I grabbed my book bag and pulled it over my shoulder. Glancing at the clock on Ian’s wall, I quickened my movements.
“Heading to work?”
“Yeah. Look…” I slid my palms into the back pockets of my jeans and wondered if a fourth apology was needed.
“Don’t worry about it.” He leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “Just... know that I’m here if you change your mind.”
I won’t. I muted the words and gave him a half smile instead. He tossed my keys toward me and I caught them mid-air.
“Study for the final. You’ve got five days.”
I groaned. “Yes, sir.” I swung open the door and waved to him, grateful the end of the semester was so close.
I took the stairs down to my car. Checking my heart for damage, I could practically feel it beam back at me, lifting one artery in an enthusiastic high-five. Why couldn’t it be so resilient with Dario?
Twenty
I got to work early, but the back lot of The House was already full. Lance’s H1, Rick’s Mercedes, the house cars … and a Rolls that stuck out like a virgin in a strip club. I parked my car, stepped out, and eyed it.
The driver’s door opened and a three-hundred-pound navy suit nodded at me and opened the rear door, waiting expectantly for me to come over and get in. I glanced at Lloyd, who stood by the back door and lifted his chin to let me know that he had me covered.
Three weeks ago, I’d have balked. Asked questions, or just ignored the man and gone inside. But in my new life where I slept in strange penthouses and ate room service and was courted by powerful men … I obeyed. I ducked into the backseat, unsurprised to see Dario sitting there, his phone to his ear, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. He patted the seat next to him and held a finger up to his mouth for me to stay quiet. The driver shut the door and I inhaled Dario’s seductive scent. Today, it was an expensive cocktail of something heady and sexual. Just a whiff of it, and I wanted to crawl over that seat and put his cock in my hand.
The thought gave me a shot of arousal, one so strong that I actually moved, crawling forward and kneeling before him, grateful for the roomy backseat. I ran my palms over his knees and up his thighs, the expensive fabric smooth under my hands. I squeezed, the muscles tensing under the touch, a hard iron of corded tendons and thick quads. He watched me, his eyes darkening, and just the look on his face—I grinned up at him and he didn’t respond, his eyes following my movements, his feet adjusting, legs spreading to give me more room.
“It’s not worth that. I’ve seen the financials. You can’t lowball me on one end and talk it up on the other. Either it’s gold or it’s shit. Pick a position.”
I slid my hands higher and ran my palm along the seam of his zipper, isolating him through the fabric. It twitched, stiffened, grew. He shifted lower in the seat and pulled at the strap of my top, getting it off of my shoulder, then moved the cell phone to his left hand and did the same with the other. His fingers trailed across the neckline and slid under the cotton, dragging it down and exposing my bra.
His eyes locked on the skin, savoring the dip of my cleavage, and the worship, the need in his eyes … sixty seconds in his presence and I was already wet.
He laid the phone on his shoulder and I could hear a man speaking, figures and occupancy rates, the shuffle of papers and a second voice chiming in. It sounded like a meeting, a group sitting on the other end of the phone. A group who might hear whatever I was about to do. I reached forward and quietly pulled down his zipper.
DARIO
This woman was fucking nuts. He’d come here to have a serious conversation with her, to talk through everything, and she was mixing his common sense with tequila and downing it for sport. He should be pushing her off. Giving her the sort of look that put a thousand casino employees in their place. He should finish this call—a call that could make or break this negotiation—and then deal with her.
She worked her hands through the thin opening of his zipper and the pocket of his underwear and wrapped her hand around him, the throb of his cock pounding at the delicate yet firm touch of her hand. Jesus. He stared at her, his eyes struggling between the playful curve of that mouth and what lay underneath her top. She pulled him free and his thoughts scattered at the sight of him in her hand. He pulled her shirt lower, his dick twitching at the sight of her breasts, pale and firm, covered with a black lace bra.
She let go of his cock and pressed on his thighs, pushing herself up his body. He shifted against the seat, and she straddled him, her knees tight to his hips, his cock still at attention between them. She leaned forward, the fabric of her shirt tickling him, and put her mouth to his ear.
“My phone isn’t working.”
Yes. Hence his need to waste thirty minutes of a back-to-back day by sitting in this parking lot and waiting for her. He slid his hand through her dark hair, exposing her ear, and put his mouth against the spot. “Vince has a new one for you.”
Changing her cell had been necessary after her brief exposure to Robert Hawk. That brief flash of her number across the screen had been enough for that psycho to memorize the number and sic his dogs on it. The moment Dario stepped outside the restaurant, he’d had Vince on the phone, and initiated contact with their men at the cell phone carriers. Eight minutes after he’d called Vince, her phone had been shut off, the service suspended, and all ownership information on her account cleared. If Robert got curious about the female voice on the other end of the call, the cell phone number would get him nowhere.
Ten minutes after he’d called Vince, there’d been men on campus, she’d been located in class and discretely protected. Seeing her now, safe and untouched, gave his heart a well-needed rest. Thinking about the fact that she’d been at that professor’s house for the last hour, doing who knew what, made him jealous as fuck.
Her hand found his cock and squeezed it, and he let out a rough breath. He tilted his head down, pressing his lips against the hollows of her neck and kissed her there.
He interrupted his acquisitions head in the midst of his monologue. “I need to look at these figures and wrap my head around the changes. Let’s talk tomorrow—same time.” He ended the call without waiting for a response, then tossed the cell on the other seat, his hands moving to her waist. She leaned back, working her grip up and down his shaft and looked at him.
“What happened to my phone?”
“I had it turned off.” He slid his hands up her torso and moved the right one, pulling the top of her bra down and sitting up, his mouth finding her nipple.
Her hand tightened around him. “Why?”
He swiped his tongue across the nipple’s tip, then looked up at her. “The man who answered my phone—I didn’t want him to be able to contact you.”
“I didn’t say anything. When he asked who I was, I just hung up.”
He squeezed her waist, then gently pushed her off of his lap. “Good.” He nodded to the other seat. “Sit down. I need to talk to you.”
She looked down, her hand still gripping him, his dick at full mast and not listening to the itinerary. She let out an awkward laugh, then released him. “Oh…kay.” Adjusting her skirt, she moved to the seat, her arms crossing over her chest in the petulant move of a child. “This feels like I’m in trouble.”
Dario tucked himself back into his pants, wincing at the action, and zipped himself up. “You went to the professor’s apartment.”
“Yep.” She snapped out the word in an insolent fashion, and his anger mounted at her nonchalance. He forced his features to stay calm, his voice mild. “Why?”
She looked at him. “I needed to end things with him.”
Half the tension leaked from his body. “And did you?”
“I did.” She glanced at her watch, a cheap ceramic number that was beneath her. She deserved everything. A Rolex on that wrist. Diamond studs in those ears. La Perla supporting those breasts. Her own Rolls and driver. “I have to go to work.” She glanced out the window, toward the bui
lding.
“You’re fine. You didn’t seem concerned about the time when you had my dick in your hand.”
Her eyes flashed, and maybe he’d gone too far. But this … this was nothing compared to what he’d felt, watching his security’s footage of her strolling out of that prick’s place, a smile on her face. He’d lost it. He hadn’t moved a muscle, hadn’t broken a sweat. But mentally, he went six rounds with that pencil thin fucker. Mentally, he’d broken his nose, pummeled his face, and pissed on his body. Mentally, he’d professed his feelings for her and warned the man to stay the fuck away.
“I don’t want you to see him again. Or see anyone else.”
Another woman might have swooned at the words. She didn’t. She stiffened. “That’s a little hypocritical.” She grabbed her purse and pulled it over one shoulder. “Bringing up Ian when you had two women on the side and are still married.”
She sneered the words as if he was a selfish pig who just wanted a side piece of ass. And maybe that was what he had been. That was certainly how he’d treated every other woman he’d fucked in this town. But needing a fresh mistress wasn’t what kept pulling him to Bell. And that realization proved why he should be fighting harder to stay away from her.
“You’re a hypocrite.” The second time she said it, it was softer, sadder, almost hopeless.
“Gwen and I are friends, and only married on paper. You and he were, best I understood it, fuck buddies. I ended any physical relationships when I met you.” He swore and looked away. “I hate asking you for this. But I’m not asking. I’m telling you. You’re not seeing him again, outside of class. Period.”
Her lips tightened and she turned her head, looking toward The House. “I don’t care about Ian. I ended that, so stop barking orders at me. And what’s next, Dario? You going to tell me I can’t work? That you’ll cover my bills, because you don’t want strangers flirting and groping me in there?”
She tilted her head toward the building. “I’m not your employee. I’m not your girlfriend. I’m nothing.” Her voice shook slightly. “I’m nobody. And I don’t want your fucking phone.”
She opened the door and stuck a leg out, the night air coming in and doing nothing to calm his fever.
He struggled against reaching out, grabbing her hand and pulling her back into the car and against his chest. He fought against calling her name, just so she’d look back. If she looked at him, she’d see. She’d see that he wasn’t a selfish pig, that he did care for her, that his heart was struggling to find the right words without cutting his throat in the process.
If she just looked at him, she’d see how lost he was to her.
She stood up, shut the door, and walked away.
Twenty-One
BELL
The kid on Table 4 was newly twenty-one, with a watch on his wrist that cost as much as my car. I took the empty glass he offered and smiled when his unfocused gaze found mine.
“It’s my birthday,” he slurred.
“I heard. Happy Birthday, Conner.”
We’d gotten the story on him an hour ago, around the time that he’d taken out a second marker. Conner Brentwood. His Daddy owned fifty-six McDonalds in Texas. His Daddy sat to his left and had stared at my cleavage through his last three hands. They were down two hundred grand and neither seemed the slightest bit concerned about it. To Conner’s right, a stripper from Saffire moved a diamond-encrusted wrist and pushed one of Conner’s black chips toward the dealer.
“Come sit with us and play.” He nodded to the seat next to the stripper.
I patted his shoulder and lifted his glass. “I’m good with drinks, bad with luck. Trust me, you don’t want me around your cards.”
He scoffed, and when I turned away, I felt his eyes drop to my ass. I gave the stripper a small smile and collected two more empties on my way to the bar.
Fifteen minutes later, when I stepped into the control room, I reached for my phone without thinking, then stopped.
“It’s a bad habit to break,” Lance smirked, watching me drop my hand with a frustrated groan.
Rick turned in his seat. “What? Tempting rich birthday boys?”
“No. Checking her phone.”
I pushed my bag away. “I swear, you guys need a new hobby—something other than watching me.”
Lance kicked his foot up and rested it on the desk, using it to swing his chair from left to right. “You can’t exactly blame us. Your current situation is much more exciting than anything we are up to.”
Rick tossed a handful of cashews into his mouth and nodded in agreement.
“So … why isn’t your phone working?” Lance looked at me as if he was about to analyze my response, and I pulled the fridge door open, grabbing a bottled water.
I twisted the cap off and took my time with a sip, thinking through how much I wanted to share. “I’m changing my number. Trying to ditch a credit card company.”
They exchanged a look at my fib, and I scowled at them as I headed for the door. Joining Britni behind the bar, I pulled glasses out of the dry rack and stacked them on the counter. “Thanks again for this weekend.”
She was covering my shift this Sunday so I could head home for my dad’s birthday. I hadn’t seen my parents in almost a month, and needed, for more reasons than one, a mini-trip away from this town.
“No sweat.” She loaded up a tray and I watched her turn, noted her effortless carry of a dozen drinks. Like me, she’d practically grown up in restaurants, had waited tables since she was a teen. Like me, she took classes during the day, partied as much as she studied, and didn’t have a life plan that extended past next semester.
If she had been the one to greet Dario, would he have gone for her and never known my name?
No. I knew that deep inside. The pull between us…
I hadn’t lived much. Done much. I didn’t know much, but I knew that our connection wasn’t normal. It was two planets colliding. Explosions. A black hole that pulled you in, regardless of the danger.
It felt like a once-in-a-lifetime connection, but everything around us was once-in-a-lifetime levels of fucked up.
I shouldn’t have gotten mad at him and stormed off. I should have acted like an adult and had an intelligent conversation. I regretted it but didn’t have a phone or his number to call him and fix things.
DARIO
He finished his work and stood, stretching. The condo was quiet, Gwen heading to bed a few hours ago. He was exhausted, but couldn’t leave things with Bell as they had. He couldn’t have that giant cliffhanger hanging over their relationship. He should have kept her in the car and forced her to talk, forced them to work it out.
But what was there to work out? He couldn’t accept her being with anyone but him. And he couldn’t leave Gwen—not right now. So, there wasn’t anything for them to really work out. There was only her, needing to accept his demands, even if they weren’t fair, even if he was a hypocrite.
He opened his closet and walked into the room, glancing at his watch. In two hours, Bell would be off work. Thirty minutes after that, he could have her naked and underneath him.
As soon as the thought came, he tried to kill it, to get the image of her, her back arching, eyes closing, skin flushing—out of his head.
Moving to the racks, he began to change.
BELL
Conner Brentwood had had too much to drink. Which, given his birthday and location, was pretty much a rite of passage. I switched his drink for ice water and yielded when he pulled me onto his lap, his clumsy hand trying to slide a green chip into my pocket.
“You take such good care of me.” He sang the final words, and I smiled at him, the thousand-dollar chip warm in my pocket.
“I’m trying to take care of you. You keep drinking and you’ll be hating me in the morning.”
He scowled and scraped his cards against the table, asking for another hit. Another hit … on two nines. A five came up and he tossed the hand away, another five grand lost.
A guy at the end tapped on his empty glass and I untangled myself from Conner’s grip. “Good luck.”
He caught my hand and pulled it, not letting go.
I leaned over and put my mouth against his ear. “That big guy in the corner is just itching to throw you out. Let go of my hand or he’s going to.”
Conner’s bleary eyes moved to Lloyd, who glowered in the sort of way that intimidated anyone with enough sense to breathe. Conner’s grip loosened and I squeezed his shoulder and straightened.
I turned toward the bar, my eyes automatically skimming my other tables, looking for needs, for eye contact, for empty glasses. I was moving and thinking, a to-do list of orders building in my mind, and almost ran into Britni, who uncharacteristically stopped, right in front of me, in the middle of the aisle.