Their Vegas Gamble
Tracy Lorraine
Contents
His Manhattan
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Her Kensington
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Tracy Lorraine
Hate You
Hate You
Hate You
His Manhattan
The amazing authors on this project with me.
1
Harrison
“Tell me again why you’re here,” I say, looking over at my brother as he knocks back what must be his forth whiskey.
He glances over at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Vegas, baby!”
I groan, and focus my attention out the tiny window. Blue sky stretches out as far as I can see. It gives me a sense of calmness Zack is trying his best to ruin.
This was meant to be a simple business trip. I’ve got clients to meet and auctions to attend, but now I find myself a babysitter to my completely irresponsible, younger brother.
I could kill our dad for letting slip that I was heading to Las Vegas. I’m not going to party it up, blow a fortune on the tables, and find as many willing women as possible…which is exactly Zack’s sole purpose for joining me.
Mum’s words ring in my ears as I hear him order another whiskey from the flight attendant.
“It’ll be good for you to spend time together,” she says softly as she looks into my concerned eyes. “It might help level him out a little if he sees you in action.”
She’s full of positivity. I’ve no idea how she’s kept it up all these years. Zack is one big fuck up.
His blatant flirting with the attendant drags me from my thoughts.
“So, Paula,” he says, as he leans forward to read her badge. “Tell me about the mile high club.”
If she’s shocked by the question, she doesn’t show it. I guess she’s experienced much worse than my idiotic brother on these flights.
“Shut up,” I snap. We’re only two hours in to our flight from London, and I’m already sick of the sight of him.
“You need to lighten up, bro,” he says, turning to me once Paula’s escaped.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“No you’re fucking not. You’re just a younger, even more boring version of our father, and that’s really saying something.”
I grind my teeth to stop myself responding.
“You’re going to Vegas for business,” he says, air quoting the last word. “No single guy under the age of seventy goes to Vegas just for business. You need to get a fucking grip.”
I remain silent as I try not to add fuel to his fire. According to Zack, finishing school, taking over the family business, and living somewhat of a quiet life is absurd.
“Seriously, you might as well buy yourself a pair of plaid slippers and attach a pair of elbow patches to that suit and be done with it,” he says, eyeing my tweed jacket.
“You’re a dick,” I mutter, turning away from him. To think I was excited to find out I was going to be a big brother when I was seven. He’s been a pain in the arse from the day he was fucking born.
Thankfully, the copious amounts of whiskey eventually send him to sleep, leaving me in peace to get some work done. What I said earlier was true: I like my life, and I love my job. There was never any question about me joining the family business. I’ve been obsessed with antiques since I was a little boy. My grandad used to take me to auctions and teach me about the history behind the pieces. I’d soak it all up while other boys my ages kicked a ball about. It’s safe to say I was different, but I didn’t care. I’d spent my teen years researching, buying and selling to build up my own collection, while others were out partying and getting drunk. Zack was—still is—like that, which is just one of the many differences between us.
Until he turned up at our parents’ a few days ago, we hadn’t seen him in weeks. I’ve no clue where he disappears off to or what he does, but he always seems to turn up eventually.
It’s late when we land at McCarran International, and the only thing I want to do is get to my room and crash. The first auction is tomorrow, and I’d prefer not to be jet lagged for it, if possible.
The glamorous receptionist looks up when I step in front of her desk. Her eyes assess me before she finds Zack over my shoulder. I’m used to it; he’s got that bad boy look going on, which gets him all the girls.
Fuck knows why; he’s a wanker.
We’re polar opposites, him with blonde, shaggy long hair and blue eyes, and me with our parents’ dark features and tanned skin.
“I’ve got a room booked under Abbot. I also need to add another,” I say reluctantly.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Abbot, we don’t have any rooms left. I can offer you a two-bedroom suite instead.” I glance at Zack and don’t miss his delight.
“Fine.” I already know I’m going to regret it. I should send him to another hotel far away from me.
“Holy fuck, Harrison, this is sweet!” Zack announces once he’s had a whistle stop tour of our home for the next few days.
He’s right—it’s impressive, but unfortunately his presence puts a dampener on everything about this trip.
He grabs the welcome pack and starts flicking through. “What’re we doing then? Hit the casino? A club? Oh, look, they have a Cocktail bar, I bet that’s full of hot as fuck waitresses.”
“I’m going to bed.”
“Fuck that, Harry, you fucking pussy. We’re in Las Vegas; if you can let your hair down anywhere, it’s here.”
“I’m good, thanks. I’ve got plans for tomorrow.”
“How are we fucking related?”
“Fucked if I know,” I grunt as I turn my back to him. I’ve often wondered if he’s the milkman’s, because he’s nothing like me—or our parents.
I hear him banging around while I hang up my suits, fold the rest of my clothes in the drawers at the end of the bed, and arrange all my toiletries in the adjoining bathroom, but it’s not long before I hear his footsteps getting closer.
I don’t look up, but I can feel his eyes burning into my back. “You do know you’re only here for a few days, right? You’re not moving in.” I turn back and see him gazing down at my empty suitcase, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“I’m aware.”
“You ready?”
“I already said I’m not going.”
“We’re in fucking Vegas,” he repeats, like I’ve already forgotten the long arse flight, or the fact that I can see the bright lights of the strip from the window. “We’re going to that cocktail bar. I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“You’re a pain the arse.”
“I know, and you’re fucking boring. You’re thirty-two, not seventy-five.”
“Thanks for the maths lesson,” I seethe. I don’t need my irresponsible little brother criticizing me on my life choices—especially when his own could do with some work.
We stare at each other. A smirk plays on Zack’s lips. He’s got a plan; I will him to disappear.
“Go on your own, you don’t need me any other day of the week.” I zip up my suitcase and place it on the stand out of the way.
“Come on, Harry. Mum wanted us to spend sometime together. She thinks it’ll be good for me,” he pouts.
I narrow my eyes at him, irritated that he’s using her words against me.
“One drink.”
“One drink,” he confirms, but it’s anything but sincere. I regret my decision instantly.
“Have you got to wear that farmer’s jacket?” Zack asks as we descend to the first floor.
“It’s not a fucking farmer jacket. It’s Armani.”
“It’s shit, is what it is.”
I shake my head and follow behind him.
It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust from the bright artificial light out in the hotel reception to the darkened atmosphere inside the Little Black Dress Bar. The slow beats of the music filter through me as the scent of expensive perfume mixed with equally pricey liquor hits me. There are booths and tables littered around, and customers who are dressed up to the nines, sipping on fancy drinks, enjoying their time in the city of sin.
“Oh, fuck, yes! That’s what I’m talking about.” Zack says ahead of me. It clearly meets his approval.
I take one step to follow him towards the bar when something—or someone—crashes into my side. I turn and reach out, but it’s too late. She goes tumbling to the ground, followed by her tray. Glass shatters on the almost mirrored tiled floor beneath us, and scatters in every direction.
“Fuck, are you okay? I ask, bending down and lifting the tray from her stomach.
“Yeah, I—” her words are cut off when she looks up at me. Fuck, she’s beautiful, and her eyes are mesmerising. They’re so light blue, they’re almost silver.
Our eyes stay connected as I reach out to help her up.
“Oh, shit. Don’t move,” another of the waitresses says when she comes rushing over with a dustpan and brush.
The waitress I’m still staring at goes to step forward once she’s on her feet, but changes her mind at the last minute when she sees some glass beneath her foot. She stumbles once again. I steady her with my hands on her tiny waist and her breasts gently brush my chest. I suck in a sharp breath at the contact, and my pulse starts racing. She slowly lifts her head and it feels like I’m slapped around the face once again when her eyes land on mine. My hands tremble with need as I continue holding her to me.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers and looks away, her cheeks flushing red.
“At least get a drink down your neck before you start molesting the waitresses,” Zack says, but his eyes remain glued to the arse of the one bent down, sweeping up the mess left behind.
Hearing another voice drags my waitress’ attention away from wherever she’d drifted off to, and she instantly jumps away from me as if she’d been burned. She drops to the floor and starts picking up the larger shards of glass.
“You don’t need to help,” she says when she notices I’ve lowered myself down beside her.
After walking to the bar and waiting a few minutes, I watch as my waitress walks over and heads in our direction.
“What can I get for you both?” she asks, her voice quiet as she keeps her eyes on the polished bar between us.
Unfortunately for her, Zack sees her vulnerability immediately. He looks her up and down, and a small smirk appears on his face.
“A blowjob would sort me right out,” he says with a wink.
Her chin drops and her face flushes bright red as she stares at him. I take the opportunity to look over her properly. Her golden blonde hair is pulled back into a smooth ponytail. Her make up is perfect, red lips emphasising her flawless milky skin. I continue down her long, slim neck and take in each and every curve covered by a tight little black dress.
“Don’t be a dick,” I mutter, although what I really want to do is punch him.
“What? It’s a cocktail bar; you do blowjobs, right?” he asks, turning back to the girl.
I focus my stare on the colourful bottles lined up behind the bar as embarrassment flows through me. One look at the shy, sexy waitress, and as soon as Zack mentions something slightly sexual my brain is straight in the gutter.
“Uh…yeah,” she says as she fiddles with her necklace nervously.
“We’ll have two then, please.”
“Actually, I’ll just have a sparkling water.”
“I’m sorry, please ignore my brother. He’s going through somewhat of a dry spell; it makes him a little cranky,” he says to the waitress. Her blush extends down her neck. “A fucking sparkling water?” he asks, turning to me.
I don’t return his attention. I’m too enthralled by the shy waitress in front of me. She seems horrified by Zack. It’s understandable; he’s a prick—but I’d have thought a cocktail waitress would be used to his kind of idiocy.
“I’m sorry about him. I’ll have a gin and tonic, and whatever you’re having,” I offer in apology.
“Oh…no, we can’t…”
“She’ll have a manhattan,” the other waitress calls as she saunters over.
“No, really…I shouldn’t.”
“Be wild, Sum. Max isn’t here,” she encourages.
“You’ll have one with us, won’t you?” Zack asks the other waitress, shamelessly staring at her tits once again.
“I’ll have a screaming orgasm,” she says with a wink. “Scarlett.” He takes her offered hand and kisses her knuckles like the gentleman he most definitely isn’t. “And this is Summer,” she adds.
“I’m Zack, and this pussy here is my brother, Harrison.”
They walk off to sort out the drinks, and Zack turns to me. “See, I told you this was a good idea. They’re fucking smoking. And that shy one,” he says, biting down on his knuckle just to prove his point. “What I could do with that…”
The thought of Zack putting his hands on someone so pure and beautiful sends a wave of disgust through me. I grit my teeth to stop me from saying anything.
“I’m sorry. It’s best to just ignore him,” I say when Summer returns with a tray of our drinks. Her hand trembles as she places the glass in front of me.
“Hey,” Zack complains, but soon gets distracted by his blowjob.
I’m reluctant to leave when Zack announces he wants to go and try his luck on the slots, but I finish my drink and follow him out, knowing I can’t just sit here and watch her all night.
The look on her face as she watched me leave haunts me all the way back up to the suite. Zack tried to convince me to join him, but I think he realised he’d pushed his luck with getting me into that bar. Although, I have to admit, I’m glad he did.
I’ve had a semi since having my hands on her, so as I stand under the torrent of the waterfall shower in my en suite, I’m not surprised when my hand wraps around my cock and slowly works it up and down as I think about how her little waist felt beneath my hands. In only a few minutes I feel my balls start to draw up as the tingles of my impending orgasm erupt. I cum on to the tiles below with the image of her beautiful face in my head.
I’m still frustrated as fuck as I lie in bed with the sheets draped over my waist. I tell myself that it’s the jet lag. It’s only early evening in London; on most days, I’d still have hours of work ahead of me. I wouldn’t even consider attempting to fall asleep. But I know that’s not the reason for my sudden bolt of insomnia.
It’s her.
Summer.
The manhattan cocktail waitress with the incredible eyes and the flushed pink cheeks.
Fuck if the thought of her shy, innocent face doesn’t make my cock stir back to life. I’ve always had a thing for the quiet ones. I love being able to bring them out of themselves and see what’s hiding behind their façade. My balls ache with the need of another release, but my hand’s not going to cut it.
I’d been coping okay with my recent lack of female attention, but one look at her and my balls are bluer than I can ever remember them being. I’m lying here like a teenage fucking boy dying for my first touch of a girl.
I sit up with a growl, the frustration getting the better of me. I don’t put any thought into my actions as I begin pulling the suit back on that I’d only just hung back into the
wardrobe. If I allow myself to think, I’ll realise this isn’t the right thing to do. My head knows I shouldn’t be going back down there for her. She isn’t the kind to accept a proposition of one hot night, I’d put everything I own on that. But that doesn’t seem to matter; my cock is in charge of my actions right now, not my head.
Running some wax through my hair, I quickly wash my hands before leaving the safety of our suite.
As the lift doors slowly close so I can head towards where she is, my heart starts to pound. I’m not sure why I’m so worried about this not being her kind of thing, because it’s not like it’s mine. I’ve never propositioned a woman before in my life, and until recently, I didn’t think I’d ever have to.
I watch as the numbers descend and my palms start to sweat at the thought of having my hands on her again, of being able to look into those eyes while I make her moan my name.
Fuck. I reach down and rub myself through the fabric of my trousers.
I can see her as vividly as if she were in front of me, and as the lift dings to say I’ve arrived, my heart jumps into my throat as adrenaline races through me.
I keep my eyes down as the doors open, focusing on where I’m going. A shadow appears at the entrance to the lift and my mouth goes dry as I decide it’s her. That she knew I was coming for her.
That’s all shot to shit when I do look up and find none other than a very amused looking Zack staring back at me with his hands in his pockets. The smirk on his face tells me he knows exactly what I’m doing out of our suite. I panic as I stumble back to allow him to join me.
Their Vegas Gamble Page 1