“It’s either Ben or security. Pick one.” His mouth was a hard line, and I frowned at the ultimatum. But there was a part of me, a part that I tried to push away, that was shaken by his father’s words. They had opened a Pandora’s box of insecurity. About my safety, about Brad’s intentions, about our future. I looked away, pressing the button that closed the garage.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll start with Ben. See how it goes.”
He leaned over and pressed a kiss on my lips. “Thanks, baby.”
Then we opened the doors and moved. For now, the conversation was over. But my doubts? Those little black bits of disaster that poison every healthy crevice of your mind? Those ran wild and unattended, setting up house and planning a big party, with all of my insecurities invited.
Chapter 20
DECEMBER
Days until wedding: 236
I folded over the red metallic paper and ran my thumb down the edge of the book, making a crisp line, the only OCD bone in my body was obsessed with perfect wrapping.
“Almost done?”
I turned to look at my mom, smiling when I saw her raised eyebrows. “You’re really asking me that question? After twenty-one Christmases of experience?”
“I thought you were bad before. Now, with proper funding, it’s become an official addiction.”
I bit my lip, keeping my pathetic comeback swallowed. “Think Dad’s getting along with Brad?”
“I can’t think of anyone your father’s ever not gotten along with. They’ll be fine.”
My father, one hour into today’s holiday festivities, had shot Brad a look of desperation, one that had been easily received, Brad asking for his assistance with some additional exterior decorations. They had left, Christmas lights and garland on the shopping list. Three hours ago. Three hours during which Martha had made hot chocolate, three batches of sugar cookies, and eight colors of icing. Three hours during which I had called Becca and Olivia, and they had showed up, eggnog in hand. With finals over, my last day at CDB complete, and Christmas just one week away, everyone’s spirits were high, and the kitchen and great room buzzed with feminine energy.
Mom and Dad were on day three of their visit, their car heading back to Georgia in the morning. Staying at a hotel in between campus and Brad’s home, I had been pleasantly surprised at how naturally they had fit into our lifestyle. Mom hadn’t blinked twice at Brad’s house, Martha had taken to them both with a friendly ease that had shocked me into silence, and Dad hadn’t tried to find a garage sale all weekend.
Friday, I’d taken them both to the office, Mom helping me pack up the drawer-full of items I had accumulated in a little over six months at the firm. It was bittersweet, packing up the pieces of the job that had brought Brad and me together. Once it was done, a small cardboard box holding my belongings, I sealed it with tape and then made my final rounds of the West Wing. Burge was professional, Sheila got a little teary, and the rest of the staff made their polite goodbyes. I had never regained my original standing as beloved intern, not after the news of my engagement broke. But the staff had warmed up considerably over the last two months, and I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t miss, in some small way, that wing of the firm.
“Okay, I’ve looked through this entire pile, and I can’t find a single gift with my name on it,” Becca grumbled, looking up from her curious shake of a wrapped present, the evergreen tree and mountain of presents almost swallowing her blonde figure.
“I haven’t wrapped yours yet,” I mumbled through a mouthful of cookie.
“So ... in other words, look for it around Easter,” Olivia cracked from the kitchen, where she put the final sprinkled touches on a cookie.
Mom’s earlier comment regarding my wrapping addiction was true. Before, I painstakingly wrapped gifts with paper and ribbon, mixing up the landscapes with fun labels. This year I had put Brad’s credit card to good use, cleaning out the local Michael’s craft store. Half the kitchen table was now covered with ribbons of every shape and size, individual stamp cutters, metallic pens, tiny ornamental garnishes, and enough rolls of paper to cover half of downtown.
“It’s six,” Martha announced without preamble, glancing at her watch. “You guys planning on eating sugar all night, or should I put something on?”
“Do you feel like cooking?” I glanced over casually. Martha’s weekends were traditionally untouchable, a time in which she disappeared from view and did whoknowswhat. The fact that she’d been hanging out with us all afternoon had been shocking on its own, an oddity I had avoided pointing out in fear of scaring her off. “I can call Brad. Have him and Dad grab pizza on their way home.”
She shot me a look that, five months earlier, would have melted my bones. “I’m not having him pick up pizza when I have a fridge full of cookable food. Let me get something on. But go call him. Tell him it’ll be hot in forty-five minutes if he wants to get fed.”
I didn’t argue, dialing Brad immediately. He and my father returned a half-hour later, bags from Home Depot in hand, and we moved to the dining room and ate, Martha’s beef soup and cornbread disappearing amid a flurry of conversation and laughter. Then we headed to the theatre room, my parents agreeing to one movie before they headed back to the hotel.
A Christmas Story won, and I curled against Brad’s chest in one of the leather couches, the dark room sending occasional flickers across my parents’ faces, two couches over. “Thank you,” I whispered to Brad.
He moved his head down, until his mouth was close to my ear, stealing a quick kiss before responding, his voice low, “For what?”
“Everything. Spending time with my parents, my dad.”
He turned his head slightly, my eyes looking up and catching his. “Family is important. Your family is important.”
I didn’t know what to say, and pushed up, brushing my lips against his before settling back against his chest, his strong arms wrapping around and squeezing me gently. I felt a moment of sadness at the realization that we would never experience this with his family, with his parents. Family was important. But was that only true when the family was a positive force? I didn’t know the answer to that question.
Chapter 21
JANUARY
Days until wedding: 197
I blinked rapidly, tried to focus on my professor’s voice. Twenty minutes left. Twenty minutes, and then I could hike a half-mile across campus, get in my car, and head to Brad’s. Pack a bag and sneak in a nap. Maybe convince Martha to whip up some cookies for our flight.
Hmmm ... cookies. Martha’s best are plain chocolate chips. Though maybe she could make some peanut butter ones. I like the ones where she puts in chunks of Reese’s Cups... Fuck. I closed my notebook quietly and stuffed it into my bag. Law school apps and records had already been sent. Getting a B on next week’s exam wouldn’t kill me. I knew my strengths. Focusing on a Friday afternoon with Vegas on standby wasn’t it. I pushed back my chair and snuck out of class.
We flew commercial, changing planes in Houston and landing in the city of sin at 9:30 p.m. on Friday. Brad was still in work attire and gave Leonard a tired grin as he relieved me of my bag. “Only carry-ons?” Leonard asked, shooting a quick look at the leather duffel Brad carried.
“Yep. This is a quick trip for us. We fly back tomorrow afternoon.” He clapped the man on the back, matching strides with him as we headed for the long white car.
“It’s good to see you both. And do I hear congratulations are in order?” The older man’s eyes twinkled as he opened the door for me, his warm face stretching into a smile.
“Yes, thank you.” I grinned, settling down into the dark elegance of the limo, reaching for Brad as he entered, my body naturally falling into the curve of his warmth.
“Have I mentioned how lucky I am?” Brad murmured against my hair, planting a quick kiss on my head.
I shook my head against his chest. “Not recently.”
“I am. Very lucky.”
I closed my eyes and smiled, r
elaxing against his warmth.
Twenty minutes later, Leonard pulled down the long curved drive of the Bellagio. Brad’s cell rang, and he glanced at the display before answering.
“Janine ... Yes. We just reached the casino. We’re gonna change, and then we’ll head your way.” He shot me a quick grin. “She’s with me.”
I looked out the window while he finished the conversation, watching the building, tourists, and trees come to a slow stop as we pulled into the Bellagio’s portico. He ended the call, and we stepped out in unison, twin valets at our doors, offering gloved hands and welcoming smiles.
♥♥♥
“Janine’s looking forward to meeting you,” Brad called from the closet, where the sound of zippers and hangers combined in reckless harmony.
I shot the mirror a wry look, twisting my hair up and pinning it into place before I reached for mascara. “Likely. I’m sure Janine’s less than enthusiastic about my new involvement.”
He appeared in the reflection behind me, shirtless, his muscular arms encircling my waist. “Ownership, babe. Not involvement.”
“Even more reason for her to hate me. Last time she saw us, I was your weekend piece and topless on a table with one of her strippers.”
He laughed, releasing me with a quick squeeze. “Janine’s spent a lot more time topless and on a table than you have. That move probably earned you some brownie points. Besides, tonight is more fun than business. I just want you to have a more intense tour of the club, meet the employees, and get a sense of what goes on.”
I exhaled a breath, studying my eyes in the mirror. Then I reached for lipstick.
Chapter 22
Alexis leaned forward, critically studying her eyes in the small mirror set into the back of her locker. Her eye makeup was smudged, a bit of black traveling out of its typical territory. She yanked a tissue out of its holder and dabbed at the spot, glancing down at her phone briefly. It sat, silent, in the outer pocket of her purse. As it had all night. She had heard the news, they all had. Brad was in town, and he was bringing her. Little Miss Virtuous. A girl who would never, ever, be everything that he would need. But she had known, had seen it from the look in his eyes when he’d been with her. When he had gone upstairs to VIP and watched her with Montana, his expression different than she’d ever seen. He had denied it, had tossed off her concerns without a second thought. But she had known. She could always see her demise before it came. She closed her eyes briefly, thinking of that night. When he had left Miss Virtuous downstairs and went into the office with her.
She closed her eyes and her head fell back, her back arching, body open to him. He reached forward, running his hands possessively down her body, wrapping his hands around her waist. He gave one long thrust, burying himself completely inside her, the depth causing her to gasp in response.
Fucking had always been Brad’s strength. The ability to electrify her body and give her exactly what she wanted, when she wanted it. His sexuality was a fire run out of control, stealing the breath and passion of any women who dared to stand too close to the flames. Fire. You couldn’t control a fire. A fact his new fiancée would learn very, very soon.
♦♦♦
Alexis had loved Brad De Luca from the first moment she saw him. Walking down the plush hallway of the Bellagio, chanting a room number in her head to keep from forgetting it. 2314. 2314. 2314. Her palms were sweaty, a common occurrence at this stage in the game. The unknown was the worst. Not knowing who would be behind the door, what he would expect, how badly he could, possibly would, hurt her body. All she knew, all she needed to concentrate on, was that he was a paycheck, and that she was there to please. Then he opened the door, and everything sane exited her mind.
He opened the door fresh from the shower, the clean scent of soap and male practically knocking her back into the hall. He had buttoned up half of his shirt, the unopened buttons offering her a peek into tan, ripped perfection. Dark brown eyes regarded her carefully, traveling down her body before returning to her face.
She shifted uncomfortably, tugging the hem on her dress slightly before striking a pose against the doorframe. “May I come in?” she asked, using the husky voice that seemed to appeal to men everywhere.
He was different, taking a step back and studying her silently without speaking, buttoning the remaining buttons on his shirt before beginning with the cufflinks. “Are you lost, or have you been sent by the hotel?”
She ignored the pit in her stomach and grinned breezily, walking past him into the room and reclining onto the couch, her legs on full display, body curved in a way that made every asset count. “You can thank Blake for me.” He shut the door and walked over, continuing to work on his sleeves while frowning down on her. He stood close, close enough that his scent invaded her, and she looked up at him, deciphering the expression on his face, one somewhere between irritation and concern. Not the look men typically carried. Greed, arousal, excitement. Those were the looks she created, the reason her new job seemed destined for success.
“How old are you?” He frowned.
“Eighteen.” Twenty.
He walked away, entering the suite’s small kitchen and opening the fridge. She took the moment to breathe deeply, wiping her hands on the fabric of her dress and willing her confidence to return.
A water bottle, the hotel’s brand, drops of condensation dotting its round landscape. He held it out, taking a seat, not on the couch as she had hoped, but in the chair next to her. She accepted it warily. “Thank you, but I’m not really thirsty.”
“I’d offer you something stronger, but given your age ...” He laughed when her eyes regarded his skeptically. “What’s your name?”
“Alexis.” Sarah Hinkle.
He raised his eyebrows at her answer, speaking in an unhurried manner. “Blake hasn’t learned me yet. Once he does, he will realize that I prefer companions of the unpaid variety. That being said, I’m sure you are expected to stay up here for a certain period of time. How about we spend that time talking? Are you hungry?
Gay. The man was gay. She almost laughed as the realization hit her, a burst of relief pouring through her insecure body. She fought to hide the reaction, straightening out of her ridiculous pose and nodding gratefully at him. “A little. Some food would be nice.”
Her answer pleased him and he stood, grabbing a room service menu off of the side table and passing it to her. “Great. Look that over. I was going to head out for dinner, but I’ll eat here with you. You can head downstairs after that.”
He moved to the bar, pouring himself a drink and returned with the phone, pressing an extension and holding it to his ear, shooting her an inquisitive glance. She quickly skimmed the menu, picking out the least expensive item. “Chicken ceasar salad, dressing on the side. And a Diet Coke, please.”
He placed the order, stacking two appetizers, a few side items, and two desserts onto it before ending the call. They sat there, in silence, and she braced herself for whatever was next.
“So ... Alexis. What’s your real name?” His legs slightly spread, he leaned back in the chair, head relaxed against the headrest, his position as unobtrusive as humanly possible, yet ridiculously tempting as it stretched his pelvis and flat stomach before her, like a clothed buffet just waiting to be devoured.
She hesitated, eyes fighting to stay on his face and then, much to her surprise, her mouth opened, and the truth spilled out.
Fifty minutes later, a white fluffy robe surrounded her—the garment retrieved from a closet and thrust at her by a disgruntled Brad. “Put this on,” he had ordered. “Otherwise you’ll ruin your dress, and I’ll fail miserably at trying to avoid staring at your body.” She had smiled slightly, working her way into the robe. She had been wrong. Gay didn’t occupy a single corner of this man’s universe. She didn’t know why he wouldn’t touch her, didn’t know how—when sexuality reeked from every bone in his body—he managed to converse, laugh, and question her without taking it to the bedroom. She had trie
d, three times during the meal, to move the evening in that direction, but had been met only with polite resistance. She still knew nothing of the man, of his intentions, history, or relationship status, but he now knew almost everything about her. From her awkward beginnings, to her move to Vegas, to the first few weeks of this new, lucrative job.
He had disapproved, his brows knitting together in concern. “There are plenty of other jobs on the Strip. Waitress, bartend. Anything but this.”
He didn’t understand. Didn’t realize that her sights were set on far more than sweaty encounters with faceless men. She didn’t want to slave away for pennies and live in a tiny shithole apartment in North Las Vegas. She wanted the glitz and the glam of the Strip, and to experience it on the arm of a wealthy man. She wanted the easy lifestyle, the limos and the clothes, the stack of credit cards, sparkle of diamonds, confidence of a kept woman. This was her way to get there. With every hotel door that opened, she had one more chance. Maybe this was her chance, he was her Richard Gere, and this was her Pretty Woman tale.
“Sexuality is my talent. You wouldn’t understand, but this is my best plan.” She looked down as she said the words, realizing, too late, that she had scarfed down an easy two thousand calories, inexcusable in her line of work.
“So strip. At least then you have security and guidelines. This work is too dangerous, you have very little control.”
He hadn’t understood, and the look he shot her at their parting was one of disappointment and worry. And his handsome face, towering over her in the foyer of that luxurious suite, imprinted on her mind for the next three weeks, came to her in the dead of night, when the day was over and she slipped under cheap sheets, ready to sleep away the day’s memories. She had left her number, scribbled with a girlish script on a pad of hotel paper. And nightly, she had prayed for a call. But the phone never rang, and as the days passed, the memory faded, until his face no longer came to her when her eyes closed at night.