Opening her eyes, she caught a glimpse of the bare lightbulb above her, another of her pointed nipples below, glistening from his ministrations—and felt like someone else. Until she met his gaze, her arms resting around his neck, and then she felt like no one but herself, living out the naughtiest of fantasies—naughtier, in fact, than any she’d ever even had. “Oh God,” she breathed.
“Good?” he asked, those sexy brown eyes still filled with saturating heat.
“Mmm,” she sighed with one slow, well-pleasured nod. “Now…fuck me some more. Fuck me ’til you come.” Brenna hadn’t been herself since arriving in Sin City, and she saw no reason to change that now.
With their gazes still locked, he tightened his grasp on her bottom, his fingers digging in slightly. Then, teeth clenched, he drove into her—once, twice, again, again—slow, hard thrusts that reached her very core. Her body jolted with each, her breasts jiggling. At moments, her head dropped back, her eyes shutting, but when she opened them again, Damon’s gaze always met hers, and such stark intimacy enhanced every sensation. And it was only when he said, “God, God—now,” that his eyes fell shut in ecstasy.
Brenna watched the climax take him, transform him, watched the pleasure and pain steal over his expression, and almost thought she could come again from the severe joy of having delivered him there.
But it was when he opened his eyes and she knew the sex was over that she began to feel just as she had upon coming into the club tonight—a little adrift, unsure. “Good?” she asked, as he’d asked her.
“Perfect.”
And then…nothing. She had no idea what to say, how things would be now.
Gently, he pulled out of her, leaving her to stand on her own. God, her legs were wobbly. And her body suddenly empty. Struggling to stay on her feet, she instinctively reached to put her bra back in place.
“Shit,” he said, then, “Sorry.”
She balked slightly. “Sorry?”
“It’s a bad idea to fuck someone you work with.”
“Oh. Yeah. I had the same thought.” She buttoned her blouse, watching as he removed his condom to drop it in an empty wastebasket resting conveniently on the floor behind him.
This was starting to feel a little surreal. She’d just done it with Damon Andros.
But no, wait—it had already felt surreal. This was more than that. Unreal. Dizzying.
“Although,” she added, thinking aloud, “it’s not as if this is the first time you’ve had sex with someone you worked with.” Singers, she meant.
A small, cynical smile took him. “All completely consensual, without contract promises, by the way.”
“I believe you,” she said softly. And she did. She couldn’t imagine Damon would have to make promises to get any woman into bed.
“And…a habit I was trying to break.”
She bit her lip. “Then what went wrong?”
He zipped his pants, met her gaze. “You’re too damn hot.”
It probably indicated some flaw in her character that, even as she stood totally absorbed by this man and what she’d just done with him, she could also mentally step back and take wild pleasure in the fact that the Damon Andros truly thought she was too hot. But as a girl who’d always felt very middle-of-the-road and pretty-on-her-good-days, it thrilled Brenna to the tips of her toes to feel, for once in her life, as if she was truly that attractive and exciting.
“Maybe we should call it a night,” he suggested.
“What about the band?”
“What’s your take? If you were here without me, would you be prepared to offer a contract?”
She didn’t hesitate to nod. “Yes.”
“Good. Because that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. On the way out, we’ll introduce ourselves and set up a meeting.” He grabbed the doorknob, but stopped to look back. “Ready?”
She gave herself a quick once-over and realized her panties lay looped around the ankle of one boot. “Except for those.”
A fresh sultriness invaded his gaze as he stooped to remove them, dropping them in the waste basket, and before rising, he peered up her skirt to murmur, “Mmm—nice, babe.”
It was enough to get her hot all over again, that fast.
So when he reached back for the doorknob a few seconds later, she closed her hand around his wrist, wondering aloud, “Damon, about what just happened…”
“Yeah?”
“Since we both agree it was a mistake, does that mean…”
“That we won’t do it again?” He gave his head a sexy tilt and flashed those bedroom eyes. “Look, babe—we could say we won’t, and torture ourselves the next few days. But you know what they say.”
“What’s that?”
“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” He concluded with a seductive wink.
“Oh,” she said, her voice a little too soft.
Kelly had said the exact same thing when they’d discussed the then-impossible-seeming notion of Brenna having sex with Damon. And so he was saying he wanted to fool around with her while they were here, but forget it had happened once they returned to L.A. And maybe something about that would have offended old Brenna, but in new Brenna’s world, it seemed like a perfectly acceptable idea as still more of Kelly’s words came back to her. No fuss, no muss, no long or messy attachment.
Of course, the truth was that it would probably be impossible for her to work with him on a long-term basis after this. Because every time she looked at him, she’d remember fucking him. And she’d want to do it again.
But she probably didn’t have to worry about that. Because he was probably going to be losing his job.
A thought that made her stomach churn for a whole different reason—her deception.
Yet she simply couldn’t think about that now. There was no good answer or solution, so what was the point? She had no intention of letting Jenkins’ underhanded ways ruin the best sex of her life with the hottest guy she’d ever encountered.
And given her precarious situation, enjoying this now and cutting it off at week’s end sounded…well, like the perfect plan.
Five
Damon led Brenna up the hall, hand in hand, as Blush’s lead singer’s smoky voice resonated over the club’s loudspeakers. “We’re gonna take a little break, but don’t go anywhere ’cause we’re just gettin’ started.” He headed toward the stage, wanting to intercept the band and get out of there.
Damn, Brenna had gotten him hot, fast. So much for not fucking the girl he was training. Hell, he guessed that was just the kind of guy he was—he thought life was too short not to indulge in pleasure so long as it didn’t hurt anybody. And even if this seemed like a bad idea, maybe it wasn’t. Since she wasn’t a potential Blue Night artist, surely no harm would come to him or anyone else if they had some dirty fun together.
Fortunately, he came face-to-face with the Blush singer as she descended the few steps at the side of the stage. He held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Damon Andros of Blue Night Records.”
The saucy blonde, so slick and cool up to now, suddenly looked like she would faint, her eyes widening and jaw dropping. “Oh God. You are.”
“This is my associate, Brenna Cayton, and we’ve been enjoying the show tonight.” So much that we just did each other in a closet.
Damon knew the mood the band set was only part of what had drawn him to Brenna tonight, but he also couldn’t deny that Blush’s particular style of entertainment had pushed their mutual attraction along at a breakneck pace.
As the singer, Candy Lark, introduced herself and the rest of the band, Damon watched all the girls’ eyes light up, then wasted no time telling them he wanted to sign them. A few of the band members jumped up and down, squealing their excitement, while Candy Lark did her best to act professional and thank him for coming to see them. Passing her a business card on which he’d already written his room number at the Venetian, he set up a breakfast meeting the next morning in the suite.
He still loved that part of
the job—giving someone a chance to make their dreams come true. He’d been trained—and he had to train Brenna, as well—to remember this was a business, about money and profits, but he thought it was important to keep your heart in the job, too.
Five minutes later, he slid into a cab next to Brenna, glad to be alone with her again, although he wasn’t sure why. Granted, there’d been no time for pillow talk after their frantic coupling, but he wasn’t especially a pillow talk sort of guy. Maybe it was the sexy little smile she wore in the dark confines of the taxi that made him enjoy just being with her.
“Why the smile?” he asked as the cab sped away from Fetish. “Excited about offering the contract?”
She bit her lip and looked cute as hell, even in the shadowy light, and kept her answer low so it would be just between the two of them. “Oh, that was fun, but the truth is…I’m just thinking about the fact that I’m not wearing panties.”
His groin tightened, and he couldn’t hold in a small grin. “You smile when you’re not wearing panties?”
“I’ve never not worn them before,” she confided.
It surprised him a little. Because she’d seemed so carefree about the whole thing. And despite their discussion last night about keeping sex private, tonight she’d seemed like a girl who…well, who might have done it in a closet once or twice before. “Ever?” he asked.
“Ever.”
He tilted his head, still trying to get to the bottom of what he now knew was a naughty smile. “And…?”
She weighed her answer, looking strangely young and girlish and pleased with herself. “It makes me feel…wild. Sexy. Free.”
Damn, there it was—that genuine part of her again. That part of her so real he could almost taste it. And he liked it. A lot. In all his thirty-five years, many of them spent enjoying women, he wasn’t sure he’d ever met anyone quite like her.
Without planning it, he leaned over in the cab to kiss her. “Stay in my room tonight,” he said low in her ear.
Pulling back to look at him, she cast a playful smile. “I have to warn you, that drink—on top of the wine I had with dinner—knocked me for a loop. I might fall fast asleep.”
“That’s okay. As long as you’re naked.”
Six
Brenna lay in his bed, eyes falling shut. He stood over her, smiling. She’d been serious about that drink knocking her out.
“Are you awake?”
“Mmm,” she murmured.
“Do you want to sleep in your clothes?” When she didn’t answer, he added, “Or do you want me to undress you?”
“Mmm-hmm, that.”
Damon much preferred undressing women who were awake and enjoying it, but having her sleep naked next to him still sounded good, and he’d undressed enough women that this wouldn’t be a challenge.
He started with her boots, unzipping and slipping them off to reveal thin black knee socks underneath, the same as a Catholic schoolgirl might wear. The contrast between the socks and the rest of her outfit brought a smile to his lips. She was no schoolgirl, but even after what they’d shared in the closet, he sensed a certain innocence about her that drew him.
Dropping the boots gently to the carpet at the foot of the king-size bed, he next moved up to her blouse, reaching for the buttons between her breasts and proceeding downward. He’d barely had a chance to notice the sexy bra underneath—he’d seen it through the animal print and caught a glimpse when he was inside her, but now he took in the scalloped edges of the low-cut cups and the way they pushed her breasts upward, creating firm, round mounds.
Shit. He wanted to kiss them, massage them.
But she was asleep, or close enough to it, so all he could do was look—and suffer the hard-on growing behind his zipper.
Removing her blouse required her help. “Come on, babe, raise up for me,” he whispered as he eased one arm beneath her. Letting out a slightly grumpy-sounding moan, she cooperated, and he soon got the blouse off. And, easing both his hands behind her back, he deftly unhooked the bra and removed it, as well.
Of course, then he had to look at her tits—because he couldn’t undress a woman and not look at her tits.
Not quite as firm-looking without the bra, but still beautiful, ample, her pink nipples taut and elongated. Damn, he wanted to suck them, like he had in the closet. But he wanted to do everything slower this time, explore all these soft curves, her smooth, pale stomach, her silky shoulders, the length of her neck. He got harder with the wanting, especially when his gaze returned to her breasts. C-cups, he’d guess—then he remembered he held her bra in his hand. He checked the tag and, sure enough, found a 34C printed there.
She wore a sexy black beaded choker and long beaded earrings, but he decided to leave those on—out of pure selfishness. He liked the way she looked, mostly undressed but still wearing jewelry.
Laying her blouse and bra over the upholstered bench at the end of the bed, he returned for the last piece of clothing she wore. She was a study in erotic beauty, lying bare but for her skirt, her arms now flung sensually up over her head, that choker circling her slender neck, but he’d have been lying to himself if he denied not wanting to see her completely nude—even if she was asleep.
Gently, he eased the side zipper down, loosening the leather around her hips. “Lift up, honey,” he urged, tugging gently downward on the fabric until her ass rose slightly.
He pulled the skirt to her knees and lower, soon dropping it on the bench, as well—all the while studying her pretty pussy. Shrouded with dark curls, he could still see her slit drawing a line down the center.
The beast in him wanted to spread her legs, watch her open, see the pink flesh where he had been not long ago.
Yet even he had his limits. He didn’t bribe singers to have sex with him, and he didn’t manipulate a woman who was asleep.
But he still thought about it—about parting her thighs, studying her cunt, about licking her, tasting her sweet juices—and had a feeling he was going to be awake for a while, fighting a raging erection.
Why the hell was he so turned on? He’d come less than an hour ago. And the sight of a naked woman in his bed wasn’t exactly unusual.
She trusts you.
The words came out of nowhere, like an answer to his question. He barely knew Brenna, yet along with her genuineness, he felt a certain trust in her openness. A feeling now that maybe she hadn’t ever fucked a guy in a closet before. After all, even suggestive billboards made her uncomfortable. So maybe what she’d been tonight, with him, she’d never been before.
And now, she’d trusted him to undress her and put her to bed. Of course, she was drunk—but still, when he’d offered to take her clothes off and she’d accepted, a sexily-content little smile had played about her lips, almost as if they had known each other for years.
Damon had never been with a woman for years, so he didn’t often feel that sort of blind, open trust.
But wait, that was wrong. Once he had been with a girl for a long while, when he was young, still living in New York, trying to find his way in life. And she’d been sweet and pretty—and trusting, too—and he’d broken her heart.
He came from a family of people who were satisfied with average lives. His father had just retired after forty years as a Brooklyn insurance salesman. His mother had been a housewife, the kind who’d worn pearls and dresses every day when he was little, a holdover from a different era. His oldest sister taught school, another sister managed a Manhattan pet shop, and the last sister was a stay-at-home mom. Nothing wrong with any of that, but he’d known early on that such a simple, settled life held little appeal for him. And two weeks before his wedding to Angie, a good Greek girl from the neighborhood whom he’d dated from high school on, he’d gotten a job offer in L.A. and flown the coop.
His guilt hadn’t outweighed the sense of freedom he’d felt stepping onto that airplane, leaving his existence in Brooklyn behind. And ever since, he’d known he just wasn’t the settling-down type. He wouldn
’t have a wife, or kids—or a dog or a minivan or a picket fence. It had been hard for his parents to accept, but as years had passed, they’d finally made peace with it, come to understand that he was different from the rest of the Andros family, that he wanted a different sort of life.
And he’d always been happy with that life, where all the key elements meshed so well. Work and parties. Music and sex. He lived and breathed them.
And he was happy. Satisfied. A bone-deep satisfaction he couldn’t have found at home, married to Angie.
But it had been a damn long time since he’d been around a woman who seemed so guileless and real as Brenna did. She seemed like a contradiction. One minute begging him to fuck her, the next sheepishly confiding that she’d never gone without panties before.
And then there was that trust he’d just sensed from her, as tangible as the clothes he’d just removed from her body.
Strangely, for perhaps the first real time since he’d hit the L.A. music scene and come to understand how ruthless the entertainment business could be, it kind of made him want to trust her, too.
THE THIRD NIGHT
“…to sin in secret is no sin at all.”
—Molière
One
Brenna’s first realization when she woke up was that she lay naked, a sheet pulled to her waist. She never slept naked, so it was a shock. And she didn’t exactly remember getting naked, either. Damn drink.
But then she turned her head and saw the gorgeous man whose head rested on the pillow next to hers, and she remembered. It hadn’t been a dream. Her second realization? She’d really had sex in a closet with Damon Andros.
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