Gentleman Sinner

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  Jess is over like a shot, yanking open the curtains, then the terrace doors beyond them. Music blares in, loud and pumping. Calvin Harris, if I’m not mistaken. “Fuck. Izzy, look!”

  I take in the scene before us. A pool, all tropical-looking, with bodies everywhere drinking and dancing. “It’s two p.m.,” I murmur.

  “Yes, but it’s ten p.m. at home.” She starts dancing around the room, singing at the top of her voice as I scan the ground below, and then the skyline. I can’t believe we’re here, and it couldn’t have come at a better time in my life. A time-out. Room to breathe. Here, I will let my hair down and enjoy my first girlie holiday. I don’t want to waste a moment of it. Especially not on thinking.

  * * *

  We land at the circular bar in Hard Rock half an hour later, fresh and ready for our first night. “Surprise us,” Jess tells the barman, her blond curls free and loose. It’s nice to see her hair down for once, instead of coiled up tightly into a bun as it always is for work.

  “My kinda ladies.” The barman goes straight for a bottle under the counter and starts to pour.

  I pull my insanely short black dress down my thighs as I try to take in the huge space. “I’m mesmerized,” I say, spotting a card table surrounded by rowdy men and a few women scattered in between.

  “Do you think they’re hookers?” Jess asks. I ponder her question for a few moments, looking the women up and down before I cast my eyes to my front. They look no different from me, dressed up to the nines at only two-thirty p.m.

  “Here, ladies,” the barman says, and we turn to find two long, clear highballs on the bar. “Some advice for you, girls.” He slides a small plastic plate across the bar with our bill on it.

  I sign the piece of white paper to our room, ignoring the insane cost of two drinks. “What’s that?”

  “Happy hour is six to seven.” He smiles, obviously catching my poorly concealed gawk at the dollar signs. “Two for one,” he adds, leaving us with our drinks.

  I swoop mine up and turn on my stool, slurping back the mystery concoction and immediately wincing. “Fucking hell.”

  Jess starts coughing. “Jesus. No measly measures here.”

  “It’s good once you get past the initial shock.” I shudder and slip down from my stool when I spot some straws on the bar. I need to stir this thing. I hear my phone ring and look back as I pluck two straws from the holder, seeing Jess help herself and answer.

  And when her eyes widen, I have a horrible feeling I know who is on the line. And then she nods and confirms my fear, prompting me to start shaking my head frantically.

  “No, it’s Jess,” she says, cringing. “She’s not available right now.” I start nodding as I hurry back to my stool, drawing a line across my neck with a fingertip. “Uh, yeah.” Jess frowns. “How’d you know?” She’s quiet for a bit, and I slip my straw into my glass, taking a long draw without stirring it. The vodka hits the back of my throat, and I start to cough and splutter all over the bar. “Of course.” She smacks my thigh, her lips pursed—her way of telling me to shut the hell up. “Vegas, if you must know,” she says, rather snootily. “And you’re interrupting, so I’ll bid you farewell.” Clicking off the call, she passes me my phone and I place it coolly on the bar, refusing to entertain my friend’s interested face or my wild wondering.

  She plucks the other straw from my hand, slips it into her glass, stirs, and then wraps her lips around it, watching me as she drinks. My eyes narrow on her. “Why’d you tell him we’re here?”

  My irritation goes way over her head. “The international tone kind of gave us away.”

  “Still, you shouldn’t have answered.”

  “How was I supposed to know it would be him?”

  “Who else would it be?” I ask on a laugh. “The only people who call me are you and work. You’re here, and I’m on leave from work.”

  Her sudden straight lips make me look away, my attention now on my drink. I know who else she thought it could be. Every time my damn phone rings with an unknown number, my heart kicks with fear. It’s stupid. There’s no way he could track me down. I’m miles away, and now going by a different name.

  “I just thought if there was any slight chance it was him, he’d hear an unfamiliar voice and conclude he has the wrong number. I’m sorry.”

  I smile a small smile, returning my attention to Jess’s sorry expression. “This trip isn’t getting off to the best start, huh?”

  “Then let’s fix that.” She pushes my drink to my lips, and I take a slurp as demanded. “Theo is delicious in a rough, persistent kind of way, though.”

  “Stop trying to convince me he’s a good idea.” I’m a second away from telling Jess everything I know, including the fact that Theo carries a gun. Then let’s see if she’s so adamant that I should entertain his advances.

  “I think you’re being too dismissive. You don’t even know him.”

  “I know enough.”

  “Or maybe you don’t know enough,” she replies, and I shoot her a surprised look. “I’m just saying, try to look at the positives rather than the negatives. He might surprise you. You’ll never know unless you open your mind.”

  But by opening my mind, I’ll be opening my heart and making myself vulnerable. I’m done with being vulnerable.

  * * *

  I have no idea how much later it is; there are no clocks or windows in this place, but we’re huddled over a tall table cuddling two more of those mystery concoctions, laughing like we’ve never laughed before. We’ve thrived in each other’s company, watched the comings and goings, and placed bets on the status of every woman we’ve seen—hooker, wife, girlfriend, gold digger, or singleton like us.

  I elbow Jess in the side when two men break away from a crowd and make their way over, smiling. “Oh, hello,” Jess says, turning on her stool to welcome them. Both are good-looking—one Latino, the other black—and both are clutching bottles of beer.

  “British?” the black guy asks, pointing his bottle at each of us in turn. His ebony skin is flawless, his physique defined, his head shaved and smooth. I’d estimate he’s in his mid-twenties.

  “American?” I counter with a smile, diving in feet first.

  He laughs and points to his mate, who’s about the same age and also fit but a little shorter. “This is Kyle. I’m Denny.”

  I offer my hand. “Izzy. This is Jess.” I cock my head toward my friend, finding she’s smiling suggestively at Kyle.

  “Damn, girl, I love your accent,” Denny says.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, keep talkin’ to me.”

  I giggle despite myself, feeling his grip flex around mine. “Join us?” I ask.

  “Awesome.” He slides onto a stool smoothly, followed by Kyle.

  “See?” Jess claps her hands, delighted. “In America, everything is ‘awesome.’”

  “So what do you guys say?” Kyle asks, amused.

  “Fucking great! That’s what we say, but I much prefer ‘awesome.’” Jess’s eyes meet Kyle’s and, God be damned, they gaze at each other like neither has seen someone of the opposite sex before.

  “I prefer ‘fuckin’ great.’” Kyle clinks his bottle with the side of Jess’s glass before taking a sip, keeping his dark eyes on her blues. We’ve been in Vegas for…I don’t know how long. Hours. We’re drunk, we’ve met some fun guys, and so far we’re having a bloody blast.

  Laughs roll as we spend the next few hours comparing slang phrases and curse words with our new friends. The drinks flow, though I ensure we buy our own, and the night passes so fast, I hate the notion that the whole five days might speed by this quickly.

  “Wanker,” Jess slurs, leaning on the table for support. “Wank-urrrrr.”

  “Wa…”—Kyle’s chin juts out—“ker…”

  “Try ‘tosser,’” I say with a laugh.

  “What’s a tosser?” Denny throws me a look of confusion, the smooth black skin of his forehead showing creases for the first time.

/>   “It’s a wanker.”

  “Like ‘jerk’?”

  “Yes!”

  “Awesome.” Denny smiles, throwing his arm around my shoulder and pulling me in. I don’t bat an eyelid, letting him drape himself all over me.

  “You, my dear gentleman,” Kyle starts in his best English accent as he points to Denny, “are a bladdy tosser.”

  “Bloody,” I howl, my stomach starting to hurt from laughing so much. “That was the worst English accent I’ve heard.”

  “Then you need to be teaching us, darlin’.” Denny grins. “What are your plans while you’re here?”

  I look to Jess, who shrugs. “I’m open to suggestions.”

  Kyle beams from ear to ear, peeking down before getting her in a headlock. She goes willingly, giving me a coy, knowing smile. “Good to hear you’re thinking with an open mind.”

  She nudges him playfully. “Smart arse.”

  “Ass!” he yells. “If you’re going to be my friend, sweet thing, you have to say it like me. Ass.” He ruffles her hair. “There’s a pool party here tomorrow. Up for it?”

  “Yep!” we sing in unison, raising our glasses to toast the plan for tomorrow. I’m so glad I bought that new swimsuit.

  * * *

  They were total gents, walking us back to our room, with no suggestion or hint that they expected to come in. Kyle was rewarded with a full-on snog from Jess, whereas I simply pecked Denny’s cheek and thanked him for a fun evening. Letting my hair down is still in the cards. Just not on the first night. He was cool with that, singing all the curse words he’d learned as he weaved his way down the corridor.

  We fell into bed and giggled like teenagers about our first night in Vegas and eventually fell asleep at…I don’t know what time. But I was smiling.

  * * *

  “Damn.” Jess’s eyes nearly fall out of her head when I appear from the bathroom in my new swimsuit. “Your boobs look immense.”

  I start to rearrange the cups around my cleavage, wondering if I’m brave enough. My stomach is concealed, just how I like it, but my boobs are on display, the plunging neckline fierce. “Too much?”

  “Wow!” Jess purrs, grabbing a camisole and slipping it on over her black bikini, which has gold hoops holding it together between her boobs and on her hips. “Turn around.” I do as ordered, not that there’s much to see, as my swimsuit is completely backless. “I love it,” Jess declares.

  I pull my tousled black waves into a knot, but immediately release it when Jess shakes her head. “Down?”

  “Yes, you’ve got that beach-tousled thing going on. It’s hot. Come on.”

  We head down to the pool, and after collecting two towels, we venture into the crazy scene. I feel somewhat intimidated by the throngs of gorgeous women as we weave through the crowds, looking for somewhere to settle.

  “Bed, ladies?” A man asks, indicating a double sunbed with a cozy mattress atop it. “Two-fifty with a free drink thrown in.”

  “Two hundred and fifty dollars?” I blurt, ignoring the jab in my side from Jess. “To lay on a bed?”

  “Or you can take a cabana for two thousand.” He points across the way to some huts.

  “How much is it to lay on the ground?” I ask.

  “We’ll take the bed,” Jess jumps in, throwing me an evil look. “Thanks.” She gets her purse and counts out a pile of notes.

  “Are you mad?” I whisper-hiss in her ear.

  “Cool it.” She brushes off my concern. “We’re on holiday.”

  “Vacation,” I mutter, spreading my towel on my side of the bed. “The drinks better be awesome.”

  Jess falls apart laughing as she slips her shades on and joins me in removing our cover-ups. I don’t feel self-conscious. There are women with bits of material the size of pound coins covering their nipples. We settle and accept the drinks brought to us, and I slurp back my first dose of alcohol of the day, feeling surprisingly healthy considering the amount we indulged in last night. “God, this is the life.” Jess drops to her back, her foot tapping in time to the beat of Michael Calfan’s “Treasured Soul,” while I spend some time taking it all in. The sun is blazing, happiness and fun surround us, and I have the biggest smile on my face. Yes, this really is the life. At least, it is for the next five days.

  I sigh and drop to my back, but bolt up again when something across the pool catches my eye. And before I can stop it, my cup slips from my grasp and every sound and movement around me stops. “No,” I whisper.

  Jess is up like a shot, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Izzy, what the fuck?” She starts frantically brushing down her front, and when I look at her blankly, I find her soaking wet, her sunglasses askew and ice cubes scattered in her lap.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble, pushing myself up to my feet and frantically searching the other side of the pool. Where he was. I turn on the spot, my tongue becoming sticky in my mouth from dryness. Nothing.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Jess asks, looking down at her front incredulously. “Damn it!”

  “I saw him,” I say mindlessly, wondering if my mind is playing games with me. He’s been in my thoughts, I won’t deny it, but I’ve done a damn fine job of pushing him away whenever he’s creeped forward.

  “Saw who?”

  “Theo.” I don’t hesitate to tell her, hoping she’ll join me in my search as I scan the pool area. I must have imagined it. Surely I imagined it. Please tell me I imagined it! I pull the waiter to a stop as he passes. “Another two, please. Extra strong.” I need a drink. I know I haven’t had much sleep, but…seeing things?

  Jess circles on the spot, too, her eyes narrowed as she scans the area around us. “That’s impossible.”

  No, it isn’t. “Oh my goodness,” I whisper as Jess follows my line of sight and blurts an expletive, obviously seeing what I’m seeing. I reach out and grab her arm to steady myself as he appears from across the pool, his eyes trained on me.

  “Shit, he is here.” She swings around and grabs me, pulling me down to the bed. I feel like I’m hyperventilating, my breaths becoming too short.

  “I’m dizzy,” I say, letting my head drop into my hands. “Jess, what is he doing here?”

  “I don’t fucking know. He’s your stalker, not mine.” She directs the straw in her drink to my mouth. “Have some.”

  I slurp down the icy liquid hungrily, willing myself to wake up soon. In Vegas? I want to consider the fact that I’m mistaken, that tiredness has morphed another man into Theo, but all these feelings, the instability, the breathlessness, the intrigue, it’s all indicative of one man alone.

  I don’t need Jess to tell me when he reaches us. All the hairs on the back of my neck rise, and a prickling feeling pitter-patters down my spine. I close my eyes and pointlessly pray for someone to help me, and when I open them, a pair of dress shoes are in my downcast vision. Dress shoes? By a pool? My stupid observation is forgotten when warmth spreads across my back from the sensation of his palm resting there. I don’t flinch. Nothing. I’m numb. Shock, I think.

  “Izzy, are you okay?” Theo crouches in front of me, taking a wrist with his spare hand. If I weren’t suffering from disbelief, I’d laugh. Am I okay? He’s showed up on the other side of the world, and he’s asking if I’m okay? “Izzy, look at me.”

  Jess doesn’t breathe a word, yet she’s holding the cup of alcohol at my lips like a loyal friend. I latch onto the straw and slurp, but it’s quickly removed.

  “I’m not sure alcohol is wise when she’s having a funny turn,” Theo chastises.

  “Excuse me?” Jess retorts indignantly, and I cheer her on in my head, hoping she’ll chase him away with her viper tongue. “She’s having a funny turn because you’re here.”

  Theo is here. In fucking Vegas. What, when, who, and why the fuck? Suddenly maddened by it all, I toss my head up and my hair back, and stand. Theo is on his feet even quicker, and now a few steps away from me. It’s a fight and a half to remain steady, even more so as my eyes take i
n every inch of him—beige chinos and a white casual shirt tucked in, collar open. More of the tattoo on his neck is visible because of the few unfastened buttons. Black shadows, all linked, and I find my eyes root there.

  Until he coughs and nudges me back to life. “What in the name of God are you wearing?” he blurts, his wide eyes fixed on my chest. I see in his face a deadly beauty that could quite possibly be the death of me. The sun is creating a halo around his head, making it glow magnificently. Like a god’s.

  My anger of a moment ago deserts me, rendering me a wobbly woman, and I feel myself tilting forward, coming closer to Theo, my hand shooting up to save me before I face-plant in his chest.

  “Is she drunk?” he asks, catching my hands in one of his and laying them on his chest. He’s evidently concerned as he holds them in place, his other hand slipping around my waist. I might be in a state of deep shock, but he’s vibrating against me, and I haven’t the brain power to consider whether that’s anger or because of our contact.

  “No, she’s disturbed.” Jess laughs. “What are you doing here?”

  “She looks drunk,” Theo mutters, ignoring Jess’s question and hauling me into his chest. I crash against him…and melt into the sharp planes of his muscles. It feels too good. “Izzy,” Theo growls, annoyed. “For God’s sake, will you look at me?” He grabs my jaw and pulls my blank face up to him. I’m totally out of it. Maybe it’s shock. Maybe it’s fright. Or maybe those drinks were stronger than I realized. I can’t be sure.

  I battle to find a little composure. “What…Why…How did…?” I stammer, unable to ignore how good he feels against me.

  His face softens, and relief definitely flows across his features. “Are you okay?”

  Is he joking? The gravity of it all seems to steamroll forward, and I engage my muscles to push myself off of his chest. Once again, he moves me before I can move myself, taking my wrists and separating our bodies, stepping back. I frown at him, wondering how the hell he knows every move I’m going to make before I make it. He slips his shades on, stealing away the sight of his intense cobalt eyes, and I glance at Jess. There’s apprehension and maybe even a little hidden awe splashed across her face. “You came to Vegas to find me?” I ask Theo incredulously.