“Yes. It’s with Emilio.”
“Ohmigod. Why didn’t you tell us?” I turn to fill Julio in. “Emilio is such a hottie. He tends bar at the Back Room.”
“Is he the Cuban guy? With the super tight ass?” Julio asks.
“Uh huh.”
“Wooweee. You go girl.” Julio butt bumps Kit on the ottoman.
“Thanks,” she says, still blushing.
“I’ll be expecting a call bright and early with all the gory details,” I inform Kit. If I can’t have him, at least I can live vicariously through her. But, oddly enough, she looks a little embarrassed. I wouldn’t have thought Kit ever got embarrassed about anything. Maybe she really likes Emilio. Well, good for her. I haven’t seen Kit get really serious about a guy in a long time.
“It’s your turn, Julio,” Kit reminds him. And I think she’s mostly just trying to shift attention away from her Frederick’s bra.
“Fine. I fold,” Julio says.
Yippee!
“It’s up to you Ella,” Kit says, pouring herself another drink. Ella brought over Paradise Punch tonight. I’m not sure what’s in it, but it burns a hole right down to your belly if you’re not careful. Luckily, the fudge I made helps. Unluckily, I’ve eaten four pieces.
“False eyelashes, and I call,” Ella says.
Shit. Ella was supposed to fold. I look at the pile of cosmetics in front of me. I could so use these things. I check my cards again. Really, I’ve got nothing, just a ten high, which is nothing. However, Ella may have nothing too. Sure, she’s not a great bluffer, but she really isn’t very good at poker, and I would look so hot in that French manicure with my hair freshly oiled and conditioned.
I look at my ante pile beside me. All I have left is a Wet ‘n’ Wild burgundy nail polish, and a tube of Blistex, which doesn’t even really count but was all I could come up with after dumping my purse in a makeup searching frenzy this afternoon. Do I really want to risk the Wet ‘n’ Wild? It’s the last bottle of polish I have that isn’t dried out, and if I don’t win, not only am I going to date Mr. Showboy with no French manicure, but no polish at all.
I look back up at Ella. She’s chewing on her lip, looking nervous. (Is that a good sign?)
Alright. I’m going to do it. I feel bold tonight. I can win a hand. I will have the hot oil. I will have fabulous French nails for my date. I am the bluffing queen.
“I’m in.” I throw the Wet ‘n’ Wild into the pile only grimacing a little at the risk. “Whatta ya have?” I ask in my best tough poker player voice.
“Not much,” Ella says, still looking nervous. She fans out her cards. Seven. Six. Three. Four. Jack.
I stare in disbelief. A Jack high! Shit.
“How about you, Mare?” Julio takes the cards from my limp hand and lays them out on the table.
“Oh, geeze, bad call,” he says. Though I barely register it. I’m still staring at Ella’s fireman Jack and wondering what the odds are I would get beaten by a hand like that?
“These cards suck, Mary. You should have folded.”
Story of my life.
Chapter Fifteen:
Kit, the Ace of Clubs
I step out onto the street, the cool night air a contrast to the thick atmosphere of Mary’s apartment. I breathe deeply, trying to shake the look in Ella’s eyes as I left the game.
All night I could feel Ella staring right through me, knowing full well I wasn’t going out with Emilio tonight, practically chanting, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
And it’s not as if I want to be a liar. I mean, is it my fault that I’m someone who fell in love with her boss? Is it my fault he’s married? Is it my fault he’s getting a divorce? Fine, the blame may be a little hazy on that one, but I know I’m not to blame on the other ones any more than Mary’s to blame for her poor bluffing skills.
Only I’m not sure my friends would see it that way. So, I settle for being Miss Pants on Fire tonight.
Two minutes later my black and yellow pulls up to the curb. “You call a cab?” the man behind the wheel asks.
“Yes,” I reply, sliding into the vinyl seat that smells like sweat and booze.
“Where to?” The driver turns his pock marked face to mine in the rearview mirror.
“MGM Grand.”
He nods and pulls the cab away from the curb. I slide down in my seat and settle in for the quiet ride through the dimly lit streets. Besides the Strip and old downtown, Vegas is actually eerily quiet after dark. I watch the sparsely placed streetlamps wiz past the window, trying to convince myself all my half-truths are for a worthy cause.
It certainly felt worthy as I waltzed into Frederick’s of Hollywood this morning, Visa in hand. I picked out a pale blue bra that couldn’t do more for my bust line were it made of silicone, a lacy garter belt, and a matching thong with a cute little crystal detail that’s starting to itch under my leather mini. Don’t care. It looks damn sexy, and that’s all that matters. The saleswoman asked if I had a special occasion in mind for the outfit. “Oh yeah”, I told her, “I’m sleeping with Vlad the Magnificent tonight.”
Only he doesn’t know it yet.
The cab pulls up to The Grand’s entrance. I swear my hands almost shake with excitement as I hop out and pay the driver. Or maybe it’s nerves. Which is ridiculous because I’ve been planning this evening with German-like precision since the day I met Vlad. Still, I find myself taking deep breaths as I cross the lobby to the elevators. I catch my foot tapping a nervous staccato as I wait for the carriage to arrive and quickly still myself. I feel like a sixth grader going to her first middle school dance. Excited, nervous, and suddenly unsure how to act around boys.
Not that I don’t want this, because I do. I really, really do. Hell, if he dragged me into his suite and made love to me right there on the entry floor that would be fine by me. I’m just not sure how to approach the subject we’ve been dancing around for the past two years. A look, a touch, a wink – it’s all very different than a hey-I’m-STD-free-wanna-jump-in-the-sack?
Not that I think it will be like that. I know Vlad. He’s charming, sensual, and passionate in everything he does. I know making love to him will be that way too.
I smile at the thought, prompting the tourist family waiting with me for the elevators to look at me funny. Granted, I am dressed a little like a call girl tonight – sheer white blouse, black leather mini, and fuck me boots – but I think it’s the goofy grin that has them mystified.
The doors finally slide open, and the family and I get in.
I take deep breaths, trying to calm my sixth grader nerves as the carriage rides higher and higher to the 28th floor of The Grand. While I’m no virgin, I’ve never done anything remotely like this before. Set out to seduce a man. All day I’ve been running that word over in my mind. Seduce. It’s a sexy word, conjuring up images of Michael Douglas movies. What does a seductress really do? Contrary to what my friends might think of me, not to mention the family who get off at the tenth floor with a backward glance at my boots, I am not a seductress. I’ve never set out to sleep with anyone before. It’s always just sort of happened in the past. Spontaneously. I’ve never been this deliberate before.
Not that I’m turning back. No, as each little number on the top of the elevator lights up, taking me closer and closer to Vlad’s penthouse suite, I’m more and more sure this is what I want to do.
The elevator stops with a mechanical ding, and the doors slide open. I step into the foyer of the penthouse and take a deep breath. This is it. After this, I’m not going to be just Vlad’s assistant any longer. Who wants to be just his assistant when I could be his lover? His girlfriend? His… wife? Maybe. Who knows? Who knows where this will end up, but it’s starting right here, tonight.
I lift my hand and knock on Vlad’s door.
Silence.
For a moment I think he isn’t home, out at the Back Room or some other VIP lounge. Part of me is a tiny bit relieved, as my hands are starting to shake again, and I�
��m wishing I’d had a couple more of Ella’s drinks before becoming The Seductress. But then I hear sounds from the other side of the door, shuffles as bare feet pad across the tiled floor. There’s a pause, presumably while he looks though the peephole. Then the door opens.
“Kit.” It isn’t a question, but a statement. Almost as if he were expecting me.
I’m glad to see he’s slept since I last saw him, the dark circles under his eyes all but gone now. His hair is wet, like he’s just stepped out of the shower, and he’s wearing a silk robe. And he smells incredible.
“Hi.” I’m not sure what else to say. I know, not very seductressy of me. I try to psyche myself up, reminding myself how hot I looked in the Frederick’s dressing room.
“May I come in?” I ask.
“Of course.” Vlad steps back to allow me entry.
My heels click on the white travertine floors as I enter, and I try not to look too awestruck at the opulence around me. I’ve never been in the penthouse before, but it’s just as I’ve pictured it. Crystal hanging from the light fixtures, expensive marble tabletops, plush armchairs laid out before the Vegas skyline in the background. A stack of sales reports lay on the polished mahogany table.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” I say, gesturing to the abandoned papers.
“What?” His eyes, glued to the outline of my bra beneath my sheer blouse, snap up to meet mine as I turn around.
I try not to smirk as I mentally pat myself on the back. Good purchase, Kit.
“Uh, no. No, of course not,” he quickly covers. “Please sit down.”
“Thanks.” I do, settling in a leather chair, crossing one fuck-me boot over the other in what I hope is a very suggestive way. Vlad’s eyes haven’t left me, so I think I’m doing okay with this seduction thing. Only we’re both still wearing clothes, and he’s on the other side of the room. So, I’m no Donna Juan.
He’s just kind of standing there. Looking at me like he expects me to explain my presence in his suite. Which I guess I should. Only, I have no idea what to say. Okay, think. What would Sharon Stone do next? How can I casually reference that I’m wearing a diaphragm tonight?
“Would you like a drink?” he asks, breaking the awkward silence.
“Yes.” Oh, God, would I. A strong one. But, knowing Vlad, that goes without saying.
Vlad turns his back to me, crossing the sitting area to the large black bar along the windows. I watch his silhouette against the bright Vegas skyline as he pours two glasses of something from a bottle with a foreign label. I can pick out the familiar landmarks behind him, the Stratosphere tower, the Luxor pyramid and the light show over the Bellagio fountains. I focus on those, things I’ve seen every day, that aren’t likely to change no matter what happens in this hotel room tonight.
Vlad returns with two glasses of clear liquid. He hands me one. Before the drink even hits my lips my eyes burn from the strength of it. I take a small sip, lapping up courage.
“The penthouse is nice,” I say.
“Yes. I like it here.”
“Great view.” I point to the back windows looking out over the twinkling lights of the city.
“It is.” Vlad sips from his glass.
I take another sip too. It burns again, but not quite as much as the first one.
“So,” he says, eyeing my boots. “You have a question about the show tomorrow?”
“What?”
“You are here because of the show?”
“Oh. No.” I take another sip. Not the smoothest way of answering that question, but I wasn’t really expecting it. Does Humphrey Bogart ever ask Lauren Bacall why she shows up at his place? No. He just takes her into a mind numbing kiss and they forget about it.
“Oh. A problem then?” Vlad’s brows furrow, hovering over his eyes in a dark line.
“No, I’m okay. I mean, there’s no problem.” I take another sip. My cheeks are starting to feel hot, but I’m not sure if it’s from his steady stare or the thousand proof drink.
“I see.” Vlad watches me over the rim of his glass. This time he makes no apologies about his eyes straying to the third button on my shirt, undone, hinting at the blue lace beneath. Stare all you like, Vlad. In fact, feel free to come over here and get a closer look.
“So, why are you here?” he asks slowly.
Good question. I take another sip, going down smoothly this time, and uncross my legs Basic Instinct style. Or, at least I try. The vodka’s made my limbs soft and I don’t think that move was as sexy as I intended it.
I get up from the chair, not entirely sure if I can do this after all. I mean, what makes me think I can really seduce someone like Vlad? A bartender like Emilio, maybe, but Vlad suddenly feels miles out of my league.
He takes a step toward me. Close. So close I can feel his breath on my neck. “Do you want to see the bedroom?”
And just like that, the miles fade away.
I look at Vlad. His expression is deadly serious, his eyes glazed, roving my skin.
“Yes,” I find myself saying. He sets his glass down on the table, taking my hand. His is warm and soft and so large mine seems to disappear as he clutches it. Silently he leads me through a set of double doors to the bedroom.
My first thought as I step into the room is that I’ve been transported back in time. This isn’t a hotel room in Vegas, this is a king’s bedchamber, straight out of some medieval history class. The giant four poster bed takes up most of the room, its elegantly carved posts reaching to the ceiling, ending in a fringed canopy. The rugs are thick and soft beneath my feet, and the bed is covered in an elaborately embroidered, burgundy throw. The room is stately, classy, and rich. Just like him.
I feel Vlad’s hand at my back, leading me further in, pulling the double doors closed behind us.
“What do you think?” he asks, his voice thick and close to my ear.
“I love it.”
He spins me around. I’m in his arms. His warm hands cup my chin, and his lips whisper over mine. His breath is hot and strong with vodka, though sweet like some exotic fruit.
His hand glides under my shirt, his fingers gently lacing themselves around the clasp of my bra, quickly popping it undone. I almost shout out, “No!” He hasn’t seen the full outfit yet. The matching set of crystal studded lingerie and how utterly fabulous I look in it. Then I remember. Don’t care. Hell, Vlad is kissing me, his arms are around me, his hands are closing over my nipples, rolling them between his expert fingers. How I look in my Frederick’s outfit has just become a moot point.
His fingers let go of my nipples, now peaked at attention, and glide down my belly, tickling my skin as they reach for the waistband of my skirt, sliding it quickly over my hips. The last rational thought I can remember is a silent congratulations on my powers of seduction after all.
Then we make love.
The kind of hot, passionate, all consuming love I’ve been dreaming of for years. Slow and sensual at first, then fast and furious as if we’ll never be able to stop. All the pent up frustration, all the nights of wondering, wishing, longing, finally explode into the most amazing night of mind blowing sex ever imaginable.
It is fucking magnificent.
And when the fire dies down, we curl up together in his bed fit for a king and sleep, naked, wrapped up in each other. The way it was always meant to be.
* * *
The first thing I hear is Petey’s voice droning on about the tickets sales for the weekend. At first I think it’s a dream, invading my perfect web of sleep. But his voice grows louder and more insistent, and I can’t ignore it any longer. I open my eyes, squinting against the harsh sunlight filtering through the windows. It takes me a few beats to realize where I am, but the smell of Vlad’s aftershave clinging to the pillows quickly brings it all back.
I’m in Vlad’s bed.
I smile to myself, curling up into a pleased little ball beneath his sheets. Vlad’s bed. I say it again. The sound of it in my own ears sends a thrill across m
y skin.
I can hear Petey and Vlad talking in the other room. I roll over to look at the gold brushed clock on the bedside table. It’s almost ten. Early for me, but I know Vlad doesn’t sleep much. Especially last night.
Again, I smile to myself, pulling back the covers and searching for a shirt in the discarded clothing on the floor. I find one. Vlad’s. I pull it over my head. It’s so long it almost comes to my knees, but it feels perfect.
I pad out of the bedroom, my feet sighing with pleasure at every step along his plush carpets.
As I open the double doors, Petey and Vlad immediately stop talking. They’re sitting at the mahogany table, layers of receipts and papers strewn across the surface in front of them. Petey looks from me to Vlad, both eyebrows raised, his beady little eyes bulging, but doesn’t say anything. I give him a sweet smile. “‘Morning, Petey.”
He doesn’t answer, quickly averting his eyes as I saunter over to Vlad. Fine by me. I’m not thrilled to see him here either.
I give Vlad a peck on the cheek. “Good morning,” I purr into his ear.
“Morning, pet,” he answers, giving me a small smile. “There’s coffee in the kitchen. We’ll be a few minutes here.” He turns back to the papers, almost as if embarrassed that Petey has caught us together. It’s kind of cute really.
I cross the room to the kitchenette set against the far side of the suite and pull a china cup out of the cupboard. I pour a cup of coffee, black, and sip it as I lean against the counter.
Not exactly how I would have imagined the morning after with Vlad to be, but that’s all right. I mean in my perfect world, I’d have awoken to the smells of Vlad cooking me breakfast in bed instead of Petey’s nasally whine about ticket sales. But we can’t have it all, now, can we? I just spent the night with the most magnificent man on earth. So, I don’t complain that Petey looks in no hurry to leave. Instead, I drink my coffee.
Then another cup. A piece of toast. Half a grapefruit. And another cup of coffee.
Half an hour later, Vlad is still deep in conversation with Petey. Will the man never leave? I’m sure Vlad is as eager to see the little worm gone as I am. Then we can resume where we left off last night. Besides, Vlad and I have things to talk about. Last night has changed everything, and while I’m pretty sure that after three mind blowing orgasms I know where I stand with Vlad, there are still a few minor wrinkles in our relationship to iron out. Like Maria. And when she officially becomes the ex Mrs. Vlad. Don’t get me wrong, I know he doesn’t love her. But hearing him actually say it would be nice. Hearing him tell me how much me loves me instead would be even nicer.
What Happens in Vegas Page 14