by Layla Frost
Shoes.
Purses weren’t my thing, and a year ago, I’d have sworn shoes weren’t, either. But that was before I’d known how it felt to wear a pair of killer heels or the comfort of shoes with support.
Some of the shoes displayed were so ugly, I couldn’t imagine anyone would buy them. There were others that were so gorgeous, I couldn’t imagine how expensive they were.
I looked longingly at a pair of sexy and edgy black heels with studded straps. I tore myself away from them, and Marco followed me out past the still silent associates.
No Pretty Woman moment happening here.
The next store was filled with display cases of watches. Watches were even less of my thing than purses, so we didn’t spend long in there, either.
We spent even less in the perfume store that gave me an instant headache and convenient mart with overpriced bottled drinks and candy bars.
I made up for my short time at the other shops when I stepped into a dress boutique. Some of them were gaudy or formal. Others were clearly intended for a Vegas wedding. But mixed in were some gorgeous pieces that ranged from cute sundress to sexy cocktail dress—including my lacy magenta one from the night before.
This explains how he sends me clothes so fast.
I took my time, my brain going crazy with inspiration I hoped I’d remember.
Once I was finished, we left and bypassed a men’s wear store, ritzy suitcases and travel items, and an entire store dedicated to blown glass.
That one was beautiful, but I worried I’d trip and knock everything over like dominos.
We rounded the atrium before Marco announced it was time for lunch. Going for food court Mexican—a good taco was a good taco—we sat in the crowded dining area and ate.
I had a mouthful of queso when Marco handed me his cell as it began ringing. “For you.”
Swallowing, I hit accept and put it to my ear. “Hello?”
“I texted you, Juliet.”
At the firmness in Maximo’s tone, butterflies raved in my belly and my clit throbbed.
Shit. I still wasn’t used to carrying a phone again.
“I forgot my phone in the room,” I admitted.
“It stays on you at all times from now on. Understood?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I said with only a moment’s hesitation. My gaze darted to Marco, but his expression gave away nothing.
Maximo’s tone softened. “Are you having a good day?”
“Yeah, it’s been fun.”
“I’ll be back for dinner. Plan what you want.” I could hear the smile in his voice when he added, “Just no hookers, blow, or roulette.”
My eyes on Marco narrowed to a glare.
Snitch.
Movement caught my attention, and I glanced over as a large table of people stood, others rushing to take their place. In the midst of the chaos, I could’ve sworn I saw my dad’s friends—well, former friend—Mugsy Carmichael.
Caught between wanting to hide in case it was him and wanting to confirm that it wasn’t, I froze. A pit grew in my belly and blood rushed in my ears at the thought of explaining why I was there.
It’s not him.
Just another wannabe gangster. Vegas is filled with them.
He may have spent more time in casinos than a nun in church, but it was still unlikely Mugsy Carmichael would be at Moonlight. It was even more unlikely he’d be in the food court area and not parked at a poker table until he ran out of money.
I knew that.
But it didn’t stop my panicked mind from racing.
Keeping my head tilted away but my eyes alert, I searched for the man. But whoever he was, I’d lost him in the crowd.
“Juliet, are you there?” Maximo asked.
“Sorry, I think you cut out.”
“I said I have something planned for later tonight, so don’t overdo it.” There were muffled voices in the background. “I’ve got to go. Miss you, little dove.”
He clicked off, but I kept the phone pressed to my ear for a few long moments.
Maximo misses me.
To be fair, he never hid how happy he was to come home to me. He showed how he felt with his sweet kisses and frantic touches.
But it was the first time he’d said the words.
And, God, they’d sounded so good.
Danger, danger, danger.
_______________
Maybe I should’ve napped.
After lunch, we’d changed paths so Marco could show me more of the resort—minus an area he’d said was off-limit. The tour had ended with the absolute best ice cream of my life before Marco had dropped me back at the room to get ready.
Eyeing the bed with longing, I forced myself to touch up my makeup—and my deodorant. I pulled my hair into the high ponytail Maximo loved, even though it would display the marks on my neck.
Or maybe because it would display them.
I stripped before putting on the gray bodysuit. The minimal fabric was soft, as was the lace. It gave the illusion of a corset without the organ rearranging and lack of breathing. I tugged on some dark wash skinny jeans that clung like a second skin and a slouchy sweater that fell off one shoulder, showing a hint of the lingerie strap.
A tease.
I put on a pair of gray suede ankle booties and hoped whatever Maximo had planned, it wouldn’t involve a ton of walking. Otherwise, there was a good chance my feet and I would die.
Grabbing my cell off the bedside table, I went into the living room to wait.
I had three waiting texts from Maximo.
Maximo: I keep thinking about how fucking hot you looked riding me last night, little dove. It’s making it hard to focus on anything else.
Maximo: I hope you’re having fun but being a good girl.
That one sent a tingle through me.
Maximo: Juliet, a phone is useless if you don’t carry it with you. What if there was an emergency?
That one sent a different kind of tingle through me.
Maximo hadn’t seemed happy. And when Maximo was unhappy, it made him spanky.
I squirmed from both the phantom sensation of a burning ass and the heavy dose of lust that went through me.
There were a few dings before the elevator slid open. Maximo stepped out, looking like a model on a runway. Even after a long day out, his suit was crisp and perfect, as though it didn’t dare wrinkle.
Stalking toward me, he was a hunter and I was his prey.
His very willing prey.
Cupping my head, he took my mouth with a desperation that said it’d been centuries since we’d last been together and not hours. His tongue thrust in and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss.
When he pulled away, I was breathing heavy as I asked, “What was that for?”
“Told you I missed you. I liked knowing you were here.”
I couldn’t hold back my grin, not that I tried hard. “I missed you, too.”
His eyes dropped to my mouth. “Christ, you make me insane.”
The words themselves may not have sounded good, but the intense way he’d said them did.
Releasing his hold, he stepped away and ditched his suit jacket before rolling his sleeves. “Did you decide on dinner?”
“Does the Asian restaurant have sushi?”
“Yes. Do you like sushi?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea, I’ve never had it.”
“Let’s find out.”
_______________
As it turned out, I did like sushi. Just not the raw stuff.
Never the raw stuff.
Chang’e—named after the Chinese goddess of the moon, of course—was a Pan-Asian restaurant with an extensive fusion and dim sum menu. Contrary to my assumption that it would be casual, it was incredibly trendy and upscale. I was way underdressed, not that anyone would comment since I was with Maximo.
Maximo had ordered us an assortment of mostly delicious food—the uncooked spring rolls were almost as gross as the raw sushi.
It was o
bvious I wouldn’t be going on a raw food diet in the future.
“What’s the plan?” I asked when we finished eating.
“You’ll see.” Maximo checked his watch before standing and dropping a fold of cash onto the table.
Leaving the restaurant, we made our way across the main floor. When we reached the table gaming area, my attention caught on someone walking to one of the tables, a stack of chips in his hand. He sat and arranged them in front of him.
My steps slowed, and Maximo tilted his head to look down at me.
“I know that guy,” I whispered.
“Who?”
I jerked my head subtly in the direction. “Gray shirt, bald head.”
“How?”
“He came to visit Shamus a few times.”
“Friend?”
“Not unless kicking his ass is a new way to express friendship. If so, Shamus was the most popular man in the world.”
I remembered coming out from the backroom at the gym to the sounds of pained cries and shouting. Although that was the usual soundtrack at the training gym, that time had been different. The man had been sent to deliver a message with his fists.
It hadn’t been the last time someone had shown up with a similar messaging method.
No, the last time had been the man who was standing next to me, his hand on my lower back. The man whose hands had been on every other part of my body. Whose bed I slept in. Whose arms were wrapped around me every night, his hold possessive and intimate.
A sudden burst of guilt clawed at me. It tore at the happiness I’d built, threatening to unravel everything like a loose thread.
Tug.
Tug.
Tug.
Surprise tears burned behind my lids, and I inhaled deeply, keeping them at bay. Shoving it all down.
“Juliet,” Maximo said, making me jolt.
“Huh?”
His eyes were filled with concern. “Where’d you go, dove?”
“Sorry, what did you say?”
Catching my non-answer, the muscle in his jaw jumped, but he didn’t push. “I asked if you’re sure that’s him?”
I nodded.
He steered me through the room, his pace brisker than it’d been. He paused near a pit boss just long enough to say, “Gray shirt, bald head, Omaha low limit. If he gets up before Miles or Ash gets here, have him followed.”
Wait, what?
Since I sincerely doubted Maximo was avenging Shamus’ beatdown, I had no clue why he was making a big deal of a small thing. Unless he recognized the guy, too. Knowing the company Shamus had kept, I wouldn’t be surprised if the man was on his shit list.
The pit boss gave a barely perceptible chin raise before resuming his rounds like nothing was amiss.
I waited until we were walking before asking, “Why are you siccing security on him?”
Maximo didn’t answer as he took his phone out, tapped the screen a few times, and put it to his ear. Whoever must have picked up because he repeated the description before adding, “He worked for someone McMillon owed. Keep an eye on him.”
Once he hung up, I repeated, “Why are you siccing security on him?”
“Making sure he’s only here to lose his money.” He wrapped an arm around me and squeezed, though he remained somber.
“It’s just a coincidence.”
That wasn’t the right thing to say because his eyes went colder. “I don’t like coincidences.”
“Okay, but to be fair, I think Shamus owed money to half the US population.”
That got him to soften a little as he glanced down at me. “That much?”
I tilted my head and pretended to think before amending, “Half the continental US.”
His lips tipped and more of the tension left him as we stopped.
I pulled my attention from his far too sexy expression to see we were at the entryway to the area Marco had said was off-limits.
Earlier, the doors had been propped open, and so many people had milled about, I hadn’t been able to see what was in there. Right then, the doors were closed with a velvet rope secured across, so I still couldn’t see what was in there. Signage marked it as closed for the evening.
Of course, none of that applied to Maximo, and he unlatched the rope and punched in a code to unlock the heavy door.
Holding it open so I could enter, he re-secured the rope and let the heavy door slam closed, the sound echoing in the quiet hall.
Beautiful photography and art lined the walls. Sculptures and floral displays were in the middle of the path. The theme, of course, was the moon, but also light. Bursts of it filled dark canvases—simple yet stunning.
Although it was lovely to look at, I was surprised by how busy it’d been earlier. The typical Vegas crowd didn’t strike me as art aficionados.
Maximo took my hand, weaving his fingers through mine as he kept my pace, not rushing my very slow stroll.
Once we reached the end of the hall and the doors there, Maximo punched in a code. All six doors swung open, and we stepped into a dimly lit room.
The domed roof was velvety black, but there were no twinkle lights. Matching black benches were positioned in rows, but that was it.
“Sit,” Maximo said. “Third row, right side of the aisle.”
I went where he directed and sat on the padded bench. If nothing else, my feet were happy for a break.
Low classical music filled the room as the lights dimmed. Maximo sat next to me just as they went out, leaving us in pitch blackness. “Hold on.”
Even with his warning, I yelped when the back of the bench slowly reclined.
Maximo didn’t even try to stifle his laughter. Wrapping his arm around my shoulders, he curled my body into his so I was resting my head on his chest.
“If this is a nap area, this resort really does have everything.”
“Give it a minute.”
“A minute might be all I need to fall asleep.”
Before I could even rest my eyes, the music grew louder and lights flashed as a laser light show was projected onto the ceiling. The music transitioned to Sinatra’s Fly Me to the Moon, and I was completely entranced. Lasers shaped like the moon and solar system moved and changed along to the lyrics.
The music melded from the classics to classic rock. I recognized CCR’s Bad Moon Rising from the first few chords.
Back when we’d lived in New York, Shamus had been all about classic rock. He’d listened to Springsteen until I’d wished I was born to run. It wasn’t until we’d moved to Vegas that he’d switched to the Rat Pack to fit in with his wannabe mobster pals.
Once the volume faded, the bench slowly returned to normal and the lights slowly turned on.
“What did you think?” Maximo asked, his lips against my head.
“Can we watch it again?”
“Give me a second.” He stood and went back to the control panel on the wall. Not touching it, he pulled out his phone and typed something before saying to me. “Shamus’ pal lost his stack and left.”
I’d been certain it’d been a coincidence, but it was reassuring to have confirmation—especially after the uncertain Mugsy sighting earlier.
Maximo pocketed his phone and pressed a couple control panel buttons. Within a few seconds, the lights faded as the classical music started. He sat and got us situated just before the bench lowered again.
Sinatra’s croon floated through the air and the lasers started to dance. I noticed more details I’d missed on first viewing.
So wrapped up in what I was watching, I didn’t think twice when Maximo’s hand went from my ass to rub my back under my sweater. He froze, his voice rough when he rumbled, “What’re you wearing under this, dove?”
“Uhhh…”
His hand trailed up the lacy fabric before he shifted me off him and stood. I couldn’t see what he was doing in the darkness, and my heart raced with a jumpy anticipation.
A few moments later, the show and music cut off abruptly as the lights flared t
o life. Maximo pressed the door open and stared at me expectantly. “Let’s go.”
I didn’t move. I just stared as he ran a tattooed hand across his jaw before sweeping his bottom lip with his thumb.
“Now, Juliet.”
At that tone, I jumped up. That didn’t stop me from muttering, “I’m coming, I’m coming. Sheesh.”
“Just because I won’t fuck you in here doesn’t mean I won’t bend you over a bench and spank your sweet ass.”
“You won’t fuck me in here?” Not that I’d expected him to, but he seemed resolute in his decision not to.
“Not with the cameras.”
“But you’d spank my ass when security could see?”
“I know where the cameras are. I’d block your body and leave your jeans on,” he said, like that made it better.
Actually, it did.
I contemplated throwing more attitude his way to see how it went.
And Maximo must’ve known I was thinking about it because lust blazed in his eyes as he adjusted the bulge in his slacks, trying to hide his hard-on.
Good luck with that.
“Don’t look at me like that, or I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
The way he was watching me.
The way he looked so handsome yet so wild.
The threat—the promise—in his words…
It all worked for me. My nipples were painfully hard, my body was flushed and needy, and I was wet.
Soaked.
“You’ve got five seconds to get over here,” he continued, “or I’m fucking you on a bench—cameras be damned.”
I hurried over, remaining silent as we made our way down the long art corridor and back into the main area. Once the noises of the casino surrounded us, I couldn’t resist tormenting him the same way his obscenely sweet words tormented me. I kept my eyes aimed in front of me and said, “I think I want to try riding your face.”
The normally unflappable Maximo stopped suddenly in the middle of the walkway and nearly caused a collision.
“Juliet,” he warned.
“You said communication was important, Daddy. So I’m communicating my desire to ride your face.”
“Christ.” He gave me a different version of the look. One that warned he’d punish me in the very best way.