Sin City Lights (Sin City #1)

Chapter 1

Eve

Full-moon Saturdays were the craziest.

Black leather tote slung on her shoulder, Eve Layton crossed the opulent hotel lobby, head high, shoulders back, stilettos clicking on the polished marble floors. A slightly nervous smile curved her lips.

Her ears buzzed with the noise of many people talking. The reception area teemed with tourists of all shapes, sizes, and income levels, from the suit-clad Patek Philippe–wearing high rollers at the special welcome desk to the moms and dads with kids and suitcases in tow, disheveled in sweats and jeans.

She checked her watch.

Darn. She was late for her new client.

Traffic had been a nightmare on the strip, even more so than usual, and her limo had been stuck behind a fender bender.

Her steps quickening, she approached the security guard posted at the elevators, narrowly avoiding colliding with an angry Asian man. He seemed oblivious to everyone around him, dragging his aluminum carry-on behind him as he obnoxiously tried to cut the line.

“Hey, Greg.”

She smiled at the security guard, shifting her heavy bag in her other hand.

“Eve! You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

He gave her a knowing grin and looked her up and down. “Hot date?”

She laughed. “Always.”

“Lucky bastard,”

he muttered and waved her by.

His friendly face and greeting somewhat calmed her frazzled nerves. She liked Greg. The guy was not her type and much too young, but he never gave up trying. Not only did her occupation fail to put him off, it seemed to intrigue him.

She put aside all other thoughts and hurried to the elevator bank. Pulling out her compact, she checked her reflection, watching the numbers tick down.

She had meticulously prepared for tonight: hair down in lush, loose waves; a low-backed white silk dress that hit above the knee and hugged her curves in all the right places; red lipstick that precisely matched the bottoms of her matte cream Louboutin pumps. White lace La Perla lingerie with garters clipped to nude seamed stockings, Delina perfume, no jewelry.

All exactly as requested by the client.

The elevator doors opened, and a throng of people spilled out, leaving the cabin empty. Eve stepped inside and pressed the top-floor button, the round toe of her pump tapping on the polished wood floor.

Compared to past requests, what he’d demanded was not unusual and, to be honest, very tame.

She could write quite a book on what men who came to play in Vegas, many sans wives, would ask for.

When she’d signed up with Eleet Escort Services and viewed their ten-page questionnaire asking what she would and would not do, she’d balked at some of the items, ranging from the ridiculous to the downright vile.

No to adult baby, thank you very much.

Girl-on-girl sex? Um, no.

No to being dominated but yes to dominating although it was not her scene of choice.

When, after much consideration, Eve had decided to temporarily enter this line of work to earn money for college, she’d promised herself that she would do nothing she didn’t enjoy, at least to some extent.

Before she knew it, temporarily became three years, and now she was one of the agency’s most requested and highest-paid escorts.

Being on top had its perks.

She made the rules now, and they allowed it because she really was that good.

Her niche was entertaining high-level businessmen who wanted pleasant conversation and an elegant, educated companion on their arm at events and dinners.

Occasionally, if they paid the top-level fees, she offered an intimate rendezvous in the privacy of their hotel suite, providing everything their wives would not, from merely listening to them talk to giving them the hottest, most erotic experience of their lives, exactly as they had fantasized.

What was unusual this time was the lack of information about the client.

She trusted the agency to perform thorough background checks and vet the men, as she had never had a single incident or problem.

They usually provided an info packet for her, so detailed that, by the time she was ready for the encounter, she could make the client feel as if she’d known him for years.

It was about not only providing a good time but making a connection.

The more she knew, the better she could connect.

This time? The page was almost blank. All they’d provided was his age (thirty), his profession (business owner—how was that for vague?), and his marital status: widowed. Likes and dislikes left blank.

She didn’t like going in clueless. When Eve had questioned Kitty, her liaison, she had received a shrug.

“He paid for the Platinum Package, plus a crazy huge bonus, but wanted discretion,”

was all she’d said.

“How crazy are we talking?”

Kitty’s smile was sly. “Batshit.”

Oh.

Eve had felt her brows go up. The Platinum Package required a fully health-tested client, and that meant no barriers of any sort.

This was a first.

“No kidding,”

she’d murmured.

No condoms. And close to no info on the guy. Not even his name.

And now, taking the last few steps down the carpeted hallway to the door at the end of it, she couldn’t help thinking this was unusual enough to make her slightly nervous about who and what waited for her tonight in that Royal Diamond suite.

?

The lock whirred open. Tucking the gold key card into her bag, Eve pushed the heavy door, heels clicking on the polished marble entryway as she stepped inside.

Darkness. The lights were off.

Behind her, the metal door slammed shut.

She blinked. “Hello?”

Her gaze swept to the huge expanse of windows that looked out upon the dazzling riot of multicolored lights on the strip. It was the only illumination, save for one pine-scented candle that burned, flame waving softly on the foyer table. Beneath it was a sheet of paper with something written on it.

She frowned. Easing the paper from under the glass candleholder, she read the single word, scrawled in bold black Sharpie: Bedroom.

For the first time since the early days, Eve felt butterflies stir. Her fingers itched to flip the light switch on the wall, but years of experience stopped her. He’d done this for a reason. This was his time that he had paid for and paid for handsomely, so play his game, she would.

She reached for the candle, then changed her mind and left it where it was.

Hand tightening around the tote handles, she navigated around furniture, her eyes now accustomed to the only light, emanating from the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.

Way down below, Las Vegas pulsed with life, light, and sin, a stark contrast to the moody vibe inside this suite.

As she neared the bedroom door, every sense now heightened, she picked up the scent of masculine cologne, a fresh, green scent that made her nostrils flare. She recognized that scent: Hermès, Eau d’Orange Verte. At least she knew he smelled good and had excellent taste in expensive cologne.

As good a start as any, she supposed. She eyed the door, listening for a TV or radio, any sound, but all was silent. Should she knock? No, she thought, unnecessary. He was expecting her. She squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and turned the doorknob.

Darkness. Light-blocking curtains firmly drawn.

That citrus scent was much stronger in here, and now she picked up other things too: soap, shaving cream, and something she could only describe as man.

“You’re late.”

His low, low whisper wrapped around her like black velvet. A shudder rippled through her, and she knew, just knew, that his speaking voice had to be very deep.

“I know,”

she said. “Traffic was—”

“Shh.”

Her mouth closed. Silence descended thick, and he said nothing more. Her breath quickened, the tension between them stretching like a steel cable just about to snap.

Sheets rustled; the mattress creaked. She sensed him coming closer, and it became clear that this was the way the entire encounter would take place tonight.

With whispers, in the dark.

Three strides, two, and suddenly, he was one step from her. For once, Eve had no idea what to do. Instinct had always been her guide, and she had always directed these encounters, even if the playbook had been predetermined. Always, she’d been in control.

This…this was uncharted territory. She dropped her tote, the leather hitting the floor with a muted thump.

She half expected him to grab her, to be stark naked, ready and eager, rough and quick. So many had been like that, unable to contain themselves, excited to do this, their arousal enhanced by the illicit, secret, sordid nature of what they were up to for the evening.

But not this man. If anything, he’d done the opposite, moving toward her with the stark stealth of a panther in the night.

He was so close now. She could smell him, could hear him breathing deep, measured breaths. Eve’s lips curved. Ah. This breathing pattern, she knew well. She could work with this. Emboldened, she reached out to touch him.

Not naked.

No. The man was fully clothed.

Suit, tie…her fingers encountered the fine fabric of his lapels, the silky softness of what she immediately knew was an expensive shirt… Her nail circled one small pearled button. Her hand moved higher. Oh, he was tall. Tall, broad, and definitely fit, for under her palms was solid muscle, hard and well-defined. She wished he would let her see him. If his face were anything close to matching his body, he would be quite something to behold.

With her fingers splaying over the broad expanse of his muscular chest, she waited for him to make some kind of move, anything to clue her in about what he desired and where he wanted this to go.

She waited for another beat. He still stood there. Unable to stand it any longer, she fisted his silk tie and pulled. To her surprise, he allowed her this, letting her jerk him closer.

She grinned. I have him.

The thought had barely formed when suddenly, in one swift motion, he hauled her against him.

She gasped. Oh, God, all of him was hard, his chest, his abs, his thighs…and him. Nothing about his size and raw, leashed power was like anything she’d ever encountered. Eyes wide, cheek pressed to the smooth wool fabric of his suit, she breathed in the intoxicating scent of him, of citrus, soap, and virile male.

His hand slipped to her hip, gripping, anchoring her to him. The other hand slid slowly over the bare skin of her lower back. His pinkie dipped inside the deep V of her dress, just above her tailbone. Languidly, he stroked back and forth. A tremor started deep inside her at the warmth and movement of his finger, and she fought to conceal the inner chaos he provoked. But he stroked slowly, insistently, harder, then softer again, making her want to have that finger do the same where she suddenly ached with dire, throbbing need.

She leaned into him fully, unsure of her footing.

What was happening? This was crazy.

He gripped her waist and rolled his hips, grinding against her, and heat pooled in her core. A raw moan escaped from somewhere deep inside her, and that was when Eve realized that she had absolutely no control.

The power, which had always been hers to use and wield as she saw fit, was all his tonight. Never had any encounter matched up to this. Not one of the so many men who had come and gone had ignited fire inside her.

He was her client but didn’t behave or feel like any client. She hadn’t ever found herself wanting a client.

She shouldn’t, under any circumstances, allow herself to want a client.

God help her. She wanted him.

One rule she never broke: never, ever, ever get attached, not to a client or anyone else.

Once, in the distant past, she had let someone in, with catastrophic consequences.

But she had learned her lesson.

Never again.

Adam

“I need you naked,”

she whispered. She’d found the knot of his tie and was trying to loosen it.

He frowned and pushed her hands away. “No.”

Not how this would be going. She needed to understand that before anything else would happen.

She wasn’t in charge. He had specifically requested her, wanting to make damned sure his birthday present to himself was what he needed it to be: a night of pleasure, his way. Carnal, erotic fucking, devoid of meaningless pleasantries. No empty chitchat, no fake flattery. He’d earned this, damn it, and it had been way too long since he had gotten properly laid or had someone new.

That’s why he’d switched escort services, moving up to Eleet, the best provider in Las Vegas. They also were the only ones offering a no-condom option. He hadn’t gone bareback in so long, he’d forgotten what that felt like.

She’d passed his first test, not running scared when he had greeted her with all the lights off. He’d aimed to skip the get-to-know-you and wanted to get right down to business.

She seemed accommodating, which was good. She more or less read him correctly. That, he’d expected. But now, he almost regretted his decision to have the lights off because her reactions to him made him curious to explore.

But not that curious. Lights off was easier. It kept the ghosts at bay.

His hand moved lower, continuing the pleasurable exploration of her back. Her skin was flawless, smooth, and soft, and when he breathed her in, she smelled like the Delina perfume he liked: flowers and vanilla. He smiled. Eleet was known for satisfying a client’s needs. His hand slid even lower, fingering the lace at the top of her panties.

He envisioned what they looked like: white, delicate, and slightly see-through. Then he was inside them, his middle finger tracing her backside. He stayed there, eliciting a satisfying shudder from her, then squeezed, fingertips digging gently into her firm, round flesh.

She felt good. Really good.

He dipped a little lower.

Heat. His breath caught. He clamped down on the urge to go farther, but God, so soon, and she was ready for him.

No, not yet. He took his hand away.

Swiftly, he scooped her up into his arms. Her hands slid easily around his neck, and she laid her head on his shoulder, letting him carry her as if he’d done this with her a hundred times. She lifted her face to his as if expecting to be kissed, and when he didn’t respond, she leaned in and licked his Adam’s apple.

His eyes widened. He bent to place her on the bed, and as he did so, she did it again.

A startled laugh almost escaped him, but he bit it back.

Oh, he would enjoy her thoroughly. He just knew it.

Eve

The linens smelled like him.

Sinking into the sheets, Eve still clung to his neck, possessed by an inexplicable urge to lick him again. The contact with his throat had taken her somewhere unknown, his warmth against her tongue, the slight rasp of stubble, the sharp jut of his Adam’s apple, and then the bitter flavor of cologne, with just a hint of salt.

He hovered above her, his presence so potent that the very air around him seemed to vibrate.

A low sound rumbled in his chest, and she felt those vibrations from him enter her own body. His hands found hers. He unclasped them from the back of his neck, and heat crept up her cheeks when she realized she had been holding on to him as if she never meant to let him go.

He wasn’t pleased with that, she sensed.

Not good.

Whatever power he had over her had to be broken, and broken right away. This wasn’t like her, this urgent need to wrap herself around a client like a vine.

He loomed large and powerful, one knee propped on the bed as if he were considering his next move.

Gathering her wits, she reached for him, hands sliding inside his open suit jacket in an attempt to push it off.

Above her, he growled. She felt him shake his head.

What did he want, then?

Frustration overwhelmed her. Her hands froze where they were, her palms pressed to his waist, and in a mad burst of defiance, she dug her nails into his flesh. His breath came in a hiss, and then he was upon her, yanking her hands off his body, taking her wrists and raising them, trapped, over her head.

She quelled the urge to squirm under his weight. He covered her completely, and he was heavy, but oddly, she didn’t mind. She felt his breath, hot, on her cheek. It smelled of mint. His nose nudged just below her jaw, lightly, oh-so-lightly, rubbing back and forth.

“It’s showtime,”

he whispered, “but the playbill is mine.”

His grip on her wrists tightened. “Understood?”

He couldn’t see her frown, thank goodness. Eve nodded.

“Good.”

That’s when he opened his mouth over her neck and sucked.

A strangled gasp escaped her. His tongue circled again and again, traveling lower with each electrifying swirl. He licked her collarbone.

She felt him, hard, against her. Her hands clenched into fists. His hips began a lazy roll, brushing against her center with each gyration, the friction and pressure in just the right place to trigger the unmistakable beginnings of an orgasm.

My God. They’d barely gotten started. And they were both still fully clothed.

“The top performer.”

His lips brushed against her wildly pulsing throat. “That’s what they promised me.”

“You’ve got her,”

she said. She always delivered a credible performance, but not once had an encounter made her feel what she felt now. As if this were real.

“Good. You’re going to do exactly what I want.”

Oh, God. What was he into? A thread of something wound down through her, but it was not exactly fear.

Where was he going with this? This play was his to stage, and he had made it clear he didn’t want her to initiate, but not doing anything to him was really starting to unsettle her.

He waited a beat. “I want your consent.”

She almost laughed. Consent was already covered in the contract.

“What for?”

Her raspy voice sounded alien to her own ears.

His large hand tightened around her wrist.

“For everything I need and anything I want to take tonight.”

His lips brushed her earlobe, his low voice pouring over her like warm honey. “And no more licking me unless I ask you for it.”

The memory of his Adam’s apple on her tongue made her shudder. Her chest rose and fell with the struggle to draw breath. Unfamiliar tingling fluttered in places she’d never felt before, and she was lightheaded.

“OK,”

she finally said.

He let go of her wrists. “OK,”

he echoed, satisfaction in his tone.

He rolled off her and to his side, leaving her cold with the sudden absence of his warmth and weight. She wanted to grab him and drag him back on top of her but didn’t dare move her hands from where he’d placed them above her head. Her fingers curled, nails digging into her palms.

Waiting.

This waiting was impossibly hard. The absence of light made it much worse.

She licked her lips. “You’re going to keep the lights off?”

He propped himself up on his elbow, ever so lightly tracing his thumb along her cheek.

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

Thumb and index finger now stroked on either side of her jaw, his other three fingers skimming along her pulse point. Lord, but the man was into stroking. Only it was she who was supposed to be doing it to him.

She wanted so badly to touch him, to take back a sliver of control.

“Because that’s how I want them.”

Gently, he grasped her chin and lifted. Fingers splaying, he ran his palm over her throat. His hand was so big that it encircled her completely. She should be panicking in this vulnerable state. If he squeezed harder…

But he didn’t. His hand slid to her shoulder, and she felt him lower his head. His hot breath fanned her cheek.

Panic immediately made her heart leap.

No, no. She never kissed clients on the mouth. Ever. It was a line that wasn’t to be crossed, and it was clearly stated in the contract.

The next second, his tongue was pressing hard on her Adam’s apple. The relief was so intense that a bubble of laughter escaped her. He chuckled softly in response.

He blew on her moist neck. She shivered. Promptly, his mouth was back on her, this time his lips skating along her collarbone, softly, barely touching. He licked there too.

His palm moved closer to her breast, but to her surprise, it slid around her chest to flatten over her belly. Using the fabric to caress her, he fisted the silk, pulling her dress up above her waist.

“Spread your legs for me,”

he said. “Just slightly. Not too far.”

She did exactly as he asked, earning his murmur of approval.

His hand sought the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Back and forth his fingers moved, over the tops of her stockings, over the garter straps, circling nearer and nearer to her core.

His breath came heavy now. At last, she sensed urgency in his touch.

His hand moved to her center, skimming over the roses woven into the gossamer lace. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want this,”

she heard herself breathe.

The next second, she felt the lace break as he ripped her panties off in one swift tug. She gasped.

His hand covered her now, warm and broad, then he was seeking, sliding, spreading her, one finger gliding easily over her center, the other two stroking alongside.

“Christ,”

he murmured, “you’re drenched.”

He didn’t circle but stroked back and forth, deliberate and long, three fingers working her at once, hotter, harder, higher, until she thought she’d break apart.

Arching her back, she pressed into his hand, seeking more pressure from the contact.

“That’s it. Feel it. Feel everything I’m doing to you.”

His breathing was harsh. “Do you know what I want?”

She couldn’t have answered if she tried.

“I want…”

His middle finger slid inside her, twisting.

She cried out, hips lifting in a jerky, bucking motion.

His thumb found what he sought. “I want to feel you come now.”

Then he was circling, pressing harder, softer, harder… Fireworks sparked swiftly along her nerves. Deep in her belly, she felt the telltale tingling sensation.

Somehow, he knew.

“Yes,”

he murmured, “come. Come for me.”

Every muscle in her tightened. For one long moment, she shuddered, and then Eve lifted off the mattress, screaming. Wave after intense wave racked her body, long and hard, and dimly she realized she was making sounds she’d never heard herself make.

His hand stayed with her, unrelenting, drawing out every bit of pleasure, and then a little more.

It seemed as if she rolled forever until she finally spiraled down.

Head spinning, she lay there, heart hammering, legs splayed, feeling boneless. Floating… Even her toes and fingertips tingled. Her lips burned, as if he’d kissed her.

Never in her life had she come like this.

Beside her, he held himself completely still. Not even his chest moved. Then, finally, he released a long, shuddering breath. To her surprise, he carefully pulled down her skirt and gathered her close, anchoring her firmly against his fully clothed frame.

“That was beautiful, Eve.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her temple, and she felt him smile against her hair. “I’m Adam.”