Blindfolded Innocence

  “Thank you, Leonard. Good to see you again.”

  I stepped into the car, sliding over and watching them converse, a brief unguarded opportunity to study Brad unnoticed. He was such an enigma. Thoughtful and sweet at times, the perfect gentleman. Other times he was pure sexual temptation, able to soak my panties with a single look or touch. He was unapologetically honest about his love of women and sex, comfortable and unashamed of his conquests or lack of monogamy. I didn’t know how to take it, didn’t know what I wanted from him, other than the one overriding sexual desire that had been interfering with my common sense since the moment we’d met.

  He climbed into the car, turned to me with a serious expression. “I made show reservations without asking what you wanted to do. If you don’t want to go out, we can do something tamer. Leonard can just give us a tour of the Strip and then take us back to the hotel.”

  I grinned at him. “You and me, alone in this car? Sounds disastrous. Where would Leonard be taking you if you were alone?”

  “If I’m alone, I normally go to dinner with Philipe or one of my other friends. We make a guys’ night of it.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You know Vegas—cigars, strip clubs, scotch....”

  “But no prostitutes?” I teased him.

  “You got it.” He pulled me to him, kissed me briefly.

  “Then let’s do it De Luca-style.”

  He laughed, looking into my eyes, his own dark and sinful. “You really want to jump into the snake pit?”

  “Viva Las Vegas, baby.”

  “Viva Las Vegas.”

  Nineteen

  The stripper’s name was Alexis. Not truly. Her real name was Sarah Hinkle, but that didn’t sound sexy. It sounded Midwestern and hicky, which is what she had been—all braces and acne until she was sixteen, then the braces came off and she stole enough makeup from the local Walgreens to paint her face and hide her pimples. It took two more years and a girl down the street, Jennifer, showing her the “right” way to put on makeup, for Sarah’s beauty to really show. Now, Springfield, Illinois, long gone, she shimmered in light gold body glitter, her skin toned the perfect shade of tanning-bed bronze. Her jet-black hair, grown long and flowing down her back, had just the right amount of curl, and when she flipped her head over, it fell into place perfectly. Her nails were long, with a perfect French manicure, and her nude painted feet had slid into jeweled five-inch stilettos. Naked in the dressing room, perfume filling the air and soft naked bodies everywhere, she tapped a fingernail on her lips and surveyed her outfits. Finally making her selection, she leaned forward and started pulling out hangers.

  * * *

  Brad called up front and asked Leonard to head to Baccarat. The driver nodded and pulled a U-turn, heading back into the Bellagio gates.

  “What’s Baccarat?”

  “It’s a bar back at Bellagio. We can grab cigars and drinks there, play a few hands. If I’m giving you the Vegas experience, you need to at least try your luck before we head home.”

  I nodded, grabbing my purse and double-checking that I had my ID. Leonard pulled around to a different entrance, parked and hastened around to my door. We stepped out and made our way through the casino again to a side bar. The opulent theme continued in there. A baby grand was front and center with a distinguished man playing Frank Sinatra. The maître d’ recognized Brad and led us to a roped-off area reserved for VIPs. We settled into a plush velvet love seat, Brad taking up eighty percent of it. A stout, dark-skinned man appeared, dressed in all black, and offered us leather-bound menus. Brad waved them off.

  “We’ll have two Manhattans and a house phone, please.” The man nodded and left, appearing again within seconds with a cordless phone.

  “VIP reception is extension four-four-two, sir,” he said in a European accent. Brad nodded, pressed a few buttons and then waited.

  “This is Brad De Luca. May I speak to Nadine?” Brad waited a moment, his eyes catching mine, and he smiled. “Yes, Nadine. Do you mind running up to my room? I have a cigar box in the bedroom....”

  “Yes...

  “Baccarat...

  “Thank you.” He hung up the phone and passed it back to the waiter, who nodded and left, presumably to get our drinks.

  “I’ve never had a Manhattan.”

  “It’s strong. It might be too strong for you, but—”

  “When in Rome?”

  “Exactly.”

  The waiter appeared again, holding a silver platter with two martini glasses on it. We took our drinks and chinked them gently. I took a sip.

  I couldn’t keep the disgust off my face and fought against a cough. It was a searing-hot liquid tasting of straight alcohol. It ripped through my throat. I shook my head and set the drink down, Brad chuckling at my reaction.

  “Sorry.” I held the back of my hand to my lips, shuddering. “That probably wasn’t the most ladylike reaction. You actually like that stuff?”

  “It’s an acquired taste. Want me to order you something else?”

  “No. You made my bed and I’m going to lie in it.” I took a baby sip of the cocktail, my second shudder less pronounced than the first. I set it to the side and crossed my legs, putting them dangerously close to Brad’s hand, which was resting on his knee. He took notice of my legs and moved his hand to my upper knee, rubbing it gently. A leggy redhead in a black low-cut dress came over with a box of cigars. Bending over, she opened the box to Brad, but he shook his head at her. She nodded and stood, smiled at me and then left. Brad’s eyes followed the curve of her ass until she was out of sight. I smacked his arm and he turned to me.

  “What?”

  “I’m right here! If you’re going to check out other women, wait until I’m not around!”

  He chuckled. “We’re headed to a strip club after this. Are you really going to chastise me for checking out another woman?”

  “Good point.” I clicked my tongue at him.

  He leaned back, laying his arm over the back of the couch, running a finger over my shoulder gently. There was weight in his words when he spoke next, enough to make me look over into his watchful eyes. “Are you one of those women?”

  “What women?”

  “You know, the jealous type.”

  “There is a difference between being jealous and being disrespected. You blatantly checking out other women in front of me is disrespectful. I don’t care who you check out when you aren’t with me.”

  He tilted his head to the side for a pause, then nodded. “Okay, I get that. But, ignoring that scenario, do you consider yourself a jealous person?”

  I thought about the question for a moment, reviewing carefully my past dating experiences and the emotions that went with them. My moment turned into two. Brad sighed dramatically, waiting for my response. I raised my eyebrows at him. “Brutal honesty?”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t know.”

  He snorted. “That’s your brutal honesty?”

  “Well, smart-ass, give me a minute to explain.” I paused again, just to irritate him. “I have never felt jealousy or possessiveness in any relationship. However, in retrospect, I think part of that may have been due to the fact that I didn’t really care whether or not the relationships ended. I placed no value on if they were faithful or not. I assumed that they were, because I typically place myself in relationships where I have the upper hand. Obviously, my first love left me, so that equation got screwed up somehow. But even when that relationship ended, I wasn’t upset at losing him—I was upset at the inconvenience of the breakup. I had planned out a future with him and was going to need a new plan. I was also pissed at the blow to my ego. I wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of rejection.” I finished in a puff of exhaled air. That might have been too much honesty.

  “So, you’re
saying you are jealous...you just haven’t found anyone worth being jealous over yet?”

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I have never been jealous before. I’ll leave it at that. Why?” I leaned into his open arm, bumping him slightly. “Why do you care if I am jealous?”

  “I’m just curious. Relationships with me don’t typically last long if the woman is the jealous type.”

  “A moot point given that we aren’t going to be in a relationship. But, since we are both being curious, are you ‘one of those men’?”

  “The jealous type?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m always very interested in my partner’s activities. Jealous isn’t really the right word.”

  “Controlling?”

  A smile flitted across his mouth. “Yes, I like to be in control.”

  “In control and controlling are two different things.”

  “Spoken like a lawyer.”

  “I’m learning.”

  “And at times, I can probably be a little of both.”

  I didn’t have time to contemplate his last sentence because a handsome man of average build, tall, with glasses and a shock of silver hair strode up to our table then. He was dressed in an expensive suit and had a wooden box in his hand—Brad’s cigar box, I assumed.

  Brad immediately stood up, beaming. “Philipe!” He grasped the man’s hand firmly and clapped him on the back. I stood up as Brad turned to me. “This is Julia. Julia, Philipe.”

  We shook hands and I smiled at him. “Philipe, thank you so much for your help today. I had a wonderful day.”

  “Glad that you enjoyed yourself. How was Prime?”

  “Delicious.”

  “Julia really enjoyed the seafood tower,” Brad said, winking at me. I shot him a glowering look and then smiled again at Philipe. “Sit down with us.” Brad gestured to the empty seat next to the love seat.

  “No, I won’t steal you away from this beautiful woman any longer. I just wanted to bring you your cigars and meet Julia.” He passed Brad the box. “I added a few Cubans in there. You looked like you were running low.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I know. You guys skipping Zumanity?” he asked, glancing at his watch, a Rolex.

  “Yeah. Next trip. We’re going to hang out here for a bit and then hit up Saffire.”

  Philipe glanced briefly at me and then smiled at us both. “Well, I’ll let you two get back to it. Julia, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise. Thank you again.” We shook hands and he left. Brad sat down and opened the box, setting it on the table in front of us. The waiter brought us a tray with a tool of some sort and a lighter. He took Brad’s empty martini glance and glanced at mine.

  “I, umm...am fine.”

  “Would you like me to bring you something different?”

  “No, I’ll suffer through this one a little longer.” Brad’s lips twitched as he selected a cigar, pulled off the wrapping and used the tool to cut the end off the cigar. He passed it to me and then did the same for his cigar. I grasped the cigar tentatively, not sure how to hold it.

  “Have you ever smoked before?”

  “Uh...weed, once. Not anything else.”

  “Okay. Pass me your cigar. I’ll light it for you.”

  He flicked the lighter and held the end of the cigar slightly above the flame, rolling it over a few times. He then put it in his mouth, held the flame away from its end and inhaled softly, rotating the cigar a bit. The end lit and glowed red in the dim bar. He passed me the cigar, telling me to hold it between my thumb and forefinger. I held it as he indicated and looked at him expectantly.

  “Don’t inhale it. Just let the smoke waft in your mouth for a bit, then open up and lightly exhale it out.” I listened carefully and did as he said. “Slowly,” he cautioned as I exhaled the smoke. “Take your time—I don’t want you to get sick.” He passed me a glass of water and I took a sip. The ice-cold water felt good going down my throat. He pushed me back on the couch, tilting my chin up, and then moved my cigar hand to the side.

  “Avoid the smoke,” his sexy voice whispered. I breathed in, the clean air going down easily. I heard him lighting up, and moments later, his head hit the cushion next to me. I turned and was suddenly looking very closely into his eyes. They were so complex, dark brown with reflections of me, hidden fires under the surface. He seemed to be constantly fighting battles in his head and those eyes held all the emotions. I felt like I was being sucked into his vortex, a world so different from my own, a world I wanted no part of, and yet I wanted every part of him. I couldn’t pull away, couldn’t avert my eyes from his intensity, the sexuality that radiated from him as intoxicating as it was forbidden.

  He leaned forward, kissed me softly, then brushed my hair gently away from my face, his eyes following his hand as it tucked a strand behind my ear. I trembled slightly, our eyes still glued to each other, my body clenching uncontrollably in my most private place.

  “God, I want to make you bad,” he whispered, his hand on my lips, running over them briefly. I laughed softly and closed my eyes, turning my head to face forward and leaning it to the side, resting on Brad’s big shoulder.

  “Romantic, you are not.”

  He stiffened slightly, and ran his fingers up and down my bare thigh. “Romance is for relationships, something I don’t want. I thought you knew that.”

  “I did—I do,” I corrected myself. “There are just times when it seems you have relationship potential.” He didn’t respond, and I regretted making the statement.

  “Suck on it.” The comment shot through me and I glanced up sharply, looking at his eyes. They smiled and looked down at my lit cigar. “You have to suck on it at least once a minute or else it’ll go out. Remember, don’t inhale, and try not to let the smoke near you.”

  I smiled, and took a quick puff, trying to emulate every gangster movie I had ever seen.

  “I’ve told you why I don’t make a good boyfriend, at least not to girls like you.”

  “Was I a girl like me when you were between my legs this morning?”

  “No, you were all woman then. Trust me...you don’t have what it takes to be with me.”

  I looked at him sharply, sucking on the end of my cigar, and then petulantly blew smoke in his face. He dodged the stream of smoke by ducking down, grabbing my thigh for balance. His hands lingered there, sliding up briefly until they hit my lace panties, and then released. I felt my stomach curl, desire bubbling.

  “Julia, it’s not an insult. It’s a good thing. I date bad girls—you are wholesome and innocent. You will make a great wife for a tax accountant one day.”

  I grinned at him mischievously. “Like Bob?”

  He grinned back. “Like Bob.”

  “You shouldn’t have run him off so quickly then. Now I’ll have to track him down again.” I took a puff, then glanced sideways at him, his previous comment gnawing at me. “I’m not exactly innocent, you know.”

  “You are innocent to my world. And it’s not a world I want to bring you into.”

  The unintended challenge in the statement fed my bad side. Wholesome and innocent was for Girl Scouts, not the image I had aspired to convey. “What’s so dark and dangerous about your world? I know to your ancient self I must seem absolutely childlike, but I can handle whatever it is.” I lifted a leg, throwing it over his, the action pushing his hand back to my panties, my crotch exposed to him. I bit my bottom lip, then brought the cigar to my mouth, taking a puff on the thick end, my movements deliberate and sensual. He said nothing, his eyes watching me closely, dark in restraint, though his fingers moved, flicking back and forth over my lace panties. I took a shuddering breath and tried to speak, shoving sex into every syllable. “For a good girl, I assure you, I can be very bad.”
/>
  He had the nerve to laugh, moving his fingers as he did, a quick motion that plunged one of them past my thong, a quick dip inside. The shock of the touch, his skin against mine, made me jerk forward. He grabbed my hips and slid me up onto his lap. The movement slid my dress up, and my bare ass rested against the feel of his dress pants, my pussy still reeling from the unexpected contact. My face was at his, his eyes on my mouth, and he leaned forward and gently pressed his mouth against mine, before whispering against my parted lips, “And I assure you, when you do decide to let me fuck your sweet little body, I will make you bad. Very bad.”

  He took any response I had from me, crushing my lips into his, his tongue electrifying my senses with perfect, delicious tastes of my mouth. When we parted, I was panting, and he had somehow smoothed my dress back into place, looking calm and completely in control.

  I ground my teeth in frustration at this game that I was losing by a landslide. Even though he drove me wild, there was a part of me that didn’t want to sleep with him just because he was seizing any control I had. I tried to play it cool, leaning back into the velvet couch, and sucking another breath of the cigar. Brad gently pulled it from my hand, setting it on an ashtray.

  “Don’t smoke any more. I don’t want you getting sick on your first time.”

  I was already a little queasy, but didn’t want to admit it. “Fine. You are a control freak.”

  He looked at me carefully. “Ready to go?”

  “What’s next on the agenda? Flowers and dancing?”

  “Come on, smart-ass.” He stood, stuck his cigar in his mouth and pulled out his wallet. Peeling off two hundred-dollar bills, he dropped them onto the table. He held out a hand, helping me to my feet then leading me to the door.

  I looked over my shoulder at the cigar box, left on the table. “Brad, the cigars...”

  “It’s okay. They’ll bring them to the room.”

  We left Baccarat and didn’t go far, winding among the tables and stopping at one for blackjack. While many of the other tables were crowded, this one had only two people at it, an obese man with thinning red hair and ruddy cheeks on one end, a lanky man in a suit at the other. Both men had impressive chip stacks. I glanced at the display card and saw that the minimum hand was two hundred dollars. Brad pulled a chair out for me and I sat, giving the men tentative smiles. They nodded back, no smiles or words of welcome.