His smile spreads to his ears. "Shit, we're in Vegas. There's no way to tell the time without checking my cell." He glances around the room. Sure enough, the walls are free of both clocks and windows. "Let's say it's ten."
I nod. "That sounds about right."
"That gives us twelve hours."
"You don't seem like the type who gets up early."
He laughs. "I don't?"
I nod.
I try to suck the last drop of gin from my glass, but the drink is all melting ice. I pop an ice cube in my mouth and suck hard.
Joel's eyes go to my mouth. His jaw falls ever so slightly.
His pupils dilate.
He really does want me.
The smoking hot bad boy wants me.
I close my eyes and pinch myself.
He's still here. Still staring.
He shakes his head, bringing his attention back to our conversation. He makes a show of flexing his arms in a strongman gesture. "You saying I don't have the physique of someone who hits the gym every morning?"
"I figured assassins worked mostly at night."
"You'd be surprised."
My drink is still ice, and I still need more. I pop another ice cube into my mouth and suck hard. "Maybe it's the tattoos. I don't see you showing up anywhere anytime before noon."
His laugh lights up his eyes. He scoots close enough for the outside of his leg to brush against the outside of mine. "Tattooed guys don't get anywhere on time?"
"No." Damn, my heart is beating even faster. And I'm down to two ice cubes. I pop both into my mouth.
"I'm enjoying the show." His tongue slides over his lips. "But I'm happy to buy you another drink."
"Plus, I'm out of ice cubes."
"True." His fingers curl around his glass. He brings it to his lips and takes a long sip of the amber liquid.
Scotch.
That's the kind of thing my dad drinks. It doesn't seem to fit Joel. But then Joel and I only met ten minutes ago. Maybe he's a scotch kingpin. Maybe his entire life is devoted to scotch.
He hails a cocktail waitress and orders us another round. Once she leaves, he scoots closer.
The back of his hand brushes against my shoulder.
"It's not that I think tattooed bad boys are irresponsible." I'm out of ice cubes. I have no way to occupy my nervous energy. Even though my thoughts are floaty, my hands are nervous. I press my palms against my quads. It helps. "It's more that you seem effortless. Like a surfer."
With the shaggy, dark blond hair, the green eyes, and the incredibly toned physique, Joel really does look like a surfer boy.
But is he effortless?
He turned on like a lightbulb around that blond woman. When she left, he dimmed. Not like he was sad. No, it was more like he was shifting back to his normal self instead of putting up a front.
Right now, the way he's looking at me… he's still on. But it's not at 150 watts. It's more like 60. Or 30 even.
Ahem.
This is a one-night stand. Joel's not my future husband. I shouldn't be psychoanalyzing him.
It's a habit, something I do to everyone I meet.
But it's not why I'm here tonight.
I'm here to get out of my head.
And into his pants.
God, that's cheesy… but it's true.
I should be staring at his broad shoulders.
Wondering what his arms will feel like wrapped around me.
What his body will feel like against mine.
I cross and uncross my legs. Somehow, I manage to spread my knees a little wider. It's only an inch. Maybe two. But with my panties in his pocket, that's more than enough to feel dirty.
My eyes meet his.
I swallow hard.
"This isn't a race." He looks down at me. His fingers skim my knee then his hand is back at his sides. "We have all night."
I nod.
My fingers tap against my quads.
Fuck, how can I be this nervous three drinks in. Or is it two? Or four? I'm already forgetting.
Mercifully, the cocktail waitress arrives with our drinks. I practically pounce on my gin and tonic. It's crisp, bubbly, strong. I down the whole thing in three sips.
My head swims.
My throat burns.
But the tension in my shoulders is melting.
The nerves in my stomach are settling.
I can do this.
Joel looks at me curiously. "I like you, Bella. You're charming."
"Weird?"
"Different." He matches my speed, downing half his scotch in one swig. "Fuck, scotch is not meant to be drunk this fast."
"You don't seem like a scotch guy."
"Usually, I drink beer. But the beer here is shit." He downs another half, well, a quarter of the original drink, with his next swig. "And if you're drinking hard liquor…"
"You're a gentleman."
He laughs. "You could say that."
The song shifts from some generic wub-wub club music to a remix of Poker Face by Lady Gaga. I can't help but shift my chest. My hips.
My dress presses against my ass. My sex. Fuck, this not wearing panties thing opens me up to a whole lot of sensation.
Alcohol has my inhibitions falling quickly. I let my eyes flutter closed as I shift my hips in time with the music.
The friction of my dress feels good.
Pleasure pools in my belly.
In my thighs.
Joel's fingers brush against my knee again. His glass clinks as he drops it on the table.
He leans in to whisper, "You want to dance."
It's not really a question. I nod anyway.
He takes my hand and pulls me out of the booth. We cut through the crowd until we find a spot in the middle of the fray.
With his hands on my hips, he pulls my body into his. His cheek brushes against mine. His breath warms my ear.
Fuck, that feels good.
I want him. Badly.
But I'm still not sure about this. I rise to my tiptoes so I can whisper in his ear. "I might get cold feet."
He laughs.
"What?"
His eyes light up as they meet mine. "You might get cold feet?"
"About the sex."
His smile spreads to his cheeks.
"It's an implicit agreement, the one-night stand thing."
"I'm not laughing 'cause you're wrong."
"Then why?"
"You're different than the women who usually approach me."
"You approached me."
"Even so." He presses his palm against my lower back. His eyes fix on mine. "I meant the whole I like you thing. I want you to have a good time tonight. I'm more than happy to fuck you, but that isn't my main goal."
"It's not?"
He brushes a stray hair from my eyes. "Don't get me wrong. I want to make you come." He drags his fingertips down my neck. Over my shoulder.
I cringe as his fingertips hit my upper arm. I try to shake it off, but he's not buying that.
He pulls his hand back to his side.
"No. Don't. I mean, keep going." I look up at him. "Please."
He stares back at me. His voice is heavy with desire, but it's even too. "I want you screaming my name loud enough to wake everyone on The Strip."
I swallow hard.
"But only if that's what you want."
"What if you do that… then I don't?"
Again, his smile spreads to his cheeks. "I want to make you come. It's for me." His hand goes back to my forearm. Then it's the light brush of his fingers.
The soft, affectionate touch sends desire racing through me.
My eyelids flutter closed. There's some response forming in my brain, but it already seems less important than his hands on my skin.
This is why I flew to Vegas.
I press my cheek against his as I bring my mouth to his ear. "Is that really for you?"
"Fuck yes." He presses his palm against my lower back, pressing my body against his.
He's hard.
Not exactly unusual with the way we're dancing, but still… he's over the thought of making me come—
Because my body is pressed against his—
Damn, I'm hot everywhere.
He brings his hand to the back of my head and undoes my bun. My locks fall over my shoulder.
My hair is going to be a mess tomorrow.
But I don't care.
His voice is loud enough someone else could hear, even with the booming remix. "I want to make you come, because I want to see what those gorgeous brown eyes look like filled with pleasure." His lips brush against my ear.
Against my neck.
He's still moving in time with the beat.
He's still holding my body against his.
Fuck, Joel is really good at this. Between his touch and his words and my three drinks, I'm letting go of every one of my inhibitions.
"I want to feel your cunt pulsing around my fingers." He drags his lips over my neck. "I want to hear your groans in my ears."
Fuck, I'm on fire.
"But only if I can feel how badly you want me." He plants a hard kiss on my neck.
Heat spreads out to my fingers and toes. Despite all my goals to shake off Bella Chase, cautious stick in the mud, she's there, whispering in my ear that I'm out of my mind.
I look back at Joel. "You barely know me."
"Tell me something about you."
"Anything?"
He nods.
I reach for something that won't make me think about Dad. Or Anne. Or law school. Okay. That works. "Don't laugh. But I love Harry Potter."
He smiles. "The books or the movies?"
"Both. But the books first. I love to read." I grind my body against his. The song transitions into the next. I can't quite catch the beat, but Joel manages to guide me through it. "It's the only time I really relax."
"I get that."
"It's your turn. Tell me something about you."
"I do surf." He drags his lips up my neck and over my ear. "But it's been a while."
"You love it?"
He nods. "You can't be someplace else when you surf. You have to be there, in that moment. Same thing as when I…" He drops his voice to a whisper. "You can have shit sex, where you're zoning out. But I don't do that. I don't fuck someone unless I'm sure I can be there, reveling in every second of pleasure that spreads across her face."
My sex clenches.
The man has a mouth.
And I want it. I want to be out of my head and in my body.
I slide my hand into Joel's hair and I rise to my tiptoes to kiss him.
His lips are soft and he tastes good. Like bourbon. Sweet, warm, a little salty.
He kisses back hard. His tongue slides into my mouth. His hands slide to my hips.
I get lost in the motions of our mouths.
Our bodies.
Fuck, that buzz is kicking in.
Who am I kidding? I'm well into tipsy. Drunk even.
But I don't care.
I take Joel's wrist and I bring his hand to my inner thigh.
His fingers brush against my skin. They slip under my dress.
Higher.
Closer.
Almost.
My legs are shaking from anticipation.
I'm about to let a near stranger get me off in a crowded club.
I'm out of my mind.
But I don't care.
I kiss him harder.
His fingers brush against my clit. His touch is soft. A tease. He does it again.
Again.
Pleasure floods my pelvis.
My stomach.
My thighs.
I have to clutch at his t-shirt to stay upright.
He drags his lips to my ear. "You're still nervous," he whispers.
I nod. I am still nervous. "Maybe I should have another drink."
He shakes his head. "After you come on my hand."
His voice is matter of fact, like he's talking about the weather.
Somehow, it's making a lot of sense.
I look up at him. "After I come on your hand."
He leans down to kiss me hard.
Then his fingers are slipping inside me. His thumb is circling my clit.
And I feel so good I can barely stand.
It takes every bit of attention I have to keep my body upright.
To keep from screaming loud enough to alert security.
Everything blurs together—the loud remix, the chatter behind us, his touch, his kiss, the movements of our hips—into this mix of music and pleasure.
My entire world is music and pleasure.
And that buzz of intoxication.
I press my body against his as he works me. Pleasure builds to a crescendo, then I'm there, groaning into his mouth as I come on his hand.
Fuck.
That feels so good.
He drags his lips to my ear as he pulls his hand away. "Next time you're screaming my name as you come."
3
Bella
Six hours later…
My eyelids flutter open.
The room is lit only by the neon of Las Vegas Boulevard.
Not a room. A suite.
But I don't give a fuck about anything but the bed.
About anything but my flesh against Joel's.
His body is on top of mine.
His cock is driving into me.
I look up at him, staring into his green eyes. He smiles. Not the smile of a one-night stand, but more.
This intimacy.
This connection.
My heartbeat picks up.
My stomach flutters.
I rake my nails across his back.
My left hand is heavy. Something catches on his skin. Some memory knocks at my consciousness.
Pleasure pushes it away.
Fuck, that's intense.
I'm not sure I can take more.
I rock my hips against his.
And I groan. "Fuck, Joel. Joel. Joel…"
4
Bella
The next morning…
My head pounds.
No. It screams.
It screams go back to bed.
My bladder offers a counter. Time to pee. Now.
My eyes blink open then immediately close.
It's too bright in here.
Even in December, the desert sun is luminous enough to make the room this blinding shade of white.
I barely manage to push myself up. My hand plants behind me for stability. There. It gets the soft cotton of the sheets.
Again, I try to pry my eyelids apart.
It's still too bright.
I stumble to the bathroom. Thankfully, I know my way around the room. Joel's room.
We certainly experienced every inch of this room.
I manage to open my eyes for long enough to find the toilet.
Ah.
Sweet bladder relief.
My head is aching, my mouth is dry, my stomach is doing somersaults. But my bladder is empty.
I wipe, flush, and stumble to the sink. There. The water turns on. Only it's cold. I reach for the other faucet and turn it until the temperature is just right.
The soap is somewhere. There. I pump it into my palm then rub my hands together.
Only…
No.
It's familiar, but I thought… that was a dream.
Wasn't it?
There's no way.
I rub my palms together. I rinse. I try to ignore the protrusion on my left ring finger. It's hard. Cold. Metal and stone. Rock. Ice. Bling.
Whatever it's called, it's huge.
But if I keep my eyes closed…
If I don't look…
Maybe I'm still dreaming.
I rinse my hands and turn the water off.
Deep breath.
I'm going to pinch myself, and I'm going to wake up for real. I bring my right index finger and thumb to my left forearm, above all the scars.
/>
I'm not supposed to do this, but I don't care.
I dig my nails into my skin.
The pain calls my senses. I am awake. My eyes burst open. They catch my reflection then work their way down my naked body—everything is in the right place, as far as I can tell without my glasses—to my left hand.
It's there, on my left ring finger, a massive rock.
It's huge.
Two carats. Maybe three.
That's a platinum band.
A Tiffany setting.
A platinum wedding band beneath it.
Memories try to fight their way to the front of my mind, but the headache makes it too hard to focus. Joel and I met at the club. We flirted. We danced. He got me off.
We had more drinks.
We went somewhere…
We got back here…
We fucked.
Everything between the somewhere and the fuck is fuzzy.
Did we really get married?
There's no way… I… I know I was drunk, but there's not enough gin in the world to get me to do something that ridiculous.
I take another deep breath. It doesn't help. It only adds to the nausea climbing up my throat.
Maybe this is a joke I can't remember.
Maybe I've got everything mixed up.
I brush my teeth with one of the disposable toothbrushes in the hotel toiletries kit then I force myself to step into the main room.
Joel is sitting on the edge of the bed, his shaggy hair hanging in front of his eyes. But that's about all I can see without my glasses. Only. I think he's holding my glasses? Maybe.
"You look cute when you squint." He motions come here.
I think. It's hard to say. My uncorrected vision is terrible.
Slowly, I plant one foot in front of the other. I sit next to him.
He slides my glasses onto my face. His fingers skim my temples then they comb through my messy hair.
His grey-green eyes fix on mine.
He looks happy.
Tired, but happy.
I force myself to keep my gaze on his eyes.
I can't look.
Not yet.
My inhale is shallow. My exhale is forced.
Joel's expression is soft.
Happy.
He looks really fucking happy.
He pulls my body into his and presses his palm against the space between my shoulder blades.
He rubs my back with his hand.
His right hand.
His left arm is there, by his chest.
Dangerous Rock: A Rock Star Romance (Dangerous Noise Book 3) Page 2