Blackout: A Romance Anthology

by Stephanie St. Klaire

  Beckett had called me a free bird.

  Maybe this was my time to soar.

  “Guests staying at this hotel—the Steven Tyler—floors thirty-one to forty, please make your way to the front. And remember to have your room keys in hand,” Frankie called out, not bothering to hush the crowd before making his announcement. It seemed he was already annoyed, and he’d only made it through ten floors.

  “Has Steven Tyler ever been to this hotel?” he asked, peering off into the distance as if his question held depth or was somehow philosophical.

  His ability to permanently plaster a smile on my face amazed me. “I know he was here a lot after it opened. But I’m not sure when he last popped in. I heard he comes regularly for productivity meetings, but if that’s true, then he manages to successfully come and go without being seen. And let’s be real…Steven Tyler isn’t someone who can go unnoticed very easily.”

  He continued to stare into space while nodding, as though mulling over my response. “I’m sure you guys get your fair share of celebrities, though; right?”

  “Sure. Vegas in general does. They come for the big fights or shows. But other than that, when they come to town, it’s rarely announced—unless it’s a promotional stunt. The few I’ve met were more interested in a quiet vacation than being bombarded with cameras in their faces.”

  Finally, he looked my way, and like before, when he spoke, his expression was etched into his words, carried out by his playful tone. “Quiet vacation? In Las Vegas? Did they get off on the wrong stop?”

  “No.” I allowed the amusement of his confusion to roll through me. “But think about it—there are so many people here, it’s hard to recognize faces in the crowds. It’s easy to blend in, providing you aren’t traveling with your posse in tow. That’s what they’re looking for. I’m sure if they wanted actual quiet, they’d rent out an entire beach on a secluded island or something.”

  “Well, if they didn’t want to be recognized, how did you know who they were?”

  “I was in an elevator once with Vin Diesel. He had on a heavy coat and wore glasses. If he hadn’t asked me what floor I was going to, I might not have realized it was him. Another time, I was at the Tory Burch store in The Venetian, and Reese Witherspoon and I both reached for the same pair of sandals. Her smile gave her away.”

  “And what exactly did you say to them to find out they wanted privacy?”

  As embarrassing at it was, I snorted. “Well, I didn’t say anything to Vin Diesel, other than what floor to press and the general niceties you share with others on elevators. You know…the how are you and are you enjoying Vegas type of conversational pieces. He didn’t need to tell me he was there for privacy; that was obvious in his attire and the lack of people he had with him. Now, with Reese, I did mention that Sweet Home Alabama is one of my favorite movies, just to break the ice. She thanked me and then offered the sandal we both reached for.”

  Meeting Reese Witherspoon would forever be the best and worst day of my life.

  “Turns out, we wear the same size shoe. I know this, because I ended up buying the black patent leather sandal, while she went with the faux snakeskin. If you can’t remember that part of the story, at least keep in mind that neither look anything alike. After checking out, I took my bag to a bench right outside the store, took off the heels that were killing my feet, and slipped on the most comfortable pair of shoes I’d ever worn. I went to a few more shops before someone stopped me on my way out. I had half a piece of pizza shoved into my mouth when Reese Witherspoon informed me that I had taken off with her shoes. She had mine—still in the bag, not worn.”

  Beckett rolled to his side, his arm slung over his waist as he howled in laughter.

  “It wasn’t that funny.”

  “That’s got to be the best thing I’ve ever heard, Jen.” He laughed some more, the decibel tapering off just in time for the next announcement to be heard.

  “Floors twenty-one through thirty.” Yup, Frankie was fed up with this group.

  I didn’t blame him, and I hadn’t dealt with a single one of them.

  “Right, chick. That’s me.” We both pushed off the sofa at the same time, and when he shifted his stance to face me, he gently held my elbow and added, “Thank you for making my wait worth it. I hope you get out of here soon and make it home safely.”

  His lips brushed my cheek in the faintest kiss I’d ever received. Yet somehow, it was powerful enough to snap my resolve like a rubber band. I quickly grabbed the strap to my bag, slung it over my shoulder, and hurried to catch up to Beckett before I lost him in the crowd.

  How I made it off the stage and to his side without tripping and falling was a mystery. Or a miracle, depending on how you look at it. I preferred “impressive talent,” but I doubted many would agree.

  Coming up to his side, I slipped my hand in his, linking our fingers as he craned his neck my way, startled by my touch. Rather than answer the question that I knew hung from his tongue, I shrugged and said, “No hanky panky.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Beckett

  Part of me really wanted to laugh, but the other part was so shocked that Jen had decided to take me up on my offer that I couldn’t do much more than blink, concerned she was a figment of my imagination and would disappear at any second.

  She didn’t. Thank God.

  Once the shock wore off, I began to question what the hell I was thinking when I asked her to leave with me. Sure, taking a fit bird to my room for the night during a power outage was an opportunity one should never pass up without a legitimate reason. However, taking a fit bird to my room during a power outage after swearing to be a good boy and assuring her I wouldn’t touch her was a situation no one in their right mind would ever put themselves in.

  And there I was.

  Smack dab in the middle of said situation.

  My only hope was that I’d fall asleep quickly and she’d sneak out before I awoke.

  Yeah, good luck with that, Beck.

  If I could raise a middle finger to my thoughts without appearing insane, I would’ve right then. But I couldn’t, considering I’d somehow convinced Jen that I wasn’t a crazy person, and I wasn’t keen on the idea of making her change her mind this close to the door.

  “No worries, love. I promise, no funny business.” By saying that, I had to stick to it, which meant I’d be forced to take several long, cold showers throughout the night, or I’d be sleeping on the floor in the hall. Either way, after feeling her come on my fingers and then tasting her on my tongue, there was no way in hell I’d make it to morning without rubbing one out at least once.

  Fuck me and my generosity.

  I wondered how Jen would leave the club without anyone noticing. They had flashlights and were checking room keys with some handheld device. What information that afforded them, I had no clue, but apparently it was enough to validate reservations and room numbers, seeing as I’d witnessed one person being turned away already.

  By some small miracle, they let us pass without questioning Jen or trying to stop her from leaving. I could tell she had been just as nervous as I was by the way her hand relaxed the instant we made it through the doors, on our way to the stairwell.

  Surprisingly enough, there weren’t as many people as I had expected. It was possible there weren’t many guests in the club from the block of floors I was on. Or maybe the majority of them weren’t staying the Steven Tyler. Whatever the reason, it was nice to avoid being part of a herd while making my way down more than twenty flights of stairs with barely more than red exit lights to guide our path.

  Holding the handrail, I directed my attention to Jen and asked, “Is it true that hotels don’t have a thirteenth floor because it’s considered unlucky?”

  “Yeah, but not all hotels. And it’s not just the thirteenth floor.”

  That certainly piqued my interest. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the Rio skipped the fourth floor, as well as all the forties. The rooftop bar, obse
rvation deck, and the presidential suite are listed as the fifty-first and fifty-second floors, but really, they’re the fortieth and forty-first. The Wynn skips one through four, the thirteenth, as well as all the forties, like the Rio. So while it shows it has sixty-five floors, it really only has forty-five. Mandalay Bay skips the forties and the fifties. There are others, but you get the picture.”

  “That’s crazy.” It didn’t make sense why so many hotels would skip large chunks of numbers, unless their goal was to sound bigger than they actually were. Although, if people knew this, I doubted their inflated size would impress many.

  “Yeah, and it doesn’t stop there.” She continued down the steps, eyes ahead as she filled our time with fascinating facts about Vegas I doubted I would hear many other places. “Superstition is huge here, and they take it to a whole other level. Asian cultures, in particular, are really centered around numbers and the sounds of words and meanings. For example: they believe it’s bad luck to have bookshelves in your baccarat room, because the Chinese word for book sounds like word for lose. Because of this, the Mirage removed their bookshelves from their baccarat room.”

  “All because of a word?”

  “Yup. And MGM had to make improvements as well. The entrance to their casino used to be a six-story lion’s head, to which you had to walk into its open mouth to get inside. But that was believed to portray a sign of submission to a predator. It now has a massive bronze statue above the entryway.”

  I could get lost in listening to her speak of hidden Vegas secrets. She told them like they were campfire stories, urban legends that would get passed down through the generations. While she didn’t seem disinterested in the things she told me, she certainly didn’t seem as enthralled as I was. Granted, this was new information for me and likely old tour guide tales for her.

  “There are so many stories, some more fascinating than others, obviously.”

  “Tell me more.”

  The crimson glow from the door at the thirtieth floor caught her just right, revealing a smile that tugged one side of her lips higher. “Well, there’s the one about DI, even though it closed nearly twenty years ago.”

  “I don’t care. I want to hear it.” Anything to keep her talking for seven more floors.

  “Okay. So this really rich guy, Hughes something or another, had booked the top two floors of the Desert Inn, but he was there for so long and became such a pain in the ass to literally everyone, the owner of the hotel asked him to leave. I think he’d stayed past his reservation time, but I’m not sure. Anyway, instead of leaving, he bought the hotel and became the new owner.”

  If my jaw could’ve dropped to the floor, it would have.

  “Let’s see…” She hummed while taking step after step. “You’ve heard of FedEx, right? Well, rumor has it that in the seventies, the CEO took the company’s last five thousand dollars to Vegas and, at the blackjack tables, walked away with thirty grand. It was enough to save his company. Just think…without Vegas, we’d have no FedEx.”

  Feeling like I needed to share a bit of trivia, I asked, “Did you know caterpillars turn into butterflies?” At least I made that sound like a fascinating piece of secret knowledge, which earned me the sexiest giggle I’d ever heard.

  “I’ll have to look that one up when my phone works again. That seems too crazy to be true.” She stopped in front of a door, nearly causing me to run into the back of her. “Twenty-three, right?”

  “Right. That’s us.” Thank God she was paying attention, otherwise, we would’ve made it to the bottom floor without ever realizing it. I’d been too busy listening to her talk, not caring how many flights of stairs I’d descended in the process.

  I didn’t think about it until I got to the room, but I started to wonder how the key cards would work if the power was down. Holding my breath, I waved the piece of plastic in front of the handle, relieved and slightly surprised when the light blinked green and the lock disengaged.

  “Batter backup. Security feature,” she answered over my shoulder, making me wonder if I’d actually voiced my confusion. “The real question is…how long do those batteries last? Surely, Vegas can’t be without power for that long, can it?”

  I shrugged and opened the door wide, inviting her into the dark room with an outstretched hand. “Who knows. I guess it would all depend on why the power went out in the first place. And more importantly, is it only Vegas? Or could this be statewide? Countrywide? For fuck’s sake, it could be worldwide, and we’d never know. We don’t have any connection to the outside world.”

  Somehow, I succeeded in freaking myself out.

  Fortunately, there was one image that could calm me in an instant. And that was Jen, standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, nothing but a silhouette painted by faint moonlight in the night sky.

  “This is crazy,” she whispered, though it wasn’t clear if it was to herself or me, or maybe just a verbal thought. “The Strip has enough neon tubing to light up fifteen thousand miles, and it’s pitch-black. I never thought this was possible.”

  I moved to stand next to her with the intention of looking out the window. However, being this close to her, her shoulder grazing my bicep, there wasn’t anything more captivating than her, even if I couldn’t see her in her detail.

  And as quickly as I moved to be near her, I stepped away. I’d promised her I wouldn’t make a move or give her any reason to feel uncomfortable, so to rein in my desire, I decided to take a shower and pray I could fall asleep before she got in bed. Heaven forbid I was still awake when she got out of that shower. I would likely have permanent damage to my dick come morning.

  If I made it to morning.

  CHAPTER 8

  Jen

  While it was nice to rinse off the sparkly powder and makeup from the show, taking a shower in the dark was nearly impossible—not even the light on my cell helped. But I managed to wash my body, rinse my hair, and then get dressed without an issue. Granted, I still wasn’t sure if I’d cleaned myself with shampoo and washed my hair with soap, but I could deal with that.

  My wet hair soaked through the back of my shirt as I searched the dark room, wondering where to go and what to do. As much as I wanted sleep, I didn’t feel right taking his bed. But the thought of switching places with Beckett didn’t appeal to me—I’d sat on the sofa while he was in the shower, and it wasn’t the most comfortable piece of furniture. And I couldn’t drive home, especially after seeing what it looked like down on The Strip, which left me with only other option—head back to the club and wait it out there.

  With my mind made up, I reached for my bag and quietly searched the floor next to the couch for my shoes. I no sooner had the strap over my shoulder and my feet in my flats when Beckett grabbed my leg with one very large hand.

  “I thought you were asleep.” The room was so quiet that even the softest tone sounded loud.

  “Nah. Can’t seem to nod off.” He sat up and cocked his head; apparently, he could see me better than I could him. “Where are you going? I thought you were staying here.”

  “I figured I’d just head up to the club.”

  Panic filled his scratchy voice when he asked, “Why would you do that?”

  I shrugged and glanced around the room. It was nice, and so far, Beckett hadn’t given me any stranger-danger vibes, but that didn’t wash away the awkwardness that currently suffocated me. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I agreed to stay here with you. This is just all kinds of weird, and you can’t deny that.”

  “I’ll tell you what you were thinking…that you need sleep, and you won’t get that upstairs in the club. There’s a perfectly fine bed right there. I promise, I won’t leave the couch. You have got nothing to worry about, Jenny.”

  “That’s just it, I’m not worried. Oddly enough, that’s probably the one emotion I’m not feeling at the moment. But this is your room, Beckett. You should be sleeping on the bed. Not to mention, you have to fly home at some point, and doing so with a cra
mped neck from a night on the couch will only make the long flight worse.”

  “If it gets too bad, I’ll move to the floor.” This man just wouldn’t give up.

  I huffed and dropped my bag, my shoulders slumped forward, and I hoped he could at least see that. “You’re not getting it, Beckett. It’s your bed. You’re like ten feet tall, and from what I can tell, a brick wall. There’s absolutely no reason you should be sleeping on this tiny ass couch or the hard ass floor when you’re the one who paid for the room, as well as being the one with a really long flight in his near future.”

  “Do you want sleep or not, Jenny? That’s the ultimate question.”

  He should not be allowed to call me that during serious conversations. “Of course I do.”

  “Okay then. You won’t get it up there, and you know it.”

  “But I won’t get it here, either. So if both options leave me with no sleep, then the ultimate question isn’t about that, now is it? It’s about the better of two evils—physical discomfort there or whatever kind of discomfort this is here.”

  He didn’t move or speak for a few awkward moments, but then he pushed himself off the couch and stood inches in front of me. In the club, after I’d exchanged my heels for my flats, I was aware of how much taller he was than me. But now, with more light to create a better visual, I could tell that he wasn’t only quite a bit taller than my average height, but he was also very broad. And based on how much of him I’d felt with my hands tonight, I already knew he was pure muscle.