Even Money

  “God…” She closed her eyes, settling back in the chair. “That’s entirely inappropriate, but it feels glorious.”

  “We own the place. I don’t think management will say anything.”

  She laughed, a quick and delicate trill of pleasure, and pulled her foot free, replacing it with the other. “In that case, do this one too.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He looked down at her foot, exquisitely wrapped in delicate ropes of leather and gold. “You should get into the spa tomorrow. I can handle your meetings. Take a day and let Vincent pamper you.”

  “Now see, I knew there was a reason I married you.” She smiled at him over her wine glass. “Sexy and brilliant.”

  He nodded at the waiter as he returned with a new steak. She pulled back her foot and there were a few minutes of companionable silence as they finished eating.

  As their plates were cleared, his phone buzzed, and he glanced at the text notification.

  —Bell Hartley is in the Gold Room. Upper level, with three other girls.

  He closed the text.

  “Everything okay?” She bent forward, fastening her heels.

  “Yeah. I’ve got to go up to the Gold Room.”

  She stood, reaching for her purse and putting the thin strap over one shoulder. “I think I’ll stay at the ranch this weekend. I haven’t worked the horses in weeks.”

  “You should.” He leaned forward, giving her a kiss. “And go to the spa tomorrow. I’m forcing you to.”

  “Yes, sir.” She mocked his serious tone and squeezed his arm. “Don’t work too hard. I’m going to head up. I’m about fifteen minutes from falling asleep.”

  “Sleep well.” He kissed the top of her head. “See you in the morning. I’ll get the tip.”

  He watched her weave through the tables, waving to a few of their regulars. Reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of cash, he peeled off a few bills and set them on the table. Before leaving, he picked up his cell and texted his head of security back.

  headed there now

  He avoided the front entrance and went through the kitchen, taking the service elevator and pressing the button for the seventh floor.

  This morning, he had hesitated before texting Bell, unsure if an apology was appropriate via text. There was the chance it would only freak her out more, the knowledge that he had hunted down her number. His need to reach out had won out over his hesitation, and she hadn’t responded to his final text—an unfinished conversation that had left him unsettled, a feeling he didn’t like. A feeling he wasn’t used to.

  The elevator doors opened, and he stepped into the Gold Room’s kitchen, nodding to familiar faces as he moved through the space. Everyone thought his domination of Vegas had been luck, fueled with Gwen’s bankroll and his security team, one that bent rules and broke unfriendly arms. But his employees knew the truth—it was hard work behind his success. Nineteen-hour-days. Knowing employees and systems in every restaurant, every division. Remembering names, favors, clients, and whales. Continually being present, staying on top of things. Working his ass off.

  He stepped into the club and looked up to the second level, glad he’d had the foresight to have Vince send her image to all of his doormen. It had been a longshot, but out of a hundred nightclubs in the city, she was here.

  It couldn’t be a coincidence.

  Nine

  BELL

  Take away the fact that my new stress point owned the Gold Room, you had one badass club. A hot band was playing, the drinks were fantastic, and it was full but not stifling, the doorman carefully cherry-picking the line and controlling the crowd. We were lucky to be in, our odds artificially inflated by the fact that Lydia had recognized a bouncer and flirted our way to the front of the line.

  A group of guys approached our table, the typical tourist sort. Black pants. Stiff shirts. Freshly shaved, with gelled hair and probably wives and kids back in Florida. They reeked of bachelor-party recklessness and—after introductions and handshakes—invited us to dance. Meredith bowed out, saying she’d watch our purses and drinks, and Jackie grabbed my hand, pulling me onto the floor. A fast beat thumped, and the crowd roared to life, the energy contagious. I laughed, my nerves relaxing, and let the tallest guy in the bunch pull me against him. His shirt smelled faintly of aftershave, and I felt his hand wander, settling on the curve of my ass, and I avoided his kiss when he tried to get one, spinning out of his arms and laughing.

  He called after me and I shook my head, turning to the band and lifting my hands, swaying to the beat and singing along with the words. He came up behind me, his body fitting against mine, and I allowed it. I turned my head, watching a display of lasers dance across the club, and saw him.

  On the raised ledge that surrounded the floor, his weight against the rail, in a suit that looked like a million dollars, Dario Capece watched me. Our eyes connected, and my thought process stalled, my body stuttering mid-sway. The guy behind me pulled at my hip, and I pushed away, coming to stand on an empty spot, holding the gaze of Vegas’s most powerful man.

  He was here. I’d known it before we left the house, had expected it at the coat check, the bar, the moment we’d sat down at the high top. I’d looked for him in every crowd and expected him with every breath. Still, I was surprised. I hadn’t properly remembered the crush of my lungs, skip of my heart, the sheer force of his eye contact. He tilted his head toward the spot beside him and I didn’t even hesitate.

  DARIO

  She was beautiful. Eyes closed, body moving. When he watched her dance, he wanted her underneath his body. Needed to feel those movements against his cock. Craved that smile, that laugh, that mouth. He watched her and didn’t think about their loan refinance, or the ADR decline at the Palace, or Cirque du Soleil’s contract renewal. He watched her and felt something he didn’t understand. Vulnerability with a side of fear. Want eclipsed by need. Intrigue overshadowed by jealousy.

  She finally looked up and saw him. Her hips slowed and she came to a stop in the middle of the dance floor, the man behind her ignored, the beat forgotten. There was nothing, in that moment, but the two of them. And in the connection of their eyes, everything inside of him intensified.

  This girl would be the death of him.

  THE BABYSITTER

  Claudia was bored with watching Dario Capece. The damn man didn’t know a woman he didn’t want to pursue. It was a full-time job, keeping up with his revolving door of pussy. She watched the pretty brunette make eye contact with Dario and wondered if this would be the one that was a problem.

  Eventually, one of them would be. At some point, the impenetrable Dario Capece would go too far and fall in love. And when he did, if he did, Claudia would be there. And that girl wouldn’t be like the others, the mistresses that she hid from Hawk and kept safe, unbeknownst to their pretty little heads. That girl, the one who finally snags Dario Capece’s heart?

  Claudia would have to tell Robert Hawk about her.

  And she… she would have to die.

  BELL

  “Where are you going?” Jackie grabbed my arm.

  “I’m taking a break,” I called out over the music, and she flashed a thumbs-up in response. I turned, working my way through the crowd, and found a small staircase to the side that led to his level. There was a guard, a huge man who opened the rope without a word and nodded to me with respect.

  Surprised, I thanked him and made my way along the railing. As I approached, Dario turned to watch. Unlike last time, his eyes didn’t take a tour of my body, something that almost disappointed me. Despite my best intentions, I’d chosen this dress—an attention-grabbing gold number that showed off my legs—for him. Instead, his gaze locked on mine, a small smile pulling at his mouth.

  “Of all the gin joints in all the towns...”

  “I didn’t plan to walk into yours,” I interrupted. “I blame it solely on the three women who dragged me here.” I smiled to soften the words.

  “Ouch.” He winced. “I’ll have t
o see what I can do to persuade you to come back, since a three-million-dollar renovation hasn’t done its job.”

  I joined him at the railing, looking down on the crowd, grateful for the excuse to break eye contact. “The club is great. That wasn’t the reason for my trepidation.” I forced myself to turn to him, hyperaware of how close we were. My arm brushed his and I felt the current all the way to my toes. I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with him. Dario Capece, a man who created millionaires and paupers every day, and he was focused on me as if he had all the time and interest in the world.

  “You don’t need to be afraid of me, Bell.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” It was the truth. Maybe I should have been. But the only thing I feared was the pull I felt toward him. It was dizzying, the loss of control, the struggle to keep my attraction in check. No wonder he owned this town. I bet there wasn’t a person in town, male or female, that he couldn’t persuade into doing his bidding. I wet my lips. “I just think you need to learn boundaries.”

  He smiled broadly, and the sight of it almost knocked me over. It creased his whole face, twinkled through his eyes and exposed a full set of perfect teeth. In The House, I’d gotten just a tease of the gesture. Getting it head-on was another level altogether, one I wanted to experience again as soon as it dropped from his face.

  “I think you might be the first person to ever tell me that.”

  “Really? How do the other people you stalk handle it? They write thank you letters?”

  He attempted to scowl, but I could see the amusement still present in his eyes. “I wasn’t stalking you. I was doing research.”

  “Research on what?” I crossed my arms over my chest, and it wasn’t my fault the action pushed up my cleavage a little. His attention strayed for the briefest of moments, then returned to my eyes. “You said that you needed to know more about me. Why?”

  Maybe it was good we came here. Fueled by the two vodka martinis I’d downed just after walking in, my tongue was spitting out all of the things I couldn’t seem to text him and say.

  He studied me for a long moment before he responded. “I don’t dive into relationships without properly vetting someone.”

  It was such a ridiculous statement that it took a moment to process. When I managed to speak, my words stuttered on their way out. “Dive into relationships? What makes you think I want a relationship with you?” That question wasn’t that difficult to answer. Most women would claw their way through insulation for a chance at this man, assuming they were willing to overlook the gold band on his ring finger.

  My monologue gained traction. “And aren’t you forgetting the fairly major detail that you’re married?”

  He watched me calmly, as if I hadn’t just presented him with an impossible equation. When I stopped talking, he raised one eyebrow. “You finished?”

  “Yeah,” I snapped.

  “You probably don’t want a relationship with me. But I’d be willing to bet the title of this club that you want me to fuck you. And I don’t fuck strange women that I know nothing about. As you pointed out, I am—on paper and for appearances’ sake—married. I can’t risk that union for flings with unstable or talkative women. And I don’t step into any situation without knowing what is potentially at stake, both for me and for them.” He nodded at me. “You’re single. Intelligent. Not interested in monogamy. Hard-working. And—”

  “Yeah, I’m awesome.” I interrupted. “I know.”

  “And humble.” He smirked.

  His confidence irritated me, mostly because that smirk seemed to cause my lady parts to clench and pant. I lied to cover the reaction. “Despite what you may think, I’m not interested in you fucking me.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t like to waste my time, Bell. If you don’t want me to chase you, I won’t.”

  It was a question and a statement, all at the same time. Did I want him to chase me? Did I want Dario Capece’s attention?

  I didn’t. I did.

  I wanted to step away and return to my friends.

  I wanted to move closer and feel his hands against me, his mouth on mine. The idea that this man had thought about me, had taken steps toward a physical or emotional relationship … it took my lust of sexual power to an entirely new level. I’d seduced boys like Elliot and men like Ian. I’d never come close to someone like Dario. A man who could have any woman of his choosing yet was fixating on me.

  I wanted him to take me away from the crowds and do even more.

  I swallowed and evaded the question. “So, your marriage is fake? That’s what you’re saying?”

  “I’m not saying anything. My relationship with Gwen isn’t your business, not at this point. If you’re struggling with a moral line caused by my wedding ring, I can assure you that my wife doesn’t care who I fuck, only that any indiscretions are kept secret.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that, hated that I believed his words, the calm look in his eyes giving me a feeling of security that was foreign to me. I glanced away. “You seem complicated. And I … I like my life as it is right now.”

  “I liked things how they were last week. But then I met you, and now, things are different.”

  I shook my head, my hands tightening on the railing. “We spoke for a minute, and I served you a drink. That was it.”

  “I am a man of a million interactions a day, and none stick with me. Yours did.” He stepped closer. “Don’t make me kiss you to prove it.”

  Somewhere deep inside, I caved, my feminine core wilting at the words, the need in me overpowering any rational sense. I didn’t say anything, didn’t move forward, didn’t react ... but he saw something on my face and reached for me. His hand closed around my waist and pulled me forward, until I was flush against him, my heels not high enough to bring our eyes level.

  It was a smooth move, too quick for me to react, too natural for me to fight. He held me against him and looked into my eyes in a moment, not of hesitation, but of anticipation. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to mine.

  God. It was a soft kiss that asked permission. My hands weakened against his suit, and I gave up with the second kiss, one that brushed more firmly across my lips, opening my mouth. In the third kiss, he owned me, the contact deepening, a delicate play between two mouths born for each other, one where arousal flared, breaths quickened, and our hands tightened and traveled, first needy, then frantic. It was a kiss that seduced, then branded. A kiss where he gave as much as he took, and I lost as much as I gained.

  He broke free, and my world spun back into place. I tried to find my thoughts, my sanity, my control. How had he decimated everything with just a kiss?

  Ten

  “I should go back to my friends.” I stepped back, one heel skidding across the floor, and I grabbed the railing to keep upright. He watched me closely, in complete control of himself, and I hated how calm he looked at a time when my heart was galloping around my chest.

  “Don’t leave.” He stepped forward and I shrank a little against the railing. He stopped, considered me, and then withdrew, his hands raised. “Okay. Maybe I misread you. I’m sorry about that.”

  He didn’t misread me. In fact, if he could read anything, he’d know I was a half-second away from barreling into his arms and getting another kiss. My weight stuttered on my stilettos, torn between sprinting toward the exit and flinging myself at him.

  I’d kissed a lot of men in my life, but never had an experience like that. I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t want that level of chemistry infused in a situation I was already struggling with. Why had I come up here? Why had I let the girls bring me to this club? Why had I answered his text?

  I edged toward the stairs, each step a struggle in self-control. I don’t like to waste my time, Bell. If you don’t want me to chase you, I won’t. I could leave. Walk down those steps, find my friends, and go. Never see Dario Capece again.

  The thought wounded me, and the fact that I cared? That absolutely terri
fied me. The confident girl who had tossed back barbs with this man just minutes ago was gone, rattled to the core by the impact of that kiss.

  A kiss. Two lips touching. Colliding. Deepening. It happened a thousand times a day, yet I didn’t seem to be able to handle this one.

  “Don’t worry.” His words stopped my retreat and I looked at him, finding a moment of grounding in the solidness of his eye contact. “I won’t kiss you again unless you ask me for it.”

  The sentence had enough mocking ego in it for my backbone to peek her head out of hiding. I straightened a little, forced my vocal cords to work, and attempted a dismissive sniff.