18. Lars
I kiss her one last time before I lose all control. Her mouth lingers against mine, and it takes everything in me not to pull her back down and finish what we started.
I press my forehead to hers, breathing hard, trying to force air back into my lungs. My hand drifts to her jaw, thumb stroking just beneath her lip—a slow drag that steals my focus.
“I’m going to be a good boy and tell you to stop,” I manage, voice rough with restraint. “Because if I take you right now, Bella, you won’t be suitable for dinner.”
Her eyes darken, pupils blown wide. I want her. I want her so fucking desperately. I trace her bottom lip with my thumb, memorizing the shape of the temptation of her mouth.
I whisper, “Your lipstick would be ruined,” allowing my voice to enter that dangerous place reserved just for her. My hand slides down, over her sternum, her stomach, lower until my palm settles between her thighs, thumb pressing lightly over the lace-covered heat I want so badly.
“And these pretty panties would be ruined. Seeing as how I don’t have a condom right now, you would be resigned to spend all evening feeling me drip from this tight little cunt.”
Her entire body shivers in the most beautiful way from my words. I press my thumb against her clit and her mouth parts in a gasp.
My mouth finds the edge of her jaw as I whisper, “Do you feel how hard I am for you?” Her hips rock once, involuntarily, and it breaks something in me. I slide one finger along the lace with a light pressure that already has her trembling.
I lean back so she can see exactly how serious I am, though desire is still tearing at the edges of my control.
“I want you,” I say, slow enough to brand it into her. “On your knees…on this seat…in my bed. But not like this. Not rushed, and not when I can’t take my time and ruin you the way we both know you need so badly.”
She looks overwhelmed and furious about it, chest rising faster with each breath.
“When I fuck you tonight, I want you so wrecked that you forget every man who came before me.”
Her head tips back on a broken exhale, and I barely resist pulling her into another kiss.
Instead, I guide her off my lap and into the seat beside me—still close enough for our thighs to touch.
“Be a good girl,” I tell her, settling my hand over hers. “Save it for me.”
The jet rolls to a stop under a wash of neon and desert heat, the Strip glowing like beacon. The driver is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, the door already open and the air conditioning running. I guide Neomi inside with a hand at the small of her back.
The ride to the hotel isn’t long. Vegas is loud, chaotic, a beast that doesn’t sleep, but when the car turns, she inhales sharply.
Lumina Ascendant.
Glass towers and lush tropical plants come into view. Small waterfalls are featured around the entrance. A chandelier suspended above the valet drive, shaped like falling stars. The most expensive hotel in Nevada.
Neomi stares through the tinted window. “You spared no expense. This is the most expensive hotel in Vegas.”
I smile. “I wanted to celebrate a little.”
She turns toward me, confusion first, then realization. “Celebrate?”
“It’s my birthday,” I say casually.
Her eyes widen. “You didn’t tell me it was your birthday. I don’t have a present or even a card—”
I shake my head once, “Having you here with me tonight, Bella, is all the gift I need.” I lean closer, voice lower. “You in my arms, at my side. That’s more than I’ve had in years.”
Her lips form a tight line as she searches my eyes.
The car door opens, and I take her hand helping her out. The attendant takes care of our bags, then we walk through a lobby of veined stone floors, towering columns, and arrangements of white orchids and black calla lilies.
I checked in on the ride from the airport, but we aren’t going to the suite yet. I know myself, and if I have her alone right now, we won’t make it to our dinner reservation.
I offer her my arm, and she smiles as she takes it, causing my heart to take up too much damn room in my chest. I guide us to the steakhouse just off the casino floor.
It’s perfect, with low lighting, red leather booths, crystal barware, and a pianist with their back to the room, playing something slow in the corner.
At the table, Neomi studies the menu while the server sets down drinks—an Old Fashioned for me, a mojito for her. She sips once, eyes closing, and I want to ruin her lipstick again.
We order appetizers to share—bone marrow, wagyu carpaccio. And by the time the plates arrive, the conversation has shifted.
“Is Austin your home?” she asks.
I set my fork down and shake my head, “No, I’m just there for an assignment.”
“So where is home base?”
“Chicago,” I answer.
She looks at me for a moment before nodding, then takes a sip of her drink. She’s attempting to appear satisfied with my answer, but I still see questions lingering in her eyes.
Fuck, I want to tell her everything. I want it all in the open, I want her to know about my life. But I remind myself that whatever this is between us will probably be short-lived. She’s a nomad, staying in hotels. And eventually, I will have to return home.
I don’t like the thought of that. Not one fucking bit. Then she asks something I didn’t expect.
“Have you ever been in love?”
Her timing is lethal. I set my glass down slowly.
“There was someone,” I answer, swallowing hard. “But it was a long time ago, and it ended poorly.”
Her brow pinches. “Can I ask what happened?”
I sigh, hating the memories of Leilani. “It’s a long story, but basically, she used me. She didn’t love me, she just loved what I could offer her.”
Neomi’s head tilts, as if she can see I’m holding back. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. How long ago?”
“Ten years.” I rub the rim of my glass. “I haven’t dated since.”
She nods. “Sounds familiar.”
I look up. “What about you? Your residence is a hotel, you go to Vegas on a whim with a strange man. What’s your story?”
She shrugs. “I’ve been traveling for games for about four years now. The last city I called ‘home’ was Miami. I don’t date because I’m never in one place long enough to try.”
I lean back. “Have you ever been in love?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’ve been close, I think.
But I’ve always felt like a steppingstone.
I date a man, we break up, and then they marry the very next woman.
” She feigns a laugh. “Sort of like a cruel joke from the universe. Good, but never quite good enough. So, after it happened a third time with the last man I was with, I just sort of gave up, and swore off relationships. That’s when I started traveling full time. ”
The server returns with our entrees. A bone-in ribeye for me, charred perfectly, and a filet for her. Conversation relaxes with the first bites, and I let go of the darker memories of Leilani.
I pick up my glass again, let the ice shift, and meet her eyes across the table. “How did you start playing poker?”
Her lips curve, a playful glint in her eyes. “You want my origin story?”
“I do,” I answer. “The tables you play at aren’t exactly beginner friendly. You didn’t wake up one morning and decide to toy with grown men with deep pockets for sport.”
She slowly cuts a bite of steak, chewing thoughtfully before she answers.
“My father was a problematic gambler,” she says.
“Cards, dice, horses—if it involved luck and losing, he couldn’t resist.” She says with a slight lift of her shoulder.
“I spent a lot of nights in card rooms, sitting beside him. Dealers took pity on me and taught me the math and the patterns of the game. How to see what people tried to hide.” Her gaze flicks up, sharp with memory.
“My father believed he was blessed with luck. I learned how to never need it.”
I take that in, the way truth and resolve live in her voice. “How old were you?”
“Eight when I first held cards,” she says, picking up her drink. “Sixteen when I started playing instead of watching. By the time I was twenty-two, it was my sole source of income when I started playing in underground games around Florida and big tournaments here and there.”
I feel something dangerous move through me. A curious blend of admiration and attraction.
“So, you didn’t pick poker,” I say. “Poker picked you.”
“Survival picked me. Poker was just the most profitable language I spoke.”
“And now?” I ask. “What keeps you at the tables?”
Her hand stills. The live flame at the center of her gaze doesn’t waver.
“It’s the one place I never have to make myself smaller for anyone.” She sets her fork down and her eyes look beyond me. “Cards are honest, even when people aren’t. Everyone eventually shows their hand, no matter how big the lie.”
I rest my forearms on the table, voice dropping. “You showed yours the night we met.”
“There was no hiding from you,” she confirms, a spark of amusement catching between us. “I saw the way you watched me.”
“I couldn’t help myself,” I say, not bothering to soften it. “Still can’t stop.”
Neomi doesn’t blush, instead, she basks in my words. Fuck, she might be the one opponent I can’t win against.