Layla shrugged and whispered, “They don’t know that.”
“Let’s go then.” He tugged her out of the elevator, and they paused to take in the place. The apartment took up the entire top floor of the enormous building. The living room alone, bustling with people dressed to the nines, was three times the size of his suite at the hotel. “Hell, your pool house could fit in here five times with room to spare,” he whispered.
Jace had seen nice homes before; he had no idea how many bedrooms his parents’ home had. Not so much since coming to Vegas, though. This guy must be one big, stupid deal, indeed.
“Damn. This is nice. I want one of these.” Layla smiled at him and took a deep breath.
“Right. You could put your bed in that corner and your…table over here. And then…I don’t know. Some plants?”
“That’s so funny. You’re a funny guy.” She let go of his hand, swiped it on her dress, and then clutched her purse as her acquaintances approached. It was so important to her that they be impressed enough to go home and tell their mothers, who would tell her mother. She would have to walk a fine line between demonstrating they were together without being overtly sexual, or her father would have a new reason to worry. “Oh, boy. Here we go.”
Two women stopped in front of them. One had unbelievably high hair. It literally seemed to defy gravity. The other woman wore a Marilyn Monroe hairstyle and a plunging neckline. Other than the prominent cleavage and bottle-blonde hair, she was definitely not Marilyn material.
Layla introduced Jace to them. He thought maybe, by the way not-Marilyn’s eyes widened when Layla said his last name, that she was probably the fortune hunter dating Mr. B.S.D.
God, Layla was infectious. He couldn’t stop thinking of these people in code names, especially since he did not intend to learn their names. He put an arm around Layla’s shoulder and squeezed her closer. Not-Marilyn droned on, gesturing around the penthouse apartment. Finally, the two women shoved off.
Leaning down to whisper in her ear, he said, “Stop being so stiff. Lean into me when I touch you. Look at the couple over by the window. See how they can’t keep their hands off each other? That’s how we should look. We’re in love, aren’t we?”
The man and woman he had pointed out finally embraced and fell into a deep kiss. “Oh, damn,” Layla muttered. “All right, but they’re obviously going to sleep together tonight. And we’re not.”
“Don’t you want people to think we are? That we can’t wait to be alone? Our grand passion cannot be contained by the boundaries of polite society?”
“I…don’t know? I didn’t think that far ahead.”
Jace slid his hands up her arms to rest on her shoulders, then pulled her closer. Her entire body stiffened. He’d never experienced that since he started chasing little girls on the playground, and it did nothing for his ego. “We’ve kissed before. What’s the matter with you?”
“It’s different now.” She kept her eyes trained on his lapel.
“Yeah? Okay, this is silly. Look at me. Come on, eyes on mine.”
Finally, she met his gaze. “The girl I met out by the pool because she climbs onto roofs to get the best shot? She’s not afraid of anything. You’re that girl. Be that girl.”
“Believe it or not, you’ve only seen the best of me. This is me sane and using the best judgment I have. You don’t…you don’t know.”
Okay, he didn’t understand how he’d set off the nerve-explosion happening here, but he had to fix it. Nobody would believe they were on anything except a bad blind date at this rate. Jace grabbed her by the elbow and steered her toward a corner of the room. A small couch piled with plump pillows dominated the area. “You’ve got to loosen up. Every time I touch you, you jump like I’m dragging you off to bed that very second. Where is the woman who kissed me today?”
“I’m here. I know this was my idea, coming here; all of it, it’s on me. It feels different now.”
“Because you know I want you? I wanted you today, last night, and the first time I met you. We’re the same. Nothing’s different here.”
“I guess not. And attraction can only help my cause, I suppose.”
“There you go. Focus on how it affects your plan. Sit down here.” He gestured at the couch. “I’m going to get us some drinks, help you relax a little.”
Jace walked away, headed straight for the bar set up along the back wall of the room. A guy in a white dress shirt and chinos tended it. Jace ordered them both drinks and turned to lean on the bar while he waited.
The chick with enormously piled hair and not-Marilyn were less than two feet away, their backs to him. What was the one dating the B.S.D. called? Stella? Stephanie, maybe. He’d stick with not-Marilyn. Their hand gestures were huge and dramatic, so he edged closer to listen. He needed them to tell their mamas he and Layla were completely absorbed in one another.
Not-Marilyn, still making such big gestures her whole body contorted with them, said, “She’s with an heir. We’re talking big money. There are countries with less money than his dad.”
“This is such a drag, Steph.”
“I can’t believe that donna pazza is with such a stud. Life is so unfair.”
The one who appeared to have stuffed her hair with toilet paper patted not-Marilyn’s arm. “Don’t worry. He’ll take off when he realizes she’s an utter flake.”
He’d always figured women could be a hell of a lot meaner than men, and he’d never doubt it again. How could they talk about Layla that way? He wasn’t entirely sure what some of it meant, with the Italian thrown in, but his blood pounded, and his head throbbed. He’d make them believe he could think of nothing but Layla. Wouldn’t be much of a stretch at this point anyway.
Jace thanked the bartender for the drinks, stuffed a dollar in the glass jar on the corner of the bar, and made his way back to Layla’s corner.
He put the glasses on the table, and they clinked loudly against the metal. Layla looked from the table to him, startled. “Are you all right?” she asked.
Jace took her hands and pulled her up and against him. He cupped her face, and when she looked up, eyebrows raised, he took her mouth. There wasn’t any other way to describe it; he took it the way he wanted to take her, pouring in every bit of desire she’d stirred up over the last few days.
Part of him wanted to make those backstabbers feel terrible. But another side wanted to know if her skin smelled as good as he remembered, like sun and coconuts, or if her lips were really that full and luscious.
His memory was flawless. He nibbled at her lips, and she opened to him, tearing a low groan from his throat. When he pulled back, they were both breathless.
Layla took a wobbly step back, snatched her drink from the table, and downed most of it.
“What does ‘donna pasta’ mean?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Donna pazza. It means crazy woman. Why?”
“Someone said it about your friend.” Jace leaned down so his forehead touched hers, their lips only inches apart. “Take another sip or two of your martini, and then we’re going to take a stroll around the place, find a cozy spot for ourselves.”
Averting her gaze, she gulped her drink. “I don’t know if I can do this. That kiss was very intense. I’m confused and unsure, and I hate to feel unsure. I like to feel sure. You know, confident.”
“I got that. It’s your plan, Layla.”
“I didn’t realize I’d find you so appealing. I didn’t even think you’d like me. I mean, come on. I’m blackmailing you.”
“Who says I like you?”
She let out the sudden, whiskey laugh he already looked forward to hearing again. And again.
With a finger under her chin, he tilted her face up to his. “You can do anything.”
Her eyes widened, and she held her breath for a moment. When she let it out, she didn’t look away, didn’t deflate. She nodded resolutely. “Let’s do it.”
This time, she took his hand. He didn’t need to lean down to speak i
nto her ear. No one was close by or even paying them any attention at this point. He didn’t need to, but he did anyway because he wanted to be close to her. Hell, he wanted to throw her back down onto the couch and kiss her until she couldn’t think anymore. He whispered, “Remember, you’re a woman in love.”
She responded by clasping his hand with both of hers, which in turn twisted her body so her breasts brushed against his arm.
He’d egged her on, insisting she come closer, lean in, touch. Now, she’d done exactly what he wanted, so he tried hard to ignore the increasing tightness of his slacks.
The two of them made a round of the large living area, where people clustered into small, conversational groups. Now, the touches she let flutter on his hand and arm, the just-for-him smile—all of it, they were enough to kick his pulse up a notch. She’d become a damn good actress in a real short time. Then again, he knew better. He knew there was a connection. She’d decided to go with it rather than fail at her big plan.
She clutched his arm and murmured, “I need a cigarette. And fresh air. And to go somewhere people aren’t watching our every move. Let’s go out on the terrace.”
Outside, she fumbled to get a cigarette from her bag and finally placed it between her lips, then couldn’t find her matches. At the sound of his silver lighter flipping open, she looked up. Jace held it, the flame wavering in the wind. She inhaled until the end burned red, then asked, “Why do you have one of those? I’ve never seen you smoke.”
“Because I was raised to be solicitous to ladies.”
Layla chuckled softly. “I wouldn’t describe myself as a lady, but I know what you mean. I had classes in comportment with half the people in that room, to be honest.”
“As a matter of fact, I endured dance classes with the kids at my school. Waltzes, but some modern stuff, too.” He watched the goings-on inside as the music thumped louder. How much of her resistance could he wear down if he could get her to relax in his arms?
He realized why they were moving the furniture and how he could accomplish getting her in his arms at the same time. “I’m hip to just about any dance you can name.”
“Oh, really?” She exhaled smoke out into the night. “I’ve got fourteen years at Miss Daphne’s School of Dance. It was the one thing my mother insisted upon that I enjoyed.”
He turned and leaned his back against the banister. “That’s fantastic because they moved the furniture back and turned the bulky room into a dance floor.”
Layla whipped around to peer through the doors. “Are you challenging me to a dance off?”
“No, don’t be ridiculous. I’m challenging you to see if you can keep up with me.”
“Now you’re just being arrogant.” A huge grin spread slowly over her features, making her eyes sparkle in the moonlight. “Let’s dance, then.”
“Any dance?” He leaned close enough to catch her lips in another kiss, but he held back. This was a longer play.
“Gentleman’s choice.”
After a moment spent gazing into the room, where couples had started to move in rhythm, he spoke. “Finish your cigarette. I’ll be right back.”
Inside, he crossed to the young guy in charge of the large pile of vinyl albums stacked beside a huge floor-type stereo. The guy carefully placed a needle on a track, holding up a finger when Jace said, “Excuse me.”
Finally, the young guy gave him a dismissive glance. “Not taking requests, buddy. Grab a girl and go dance.”
Jace took a twenty from his wallet. “Will this get me a request?”
“Speaking my language, daddy-o.” The guy snatched the bill from him. “Whaddya want to hear?”
Jace perused the stack of records, then touched one of the stiff jackets. “This one. ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.’ Yeah?” The slow tempo that sped up during the chorus would be a challenge to dance. Not to mention the lyrics were true—she had come to dominate his thoughts.
“Sure. Go get your girl. I’ll wait for you.”
He returned to the terrace, and Layla stubbed her cigarette out on the balcony, then dropped it in a bucket of sand on the floor. “Are we dancing?” she asked.
“If you’re sure you can handle it.” God, he loved to push her buttons. It sent a thrill of anticipation through him imagining how she’d react to his touch. He took her hand and led her back inside where a slow song drifted from the speakers. “Let’s finish this one out and catch the next one.”
She nodded then stepped into his arms. He sensed the moment she let herself relax. Probably all those years of dance training overcame her reservations because she was responsive to his movements. She knew exactly where he meant to go, and she gave him a competitive grin.
The song changed to the one he’d requested, and the melody settled over them. He led her into a loose circle, his hand at the small of her back. She lifted her eyes, slowly, to meet his gaze and locked there. He leaned closer, then spun her away as the music’s tempo picked up. She met him move for move as he turned her on the floor then pulled her close again as the song slowed.
Her body flowed like music now, melting into his arms, and she closed her eyes as they swayed. The song picked up again, and he let it take control, guide him. When the music stopped, he pulled her in from one last turn, and they ended as they’d begun: in one another’s arms.
After a moment, they both looked around. A new song didn’t start, and people were simply staring at them. His breath came in short bursts. All of those people watching while he struggled not to throw her over his shoulder and carry her to the nearest bedroom, it made him furious.
Then, he decided to stop fighting it. He couldn’t not kiss her, and it wasn’t going to be the kind of kiss she’d want her parents hearing about. Her body shook against him, her lips open and inviting.
He released her, looking around at the partygoers already breaking apart and resuming their festivities. “Excuse us,” he said and took her hand to tug her through the crowd.
Down the hall, he opened the first unlocked door he found and gave her a gentle shove inside. He fumbled for the light, cursing softly. Finally, he switched it on and could make out a bed littered with jackets and evening wraps. He turned the door lock behind him because anyone who wanted their coat in the next fifteen minutes would have to wait.
Layla turned on him. “Why would you do that?”
He cupped her cheek in one hand, caressing the corner of her mouth with his thumb. He let the other hand drift to her hip and pull her close. So much like their dance, but so much more reckless. He knew that. He didn’t care.
She whispered his name, and he grazed her forehead with his lips. “Just a kiss.”
Layla nodded once, and he closed the distance slowly, until his mouth covered hers. He held himself back. Some part of him he didn’t even recognize wanted to pick her up, hike her dress to her waist, and bury himself inside her. Desire had never bit at him like this.
Forcing himself to keep his hands where they were, a delicious sort of torture, he drank her in with a kiss. He held it in check until she moaned breathlessly into his mouth. Pulling back, her cheeks were flushed.
Another shockwave crashed through him at the desire mirrored in her eyes. “Come home with me.” His voice came out hoarse, surprising him. He needed her as soon as he could get her into his car and drive her back to his suite.
“I can’t.”
“Are you… Have you never had a lover?” She wasn’t the type of woman he’d normally pursue. He typically found comfort with divorcées, women who wanted the same no-complication, no-promises relationships he preferred. Still, such a passionate woman, Layla seemed unlikely to have abstained all her life.
She barked a bitter laugh, not like her usual wickedly seductive laugh. He still held her face in his hands. She didn’t pull away, but breath stuttered from her, and she’d begun to tremble badly. “Please don’t make me tell you here,” she said. “I didn’t expect any of this. It’s happening so fast; my heart feels like it�
�s going to explode from my chest. But those people out there, they’re not my friends. I can’t talk about this here.”
The apprehension coming off her in waves cooled him like an icy shower. “All right.”
“Please don’t be angry.”
He let his hands drop. “Listen to me, I’m not angry. I’m going to take you home, walk you to your door, and say good night. Nothing else. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Her eyes fluttered shut. “Thank you.”
Right now, all he wanted to do was soothe her worry. He refrained from stroking her hair, from taking her in his arms again, worried she would misinterpret him. He didn’t even understand the wellspring of feelings her pleas had broken free.
8
Jace kept his word, and when she unlocked her door, he waited while she went inside the pool house and shut the door behind her. Layla leaned her back against the door and tried to quiet her screeching mind.
She’d fought herself all night, held back the overwhelming want of him that teased at the edges of her mind, pushing at her. Her walls were still up, but there were some definite holes and chinks. She swiped at the tears just beginning to trickle onto her cheeks.
It was wrong to be proud of finding new ways to be messed up; she finally understood that all she ever really did was find new ways. She’d managed to stop harming herself. She’d learned to avoid dangerous men. It had never occurred to her someone could be one hundred percent physically safe but make her want to rip out her heart and hand it to him to use as a grenade. Dear Lord, when would she stop being so stupid?
Spurred into some form of action, the need to do something, Layla pushed away from the door and yanked the dress over her head. She balled it up and threw it at the wall. Being on display made her weary—and she and Jace had been on display. She still felt the gazes of people following them, the whispered words burning into her skin. Crazy. Worthless. Pathetic.
Maybe they weren’t even wrong. So, so stupid to force this man she’d wanted from the first moment into such intimate conditions. The dance had put the nails in her coffin. Now, she needed to be clean, to wash away the looks, the words.
My Fake Vegas Boyfriend Page 6