My Fake Vegas Boyfriend

by Lori Sizemore

  He scrounged around on the floor until he came up with some white leather sandals and carried them over to her. “Put these on and sit down on the bed. Now.”

  Obediently, she slipped them onto her feet and padded over to the bed. That was a change. Layla in apparent shock didn’t have a comeback. He liked her spunky. This Layla was eerie. He needed to know why she would have done all this. And how did he make sure it never happened again.

  Mrs. Crespo stopped in the door and began babbling in Italian. With very little regard for the mess, she stomped across the floor and took Layla’s chin in her hand. In English, she said, “Did you hurt yourself?”

  Jace didn’t understand the point of the conversation. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the wall, trying to stay out of the way while the housekeeper took charge.

  Finally, Layla stood up, untied the robe, and dropped it to the floor. Mrs. Crespo gave him a shocked look, then set her mouth in a grim line. He should probably turn away, but he wanted to be sure she wasn’t further hurt as much as the older woman did. Besides, there was more going on here, and he intended to find out what it was.

  Underneath the robe, she wore a mostly pristine white bra and panties set. Mostly, because faint bloodstains dotted the bands where she would’ve handled them to put them on. God, that must’ve stung like hell. It was becoming more and more obvious she might be crazy. Crazy, but tough.

  He didn’t know which mattered more, but then he decided the toughness outweighed the crazy or he wouldn’t be so concerned for her. It would be very easy to slip out and let the housekeeper, who obviously knew what to do, handle all this. But, he didn’t want to do that.

  Layla turned for inspection, not looking in his direction. Hell, she might’ve forgotten he was here at all. Mrs. Crespo glanced back at him and shook her head. “She’s okay.”

  He rubbed his temple in confusion before understanding finally slammed into him. Jesus. The old scars on her legs… She’d done those to herself. That’s why she’d needed to flash skin to the old lady. To prove she hadn’t done it again.

  He’d never heard of someone harming themselves as…what? A way to deal with anguish or rage? Either way, in his experience, people cut others, but it appeared Layla was a different creature. A fragile, beautiful but dangerous one who turned the blade on herself.

  He needed to focus on the cuts in the present. He could turn this over in his head later. “We should get those cuts looked at. She’ll probably need a tetanus shot.”

  Layla’s eyes widened, hands going behind her back. “No doctors. They’ll document it. My mother will grasp at anything she can use against me.”

  This sounded a little paranoid, so Jace glanced again at Mrs. Crespo, who nodded. “She’s right.”

  The housekeeper picked up the ruined robe, shook it, then held it out for Layla. Jace rubbed an absent hand at the headache gathering like a coming storm in his temples. He was a fixer. At the end of the day, Jace solved problems for a living. He could fix this.

  Mrs. Crespo twisted Layla’s fingers this way and that, examining the cuts. “These aren’t too bad,” she said. “Cleaned up, tended. That should do it.”

  “All right. Layla, wash your hands. Mrs. Crespo, can you help her get dressed and wrap her hands in a couple of rags or something? I’ll take her and have the hotel doc give her a once-over. Then, I’ll get her a room, and she can stay there tonight.”

  The old woman, who didn’t even come up to his shoulder, squinted at him for a long moment, one eyebrow arched.

  “Honorable intentions here, ma’am. A room of her own. I’ll send someone here to help clean up.” He could think of several hotel maids he both trusted and who could make use of a little extra cash.

  With a curt nod, the housekeeper said, “None of this ‘ma’am.’ You call me Mrs. C., like my girl. And no one else—it would be suspicious to Mr. Rosas. He has been…worried about Layla. He’ll come check on her if someone else shows up.”

  “I don’t want you having to handle this alone, and Layla doesn’t need to deal with it.”

  “I’ll stay here tonight. No one at the house will notice I didn’t walk to the bus stop.” When he hesitated, she flapped a hand at him. “I clean. I’ll be fine, and all this is like new tomorrow.”

  Layla stepped between them. “I’m right here. And I’m perfectly capable of cleaning up my own mess.” Good. She seemed to be coming back to herself. That vague, disconnected air about her was dissipating.

  Mrs. C. gave her a withering look, probably similar to his own. “No,” they both told her.

  To take some of the sting from the dismissal, Mrs. C. put a hand on Layla’s shoulder, but continued to address him. “I’ll handle this place. You take care of my girl. Are we of an understanding?”

  “Yes, ma’am—er, Mrs. C.”

  She turned her penetrating gaze on Layla. “Gattina?”

  Would it kill these people to speak in English? What the hell did that even mean?

  Layla’s chin dropped to her chest. “Yes, okay.”

  Jace stepped outside and tipped his head back to take in the cloudy night sky. He’d need to continue cautiously at this point. On top of everything, he didn’t want to be responsible for pushing her too hard. On the other hand, she might punch him if she believed he sensed weakness. Did he bring up his suspicions? Ask her what, exactly, she needed to prove to her parents? And why? Or did he sail through, get the negatives, and get out clean?

  Layla was right about one thing: an affair with her would be messy. She didn’t do things that were simple, small, or neat. What worried him was how her complicated, big, messy ways appealed to him. When she was at her best, he wanted her beneath him. When she was like this, he just wanted to take her away and make everything better. At the end of it, it all came down to desire with her.

  The door opened behind him, and she stepped forward, following his glance to the sky. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Mrs. C. had, anyway. Her hands were wrapped in thick, pale blue hand towels.

  In place of the robe, she now wore a black sweater and jeans with the cuffs rolled up on her calf. He deeply wanted to pull her into his arms and murmur reassuring words he didn’t even know. Instead, he took off. “Come on.”

  In the car, she unwound her hand, then pulled a pair of sunglasses from her purse and put them on. The desert night, dark and cloudy, implied they were more for keeping prying eyes away than sunlight. She spoke softly. “I don’t appreciate being treated like a child.”

  “Then don’t throw tantrums.”

  “You think that’s what that was? You don’t know me, and you don’t know my life. Go to hell.”

  “Think you could fill me in on why you woke up hating me today, Layla?”

  “I don’t hate you.” She flexed her fingers with a grimace, sighed, and went on. “I’m just angry at myself. You want to know a secret? I’m messed up. Logic is not high on my list of attributes.”

  Neither of them spoke again as they passed through the dark Vegas streets.

  It only took a few moments, once they’d arrived, for Jace to nab Layla a suite of her own and hurry her up through the elevator. It wouldn’t do for the kid—the shareholder’s son—to recognize her. All he needed to make this situation worse was for him to tell his father Jace had brought the photographer back to the hotel.

  She walked around, eyeing the decor, then faced him. “Pretty. Thanks.”

  He believed she did appreciate it. He also believed she was still angling to avoid answering any questions. She didn’t need to worry. He meant to focus on her hands and nothing else—at least for now. With a phone call, the hotel doc was on his way up. Jace took the chair by the door and waited in silence.

  Layla sat down on the couch and unwrapped her hands, then balled them up into fists in her lap. “Didn’t I tell you my judgment reeked?”

  “You mentioned it, yeah. Let’s see what the doc says.”

  “Sure, okay.”

 
It only took a few minutes until a knock sounded, and Jace stood to let the man in. “This is a friend of mine. She’s got some cuts on her hands. Think you could clean her up?”

  “What I’m here for.” The doc put his black leather bag on the coffee table and sat down beside it, across from Layla. Gently, he examined her hands, turning them this way and that. He grunted and shook his head at Jace to indicate the injuries were nothing serious. “When was your last tetanus shot?”

  “I was around seventeen, so…eight years?”

  It took only twenty minutes for the doctor to treat her hands and give her a quick shot. Layla gasped occasionally at the sting of antiseptic, but didn’t complain otherwise. How she could mangle her hands and then react to the small discomfort of cleaning them kept tripping Jace up. Where did she go when she got so lost she could do that to herself?

  After the worst of the cuts were bandaged, the doctor took a pill from his bag then got Layla a glass of water. They spoke softly to one another, and Layla finally smiled gratefully and took her medicine.

  The doc took his leave with a nod at Jace. Silence blanketed the room. Layla broke it by saying, “I like your doctor. He never once asked me what happened.”

  “It’s his job to be discreet. He sees a hell of a lot worse than that every day.”

  “How possible would it be for me to get a drink? I’d really love a martini.”

  “Very possible.” Jace used the room’s phone to call the front desk. “That’s why people come here—anything is possible. It’s only a question of how much it takes to grease the wheels.”

  “You don’t have to wait with me. I’m utterly exhausted. I didn’t sleep well last night and…it’s been a difficult day.”

  “I’m not staying for that. I know you’ll be okay. You’re always okay, isn’t that right?”

  “If you say so.” She picked up the ashtray, then dug her cigarettes from her bag with clumsy hands. Apparently dismissing him, she stepped out onto the terrace and sat down. A match flared, then the pinpoint of a cigarette floated in the darkness.

  Okay, he understood she had a lot weighing on her. He didn’t know what because she was shutting him down. He didn’t want to press her to reveal anything she wasn’t comfortable with. At the same time, up until he’d told her he wanted her, she’d been the most open person he’d ever met.

  And that? That, he wanted to understand. So, when her martini came, he followed her out onto the terrace, leaned against the railing, and watched her. With a nod of thanks for the drink, she sipped and smoked in silence.

  “Talk to me, doll. What’s got you so upset? Did I cause that?”

  “The same thing that always upsets me—my mother. She’s a cruel bitch, and she lives to rip me to pieces. I spoke with her today, then got home and realized that’s what those photographs were—me tearing people apart to feel better, and I’d rather die than be like her.”

  “Layla,” he whispered. His heart shredded at the self-hatred dripping from her voice.

  “Not literally.” She rolled her eyes. “Stop treating me like I might break if you handle me too roughly.” Her words, still fierce, were getting soft around the edges.

  “The pill the doc gave you…did he say not to drink?”

  “He said take it easy. One martini is easy.”

  “Perfect.” He sat down in the chair opposite hers and stretched his long legs out before him. Now he did plan to wait with her. He should’ve never ordered her a drink.

  They sat for a bit while Layla stared out into the desert night. Wind tugged her ponytail over her shoulder to slap at her cheeks.

  “Are you cold? It still surprises me how cold it can get out here at night.”

  “Nope.” She leaned forward to put the martini glass on the floor of the terrace. “I’m going to finish this. Not the drink. All of this, what we’ve been doing. Our not-real relationship. I’ll give you the negatives tomorrow. I just need you to do one more thing.”

  “You’re ‘finishing’ this? I thought you needed more time.” Jace desperately needed those negatives. He’d needed them the first day. Every second that passed, he knew the odds of the idiot kid who worked for him sharing the information grew. At the same time, Layla didn’t seem to have any intention of ever seeing him again once she passed them over. And he wasn’t ready to let her go.

  “You are a persistent man, Mr. Russell. Why so many questions? You said you needed the negatives right away. I’m trying to comply with your request, if you help me one more day.”

  “All business, huh? I’ll bite. What’s tomorrow?”

  “Dinner with my parents. And if you can’t convince my horrible mother, who believes I am without question unlovable, and my father, suspicious to the point of paranoia, that you are crazy in love with me…” She took a shaky breath. “Well, my future will not be pleasant.”

  “What happens? If I’m not believable.” Could he convince these people he felt emotions he didn’t even think existed?

  “I get locked up, probably. Electric shocks. Surgery. Not sure what it shakes out as.” Despite her claims she wasn’t cold, she wrapped her arms around herself and stood up, turning away from him. “Remember those scars you saw on my legs?”

  “Yes.”

  “When I was a teenager, I used to hurt myself.”

  “That’s been a few years. You’re what, now? Twenty-five?”

  “Twenty-five and thirteen days.”

  “Happy late birthday. It’s hard for me to imagine I didn’t know you just two weeks ago.”

  “Me too. So, no reaction to that? You’re not horrified? Disgusted?”

  Jace scanned the darkened terrain. On this side of the hotel, it was all desert. The other side faced the glitz and lights. “I’m not sure how I feel. I need to think about it. Right now, it makes me sad. But not repulsed at all. You were a kid, doll.”

  “That’s true. As an adult, I found other ways to hurt myself.” Turning to face him, she braced herself.

  Here, this was the meat he’d been looking for. “Is this what you didn’t want to tell me last night?”

  Layla opened her mouth to reply, her gaze sliding away from his own. She straightened, looked back at him, and the moment was lost. Goddamn it.

  10

  Layla looked away. She wanted desperately to tell him, but she was such a wreck. How much more would it take before he just couldn’t stand to look at her?

  From his chair, he reached for her, and she went, willingly. If he wanted to offer her comfort, her frayed nerves needed this. He pulled her down until she settled on his lap. When she continued to stare at the concrete floor, he ran a hand over her cheek and into her hair.

  With a gentle tug on her ponytail, he spoke her name. She lifted her face to his and saw something there. She couldn’t know what he felt, but a small spark of hope flared in her. He didn’t look horrified, or disgusted, or any of the awful things she’d seen from those closest to her all her life.

  His eyes shined, and he whispered her name again. “You’re a tough chick. No matter what happens, and I can tell you’ve seen harsh times, you never break.”

  “You really think that?”

  His lips nipped her own so quickly she leaned forward, chasing after another kiss.

  “I really do. I also think you’re smart, talented, and…”

  “What? And what?” She let her arm slip around his neck. God, how was it no one had ever made her feel the way he did? She could almost imagine what real happiness might be like.

  “And…you look delicious.”

  She laughed softly, tilting her head back. “What does that even mean?”

  “Hard to say. How about I show you?” His hand tightened a little in her hair, just enough to send darts of pleasure down her spine to pulse into life between her legs. She squirmed in anticipation and to make him feel it, too.

  His lips brushed hers again, but there was nothing playful about this kiss. This kiss brimmed with the promise of more. More pleas
ure, more danger, and more of this huge emotion hanging over her like a wave, waiting to break.

  Oh, but she couldn’t think about that now, not when he began that seductive dance with his mouth. All lips, tongue, and teeth, until she gasped at the need blossoming inside of her.

  When his mouth slid over her jaw and down to her neck, she moaned his name. He moved his hand up under her shirt but stopped, his palm flat against her stomach. He kissed her, licked her, and scraped every inch of exposed skin with his teeth for so long she had no idea if it had been minutes or hours. What started as a pinprick of tingling desire grew until it uncoiled inside of her.

  “Mmm.” The sound vibrated against her throat. “More?” His voice sounded husky, and her skin pebbled up at the idea that wanting her had caused that.

  “Yes,” she answered. Please, yes.

  Shifting her on his lap, he pulled her sweater up over her head and tossed it aside in a moment’s work. His own need pressed into her hip and pulled her out of the moment.

  “Wait.” Ragged breath burned her lungs while she tried to clear her head. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t continue because he would expect more of her. “We have to stop because I’m not ready to…”

  “I haven’t even started getting you ready.”

  She twisted to face him and took his face in her hands, fluttering a kiss on his lips. “That’s not what I mean. I can’t…we can’t.”

  “I know what you mean. I just want to feel you, taste you, explore you. Pleasure you. Nothing else needs to happen.”

  “You don’t mean that. That’s merely something men say.”

  “I’ve never lied to you. You can trust me.” He pressed his lips against her collarbone, and she tilted her head, giving him better access.

  “I do. I trust you.”

  “Then say it, Layla. Say the words.”

  She met his eyes and sensed the sincerity there. “More. I want more.”

  He unclasped her bra with one hand and freed her breasts to the sensuous, cool night air. Her nipples tightened instantly as her hands drifted up to cover herself and faltered. She balled them into fists and forced them to her lap.