by Eden Summers
She smiled at his reflection in the mirror and screwed the lid back on her mascara. “I’ll be fine once I have a glass of wine or two.” Or however many it took to dilute the adrenaline in her veins.
“You look gorgeous, as always.”
“Thank you.” She dropped the mascara tube onto the counter and strode toward him, placing a quick kiss on his cheek. “I’m going as soon as I get my stockings and boots on.”
“OK.” He pulled her into his body, and she stabilized herself with a palm to his chest. She fought hard to ignore the heat in his eyes and the seduction on his lips.
No time. No time. No time.
“I’m going to have a shower. I hope you have a great night.” He gripped the back of her head and took her mouth in a punishing kiss. When they came up for air, he glanced down at her. “Have fun, just not too much fun, all right?”
Alana tapped on the door of Gabi’s Las Vegas suite, already twenty minutes late. She was meeting the girls here to kick off the bachelorette party, while the guys were still in her own suite, consuming bottles of scotch and bourbon.
The clap of high heels echoed from the other side of the heavy wood. There was a beat of silence, then Gabi swung the door wide, two glasses of champagne teetering in one of her hands.
“I was starting to worry,” Gabi handed her a glass of bubbling liquid, looking gorgeous in her red stilettos and black party dress.
Alana stepped inside and winced in apology. “Sorry. We fell asleep.”
“Oh, I bet you did.” Gabi’s lips tilted, only the humor didn’t reach her eyes.
As the door drifted shut, Alana paused, scrutinizing her friend’s features. Something was wrong. She could see it in the slump of Gabi’s shoulders and the unconvincing smile. “Everything OK, Gab?”
“Of course.” Gabi nodded, taking a sip from her glass and not meeting Alana’s gaze.
Alana placed her purse under her elbow and grasped Gabi’s forearm as she started down the hall. When her friend stiffened, Alana’s already frantic heart thundered in reply. “Gabi?”
Anxious seconds passed before Gabi made eye contact. “I’ll be fine.” She pasted on a less than enthusiastic smile. “I just need a night out with the girls.”
Alana let her hand fall to her side. She’d only seen Blake’s fiancée like this once before—at Alana’s engagement party. Even through the emotional see-saw of moving her life to the US, Gabi had remained calm and upbeat, barely letting the infectious grin leave her face. “Is everything all right with you and Blake?”
Gabi nodded. “Everything’s fine.” She pointed a lazy finger down the hall and pivoted on her toes. “The girls are in the dining room waiting for you.” Without another word, she strode away.
Alana stood rooted in place, unsure what to do. Moments earlier, back in her own suite, she’d spoken with Blake. He’d been his happy, smart-ass self. Yet Gabi was far from normal. There was no humor in her expression, no light in her eyes.
Taking an unladylike gulp of her champagne, Alana convinced herself to stop worrying. She had enough on her mind without adding more problems to the mix. A night of drinking, games, and laughter would be great for all of them. Well probably not for Alana’s mother. Bringing a recovering androphobic woman into the party capital of the world wasn’t a great idea. But her mother had been the one to offer her attendance at the bachelorette party. “I’ll get to visit Vegas again, and appease my shrink all at once,” her mom had said.
Gabi stopped at the end of the short hall, beckoning her forward. “Come on. We started the champagne a while ago. You need to catch up.”
Alana allowed herself a relaxed chuckle. Of course they did. The women of her bridal party were more excited about tonight than she was. Kate—her best friend from Richmond, Gabi, and Leah, had giggled like schoolgirls while planning the challenges for the Reckless band members. And they were eager to see what they would receive in return.
“I wouldn’t have expected anything less.” Alana caught up to Gabi, and they wandered side by side through the archway leading into the dining room.
“Evening, ladies.” Alana eyed the large table covered with appetizers and filled champagne flutes. If it weren’t for Mitchell’s damn challenges, she’d be happy to remain here, with her shoes kicked off, enjoying quiet conversation.
Her mother clucked her tongue. “You’re late to your own party.”
Having her only parental figure here was going to be a challenge all of its own. Yet Alana was overwhelmed with relief that her mom was pushing boundaries and trying hard to overcome some of the psychological issues that had restricted her to living in relative seclusion for years.
Alana skirted the table, walking past Leah and Kate until she reached her mother, and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. “You look lovely.” The dark pink blouse and jeans were classier than the old, beaten clothes she wore at the retreat, but contrasted from the scanty attire the rest of them wore.
“Thank you. You look…” A scrutinizing gaze travelled up and down Alana’s body. “…appropriately dressed for Vegas.”
Kate snorted, and Leah cleared her throat.
“Thanks.” Alana placed her purse on the table and took another gulp of bubbly liquid.
“Has Mitch emailed the list of challenges yet?” Leah asked, popping a piece of cheese into her mouth.
“Darn!” Alana sat down and opened her purse, retrieving her cell. “I haven’t had a chance to forward ours to them.” She unlocked her screen and found an unopened email from Mitchell. Before she read it, she scrolled to her draft folder, to where the list for the guys was saved, and pressed send. “Done. OK, let me see what we have to do.”
Her stomach fluttered. With the likes of Mason, Sean, Blake, and Ryan, she could imagine the lengths she would need to go to in an effort to win the honeymoon of her choice.
“Umm…” She read the first dare, then had to stop and re-read it again.
“What?” Kate leaned forward in her chair. “Are they bad?”
“No.” Alana skimmed the list, her smile growing with every word. “I think we’re going to kick their asses, ladies… On the other hand, the guys are going to kill us afterward. The things they’ve listed are pretty lame in comparison to the stuff we sent.”
Gabi took a seat at the head of the table while Kate tapped a manicured nail with impatience. “Well don’t just sit there, tell us what they wrote.”
“OK, here goes.” Alana cleared her throat, trying not to laugh as she re-read the first line. “‘Number one—one person has to swallow Alligator Sperm, then have Sex on the Beach with a Cock-sucking Cowboy.’”
“Counts me out,” Alana’s mom announced. “I know your life has changed due to these rock stars. However, there is no way I’m going to participate if it involves sex and alligator sperm.”
Leah slapped a hand over her mouth, her cheeks convulsing, her eyes bulging, no doubt trying to refrain from spraying champagne across the table.
“Mom, they’re alcoholic beverages. One of us has to consume all three, one after the other, and it’s done.”
“Oh.” Her mother snorted. “Sorry. I heard ‘sperm,’ and my brain stopped.”
“I’ll do it,” Gabi spoke softly. “God knows I could use a few stiff drinks right now.”
Alana gave her a sad smile, and Gabi broke eye contact, peering at the bottom of her champagne flute while she finished downing the contents.
“What’s next?” Kate asked.
Alana ignored the tug of conscience that demanded she find out what was wrong with Gabi, and brought her gaze back to her phone screen. “Get something pierced.” When she glanced back up, Leah and Kate were frowning.
“Were they specific with the ‘something’?” Leah asked in disbelief.
“Nope.” Alana shook her head. “Like I said, their dares are pretty lame in comparison to ours. One of us could get our ear pierced, and that would be enough.”
“I can’t believe they’re being so soft.
” Kate pushed from the table. “I guess it’ll give us more time to have fun afterward. We can tick off the challenges within the first hour, then head straight to the Thunder from Down Under.” She turned, her heels clicking on the tile as she headed for the kitchen.
Leah nodded. “That sounds good.”
“Hold on.” Alana held up a hand for them to stop. “Some of these are going to take time, and the rules state we need to have them completed by ten o’clock. Number three says we have to get a five dollar chip from ten different casinos.”
“Well at least that’s something I can do.” Alana’s mom offered.
“‘Four—Proposition a female stripper and get her phone number.’”
Kate sauntered back into the room and placed another bottle of champagne in the middle of the table. “Put my name down for that one. I’m no stranger to lady action.”
Alana’s mother made a strangled noise that everyone chose to ignore.
“And ‘Number five—Get a Brazilian.’” Alana grinned. “That’s an easy one for me, because I already had a booking to get mine done tomorrow.”
Leah shook her head in confusion. “Is that all?”
“Yeah.” Alana nodded. The guys must have experienced a rare case of chivalry.
“I bet Mason’s annoyed as hell,” Leah continued. “Mitch had to have vetoed a lot of suggestions.”
“I don’t care.” Alana shrugged and reached for her champagne glass. “As long as I don’t have to go on the honeymoon from hell, it doesn’t bother me how angry the guys are. But I’d love to see their faces when Mitchell reads out their list.”
“Each of us has to get a beauty procedure done at a salon,” Mitch muttered, not impressed with the first challenge on the list. “And two of those have to include an eyebrow wax and a Brazilian.”
“Fuck off,” Mason spat. “For starters the whole ‘fight for your honeymoon’ thing is taking away valuable stripper time. And secondly, you made us pick girlie, lame-ass challenges for the ladies, yet one of us has to get a Brazilian? No fuckin’ way.”
Mitch heaved a sigh. The last thing he wanted to deal with tonight was Mason’s bitching. “Settle down.” He took a long chug of his scotch and wondered if tonight’s games were such a great plan.
The challenges weren’t his idea. He’d only agreed with Leah and Gabi’s suggestion to give Alana a night of wild craziness because she deserved it. He knew better than anyone that his fiancée needed to let her hair down. Not only due to the wedding stress, but also because of her secluded upbringing. He wanted her to have the time of her life, he just didn’t want to take the blame.
Leah and Gabi planned everything. They even determined the fake honeymoon destination to ensure there was a plausible reason for the challenge. That way, Allie wouldn’t be inclined to spend her bachelorette party in her hotel suite, sipping champagne and making placid conversation.
But a male Brazilian? Holy fuck, that’s gotta hurt.
The guys stared at him with varying degrees of disbelief and annoyance—Sean, Mason, their two bodyguards, even Ryan wasn’t impressed. The one person who didn’t seem pissed was Blake, who sat on the couch across from him, legs crossed at the ankles and a knowing grin tilting his lips.
“What are you smiling at?” Sean jutted his chin at Blake. “Did you get laid or somethin’?”
Blake shook his head. “I wish. I spent the last six days in Richmond with grumpy-ass here.” He jerked his thumb in Mason’s direction. “When I got home, Gabi was surfin’ the crimson tide, so I couldn’t get lucky if I tried.”
“So what’s with the smirk?” Ryan asked.
Blake outstretched his arms along the back of the lounge. “Can’t a guy be happy to spend quality time with his friends?”
“You know what’s on the list, don’t you?” Mitch asked, dread growing in his gut. Blake was the only person at the bachelor party who knew the honeymoon issues were fake. Yet there was something more to the gleam in his best friend’s eyes.
“Gabi may have given me a hint or two.” Blake turned his gaze to Mason. “And why the hell do you have your panties in a bunch about the Brazilian? Didn’t we put the same thing on the list for the ladies?”
“There’s a big fucking difference, bro,” Mason huffed. “Women get their shit waxed all the time.”
Sean cleared his throat. “I’ll do it.”
Stunned silence followed.
Mitch turned his attention to Sean along with everyone else in the room.
“What?” Sean frowned, lowering his gaze to the glass in his hands. “I’ve had it done before. No big deal.”
“You’ve had it done before,” Mason repeated, emphasizing the words with slow deliberation. “You’ve had the hair ripped from your balls, just for the hell of it?”
“It’s not like it’s all pain and no gain. I’ll get my pole smoked afterward.”
“Beauty therapists aren’t whores. You know that, right?” Ryan asked. “A blow job isn’t part of the deal.”
Sean shrugged. “They’ve never let me down before.”
“OK.” Blake drawled with widened eyes. “So we’ve determined who’ll get kicked out of the beauty salon first. What else is on the list?”
“‘Number two—get a butterfly tattoo in a visible area.’”
More silence.
“I fuckin’ hate you for taking my dare of lesbian action off the list,” Mason muttered.
“Fine. I’ll get the ink,” Mitch snapped. “‘Number three—Dine and ditch.’ I guess we can all participate in that one.”
“And when we get arrested, and Leah has to deal with the PR nightmare, it will make this night of hell worthwhile,” Ryan offered, rolling his eyes.
Mason leaned over to grab a handful of chips from the packet on the coffee table. “I’m tempted to get caught just to retaliate.”
“‘Number four—Get ten dollars changed into pennies and have one person carry them around for the remainder of the night.’”
Blake groaned. “That’s gonna be a pain in the ass.”
Mason scoffed. “That’s gonna be a pain in the ass? So you protest at carrying change, but you have no problem with hair being ripped from your balls.” He quirked a brow. “You’ve got problems.”
“The wax was inevitable,” Blake replied. “Get over it.”
“‘Number five.” Mitch lowered his gaze and mumbled over the arguing, hoping to take the sting out of the final challenge. “Do a nude run along the entire length of the Bellagio Fountain.”
One of the bodyguards snorted from his leaned position against the wall.
Mitch dropped his cell to the couch cushion beside him and scrubbed a hand down his face. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea which would require a lot of alcohol.
“Well, I think Mitch deserves a round of applause for fuckin’ us over.” Mason started to clap. “I can’t believe you told us to ‘go easy on the girls.’ We’ve been royally shafted.”
“Oh, come on.” Mitch pushed from the couch, needing the extra seconds to figure out how to reply. Mason was right. They’d been bent over and fucked hard, and it was all Mitch’s fault. He hadn’t expected his sweet and innocent Alana to list challenges that included permanent body markings, illegal activities, and public nudity.
Mitch glanced around the room, wishing his alcohol induced buzz would strengthen so he could get through the night. “Come on guys, don’t be such a drag. It’ll be fun.”
Blake shot him a taunting smile. “Yeah. I wanna hear you repeat that after you get a manly butterfly tattoo.”
Mitch clenched his jaw and held in a curse. He was the only one holding this shit together. If he started bitching—and man, he wanted to bitch—the other guys would call it quits. And when the photographic evidence of their completed challenges didn’t get sent to the ladies, Alana would stop playing the game.
“Come on.” He downed the rest of his scotch and strode to the kitchen, grabbing his wallet and jacket off the counter. “Let’
s go dine and ditch to get this party started.”
They strolled through the Bellagio in a group. Mitch, Mason, and Blake wore baseball caps to shield their faces. The bodyguards strode beside them, dressed in casual jeans and sports jackets to blend in.
Getting spotted in Sin City when one of the crew had to do a nude run later would be a nightmare. Mitch didn’t want his ass—or Johnson for that matter—bouncing around the world-wide web. Normally, he wouldn’t contemplate a dare that risky. Not even for a substantial sum of money. But the request had come from Alana—his deranged fiancée, and he couldn’t let her down. Not when the night’s itinerary was concocted for her benefit.
“This place looks good.” Sean stopped in front of a burger joint, looking through the windows to the busy room inside. “There’s a big enough crowd that we might be able to slip in and out without being caught or recognized.”
“Fine,” Mason huffed, striding forward to push open the door. “Let’s get this shit over with.”
Mitch followed, keeping his head low while a waitress seated them at a corner table.
“We’ll order straight away,” Mitch blurted. There was no point sticking around. They all wanted to get the challenges over and done with.
The woman paused in the process of handing out menus and frowned at him. “OK.”
He broke eye contact. The thought of ripping off hard-working people didn’t sit well with him. It shouldn’t have sat well with Alana either—which made him think she listed the dare in the hopes he would forfeit.
Not a chance.
If he quit, she would too, and he didn’t want that.
“We’ll get seven cheeseburgers, thanks.” Mitch grabbed the front of his cap and yanked it down, not comfortable with the waitress's scrutiny. From the corner of his eye, he watched her take a palm pilot from under her arm and start typing.
“Would you like anything to drink?” she asked.
Mitch started making a mental tally of the money they were going to screw these people for and the guilt churned in his gut. Not even the heavy dose of alcohol he’d consumed in the hotel had calmed his conscience.