Chapter 2
Damien
Even after I pull my hand away from the small of the woman’s back, I can feel the heat resonating.
My fingers are tingling, and my dick is hard.
I close the door of the private suite behind us, a small lounge off to the side of the event room at the Phoenix Hotel.
My hotel.
“Thank you for getting me away from him,” the girl says while looking in a floor to ceiling mirror on the wall as she frowns at the spill on the front of her dress.
Even while pouting, she is stunning.
Long blond hair with just enough waviness to confirm those curls are natural. Petite yet defined curves. Not to mention the most mesmerizing sunburst eyes.
Eyes that, if I didn’t know any better, I would say have been crying in the recent past.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” I tell her.
Even through the cheap mask, I recognized Dylan Decker.
Even if I don’t know who this girl is, I hate watching Decker degrade women.
I hate watching any man with big-dick-energy degrade women, and I wasn’t about to stand for it.
Not in my hotel.
“I am now thanks to you,” she says. “It’s nice to know there are decent men in the world,” she adds, giving up on trying to brush the stain out.
The girl is a bit unhinged.
Either she is used to being treated poorly or used to getting her way.
I haven’t figured out which.
Either way, she speaks her mind.
That both intrigues me and concerns me.
“Why did you do that anyway?” she asks. “I could have handled him on my own.”
“Maybe you could have. But you shouldn’t have to,” I say as I look her over again. “What brings you here tonight?”
“My sister wanted to have a little fun,” she says casually.
I can tell there’s more to it than that.
She’s playing the part of a party girl, but I don’t buy it.
Under the masquerade mask, I sense another mask.
I know a girl with a good head on her shoulders when I see one.
“Can I get you another drink?” I ask.
Her eyes flash to mine in the mirror. “Well, considering I’m wearing half of my last one, that would be nice, but no more after that. I’m sure my sister is taking full advantage of the open bar out there, so I am probably going to be the one driving.”
“She brought you out to have fun and you’re the DD,” I say.
“Welcome to the life of the younger, more responsible sister. She’s not bad. She just doesn’t get out much.”
“Are you married?” I ask.
“Me? Hell no. I’m fresh out of a breakup,” she admits, and then her pale cheeks blossom in a lovely rose tint.
“Hence the reason you’re ‘having fun’ tonight,” I say.
“Yeah,” she nods with a tight smile.
“And how’s that going for you?” I ask.
She motions down at the spill on her dress, and I almost smile.
I guide her through another door, one that leads to a private section of the hotel, complete with a more secluded bar.
“Whoa,” she says in surprise. “Is this like VIP or something?” she asks. Her naivety is enduring. I like it.
“Or something,” I answer. My hand is again riding her lower back as we head to a small high-top in the corner, away from the crowd. Not that there’s much of a crowd. More like about eight people.
A server approaches us immediately and turns their attention to the woman. Everyone here knows that I drink Hendricks and soda with lemon instead of lime.
“What would you like to drink, miss?” he asks.
“Salty Dog. Sugar rim and one of those pear slices.”
“The Love Potion, yes, miss.” He hurries away, and she looks around the gently lit room with its wine-colored walls, tasteful artwork, and then looks back at me.
“This is beautiful,” she says.
But it’s not the look of a girl who sees dollar signs and diamonds. She actually appreciates the room.
Everything about her is different from the girls that usually show up off the Strip to these things.
She’s not here for free stuff. I don’t think she’s even here for the booze.
This is a girl who doesn’t hit the Strip often. I know because I work on the Strip. This girl is definitely looking to be distracted from something in her life.
It’s…interesting.
“What is your name?” I ask.
“Ellie,” she answers.
“Ellie,” I echo. It has a nice ring to it. Nice taste too. “Is it short for anything?” I ask.
“Annelise,” she answers reluctantly. “But nobody calls me that.”
The server returns with her drink, and she thanks him.
Then she takes the dried pear garnish from the rim, dunks it into her cocktail and bites it gingerly.
I’ve never seen a girl eat the garnish off a cocktail like a potato chip before. This girl is definitely not like the rest.
The way she licks her lips, chews carefully and looks romanced by the entire situation is flat out sexy.
“I really am grateful for you saving me out there,” she says after taking a sip. “If I’m being honest, that man has made a full-time job out of making me miserable. Literally.”
“How so?” I ask. Although I’m not surprised.
Vegas is full of slimy, scummy men in cheap suits pretending to be more important than they are. But Dylan Decker tops that list, having proven time and time again to be the worst of them all.
She bites her lips together in thought.
I cross my legs in frustration.
Who does this woman think she is?
“We have a history. But…history is dead, right?” She asks as she takes another sip of her drink. I’m half tempted to get her another pear. Maybe a bowl of them.
I study her.
Behind her physical mask is another mask, and that one is not easily taken off.
At least for the average man.
Luckily, I’m anything but average.
Suddenly her phone buzzes. I glance at the screen. It’s a text from a woman. Annelise scoffs and shakes her head, bulleting out a text in return.
“Everything alright?” I ask.
“My sister. Remember how I said she likes to let loose when she gets the chance? She’s playing a drinking game at the island bar.”
“Are you going to join her?” I ask.
“I’d rather not. Honestly, I think this will be my last for the night. I never do things like this. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love event planning. All of this is lovely. But I’d rather be just…the party planner, not the party goer.”
I click my tongue against my teeth. “You think your sister will be tied up for a moment?”
“At least an hour if I had to guess. She’s very competitive,” she says.
“Listen,” I say, leaning in a little. “Like you, I can’t leave yet either. My presence is sort of…mandatory. It would be a lot more bearable if I had a date.”
“A date?” She echoes.
“Yes, someone to play the part just for the evening. I’m not a people person, but your company has been enjoyable.”
Annelise swallows hard, and I earn myself another blush.
“What would this date entail?” She asks, tracing the rim of her glass with her finger.
I lean in, setting my glass down on the table and closing the distance between us enough that I can smell the sweet rum on her breath.
“Behind the scenes of the public gala you and your sister wandered into is a party. A party for the owners and proprietors of every high-end hotel in Vegas. Not the swill of the casinos,” I say.
“Ah. I would have taken you for a blackjack player,” she teases, and it makes my throat tingle.
She’s sassy. I have no weaknesses, but if I did, there’s a slight possibility that would be one of them.
“I’m not a gambling man, Ellie,” I say, and her smile fades. But the intrigue remains.
“So you need a date for a ritzy party,” she summarizes.
“I don’t need anything,” I correct her. “But I want a date, and seeing as how you are stuck in this purgatory with me…”
Her eyes flicker with interest, but she’s still careful. As she should be. I am a stranger after all.
“Why me?”
Because you’re stunning. Because you caught my eye the moment you walked into the hotel. Because I am not often captured by a woman. Most of them don’t meet all the required criteria to so much as turn my head.
She has, but I don’t say any of that.
Instead, I lean in even more.
My palm covers her cheek, my fingers lace around the nape of her neck under her hair, releasing the scent of jasmine and rose into the air around us.
I kiss her.
Slowly, but firmly, covering her lips with mine.
I’m not asking whether she will accompany me. I’m persuading. I find that people have a hard time saying no to me.
I don’t know what brought her here.
I don’t know why she’s hurting so much.
Earlier while I sat with my friend, Diego, dreading every minute of the gala because networking and room working aren’t my thing, my eyes swept the room and I noticed her.
Like I said, I am not often intrigued. But when I am, my attention zeros in like a laser. And if a girl is witty enough, sassy enough, sexy enough to keep me locked, that’s it.
I’m not forcing her to do anything. If she asked me to leave, I’d escort her to the door.
But she hasn’t asked to leave.
She hasn’t moved.
That tells me she feels the same thick tension in the room as I do.
I break eye contact after exactly ten seconds and lean back in my chair again. I sip my drink patiently.
I already know her answer.
I can feel it with each blink.
With the way she bites her lip again.
The way her eyes sweep longingly around the room.
She wants to be someone else for a night.
She looks back at me. The top of her breasts, exposed in the low-cut, drink-stained red dress she’s wearing, are rising and falling with a quickened breath.
Before her lips even part, I have my answer.
“Yes,” she answers, and I take another sip of my drink, hiding my smile behind the glass.