Love Triangle: Six Books of Torn Desire

by Willow Winters

  A hundred dollars a hand seems insane enough, but once Brian cashes in a pile of bills and the dealer pushes a stack of chips toward him, he stacks two of the chips together. He’s betting two hundred dollars on one hand of blackjack, and I’m over here thinking how far I could stretch two hundred dollars.

  Brian loses his first hand. The dealer rakes in the two black chips, but Brian doesn’t even bat an eyelash as he stacks two more chips onto his little circle.

  Watching someone spend this sort of money like it’s nothing at all gives me a little bit of a high. This is so over the top, so crazy. I don’t know how old he is, exactly, but he can’t be more than thirty. How does a guy his age have this kind of money to spend?

  Becker and Jason sit beside him, tossing chips out the same way Brian is. They must not be too concerned about saving money even though they just opened a brand-new business right in the heart of Las Vegas.

  After a few hands, all three of them have already lost at least a thousand dollars.

  A thousand dollars is an entire paycheck for me.

  It’s not my concern how he spends his money, but it’s so far out of my realm that it’s hard to reconcile that this guy is interested in me. He turns around and his eyes fall on me. He motions for me to come a little closer, so I take a step toward him and rest a hand on his shoulder. His hand falls over mine. I watch the cards as the dealer throws them in front of each player, almost feeling like I’m the one playing since I’m so close to the action now.

  His first card is a king, and his second card is an ace.

  I let out a little whoop of excitement, but Brian doesn’t react until the dealer turns over his card. It’s a seven. Brian turns to Becker and they fist bump. Then he turns around. “You must be my lucky charm,” he says softly to me.

  I’m not sure why those words send a bullet of excitement through me, and I’m also not sure why I have the sudden urge to kiss him.

  The cards seem to take a turn the moment my hand lands on his shoulder. He quickly makes back his lost money, and the chips start to pile higher and higher. Through it all, he maintains his cool. Eventually, the man sitting to his right runs out of chips, and when he stands to leave, Brian looks at me then nods to the empty seat.

  “Oh, no,” I say, shaking my head. “I can’t afford that.”

  He pushes a stack of his chips toward the empty seat. “It’s on me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” he challenges. He takes one of the chips and places it in the circle in front of the empty seat so now he has three hundred dollars on the table. “If you don’t sit, I’ll just play two hands myself.”

  “I don’t want to lose your money.”

  He chuckles. “I’ll tell you what to do.”

  I huff out a sigh. “Fine.” I slide into the chair, and just as I do, Jason stands.

  “That’s it for me,” he says. Tess loops her arm through his and they disappear toward the bar.

  Brian sets another chip on top of the one in front of me. My hands shake as I watch the dealer toss a card toward me. A four. It’s a fucking four. Brian gets an ace.

  My second card is a seven.

  “Double down,” Brian says, nodding to my chip pile.

  “You haven’t even seen what the dealer has yet!”

  He leans in close like he’s going to tell me a secret. “That’s why it’s called gambling.”

  I push two more chips next to my pile. When the dealer flips my card over, it’s a ten.

  A glorious, beautiful ten that just won Brian a cool four hundred dollars.

  I squeak in shock as excitement races through my chest. I hear Jill cheer behind us, and Brian leans over and presses his lips to my cheek. “See? Good luck charm,” he says. The excitement in my chest turns to something darker, sexier, as Brian straightens away from me and takes the spicy, amber smell of his aftershave with him.

  The dealer pays me with black chips to match the others on the table in front of me. Brian stacks another chip on the pile of two in front of each of us. Between my bet and his, six hundred dollars of Brian Fox’s money sits on the table to be easily swept away as if it’s nothing at all.

  We both win again, and Brian stacks again.

  I’m freaking out that he’s doing this each time. My hands shake and my chest tightens with nerves as I wait for the cards to be dealt. The thrill of betting four hundred dollars on a single hand of blackjack is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.

  We both win again, and I can’t help my scream when we do. Brian stacks another chip, so now we’re betting five hundred each.

  This can’t be real life.

  Just a few days ago, I was scoring final exams as I debated whether or not my checking account could take the hit of a new dress. Now I’m throwing out five hundred bucks—albeit of somebody else’s money—on cards. I could buy five dresses for that kind of money. Or one super nice one.

  We play for a while, and eventually Brian pushes his chips toward the dealer and motions for me to do the same. Becker cashes out, too. The dealer calls over a supervisor before he gives us each several orange chips—a chip color I’ve never held in my own palm before. As soon as we stand, I hand my chips to Brian.

  He takes two orange ones and hands them back to me. “Two pumpkins for you.”

  “Pumpkins?” I ask.

  He nods. “It’s what they call the thousand dollar chips.”

  “Are you crazy? I’m not taking your pumpkins. I can’t.”

  “Why not? You won the money fair and square.”

  I shake my head. “You don’t need to give me money.”

  “I’m not giving you money. I’m letting you keep your winnings.”

  I roll my eyes. “Just go cash in your winnings.”

  He palms his chips in one hand before he pulls me closer against his body. It’s the first time he’s hugged me this closely, and I can’t ignore the steel pipe digging into my hip. I guess winning money does it for him, but the ache between my legs tells me it also does it for me. Or it could just be Brian—being close to him, smelling him, wanting him and wanting to get past the traumatic bliss of what happened less than a week ago. Wanting to feel close to someone I like, someone I can have for more than just one night.

  He leans into our hug, the rough hairs of his jaw scratching against my temple. “Tell me the next part of our night is getting a hotel room.” His voice is strained and husky.

  I giggle and gently push him away from me—mostly because if I don’t, I’m positive I won’t be able to keep my promise to myself that I’m taking things slow with him.

  “You okay?” Jill asks once the boys move toward the cashier’s cage.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “Thinking about last weekend?” she asks softly.

  “Constantly,” I murmur.

  “If it helps at all, Brian is hot. And he’s not hiding how much he’s into you.”

  “I’m into him, too, I think.”

  “You think?”

  I shrug. “I think he’s ready to be more than just friends.” I throw air quotes around just friends.

  “And you’re not? I mean how hot was it watching all that money?”

  “I just want to take it slow,” I say.

  “I get it. But don’t take it so slow that you push him away and lose your chance.”

  She’s right, and I know that. I can’t help the fleeting images in my mind of my night with Mark. The Mandarin Oriental is directly next door to where we are now, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s here in Vegas tonight, staying in his penthouse, overlooking the hotel where I’m standing now. If he’s thinking about me as much as I’ve thought about him.

  It hasn’t even been a week, but it’s not like I’ll ever see him again. It’s time to move on.

  It’s with that thought in my mind that I allow my lips to form a big smile meant just for Brian. Taking it slow is overrated, and I need to stop denying myself what I need to get past the ghosts of my
past, no matter how recently those ghosts stepped into my life.

  Chapter Eight

  The dance floor is a humid mass of bodies and I’m more than a little drunk.

  Once I decided I didn’t want to take things slow, something snapped inside me and pushed me to wake the hell up. I saw my life from a new perspective, and I saw that I was working as my own worst enemy. I refuse to do that to myself any longer.

  On that note, I ordered vodka for my first drink at the club even though I was still tipsy from the drinks we had before blackjack. I pounded the first glass and started on my second, and now my inhibitions are shot. All I can think about as Brian’s hips grind with mine is what it would be like to share a bed with him tonight.

  When the familiar sounds of Mark Ashton’s smooth voice pump through the speakers as Vail’s current chart-topper plays, I’m tipsy enough that the song doesn’t make me cry.

  Just like when I wore the gold dress to my first dinner with Brian as a way to replace old memories in it, I think I need to make some new memories to this song.

  “I love this song,” I say, and then I throw my head back and start shouting out the words I know so well. Brian leans forward to nuzzle my neck as I do, the stubble along his jaw burning a trail on my neck and igniting a blistering passion in my chest.

  I’m thankful for the alcohol. It’s helping me make decisions that my sober mind wouldn’t agree with, but this is what I need. It’s like I’m finally thinking clearly, finally stepping out of my good girl persona and into the hidden minx that’s always been dormant inside me.

  I lower my head and he’s centimeters away. I do what feels natural. I lean forward and press my lips to his.

  I’m tentative at first despite the alcohol. His lips are firm and soft, a contradiction that feels absolutely right, but I’m leading here. I’m the one who kissed him.

  I may be tentative, but he’s not. He’s hot and assured, pushing his hips harder against me to show me that he wants this…wants me. His arms tighten around me as our tentative kiss escalates.

  His mouth opens to mine, and that’s when the music stops—or it keeps going, I don’t know, because all I’m aware of are my primal instincts. I meet his hips as they push to mine, our bodies pressed together as passion takes over. My hands trail up to feel his hair. It’s soft and thick, and I luxuriate in rolling a few strands around my fingertips. His hands grip my back, fingertips digging into the exposed flesh, as if it’s the only way he can prevent himself from getting me naked in the middle of a crowded dance floor.

  He breaks our kiss first. He’s a bit breathless and I’m a panting mess.

  He leans into me, pulling me into a hug and nuzzling my neck. He turns so his lips are near my ear. “I’ve wanted to do that since that morning you ran into me when you got off the elevator.”

  I think to myself that I’ve wanted that, too, but I was scared, too caught up in my own head, too stupid to see what was right in front of me. He’s a catch, and I’ve been pushing him away because I can’t stop thinking about a pipe dream.

  But I won’t allow myself to continue to be stupid.

  “So much for taking things slow,” I mutter.

  He chuckles then grabs my hand. “Come with me,” he says. “I want to show you something.”

  He leads me through the mass of sweaty bodies and into another room of the club. A security guard waves us in almost as if he knows Brian. This room is much less crowded than the dance floor, and it’s quiet—exclusive. It feels more private even though we’re definitely not alone.

  The room reminds me of a library. I follow Brian toward a wall of bookcases filled with books. We pass a long, walnut bar, wooden pool tables with burgundy felt, and some soft, sexy leather club chairs surrounding smaller coffee tables. It’s warm and cozy in here, like I could curl up in one of the cushy leather chairs for hours with a book. You’d never guess it was part of a nightclub—in fact, I can’t even hear the music next door unless someone opens the door.

  Brian leads me over to the wall with the books. “What’s your favorite book?” he asks.

  I shrug. “How do you pick just one?”

  He chuckles. “I like anything by Steinbeck. My favorite is probably East of Eden.”

  “Why?”

  “I learned a lot from it. Steinbeck’s work has so many layers.”

  “I find that book a little dark.”

  “Why?”

  “He said love makes people suspicious.”

  “Doesn’t it, though?” He lifts a shoulder. “He also said something about evil, ugly things growing inside us all.”

  “And here I was about to tell you my favorite book is an erotic romance.”

  He chuckles. “You like the ones with the dominants and submissives?”

  I shrug nonchalantly and pretend I don’t feel the heat creeping into my cheeks. “Sure. I’ll read anything.”

  “You feel the same way about sex?” he asks, his voice low and gritty.

  Thank God I’m drunk for this conversation, because I don’t think I could sober talk about sex so easily with someone I hardly know. “Are you asking if I want to be dominated?” I’m not exactly sure how to answer. I’m far from submissive, but I also don’t mind when a man wants to take charge. “Not as a lifestyle.”

  “But on occasion is okay?” he asks. His voice is husky and warm.

  I laugh nervously. “Why, are you a dominant or something?”

  He laughs back, but there’s no trace of nerves there. “No, I’m not, but I do enjoy calling the shots.”

  I raise an eyebrow, grateful for the low lights in this room to cover my burning cheeks. “I like it that way on occasion, too.”

  “Sounds like we’re a match.”

  “I guess we’ll see.”

  “We will?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  He laughs. “I like you, Reese.”

  “That’s not the first time you’ve mentioned that.”

  “If I say it enough times, maybe you’ll start to like me back.”

  “Yeah. Or maybe I’ve already started.”

  He shoots me a smile that’s hot enough to melt my panties right off, and it’s confirmed. I’m smitten.

  He leans in and presses a soft kiss to my lips. We don’t make out like we did on the dance floor just a few minutes ago, but something is definitely different between us. It’s the start of something new—butterflies, excitement, nerves, tingles. It’s the feeling you hope lasts forever even though you know it’ll fade with time.

  I follow Brian over to the bar as hope blooms in my chest. He gets us each a fresh drink. We find an open club chair, but just one. It’s by itself off to the side of the room, sort of in a quiet back corner. He sits and pats his lap, and I carefully position myself on his knee. I’m in a short, tight dress, after all, and we barely know each other. He chuckles before he pulls me closer, and I’m careful to keep my legs pressed together so I don’t flash everyone in the library room.

  I remind myself that this is Reese’s Big Summer of Sin. I throw caution to the wind as I purposely grind my ass across the erection that’s digging into it, and I take a sip of my drink, trying my hardest to act like this is all good and normal, like we’ve known each other for ages.

  I lean into him, and I feel the hard planes of muscle hidden beneath his shirt as they bow and flex beneath my arm. He leans over me and nuzzles my neck, and then his fingertips start a slow ascent up my thigh until he reaches the hem of my dress. He keeps going, and my eyelids flutter closed at his touch. I lean more heavily into him and let out a low moan as my legs automatically fall apart and the ache that’s been clawing at me all night starts to blister with an unbearable fire.

  I turn my head to catch his lips against mine, desire raging through me as the ache becomes agonizing. He kisses me back with firm assurance, deepening our connection with his tongue as one of his fingers tugs on the side of my panties, like he’s going to finger me right here in the middle of the club i
n a chair where anyone can see us.

  It’s terrible of me, especially considering I feel like I’m too old to pull off this dress and I’m terrified I might run into a student’s parent…but I want this. I want him to shove his long finger right inside of me, to thrust in and out, to drive me to an orgasm. It won’t take long. He’s been pushing me toward it all night.

  It was only a matter of time, and the club around us fades away as all my sensations direct their focus onto his mouth, his hand, his fingers.

  “There you two are!”

  The interrupting voice is familiar, cutting into a moment meant for privacy behind closed doors, not meant for the middle of a nightclub.

  Our kiss breaks, and my eyes flutter open. Brian’s face looms large in front of me, inches from my own, and his eyes are as disappointed and frustrated as I feel. He presses another soft kiss to my lips and casually lowers his hand before turning toward the offending voice.

  “I want to dance with you,” Tess says, shaking my shoulder. “Let’s go find Jill.”

  “I’m pretty comfortable right here,” I say, but it’s useless. She pulls me up off Brian’s lap and tugs me back toward the main room.

  I turn around and mouth sorry to Brian.

  “What’s going on with you two?” Tess demands as soon as we’re out of earshot.

  “Nothing now since you interrupted us.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “The straight and narrow Reese Brady was going to get nasty in the middle of a club? I don’t buy it.”

  She doesn’t need to buy it as far as I’m concerned, but a part of me is glad she interrupted us. As much as I wanted Brian to take me right in that chair, it wouldn’t have been right.

  Not when I can’t stop thinking about another man, no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise.

  Chapter Nine