by Eve Langlais
“Hey, good—”
“Not happening. Go away.” Said flatly without her even turning to look.
Undaunted, he took a moment to stare at her, the fine features of her face, the scent of her, all human and delicious. What did she bathe in? Because he just wanted to rub and roll against her. To mix his scent with hers.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here.” Perfectly true if inane. Thousands of people went through this casino in short periods of time.
“Go away,” she repeated, her gaze still locked on her screen. She pulled with grim determination. Not a bit of enjoyment. A true gambler? Those were a dangerous breed. They’d risk it all for a game.
I gambled. And now what do I have? The beginnings of a stunning drunk, a hot chick who thought she could shoot him down, an ego currently around his ankles and still sinking. He’d lost so much, and he was quite lit, which was why he didn’t back off. “What if I said, no, I’m not leaving? It’s a public place. I can stand where I like. And I like it right here.” He added a charming smile to ensure she understood the compliment.
Finally, her head turned that she could shoot him a glare. “What part of ‘not interested’ are you not grasping?”
Shot down? Only one thing to do. Pretend she misunderstood. “Are you implying I’m hitting on you?”
“You’re leaning on my machine.”
“Just waiting my turn, sweet cheeks.” He winked.
“Then you’ll be waiting awhile. I am not leaving until this thing pays out, which will be any time now.” She yanked the handle, and the gears inside spun, flashing colors and symbols. Different ones came to a stop. No money.
She went at it again. Her gaze once again locked. Ignoring him.
“You here alone?” he asked.
“Is this an attempt to gauge how long before someone will miss me after you kidnap me and sell me on the black market?”
He blinked. “Uh, no. just wondering if you have a linebacker boyfriend or husband who might show up and knock me out.”
“I do. The hugest. Now go away.”
“I think you’re lying.”
“And I think you’re harassing me. Give me some space.”
“How’s this?” He moved closer by an inch.
She uttered a heavy sigh as she yanked the handle again.
Another loss and he could see her pile of coins dwindling in her lap.
“You play here often?” he asked. It wouldn’t surprise him to find out she was a gambler. Too many people had a gambling vice. They didn’t know when to walk away. Some people called it an addiction. The last time he was here with cousin Byron, he claimed he gambled for his retirement—a plan that thus far had him retiring to live in a cardboard box.
As for Rory? He saw gambling as a way to needle his dad, who thought all forms of wagering were a colossal waste of time and money.
She didn’t reply.
Undaunted, Rory took the seat beside her and swiped a card in the machine instead of using coins. She kept ignoring him as she pulled. He yanked the lever, knowing full well it wasn’t a true gear system slot machine anymore. Everything had gone electronic, but people wanted the thrill of the old style game. The yanking of levers rather than just a slight tap of a screen.
Old or new, the machines invariably took more than they paid. The spinning stopped. They were both losers.
They tried again.
A waitress walked by, and Rory snapped his fingers. “A whiskey sour for me and a…” He looked at the woman.
She didn’t reply. Big surprise.
“Something feminine for the lady.”
The woman obviously wasn’t ignoring him as much as she pretended because she snorted. “You just don’t give up, do you?”
Tenaciousness was one of his better traits. “I’m like a wolf with a bone.” His mother had kept the dinosaur one she’d gotten him as a cub. The edges of it gnawed. He’d slept with that thing for a few years. One day he’d…have no son to give it to. The idea made him frown.
“Wolf, bear. Doesn’t matter. My daddy used to hunt. He taught me how, too.”
How intriguing. “Used to? Does your father not hunt anymore?”
“My father’s dead.” Spoken bluntly.
It roused soft words. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
For a moment, they played in silence, or at least without conversation, given the hum of noise all around from voices, machines, and bells.
She won a small pile, which drew a heavy sigh. She kept plunking in coins and pulling.
“You know, these cheaper machines don’t pay out as often as the ones with a higher chip-in amount.”
“Maybe not, but if I’m going to lose, I want it to take time rather than be broke in just a minute.”
“Such pessimism. Why gamble if you don’t enjoy it?”
“Because I don’t have a choice.” She turned away and yanked.
“This is the casino I come to when life gets to be too much and I need to unwind.”
She didn’t ask the obvious question.
They played a few more rounds before he remarked, “Your pile of coins is getting small.” A glance over showed her tiny bucket almost empty.
“Yeah, I know.” She sighed. “Here I thought my luck was finally turning. Guess I was wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” he prodded, then said nothing more. He thought she wouldn’t answer.
“Wrong about everything.” The tone was self-deprecating, which Rory could totally understand. Which was why he offered her a second drink when he ordered his. She’d downed the first one.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said, sipping and feeling the line of fire as the whiskey burned its way down.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
She slanted her gaze at him. “As part of your ploy to get in my pants. We both know you don’t give a hoot about me. You’re just playing Mr. Nice Guy so I’ll have sex with you.”
“You make me sound so mercenary.”
“I would have said rakish.”
“That sounds better.”
“Not really. I’ve met your type before. Pushy. Arrogant. Only interested in one thing.”
“You’re right, I am.” He tipped his glass at her and drained it before saying, “I do love giving pleasure.”
“Your hand must get awful tired.” She said it with a straight face; therefore, it took a moment to sink in. When it did, he laughed. A dry sense of humor. The kind he could appreciate.
He paused to look at her more closely, especially her ring finger. “Are you seeing someone or married?”
“Do you really care?” She cast him a sideways glance before she shoved her last coin into the slot. He could see her lips move in a silent prayer before she yanked the lever.
Whir. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. The machine spat realistic sounds. Another loss and her shoulders slumped. “So much for changing my luck,” she said.
“Luck is a crutch for those who don’t work hard.” At her pointed look, he shrugged. “Or so my dad says.”
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I think sometimes luck is all you have. Here.” He pulled a coin out of his pocket. He kissed it before handing it over.
“You really think smooching a heap of metal will make it lucky?” She arched a brow.
“Try it and see.”
“This is stupid,” she muttered, but she dropped the coin into the slot and reached to yank on the handle.
The machine whirred and spun. Clink. Clink. One by one the tokens stopped. Another loss.
She smirked at him. “Guess you’re not that lucky either.”
“That’s because what you needed was a real kiss.”
A snort left her. “That was exceptionally cheesy.”
“A little.”
“A lot,” she said, draining her second glass of something blue.
A waitress whisked by and replaced both their
glasses.
“Let’s try it again.” He pulled out a new coin and held it up. “But this time. You let me kiss you. For luck.”
“I don’t kiss strangers.”
“My name is Rory.”
“This is crazy. A kiss won’t make me lucky.” She twirled the stem of the glass in her hands, not meeting his gaze.
“You don’t know that for certain. Pucker up, darling.”
“Darling?” she repeated with a wrinkle of her nose.
“Would you prefer baby girl?”
“No. I’m no baby. I’ll bet I’m almost as tall as you.” She took a sip before setting her drink down and standing.
He stood quickly, too, the pair of them close to eye level. Very close. The scent of her swirled around him.
Hunger rumbled. Not the kind that wanted food.
“How tall are you?” he murmured, staring into her eyes, the hazel irises flecked with gold. Captivating.
“Five nine.”
“And I’m just shy of six foot.”
“My daddy was taller.”
“I’m tall enough.” He stepped closer, the whiskey obviously stronger than expected, given the lightheadedness her nearness made him feel. The heat of her radiated, and yet it couldn’t compare to the raging fire inside him.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you luck.” Even if he’d lacked any of late. Perhaps by kissing her, he’d find it again.
“I never said you could kiss me.”
“Scared?”
“I’m not frightened by you.”
“Prove it,” he dared her. Expected another rebuttal. Maybe even a slap for being so intense.
Instead, she pressed her mouth to his.
And his senses exploded.
Chapter 3
What am I doing? She was kissing a man, a stranger, and why?
Because he’d dared her.
Yet, it wasn’t just that. This guy, who said his name was Rory, looked good—as in dressed in a suit, tall, blondish with a short, sexy beard—and he smelled divine.
He tasted even better. Like super delicious. And gosh darn it, the kiss felt incredible. The slant of his mouth over hers stealing her breath. When was the last time she’d done something pleasurable for herself? And before anyone got on her case about being too free with her affection, this was the 2000s, a time when women owned their bodies and their sexuality. If she wanted to screw a man, she would.
And she’d damned well enjoy it. Just not here and now.
She pulled away from him, her lips tingling. She plucked the coin still in his hand and turned to the machine. More to compose herself than because she actually wanted to play.
Therefore, it was with a blank expression that she stared as the symbols clinked into place. One, two, three… It took the dinging bell and the raining sound of coins for her to realize.
“Holy shit, I won!” She numbly looked at the ticket that spat out of the machine, exhorting her to visit a cashier to claim the grand sum of eight thousand, four hundred eighty-three dollars. Enough to keep her going for a while.
“What did I tell you, darling? My kiss brings good luck.”
A smile finally tugged her lips. “I guess it did. Thanks.” She peeked at him and noted the squareness of his jaw even through his trimmed golden beard. He was good-looking, tall, and just her type, if she had a type, but she was staying away from men for the moment.
“How about you thank me by having dinner.” He uttered the request in a deep baritone that did quivery things to her insides.
She knew where he hoped dinner would lead. “I’m still not sleeping with you,” she stated.
“I’m not asking you to. Have a meal with me. Just a meal, nothing else.”
The right thing to do? Grab her winnings and go. She’d gotten what she came for. But…When was the last time she’d enjoyed flirting with a man? Felt that tummy-tingling warmth that came from sexual attraction?
“I might be hungry for a steak dinner, a good one, with all the fixings.”
“I know just the place. And their wine selection is quite good, too.”
She’d long since exchanged her track suit for other clothing. When she’d first escaped with her cowboy companion—who’d introduced himself as Cody—he’d stopped, allowing her to shop. He didn’t ask many questions, which she appreciated. Kept offering to help. Said his wife kept a spare room.
She almost said yes. But even though the tough Texan carried a gun, she just couldn’t bring herself to accept his help. What if Kelso found her? Her kind Samaritan could have gotten hurt, which was why she’d said goodbye to Cody the cowboy two days ago.
A lonely two days. A bus brought her south, a long uncomfortable trip that left her wallet dry and her ass sore. She’d just about given up when she’d seen the bright lights.
Now look at her, free from Kelso, still running, flush with cash, and in Vegas with a handsome man who wanted to buy her dinner.
“Let’s go.” She couldn’t have said who was more surprised.
The red liquid flowed down her throat too easily. The food melted in her mouth. The check the casino gave her in exchange for her ticket kept her warm inside her bra.
Over the course of the meal, she learned about her good-luck kisser. His name was Rory Beauchamp, and he was rich, which she kind of figured. In an expected cliché, Rory had some serious daddy issues, but on the flip side, he kissed like a god.
No, seriously, he did. Ever since that embrace she’d not been able to stop thinking of it, and the many glasses of wine didn’t help, nor did the intimate booth and low lighting of the restaurant.
“You’re staring at me again,” she remarked, taking a sip to hide her trembling. Her observation didn’t stop him in the least. And the wine did nothing to calm her nerves. Every part of her was awake. Alert.
He shrugged, wide shoulders wearing a proper button-up shirt but a very loose tie. He’d draped the jacket on the seat beside him. An elegant yuppie dining with a trailer park girl in jeans and a T-shirt. She wondered if he’d had to bribe the maître d’ to ignore her ensemble. This place definitely had a dress code.
Which was why she snorted when Rory said, “I can’t help staring at you. You’re gorgeous.”
“I’m a hot mess. Especially compared to the other diners.”
“You’re naturally pretty.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Not that much.”
“I am.” She knew it because she didn’t move away when he slid closer.
“If I’m inebriated, it’s because you intoxicate me.” He leaned in close and nuzzled her, his nose buried in her hair as he breathed her scent in. “You’re not a real brunette, are you?” he noted aloud.
Had her roots begun to show already? “Does it matter?”
“Not really. Just most women tend to become blonde, not the other way around.”
“I’m not most women.”
“I’ve noticed.” He sat close, his thigh pressing along hers. She jumped when his hand came to rest on her knee.
“Where are you staying?”
“Nowhere.” She chose to drink more wine rather than think about the fingers tickling up her leg.
I should move his hand. She didn’t want to, though. His touch felt nice. She quivered. As in a quiver down there. When was the last time that happened?
Long enough that she didn’t want the shivery sensation to stop.
“I have a room big enough for two.”
“That wouldn’t be proper.” Neither was his hand resting on her mound, the heel of it pressing against her, creating a pleasurable friction.
“I want you.”
Bold words.
“I can’t.” Actually, she could. What exactly stopped her?
Her breath hitched as he kept rubbing.
His lips tickled the lobe of her ear. “I’ve never wanted a woman as bad as I want you.”
“It’s the wine talking.” Spoken almost in a whisper, yet she unde
rstood what he meant. Something about him, this moment, had her acting so boldly. Since when did desire overcome control?
Since I realized life is too short to waste. Let her take one selfish moment of fun. Her eyes closed, and her head tilted back, silent permission for him to continue. And he did. His fingers pressed and rubbed, causing such a delightful friction.
His mouth moved against her hair, a silken skein over her ear, and yet she still felt his hot breath when he whispered, “Touch me and see how much I crave you.”
She didn’t mean to, and yet her hand ended up cupping his groin. The turgid length of him bulged, begging for release.
She needed release. He kept stroking. Faster and faster. Her breathing hitched, and she almost screamed when a clatter of dishes falling startled her. Her eyes flashed open, she noted a couple walking by, the woman chin high and disapproving, her companion looking at them.
Heat burnt her cheeks.
Oh my God, what am I doing?
“I have to go.” She shoved away from him and fled the booth. But she’d misjudged how much she’d drunk. The wine she’d imbibed hit her hard. She blinked and wavered but kept moving. One foot in front of the other, the people around a mere blur, as she headed for the doors to the casino. Pushing through them, she took only a few paces before hitting a wall of smoke.
Damn the Vegas laws on indoor smoking. She’d chosen a far empty corner to play before, close to an air return system, but to exit the hotel she’d have to go straight through it. She realized that, while she’d dined the multicourse meal she only vaguely remembered, time had passed. The afternoon crowd had given way to the evening one. Unlike the daytimers, these were more about the party.
The booze flowed all around. Glowing tips of cigarettes sparked like hanging red stars in the air. Smoke. So much smoke. She couldn’t exactly hold her breath, which meant she got to inhale a lungful of tobacco. She saw an exit sign and headed for it. She shoved through the door and startled a group of people. The guy holding the water bong lifted his gaze to look at her but never let his suction on the glass loosen.