I was ready to explore it. Losing Dario made me want to do the opposite of everything I normally did, which is why I was right here, flashing the most intimidating man I knew.
His eyes dropped to the martini glass in my hand. “How many of those have you had?” He raised one deliciously dark eyebrow.
“Does it matter?”
His eyes cut to Clint, then back to me. “I gave the order to clear the admin floor several hours ago.”
“Which is why I’m not there.”
“What I’m trying to figure out,” he said evenly, “Is why you are here, and not getting to a safe place. We have a fucking hurricane fifty miles off the coast.”
“There are other things I’m more interested in.” I lifted the glass and took a sip, watching him over the sugar-dipped rim. Was this working? I’d never seduced a man before. I’d spend last night in front of the mirror, attempting a sultry look and found that—if I hid behind things—they came across a little better. Hence my glass in hand.
He rested one hand on the bar and leaned in, his other hand falling on my knee. “You’ve got to stop giving me those looks, Steph.”
A fissure of arousal ran, straight from his hand, to the place between my legs, and my confidence grew at the rough edges of his words. “Or else what?” I turned my head and met his eyes.
“Don’t test me,” he growled, and I shivered a little under his direct gaze. There was a reason the casino floor never had issues, why everything on the first floor ran with precision. It was because Tripp ruled by fear. Everyone quaked under his stare, and now, he was sliding his hand further up my thigh.
Between my legs, my body hummed, the bare skin sensitive and already throbbing at the possibilities of what was to come.
I thought of the rumors, all backed up by the folios I’ve processed for his suite. It’s the most interesting part of my day—typing in his room charges and attempting to create an explanation for each one. They were never boring. Room service charges at 4am, of only whipped cream. Explicit movie charges at two in the afternoon. A deep clean that took housekeeping six hours, with rumors of ripped curtains, a broken bed, and two naked women, still asleep on the porch lounges. Tripp Reinhart worked like an animal, but he partied (and seemed to fuck) just as hard.
And tonight, that’s what I wanted. I wanted something to make me forget everything. I wanted a man to look at me, and not turn around and run off with someone else. I wanted to prove to myself, and to Dario, that I didn’t need him to give me orgasms or make me happy. I wanted to prove that I had other options, and make him red with jealousy.
As if he could read my mind, Tripp’s eyes darkened. “Is this about Dario?”
“No.”
His mouth twitched, those delicious lips curving into a knowing smile. “Sure, it isn’t.”
Still, as if in defiance of his thoughts, his hand moved higher up my thigh, the action hidden from casino floor by his body. My legs parted, and I swallowed a groan at the possessive and confident sweep of his palm.
“You need to go home, Steph. Pack up that car, and head north.” His hand slowed, taking its time as he moved higher, my thighs parting wider, waiting for him. Who was I? What was I doing? This wasn’t me. Stephanie Wilson should be fully gassed up, two cases of water and a package of dry goods in the trunk, already over the Mississippi line and halfway to my sister’s house in Atlanta. I should be watching the hurricane approach from her sofa, a sweet tea in hand, and wondering if Dottie Stickelber and her three cats got out in time.
But I wasn’t thinking about Debbie, or her Siamese, or my sister. I was ignoring my Ford Fiesta, sitting on the third floor of the parking garage, bottled waters in tow, and spreading my legs in the middle of the Beau Rivage’s bar, in front of a dozen guests and the bartender. I snuck a glance at Clint and saw him wiping down glasses on the other end of the bar, his back to us. Tripp could probably fuck me on this bar top, and he wouldn’t turn around. He’d probably skirt around my bouncing feet and deliver drinks without so much of a second look. That was what everyone did around Tripp and Dario. They owned everyone within these walls, and we all danced to whatever beat they were playing at the time.
He reached my freshly waxed core, and his fingers played softly over my bare skin as if testing the keys on a keyboard. An exploratory touch traced down the line of my slit and then pressed in between.
Oh my God. Tripp Reinhart was touching me. In the middle of the bar. At the casino. Tripp was touching me and whatever I’d hoped to occur, it was certainly not this. His fingers pushed inside of me and I gasped, the glass falling out of my hand.
“Easy…” he caught the glass before it fell from my stool and onto the floor, setting it down on the bar, while still delicately torturing me with his hand. I looked into his face, and found him watching me, his forehead creased as he focused on his exploration of my—oh god. My hand flayed out and I grabbed at his shirt. He found what he wanted, and his mouth curved into a smile, his finger rubbing leisurely over my g-spot.
“That’s it,” he said softly, and angled himself closer to me, shielding our activity from Clint and the rest of the bar. Still, I could hear everything. The muffled conversation of the TV sportscasters. The music and chimes of the slot machine room. The sound of the sink as Clint ran the water.
We couldn’t do this here. I was an employee. I don’t know what I’d been thinking, sashaying down here without panties and flashing Tripp, but I’d envisioned something behind closed doors, my actions private, and not something that could risk my entire job.
Only … I wasn’t really risking my job. Not with Tripp involved. He was untouchable. And I—I lost the next thought, his touch quickening, excruciatingly perfect as it strummed over my swollen pleasure center. I was going to come. So embarrassingly quick and right here in the bar, in such a public place.
One of my heels fell off, hitting the floor with a crack that seemed loud enough to wake the dead. No one noticed, and I began to pant, my hand tightening on Trip’s shirt, twisting at the fabric. He leaned forward, his mouth against my ear. “Look at you, you filthy thing. Who would have thought, that innocent little Stephanie Wilson had such a sweet and hungry pussy?”
I bit at his neck to stifle my scream, digging my teeth in and moaning, my hips twitching, his touch commanding, my body spasming around his hand as the pleasure radiated out from his touch. It was quick and sharp, ending as soon as it began, and I was needy and desperate when he withdrew his hand, dragging it along my thigh, his fingers leaving a wet trail that showed exactly how much I’d enjoyed his touch.
He reached into his pocket and I envisioned him wiping off his hand on the fabric of the slacks. When he pulled it out, he had a gold key card. Setting it on the bar, next to my empty glass, he leaned forward and spoke into my ear. “You know my room number. I’ll be up there. Waiting.”
Yanking my dress back down to cover my knees, he pulled two twenties from his wallet and set them on the bar, knocking on the granite top to get Clint’s attention.
“Close up,” he ordered. Clint nodded, and I watched as Tripp gave me one hard look, then turned and left, his tall figure winding through the empty tables.
I looked down at his room key, my body still twitching from my orgasm, and saw the smear of my arousal across its glossy surface.
I’ll be up there. Waiting. He had spoken with such confidence. Then again, Tripp didn’t issue orders without someone jumping to perform. I stood, grabbed the key, and fled the bar.
Above me, the lights flickered and the fleeing guests let out a low hiss of anticipation.
The storm was growing closer.
2
TRIPP
Tripp Reinhart strode down the hall, his phone out, fingers almost shaking as he dialed a number he knew by heart. When Dario answered, he let out a long sigh. “Where are you?”
“Down in housekeeping. Employees have all been evacuated. I’ve got Gwen and her father waiting for me at the airport. We’ve got a seat
on the jet for you, but we’ve got to leave in the next ten minutes.”
“I can’t. Go on without me. I’ll hold down the fort.”
“Fuck the fort,” Dario growled. “We’ve made the rounds of the room. Guests are out, employees are out. I’ve got a skeleton crew of security who’s staying to protect against looters and put out any fires—literal or figurative. There’s no reason for you to stay.”
And there wasn’t, except that he’d wanted Stephanie Wilson since the day she walked into this casino, and he’d take her in any way he could—even if it was fresh from being jilted by Dario.
“Go ahead. I’ll be fine here.”
His best friend was silent for a long moment. “There’s something you aren’t telling me. What’s wrong? Is it a security breach?”
He snorted at the hypocrisy of the statement. Talk about not telling someone something. He’d known Dario since they were kids. And something was going on with him. Something other than a sudden infatuation with Gwen Hawk. Everyone else might believe his story of quick love, but Dario Capece wasn’t the type to swoon over a woman. And he hadn’t seemed overly charmed by her after meeting her. No, something had happened the second night of their visit, and there was a gap in security footage to prove it. Whatever had happened, Dario was staying mute on, and suddenly putting in his notice, yanking up roots, and moving across the country with her.
Not that Tripp entirely minded. As much as he’d miss his friend, Stephanie Wilson had always been gaga over Dario. His first thought, when hearing about his move, was that he might finally have a chance with the woman.
He thought of her, gasping against his neck, her sweet hot pussy flexing around his finger. Had he bet his life savings, he wouldn’t have expected that chance to come barreling at him so quickly.
“Tripp?” Dario prodded. “Why’re you staying? What’s wrong?”
He tried to focus on the conversation. “There’s no security breach. And my staying here has nothing to do with anything at the hotel. It’s Stephanie. She didn’t evacuate. I need to make sure she’s safe.”
Dario chuckled. “That’s all you had to say. About damn time.”
In the following silence, Tripp could hear his unspoken admonishment, something similar to the ass-chewing Dario had given him a few days earlier. Turns out, the best time to confess your crush wasn’t during the middle of someone’s date with said crush. He’d called Dario to warn him off of Stephanie and had gotten an earful in response.
But Dario had ended their date and backed off, then turned around and claimed ‘true love’ with this Vegas stranger. Whether the sudden love had anything to do with Stephanie, Tripp hadn’t yet figured out. But Dario had seemed happy to step aside, with stern instructions to “make a damn move already.”
He stepped into his office and opened the top drawer of his desk. “I’ll see you after the storm. Stay safe.” He ended the call and grabbed a thin envelope with cash, his master set of keys, and a security walkie. Striding for the door, he paused, then returned to the desk and opened up the side drawer, reaching in and pulling out two sets of handcuffs.
3
STEPHANIE
I stood in the staff bathroom, one dingy hallway away from the opulence of the casino floor and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Did I really want to do this? I’d only had one sexual partner before—John. That three-year relationship had started in a freshman dorm party at LSU and ended with a phone call from Cancun our junior year. Sorry, Steph. Things just didn’t work out. I’m not sure what didn’t work out on his spring break, but if I had to guess, judging from his cleavage-filled social media posts, the situation involved lots of alcohol and drunken sex. I had skipped spring break trips to interview for summer internships and spent the remainder of the week watching daytime soaps on my mother’s couch and drowning my sorrows in a tube of raw cookie dough. That decision had put me in the hospital with food poisoning, and I’d come back from spring break pale and ten pounds lighter, thanks to my stint in ICU.
Sex with John had always been an unremarkable affair. Short and sweet. Sometimes short and dismissive. Mostly I’d begged off the act and laid my head in his lap and watched him jack off, silently urging him to finish so I could study or sleep. I had never once come from him, only from myself, often after he’d fallen asleep with his mouth half open in a snore.
After John, I’d spent the following five years with the hope that Dario Capece would be my next lover. That possibility had crashed on our second date when he’d seemed to suddenly lose interest—and burned when Gwen Hawk had shown up. I’d heard the whispers of our visitors—a rich casino owner from Vegas and his beautiful daughter. I’d watched Dario walk through our office with the pair and had carefully studied the woman. She had been beautiful. Very graceful. Obviously from money. I’d curled my toes against my cheap hose and avoided Dario’s eyes when they’d passed by my desk. That evening, they’d all gone to dinner at Filet House.
The next morning, I’d reviewed their restaurant bill on his expense report. Five lobsters, eaten between the three of them. Three steaks. A bottle of nine-hundred-dollar wine and four desserts. Housekeeping records showed that she never slept in her bed, and I’d had a sneaking suspicion where she ended up. Three days ago, my fears were confirmed in the worst possible way: Dario’s announcement that he would be leaving us and moving to Vegas.
I straightened before the mirror, my anger still simmering and pushed my hair away from my face. I needed to get my act together. Dario was leaving. Any future between us was dead. Would going up to Tripp’s room really solve anything?
I picked up the key card and examined it, thinking over his last words, husky against my neck. “You know my room number. I’ll be up there. Waiting.”
Sleeping with Tripp wouldn’t solve anything. It wouldn’t win Dario back and would cause Tripp to toss away any respect for my accounting skills. The prudent thing to do would be to toss his key card in the trash, get in my car, and get the heck out of here before this storm hit.
But I didn’t want to go, and that was the scary thing. I wanted more of Tripp. I wanted to know if his dick matched his long and lean build. I wanted to feel those lips. I wanted those intense eyes burning down the length of my naked body. I wanted to be—for just one night—someone other than Goody-Two-Shoes Stephanie. I wanted to live, and be desired, and get my brains fucked out by someone who knew how to do it.
I hitched my bag on my shoulder, my decision made, and moved into the hall and toward the service elevator.
* * *
In the elevator, I jabbed the button for Trip’s floor, impatient when the car didn’t move. Reaching out, I hit it again, frowning when it didn’t light up. Oh. I dug for his key card, inserting it into the slot and tried the lower penthouse floor again, letting out a breath of relief when the car began to move. With any luck, I’d make it all the three floors up without running into anyone.
While the high-rollers occupied the top three floors of the tower, the fourth floor held the more executive-style of penthouses. No six-person hot-tubs, but big walk-in closets and full-sized kitchens. Dario and Tripp both held residences on that floor, along with some out-of-town owners and three other execs. In addition to their giant suites, they got 24-7 room service, daily housekeeping, dry-cleaning, and a company car. Who knew what they spent their salaries on.
The ride was slow, the soothing background music doing nothing to calm the avalanche of thoughts that ran through my mind.
Maybe this wasn’t a mistake. My self-confidence, which had been crushed by Dario’s snub, had bloomed in the bar. My body was still humming from my orgasm. The doors were opening to Tripp’s floor and I was about to—
Holy shit. The doors were opening to Tripp’s floor and I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t emotionally prepared for—
“Hello, Stephanie.”
* * *
I had two playing cards in my hand, my bare pussy against a stool in Tripp Reinhart’s kitchen, and a shot of t
equila in front of me. Depending on the next card, I was either going to shoot the tequila or he was. Next to the golden bottle of liquor, was a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries we’d already worked through most of.
He flipped over the gold card and I eyed the three. Without waiting for him to reveal his hand, I reached out and downed the shot.
“Easy, Steph…” he murmured, taking the empty glass from me and skimming it down the bar. “You’re going to pass out if we aren’t careful.”
“Please,” I scoffed. “You grew up in these swamps, same as me. You know what our upbringing was like. I can drink a grown man under the table.”
He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and regarded me with a slow smile. “Not this grown man.”
I rolled my eyes away from the toned flex of his forearms.
“Another hand,” he proposed. “Different game, different stakes.”
“What do you have in mind?” I picked up the cards, stacking them up and shuffling through them, the cards stiff and unused, like they were just pulled from the plastic.
“Rummy is the game. And the stakes…” he pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and settled back down at the bar. “Three kisses.”
“Three kisses?” I curled up a lip. “First you take away the alcohol, and now we’re back in kindergarten?”
He chuckled, his eyes pinned on me, and it was the sexiest look I’d ever seen. “Play my childish game for a moment.”
“Fine.” I cut the deck and shuffled again, then passed him the stack. “Three kisses. Though I must tell you, I had bigger expectations, given your reputation.”
ALL IN: A Romantic Suspense Page 41