked, no one else does either. “Where are we staying?”
“Right here.” I pull the SUV into the Venetian. The valet meets us to whisk our bags inside. Handing the keys to the SUV over, I follow Geneva inside.
I’ve been inside the hotel several times when business brought Rand and me to Nevada, but I’ve never stayed here. The cost of a room always felt too extravagant for me. Until Geneva came along anyway.
“I’m going to shop a little while you check in,” she says.
I watch as she walks toward the Grand Canal shops. She seems to already know her way around, and that worries me. I turn my attention away from her when a pleasant woman asks if I’m checking in.
I’ve been in and out of so many hotels over the years, I can do this in my sleep. Checking in is easy; finding Geneva in the throng of shoppers is a different matter.
It doesn’t take me long to give up the hunt, and I find a restaurant with a seating area in the mall and wait for a table. They sit me on the railing by the foot traffic so I can watch for her to drift by. I’m sure she’ll be better at locating me than vice versa. The waitress brings me a beer, and I settle in.
My phone vibrates in my front pocket. It’s Rand checking on our progress. I’m filling him in on our adventure so far, minus the twisted ankle, when I feel someone slip into the seat next to mine. I was right. Her hunting instincts are much better than mine.
“We must stop meeting like this,” Geneva drawls. “What will my husband think?” Her eyes twinkle with mischief. She’s so beautiful. For just a moment, I think about throwing the rules out the window. Then I finish my text to her brother. Our friendship is why there are rules in the first place.
“He’ll think he’s a very lucky man to have married you. Even if he has to share.”
She throws her head back and laughs. Her throat is a long column of soft skin that begs to be kissed. Her soft jade gaze meets mine. I pick up the menu. “Is this place fine for dinner?”
“Of course,” she says, picking up her menu. “How’s the beer?”
“Not bad.” She picks up my glass and throws back a mouthful.
“I’ll have one of these and the chicken Caesar, dressing on the side,” she tells our waitress. She waits for me to order before continuing. “All the french toast is going to make me fat.” I know she’s teasing, but I can’t stop the scowl that crosses my face.
“I doubt that,” I snarl. “Who cares if it did? You’d still be stunning.”
“Why, Peter Winsloe, are you trying to seduce me?”
“No seducing, remember.” I roll my eyes. “I’m just stating a fact.”
The waitress sets Geneva’s beer on the table. She takes a long pull before turning her attention back to me. Her eyes narrow.
“I don’t remember anything in the rules about seduction,” she says.
“It’s understood. It’s between nakedness and innuendo.”
“That only applies to us though. I can play naked Twister in my room with anyone else of my choosing. Isn’t that right?”
“I guess. Technically.” She’s teasing me. I hope anyway. The idea of her playing naked anything with someone else makes me see red.
I’m saved from saying something I might regret by the waitress. She delivers the salad and my nachos. Geneva immediately steals one from my plate like I knew she would.
“I forgot to tell you, I’m having something delivered to your room.” She picks up her fork and spears a bite of lettuce. “For later.”
“What’s happening later?” I ask.
“We’re in Vegas. We’re going out.”
“What about your ankle?”
“Peter,” she says, shaking her head. “I get hurt a lot sparring at my academy. I heal quickly, and you’ve got it wrapped so well I barely feel it. It’ll be good for a night.”
We finish our meal and head to our rooms. They’re on the same floor but several doors apart. I agree to meet her in the lobby in forty-five minutes, which gives me just enough time for a shower and change into fresh clothes.
When I open my room door, I find a suit bag lying on the couch, and inside is a black tuxedo. The matching shoes sit next to the coffee table. I can’t imagine what she has in mind for tonight, but I’ll play along.
I stop in the bedroom area just long enough to pull my shaving kit out of my duffel. The bathroom is larger than the one I left in San Francisco. It boasts a riot of marble and brass. There’s a standing shower that I’m looking forward to.
Stripping out of my road-weary clothes, I step into water just barely below scalding. The showerhead is tall enough that I don’t have to stoop to wash my hair. That can be an issue when you’re six feet two.
I hope Geneva’s room is as nice as mine. I wonder if she’s also in the shower and getting ready. The image of water running down her soaped body makes my cock jerk.
Do I have time to jerk off? Do I dare not to and fight all night to keep my cock under control? If I’m wearing a tux, she must be dressing in something slinky. That thought makes it stand at full attention.
For the sake of my own sanity, I lather up my hand before wrapping it around my aching erection. My body knows exactly what to do. It’s done this so many times after spending the day at work around her.
My fist slides up and down, tightening with every stroke. It takes nothing more than my imagination conjuring her body writhing under mine for hot lava to race through my system. It covers my hand and the shower floor.
I rinse myself clean, then turn the faucet to the coldest setting. When I begin to shiver, I turn the water off. Hopefully between rubbing one out and the ice shower, I’ll survive the night.
I throw a towel around my waist. Staring at myself in the mirror, I debate my facial hair. I’ve been thinking about shaving it clean for a while. This seems like the perfect time to do so. New start; new look.
When I’m done, I look at my face. Not too bad. Same square jaw I had as a teenager. Fortunately, though, I no longer look like a teenager. That was the reason I grew a beard in the first place. I wonder if Geneva will approve? I guess I’ll find out soon.
She is chronically late to everything. That’s why I assume I’ll have to wait downstairs until she drifts in. I’m more than a little surprised to find her waiting for me this time. She’s in a long red dress with a slit up the side that shows off one long tanned leg. This image is even better than the fantasy in the shower. She spots me from across the room.
“Let me see,” she says when I reach her. She takes my chin in one hand. She looks back and forth from one side of my face to the other. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen this face. You still have a jaw that can cut glass.” She pushes up to her toes and nips at it.
“I miss this face,” she whispers. I take in the smell of jasmine that lingers on her skin for a beat or two. Then I ease her away from me.
“What are we doing this well-dressed?” I ask to redirect us.
“Gambling, of course,” she answers. “Bond style.”
“I think Bond gambled in Monte Carlo,” I point out.
“I know, but anything worth doing is worth doing well,” she says. “Besides, look how fabulous we look.” She steps in front of me and points to a mirror. She’s right. With her back pressed against me, we look amazing. Well, she looks amazing. I look like a guy who is desperate for her attention.
I never wear a tuxedo. There’s never a reason to. Rand was always the face of the business. I’m happier remaining in the background at my drafting table.
My parents weren’t wealthy. I’ve never learned the refinement that Rand and Geneva possess. The only reason I was even at boarding school with Rand was because of a scholarship. While most of the other students treated me as less than, Rand never seemed to see a difference between us.
“Don’t we look stunning?” she asks.
“You always look stunning,” I answer.
She smiles at me over her shoulder. Taking my hand, she pulls me through the lobby to the casino. We bypass the normal games being played by normal people. Her mind is set on the high roller room.
A man at the entrance checks her name before welcoming us inside. She was a busy girl while I was dressing.
“What do you want to play first?” I ask.
“Craps, of course.” She greets the server and orders a martini. I request a club soda. One of us needs to make sure we don’t lose all of our money tonight. “Okay, Mr. Winsloe. Let’s see what you’re made of.” Chips are slid across the table as I find a place at the rail. Geneva is immediately invited to roll the dice.
I place my bet, and the dealer calls for the roll. Geneva tosses the dice. It’s not a seven or eleven, but we’re not sunk either. A nine works as long as she rolls it again. She throws the dice again to the end of the table. I actually win some money this time. We continue for a while as my chips grow taller slowly.
She becomes bored soon. I nod to the dealer, who secures my chips until we decide what to play next.
“How much do you think we’re up?” she asks.
“I’d say somewhere around twelve hundred.”
“We’re on a roll then. What should we play next?” She looks around the room. Her eyes settle on something across the room. “How good are you at blackjack?”
“I’ve been known to hold my own.” She smiles at me. Taking my arm, she lets me escort her to the tables. Two chairs are open next to each other. Our chips are split between us.
“Have you played?” I ask while the pit boss trades out the decks. She leans over, her lips brushing my ear.
“I’ve been known to count cards,” she whispers. Sitting up, she winks at me. The cards are dealt as soon as our bets are placed. Geneva immediately splits her pair. Another martini is set on the table at her elbow. If my count is correct, that’s martini number four.
“Play,” she says, nudging me with her body. My mind refocuses on my cards.
“Hit,” I bark.
It doesn’t take me long to bust. Geneva, however, wins. We fall into a steady rhythm of growing one pile of chips and then the other. She can hold her own as well as any player in the room. Another hour passes before we notice.
“Shall we find something else?” I ask.
“We shall.” She stands up from the table. There’s a wobble in her stance this time. “Mr. Winsloe, would you care to escort a lady to the roulette table?”
“I would be honored, Miss Randolph.”
With a laugh, we head to the next table.