My Fake Vegas Boyfriend

by Lori Sizemore

  His eyes traveled over her, from her breasts to her stomach. The high waist of her jeans covered the scars there. When he lifted a hand to cup her breast, something deep inside throbbed with intense arousal. Nothing in her past had prepared her to want, to be wanted, this much.

  He kissed her again, sucking and licking at her bottom lip, and then deepened the kiss. Over and over he did this while he softly rolled her nipple between his thumb and finger, until Layla began to moan into his mouth. It was almost like a memory of pleasure she’d never experienced washed over her. Her body raced toward it, leaving Layla exhilarated and confused.

  He pulled back and gave her a sly smile. “You said you’ve had lovers before.”

  “I have.”

  “I don’t think they were very good.” His fingers began to unclasp the buttons on the side of her jeans.

  “That’s probably a fair assessment. What are you doing? You said—”

  “My pants are staying on, doll. Don’t worry. I don’t break promises, remember? Stand up.”

  She did, and he took the waistband of her pants to slowly slide them down and over her bare feet. It struck her that she trusted him. He’d keep his word, wouldn’t push her for more than she could give him. That meant the world to her—to be vulnerable with someone who would never intentionally hurt her. She only had one small request. “Don’t call me doll, not now, like this. I’m not your pet, I’m not one of your girls you spend a few weeks making love to and then grow bored of.” He might not be able to promise her forever, but she needed more from him as her emotions threatened to blot out everything else.

  He dropped to his knees, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. She pushed it off his shoulders when he finished and ran her hands over the sinewy strength there.

  “Let me look at you, Layla.”

  The moon provided the only light on the small terrace. She backed away, not particularly sure if she wanted to be seen. “I have scars. From before.” The cool metal of the railing pressed against her legs to just above her hips.

  She’d never been looked at this way. Sure, men had seen her nude. Maybe they’d noticed the scars and looked away.

  But Jace regarded her with an almost reverence. It made her want him, yes, but so much more. In that moment, she might love him. Even on his knees, his legs were long, and it only took a second for him to close the distance between them. Some primal part of her leapt in excitement at this man, this strong, handsome, virile man crawling to her.

  Jace took her panties in his hands and peeled them away slowly. His hands ran up from her ankles to the inside of her thighs and across her lower abdomen, over the scars. “You’re perfect.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” One hand continued to roam, reaching around to knead her behind. The other slid up and down her legs, coming to rest between them, and he fluttered a finger across the sensitive space there. He could surely feel the pooling dampness as one of those darts of pleasure raced through her again. “Put your hands on my shoulders.”

  His mouth kissed the scars on her stomach gently, as his hand continued to explore her. She moaned, then clapped a hand to her mouth. “Maybe we should stop. What if someone hears?”

  “What are they going to do, complain to security?”

  “Um, maybe? I can’t think when…”

  “I’m security, Layla.” He slid a finger inside her, and her head fell back. “Should I stop?”

  Never. She’d never experienced anything like this. “Ooh, no.”

  He found the perfect rhythm when he slipped another finger inside, then let his thumb slide gently over that heated source of everything. Her hips bucked, her body locked onto him, and she held on to his shoulders to keep from toppling while pleasure burst from everywhere inside her.

  She stopped shuddering, his arm around her backside continuing to keep her up much better than her own devices. “Damn.” That didn’t even sound like her. She tested her wobbly legs and tried standing on her own again. Her heart skittered around in her chest. Had she actually thought the L-word? “Um…thanks?”

  He laughed, his warm breath tickling her stomach. “You don’t need to thank me.”

  Pushing gently against his shoulders, Layla stepped away to gather her clothes. “You have no idea. Seems like I should.”

  As she dressed, worry about the future pooled over her, a big black cloud. What was she supposed to do with all the feelings he’d awakened in her? He wasn’t interested in anything serious. They weren’t even really dating.

  She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him as he watched her dress, his shirt forgotten on the balcony.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  What, indeed? He had to go before she said something she’d regret.

  Layla picked up his shirt and practically threw it at him. “Get dressed.”

  “What’s the big deal?”

  “You should go.” She opened the sliding glass door and made her way through the hotel room. He followed, dangerously silent. When she put her hand on the knob to open it and usher him out of the suite, he stopped her by putting his hand over hers.

  “Layla, tell me what’s wrong. I’m not leaving until you do.”

  She drew herself up. She knew he deserved much better treatment, but everything was too intense. “If you don’t go, I will.”

  He yanked the dress shirt on and buttoned it with jerky movements. He was angry at her. Good.

  “I’ll go now, because you’ve had a long night, and I don’t think you’re behaving like yourself. I’m going to give you some time to figure out where your head is. And then? We are going to discuss this.” He didn’t say anything else as his breath came fast and hard, just waiting for her to open the door.

  She wanted to say something because he’d been so wonderful. He’d made love to her in a way, expecting nothing in return. Silence stretched between them until she finally opened the door and stepped out of his way.

  What a mess she’d made of things. He’d made her whole world skew with his generous, caring attention. She’d gone so far past might-fall-for-him and straight into maybe-love.

  She wandered back out to the terrace to smoke another cigarette. This day seemed a thousand years long. She rolled her aching shoulders, wondering if the muscles were stiff from poor sleep the night before or the wreck she’d made of the pool house earlier. If it were from earlier, she’d be sore for another day or two. God, she hated to lose herself like that. To be so upset she didn’t care about the damage, especially to herself. She was lucky the cuts had been superficial.

  And now, her hands were covered in bandages, and her muscles burned from over-exertion. Worse than any of that, her heart throbbed with sadness and shame. Maybe she should’ve seen the head doctor. Was she a fool to have gone to war with her mother? She’d declared herself in a relationship, then she’d found a fake boyfriend to flaunt in front of her.

  And then tonight with Jace… Had she been so worried he might use her that she’d done the exact same to him?

  Searching for something more comfortable to wear, Layla made her way to the bathroom, and sure enough, a hotel robe hung on the back of the door. Decorative initials of the hotel were stitched on the breast, and it was deliciously fluffy and soft. She stripped down to her underwear and shrugged into the robe. Flopping onto the bed, she couldn’t help but wonder about her future.

  It wasn’t only the uncertainty. She detested the road she was on. Even if she managed to keep her father from institutionalizing her, she didn’t want to spend her life taking pictures of people that they’d be ashamed of. Hell, she was ashamed of them.

  Hopeful for rest, Layla snuggled into the covers. Time passed; she had no idea how much. Still, she couldn’t fall asleep. Too much racing through her mind. When the soft knock came, Layla ignored it. God, she wanted to give herself over to the comfort Jace offered. His arms would quiet her thoughts; she knew it. But, what would it cost her? More sleepless nights, definitely. She hadn’t even loved Ben,
and she’d barely come through that betrayal. Jace…she had never fallen for anyone this way.

  The lock on the door clicked, and it opened. Jace stepped inside and held up a key. “Master.”

  “This is a bad time.”

  “Layla, why…? I didn’t mean to do anything you didn’t want.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone three floors up knows I wanted it.” She buried her burning face into the cool feather pillow.

  “Then why are you upset with me?” His voice was soft, confused. He’d used the time to cool off, and he deserved an answer.

  She settled her head back down on her arm. “You know why. We feel inevitable. I’m either going to have sex with you or spill my guts. Both will end up hurting me.”

  “Inevitable,” he repeated. “You’re right.”

  “I know.”

  He took her hands and gently tugged her up to lead her into the living area of the suite. “You sit in that chair, and I’m going to sit over here. Sit.”

  Layla plopped down, tucking her legs under her and arranging the robe. “Why?”

  “Because you’re going to ‘spill your guts’.” From the couch, Jace settled in and watched her. God, his gaze was so unsettling and intense. “It will be okay.”

  “I don’t want to tell you these things. Can’t we come up with a third option? We’re smart people, right?”

  “You have no idea how much I don’t want you to get hurt, and this is obviously a very big deal to you. It’s been hanging over us since the beginning.”

  She covered her face with her hands, the bandages tickling her cheeks. “This is really humiliating.”

  “Doll—Layla, you are the strangest person I’ve ever known, and I find you adorable. I can’t imagine anything you say will change that. Tell me.”

  She thought it over. His words soothed her, like balm on her worried mind. Secrets were toxic—and this? Every minute he didn’t know ate at her. In the end, words meant nothing. She’d know soon enough whether he cared for her or simply wanted to take her to bed.

  “When I discovered Ben cheating, I was a little lost. I don’t know that I loved him so much as I loved the idea of him. Someone who loved me, finally. All of a sudden, I had no value.

  “I didn’t want to harm myself. I didn’t do that anymore. Or rather I wanted to, and it scared me because that’s such an awful thing to come back from. Cutting myself got me locked up in an institution in high school. Still, I felt really self-destructive.” Layla paused to dig her cigarettes out of the pocket of the robe and light one. The cigarette trembled between her fingers. This is where it got bad. “I went to this rough bar and found a really rough guy. Went home with him. That’s how I lost my virginity. He didn’t care about me, but neither did I. We had that in common.”

  “Damn, Layla. That’s terrible. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, there’s more. A few weeks later, I went back. The next guy was a lot rougher. We got out to his car, and he slapped me. Ripped my dress. But I didn’t tell him to stop. I didn’t care what happened to me. I think I had this idea that whatever he did, I deserved it. It wasn’t until the end, with his hands squeezing my throat that I realized I really wanted to live. And not just keep breathing—live.

  “I got away from him and went home. Then my Papà saw the bruises on my face, arms. My throat. He asked me to go to Desert Winds. It’s a sanitarium. ‘For rest,’ he said. And, oh, I wanted to rest. I wanted to quiet my mind. It can be more hateful than my mother.” She stabbed her cigarette out in the ashtray, shredding the paper and spilling unsmoked tobacco. “Anyway, at Desert Winds? That’s the first time I picked up a camera. And where I promised myself I’d never let myself be used and hurt again.”

  She watched Jace, who didn’t say a word. He wasn’t even looking at her anymore, staring at the coffee table while a muscle in his cheek jumped. Her hand drifted to her own cheek, curious if the skin felt hot on the outside because it was on fire inside. She must be furiously red. “You’re disgusted by me.”

  His hand shot up. “No. I’m trying to adjust to the idea that some son-of-a-bitch put his hands on you, and I don’t know how to find him to hurt him. Do you think you’d recognize him if you went back?”

  “I would never go back there. God, it’s been two years. Who knows where he is? I imagine a guy that likes to hurt women has to fish from different ponds or he’ll get a reputation.”

  Jace stayed silent as the minutes stretched out. Layla finally stood, so ready for this awful day to be over. Telling him hadn’t gone the way she’d hoped, but she knew the story was bad. Not many people would be able to hear that and see her the same way. “All right, then. If you can bring yourself to pretend interest in me tomorrow, you can have your negatives after.”

  He glanced up like she’d spoken in another language. “What?”

  “It’s a lot, I know. I don’t blame you for feeling differently.”

  “Layla, no. I want to kill him. I’m trying to decide if my PI could find him.”

  “For what? What would that accomplish?”

  He continued to frown at the table, and then his hand shot out to take hers. He pressed his lips to her palm. “I want to see you. A relationship.”

  She flopped down beside him, her heart tumbling around in her chest. “I thought you didn’t believe in relationships.”

  “I think it’ll work out perfectly. I’ll get you an apartment, and you won’t have to be dependent on your parents. You can just let me worry about everything.”

  “You want to keep me?”

  “I want to take care of you.” He smiled at her. Smiled, the son-of-a-bitch.

  “In exchange for sex.” Sweet mother of God, she wanted to throw something. Smash something. Make breaking sounds to cover up the breaking sound of her heart. Instead, she shoved at the glass bowl on the table filled with complimentary fruit. Apples and oranges rolled across the floor and the bowl thumped down beside them. “You need to take your master key and get out.”

  “Layla, what the hell?”

  She stomped to the suite door and turned to face him. If he’d only brushed her off, it wouldn’t hurt this much. “Of all the reactions you could’ve had, treating me like a whore is worse than any I imagined.”

  “Layla, I never meant—”

  “Just stop.” She closed her eyes, near tears she’d rather die than let him see. “I don’t care how you meant it. I just don’t want to see your face right now.”

  He tilted his head, his jaw clenched. Had she hurt him? No way. He didn’t care about her—he wanted to keep her until he was ready to move on.

  Once again, he stiffly walked past her out into the hallway. She locked the door after him, then pulled a chair over from the corner to wedge under it. Him and his fucking master key wouldn’t get in here. God, her skin crawled.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” he called out. “Please think about it.”

  Layla burst into hot, shameful tears.

  11

  Jace never slept that night. He drank rye whiskey and pored over in his mind what he’d done wrong. At six a.m., he ordered his father’s famous hangover cure: one raw egg, Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco sauce, salt and pepper, and a glass. While he waited, he tried to understand, again, Layla’s reaction. Admitting he wanted to enter into an exclusive-type relationship was something he’d never done.

  God, he wanted to care for her. Sure, financially. But he wanted to give her kind touches and soft words, wanted to be the person she called when she needed someone. Wanted to get her away from her mother, who could cut Layla so deeply with her words Layla would destroy the pool house and all her pictures.

  Wanted to care for her, but not love her. That was the issue at hand. He didn’t believe in any such thing, and Layla wanted more from him than he’d ever given to anyone. His parents’ terrible marriage made a commitment any bigger than the one he’d offered impossible to fathom. Hell, he couldn’t believe he’d asked her to be in a relationship at all.
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  His order arrived, and he tipped the bellhop two bucks. He broke the egg into the glass, mixed it all up, and drank it down before it could make him puke. He’d done a damn bad job of communicating himself to Layla. And picked an even worse time to say it. He’d never meant that those things were contingent on a sexual relationship. But he wasn’t going to lie to her. The two of them had always been on a path that led straight to pleasure. Why shouldn’t they enjoy one another?

  His phone rang, incredibly loud this early, and he snatched it up before it could drill into his head again.

  “Um, Mr. Russell?” asked Mary, the overnight hotel operator who screened calls for any problems at night and in the early morning hours. Every statement she made came out as a question, but he was used to it now.

  “What can I help you with, Mary?”

  “Well, Mr. Stone called just now?”

  “We’ve got to keep him happy. It’s good you called me.”

  “I didn’t have a choice? What I mean is, he wants you in his bungalow. He said right away?”

  “Damn good you called then. I appreciate you, Mary.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll ring him back? Tell him you’re coming?”

  “Of course. Tell him ten minutes.” Jace jumped into action, taking a two-minute shower. He pulled a black suit and white shirt on at random. They all looked the same, anyway.

  He knocked on the bungalow door with one minute to spare. Stone himself opened the door and stepped back to allow Jace entrance. The new kid, the one he’d sent to chase down Layla, stood in the corner, hands jammed in his pocket and head down. Jace had a serious problem.

  The kid must not have told his father what had transpired or Jace would’ve been called on it already. And he hadn’t figured out why Stone needed so much privacy, or he probably wouldn’t be here. But, judging from the way he wouldn’t meet Jace’s gaze, he’d apparently let the photography session slip to Douglas Stone.

  Stone, over six feet tall himself and known for his comedy movies and the occasional album, still cut an imposing figure. It was Jace’s job to keep him happy, and he looked pretty unhappy now. “Do we have a problem, Russell? This young man told me a wild tale when I asked him if he’d been sure no one took any pictures in VIP last night.”