Lust (Vegas Nights #2)

by Emma Hart

  “Good point.” I smiled. “Again, thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome. I watched you for a moment and thought your husband might come and rescue you.”

  I stared at him. “My husband? Oh—I’m not married.” I awkwardly waved my left hand at him to prove it. “Single, actually.”

  “Single?” His eyebrows shot up, and amusement curled his lips. “Huh. I never would have pegged you for a single person. So, my next question is: are you here alone, or with friends?”

  “Alone. Yourself?”

  “Couple friends somewhere around here. My best friend is getting married, so we’re here for his bachelor party this weekend. I’m not really a gambler,” he added. “How come you’re here alone?”

  Questions. I liked questions. This meant he probably knew exactly what I was and was talking to me for one reason and one reason only.

  And, hey—saving a lady from a rude ass bartender trying to overcharge her was a good way to start a conversation.

  “My daughter is at a friend’s house, and there’s only so much silence one person can take on a Saturday night.”

  “Do you gamble?”

  I tilted my head to the side. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “I’m an inquisitive person.” He grinned, leaning against the bar. “And a beautiful, single woman in the middle of a casino in Las Vegas drinking a virgin cocktail invites a lot of questions.”

  It did?

  “It’s more common than you’d think,” I said cryptically. “To answer all your questions, I’m single because I haven’t found the right man yet—”

  “Ooh, cliché.”

  “But true.” I sipped my drink. “I like the atmosphere in casinos because I don’t go out often, and I’m drinking a virgin cocktail because I’m not a big drinker. My daughter will come home tomorrow morning and the last thing I want with a hyperactive seven-year-old and her encyclopaedia of questions is a hangover.”

  He laughed. And god, it was a nice laugh. Just as low and husky as his voice was. “That makes a lot of sense. I don’t understand it, but hey.” He swigged from his beer. “So, do you just stand here all night?”

  “I people-watch.”

  “What do you watch them for?”

  “My own amusement.”

  He laughed again. “What are you, a body language expert?”

  I perched on the bar stool behind me and clasped my drink. “No, I’m just one of those weird people who can sit alone for hours and watch other people have fun.”

  “That sounds dreadful.”

  “Clearly, you don’t have children. Otherwise, you’d know that’s what I do every second of my life.”

  He reached behind him for a stool and pulled it under him to sit down. His dark jeans stretched across thick thighs that had to be just as muscular as his upper body was.

  He didn’t look like a guy who skipped leg-day.

  “Actually, I do have children. Well, a child. My son is eight,” he answered awkwardly.

  “Ahh, so are you married?”

  “As far from married as one person can get. He’s with his mom for the weekend.”

  Hmm. “For the weekend? So, you have custody?”

  He nodded. “So, I understand where you’re coming from about having a break.” His smile was wry. “I love him, but there’s only so much baseball even a grown ass man with a love for the sport can take.”

  I laughed and set my drink on the bar. “I feel the same way about Moana.”

  “Thankfully, princesses aren’t an issue in my house. Marvel, however…”

  “Don’t start dissing Marvel. They brought me Chris Hemsworth as Thor.”

  He sighed. “Always with Thor. My sister and mom are the same.”

  I shrugged, leaning over to sip my drink. “Then, they have good taste.”

  “Debateable.” He swigged from his bottle again. “So, people-watcher. What can you tell me about the people in this bar? Who are the people to avoid?”

  “To avoid?” I laughed. “Well, anyone with a bulge in their pocket and a cigar in their mouth.”

  “That sounds stereotypical of the mob.”

  “You’d be surprised,” I said dryly. “I don’t know who you should avoid, but…” Glancing around, I picked a relatively obvious target. “That woman there, by the slot machines. Wearing the purple scarf.”

  He craned his neck, leaning into me a little. “Oh, yeah. I see her.”

  “She’s what we call a lurker. Most of the machines are rigged to pay out every, say, twenty coins,” I said in a lower voice, “so, she hovers, figures out the pattern, and as soon as you give up, jumps on your machine.”

  He snapped his fingers. “And steals what should be your winnings.”

  “Exactly. There are a few in every casino. They amble from machine to machine, just waiting for the big win. Actually, wait. That lady in the blue dress? She sat down real quick. Watch her.”

  “All right.” He kept leaning over until his fingers brushed the top of my back.

  A shiver tickled down my spine, but I ignored it.

  We both drank and watched her in silence as she played the machine four times before she got the jackpot. The lights and celebratory sounds went crazy.

  “Well, hell,” Hot Guy said. “That’s impressive.”

  “Yep. And very time-consuming.”

  “Isn’t it illegal?”

  “Probably not. Morally wrong, possibly.” I turned my face and he was right there.

  Too close.

  “Oh, sorry.” He sat back, withdrawing his feather-light touch from my back. “Who else?”

  Dear god, if this guy ever took me to his room, he better pay me a ton of money or be a damn good fuck for the amount of time I have to put into this.

  “That guy in the black and gold shirt. Which should be a crime,” I added as an afterthought. “He’s here with what I think is his mistress. Or a hooker.”

  “Unless he’s paying her to be his mistress.”

  “Hence the hooker comment.” I’d been there. “He’s wearing a ring and she’s not, simply.”

  “How the hell can you see that?” His eyes widened.

  I shrugged a shoulder. Because I was good at putting men into boxes? That probably wasn’t a good answer.

  “The way she’s dressed, she’d have a rock the size of a cliff on her finger if they were married,” I said instead. “Look—she’s going over there.”

  The woman in red sauntered across to the table he was sitting at. Slowly, she slid her arm across his shoulders and bent forward, giving him a full view of his chest. She kissed his cheek before perching next to him, still with her hand on his back.

  When she flicked her hair over her shoulder, my stomach clenched with recognition.

  She was no mistress. She was a bought and paid for whore pretending to be his mistress.

  “What do you reckon?” Hot Guy asked me. “Mistress or whore?”

  “Paid to be a mistress,” I answered. “She’s quite obvious. A real mistress wouldn’t be so in his face.”

  “You seem to know a lot about this.”

  “I grew up in the…hospitality…business.” Strip clubs counted as hospitality, right? “So, I’m used to the different people. I’ve seen all kinds.”

  “Hmm.” He finished his beer and put the bottle down. “Do you think he picked her up here tonight?”

  I shrugged. Probably, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. “She could be an escort from an agency. That’s pretty common.”

  “How many prostitutes do you reckon are in this casino right now?”

  Boy, that was a loaded question.

  One that made me slightly uncomfortable.

  “You know…We’ve been talking this whole time and we didn’t actually introduce ourselves.” I spun on my seat to face him.

  A slow smile spread across his face. “You’re right, we didn’t. Shall we start over?”

  “Let’s cut to the chase.” I put m
y glass down. “You don’t really care how many prostitutes are in this place, because you know exactly who you’re talking to. If not, surprise.”

  “I did know.”

  Thank god for that. “So, kindly, if you’re not going to make my night useful, it was fun chatting with you, but, you know. No hard feelings.” I stood up.

  Once again, he scratched his jaw, lips still curved. “Maybe I am going to make your night useful. You still didn’t tell me your name.”

  “Liane Carter,” I lied smoothly, holding my hand out to him.

  He took it in a firm grip, standing in one quick movement. He pulled me close to him, dipping his head to my ear.

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Carter. My name is Detective Adrian Potter, and I’d like you to come with me, please.”

  Oh. Fuck.

  “Now, we can do this one of two ways.” He released my hand and touched my waist, making it look to anyone else that we were a couple. “You can put your arm through mine and we can leave quietly into my unmarked car.”

  “I presume the second option includes handcuffs,” I muttered.

  “You presume correctly. For the record,” he said, bringing his mouth closer to my ear, “you are under arrest for solicitation of sexual services. You have the right to remain silent, but anything you say may or may not be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” The word was no more than a whisper.

  “How are we doing this? Are you leaving in cuffs or out of them?”

  “I’ll go quietly.” There was no use me fighting. He’d caught me red-handed, and hey—I’d made a rookie mistake. I’d outed myself first.

  I was an idiot.

  Plain and simple.

  “Take my arm,” he instructed.

  I did as I was told. All I could hope was that I could get a phone call and ask Felicity’s mom to keep Lola for a little longer.

  He’d already said I was under arrest, and that meant I was spending my night somewhere other than my own house, and it wasn’t even as though I had spare money to pay any kind of bail.

  Panic flowered in my chest. I had no idea how I managed to walk calmly beside Detective Adrian Potter as he lead me out of the casino and the hotel, but I did. Nobody even gave me a second look.

  Would they have if they knew what was happening? If they knew that panic from seconds ago was now a borderline anxiety attack?

  My chest burned. Nausea rolled through my stomach, and my hands trembled with the fight to keep it all inside. Even my eyes stung, and it took all I had to blink back the tears that threatened.

  I’d gotten away with it for so long, I should have known that one day I’d get caught.

  Detective Potter handed his ticket to the valet without a word. I looked down at my feet and tried to focus on my breathing.

  In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

  It was barely possible, but by the time a sleek, black car rolled up in front of us, I almost had my breathing back under my control.

  “Your keys, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Detective Potter took the keys from the valet and opened the passenger door for me. “Liane.” He smiled and motioned for me.

  This was the weirdest arrest I’d ever experienced.

  “Thank you.” I forced a half-smile and got in the car.

  He slammed the door behind me and, when he went to the driver’s side, the valet caught my eye.

  He offered me a sympathetic smile.

  I barely shrugged my shoulder in response. Not only would I have to pay to presumably bail my ass out of jail, I’d have an astronomical valet parking fee on top of it.

  Awesome.

  We drove away from the front of the hotel. I kept my head down, staring at my purse instead of out of the window as the silence weighed down on me.

  We drove for hours, but at the same time, by the time we pulled into a semi-deserted parking lot with dim lights, the clock had only ticked over five minutes since I’d gotten in.

  Detective Potter killed the engine and got out. I didn’t have long to wonder what was going on, because he yanked open my door, took hold of my arm, and half-pulled me from the car.

  Then, he put me in the backseat.

  The childlock clicked on when he shut the door.

  Now, I felt like a criminal.

  Seemed a little extreme for someone who only trying to bring a poor, unfaithful bastard an orgasm, but whatever.

  He fiddled around in the front seat for a moment before he said, “Name?”

  “I already told you.”

  “Your real name.”

  I sighed. “Perrie Fox.”

  He paused for a moment. “Related to Benedict and Damien?”

  “Unfortunately,” was my answer.

  He tapped his pen against whatever he was writing on before turning and looking at me. “Color me surprised.”

  “Like I said: unfortunately, we’re related.”

  “Uncle? Cousin?”

  “Adoptive father and half-brother,” I answered. “And it’s unfortunate no matter the relation.”

  “Hm.” He turned back in the seat properly and proceeded to ask me questions.

  Age? Date of birth? Address? Phone number? Was I with an agency or lone? How long had I been doing this? How often did I do this? Did I have another place of employment? Did I have a criminal record?

  I answered every last thing he asked me. The only problem was, with every question, my earlier anxiety returned. Every answer I gave made my heart beat a little faster and my breathing came a little harsher.

  This time, it was uncontrollable. Nothing I could do would stop it. But it wasn’t because I was being arrested—it was because I was alone, and because of that, what would happen to Lola?

  Felicity’s mom could take her one more night, but what if I couldn’t bail myself out or I was offered a fine and then jail if I couldn’t pay? I didn’t know the penalties or sentences for being a prostitute.

  I’d been a stupid idiot who’d assumed I’d never get caught.

  Now, I had been, and I had no idea what would happen with my daughter.

  “All right, Ms. Fox. Thank you.” He slapped something shut and put it on the front, passenger seat. “Seatbelt on, and if you continue to come quietly, I won’t need to put cuffs on you.”

  Gripping the seatbelt, I asked, “Will I get a phone call? I just—like I said, my daughter is with a friend, and I—I’ll probably need to call her parents.”

  He looked at me in the rearview mirror, his blue eyes dazzlingly bright despite the low light of the parking lot. “That wasn’t you spinning a line?”

  Oh god, he thought I was lying. I was never going to be able to handle this.

  I inhaled shakily until my entire body burned with the pressure of it and shook my head. “No, I…”

  The emotion took me. This time, there was no fighting it. Panic flushed through my veins with the sick force of adrenaline, and the tears I’d successfully held back stung cruelly as they fell down my cheeks. Every attempted breath hitched, closer to hiccups than an actual attempt at calming myself down.

  My ears even throbbed as blood rushed through my body. The swishing pulse of my own heartbeat pounded through my mind. Somehow, through it, I heard the opening and closing of doors, but my face was in my hands and I couldn’t breathe or think or process or—

  “Breathe into this,” a softer, but still husky, voice said to me. “Here. Breathe on my counts.”

  Paper covered my mouth. Fingers brushed against my cheek as they held the bag in place and slowly counted me down from full-scale panic to hysterical crying to, finally, subdued tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

  “Here. Tissue.” He handed me a small, pocket-sized packet of tissues.

  Gratefully, I took them. I had no idea what I looked like, and there was nothing this packet of tissues could do to fix the inevitable mess I was in, but I had wipes in my bag. Whether I could use them or not…

  “I’m sorry,” I w
hispered, blowing my nose. “I’m just worried.”

  He said nothing.

  “I, um, I have some facial wipes in my purse. Do you mind if I get them?”

  “I would advise you do before going out in public again.” He reached between the seats and grabbed my purse from the floor of the front seat.

  The man could stretch.

  “Here.”

  “Thank you. I didn’t want you thinking I had a gun or anything.” I pulled the packet from my purse, along with my compact mirror, and examined the damage. Black streaks across my cheeks, lipstick smudged…Yeah, that was about right.

  “Do you have a gun?”

  I shook my head, cleaning my right eye. “I couldn’t hit a dartboard with a meteor. I definitely do not own a gun.”

  He chuckled quietly. When I was done cleaning my face, he held up a small bottle of water. “Water?”

  I stared at him.

  “You’re looking at me like I have two heads.” He was clearly attempting to control his laughter. “It’s only water. I promise I didn’t poison it. It’s sealed, see?”

  “No, I…Weird situation…” I trailed off. Gathering myself with a quick, jerking shake of my head, I said, “Yes, please. Water would be great.”

  He handed me the bottle and I opened it—it was actually sealed—and drank. My throat was raw from my attempt at controlling my breathing, so even though the water was warm, it was soothing all the same.

  “Feeling better?” he asked, eyes fixed on me.

  “Yes. Thank you.” I recapped the bottle and cleared my throat. “Can we just go and get this over with?”

  “Good idea.”

  He got back into the front seat, and I put my seatbelt on like he asked. I trained my attention on the bottle in my hands. I didn’t want to watch my journey to the police station. Plus, the longer I looked out of the window, the longer the journey would take.

  How many ways could I explain this when I called Felicity’s parents? I could say it’s a family emergency—a recent reconnection. A sick grandparent from out of town? I didn’t want to lie about that kind of thing, but at this point, everything was a lie.

  The only truth in my life was my daughter, and all I was doing was tainting her perfect life with my bad choices.

  This was one step too far, and if I ever got out of this on the other side, something would have to change.