What should you do?
To return to your hotel room, turn to page 134.
To go with Jett to the casino, keep reading.
“I’m up for a lesson in gambling,” you tell Jett.
“All right!” He cheers. He runs his hand through his spiky hair.
“One sec.” He opens a kitchen drawer and rummages for a minute, then blushes adorably as he sprays two quick spritzes of breath spray into his mouth. “Ready,” he announces.
He leads to you back to the elevator and pushes the button for the lobby. You catch your reflection in the mirrored elevator doors and realize you haven’t even touched up your makeup since you entered the DJ booth. You run your finger under each eye to remove any smudged mascara.
Jett watches you for a moment. “You look perfect,” he says, then takes a small step toward you in the already-close elevator. “Except for this one little thing.” He runs a finger over your hairline and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You feel a thrill run down your spine as Jett licks his lips, leans close, and whispers, “Even more perfect. How can that be possible?” He leans his free hand past your shoulder, pushes you gently against the wall of the elevator, and plants a long, slow kiss on your lips. His minty breath mingles with the slightly salty, spicy taste of him.
The elevator dings and Jett pulls away a moment before the door slides open. You face forward and exit the elevator trying to look as normal as possible, but you notice Jett has the tiniest smile on his lips, which makes you smile, too.
The casino is smoky and loud. Men in suits and women in an array of attire ranging from skimpy skirts and halter tops to formal, floor-length gowns ring every table.
“Where do you want to start?” Jett asks.
“Um, I have no idea—blackjack?”
Jett looks at you from the corner of his eye. “You know how to play?”
“Not really,” you answer, “Don’t you just bet red or black?”
“That’s roulette,” he answers. “You know what? Let’s start there. Probably safer.”
“Roulette sounds more dangerous.”
Jett laughs, “Only if it’s Russian roulette. This is the one with the wheel. No skill involved. I’m not saying that any kind of gambling is safe, but this is about as easy as you can get. One step up from slots.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Jett leads you to a crowded table and waits until the current game ends. “Two thousand—one thousand each, please,” he tells the croupier, who deftly presents four neat stacks of chips, two stack of black, two of gold.
“Don’t you have to pay for those?” you whisper.
Jett laughs. “I have a line of credit with the casino. Don’t worry, I’m good for it.” He slides the gold chips in your direction.
“No!” you object. “I just want to watch—I have no idea what I’m doing.” You slide the chips back.
“Best way to learn is by doing. Jett places a warm hand on top of yours to keep the chips in front of you. “Besides, I’m hoping for some beginner’s luck.”
All around, players slide stacks of chips of varying colors into squares labeled with numbers, colors, or as “odd” or “even.” As they look up after placing their bets, some of the other players at your table begin to whisper to one another. One even takes out her cell phone to snap an unobtrusive photo.
A black-suited man in sunglasses instantly appears and removes the offending guest, presses his finger to the device hidden in his ear, then says something inaudible into what looks like a wristwatch. He nods to the croupier who lifts his head to address the table in general. “There are no photographs allowed at the table,” he reminds the remaining players. “Final bets, please.”
You have no idea what to do.
“Just go with your gut,” Jett tells you.
You pick up a single chip and carefully place it on red. The croupier arches an eyebrow.
“Sorry,” Jett picks up three more chips and adds them to the single chip you placed.
“Outside bets are a minimum of one hundred,” he explains.
You nod, though you have no idea what that means.
The wheel begins its hypnotizing spin. Little by little, its rotation begins to slow. At last it stops, wavering for a moment before landing on red.
Jett whoops with delight. “Yes!” he yells.
“Did I win?” you ask.
“Yes, you won!”
The croupier slides your chips back to you, along with a smaller stack.
“I won!” You jump up and Jett lifts you, spinning you in a victorious embrace. “Let’s do it again!”
This time, you bet on odd and you win again. Your next bet is on 1-18. You win that one, too.
“Should we keep going?” you ask Jett.
“Absolutely, you’re on a roll!”
Two more wins begin to draw the attention of the surrounding crowd, and spectators gravitate toward the table to watch. Before you know it there is a tall glass of fizzy champagne in your hand and the crowd is so large you can no longer see through it.
You are about to place your next bet when you feel a light touch on your shoulder. You spin around to see Freddie standing a few feet behind you, an excited gleam in his eyes.
“You are causing quite a stir,” he says, over the noise of the crowd. “I had to come see what all the excitement was about. Looks like you’re having fun! Don’t let me break your streak.”
You slide a tall stack of chips onto black. The crowd falls silent, holding its collective breath while the croupier gives the wheel a spin. The wheel slows and the crowd whoops a huge cheer when the wheel lands on black. Your stack of chips has become enormous.
“Place your bets,” he says once again.
You look at Jett and then over at Freddie. Freddie smiles and shrugs.
“I really feel like I’m pushing my luck,” you say uncertainly. You have no idea how many chips you’ve accumulated but you’re sure the towering piles must represent several thousands of dollars, perhaps even tens of thousands.
“Up to you,” Jett says. “It’s only money.”
“Okay, just a few more spins.” You slide two stacks of chips across the table. You win on both bets to the delight of the crowd.
Three more bets and your winning streak still hasn’t broken. Two more dark-suited men with earpieces now stand discreetly behind the croupier. You bet again and again, and continue to win, the chips piling up in front of you in a colorful mountain.
At last, you place a simple bet on red, and as the wheel slows you see the little silver ball click into the black slot and catch. The crowd lets out a groan. You don’t know how much you’ve lost, but after the croupier takes his share, the pile of chips that remains still far outweighs what has been removed.
“That’s it,” you announce, decided.
“Really?” Jett asks. “You can keep going.”
“Nope,” you rake in the huge pile of chips in front of you. “This is a pretty good haul.”
One of the secret service clones says something into his wrist and approaches you as the crowd begins to dissipate. “Congratulations, Ms. Noble.”
“Thanks,” you answer, a little unnerved that he knows who you are.
Jett takes one white chip from the pile and places it on the table. “For you,” he tells the croupier.
“Thank you, sir,” the croupier bows, then deftly stacks your winnings by color and slides a single coin of gold, one of gray, one of purple, two of black, and one of blue your direction before removing the other chips from the table.
You are thoroughly confused by the exchange, but gather that your huge pile of smaller chips has just been exchanged for a few chips of greater value. “How much is that?” you ask Jett.
Freddie is still by your side, and trails you as walk to the booth. “Just in case you need a protection,” he explains, puffing up his chest.
You present the little stack of six chips to the attendant, who glances up as she
notices the gold chip in your stack. “That’s fifteen-seven-fifty,” she says, spinning to the back wall of the booth, then after a few minutes she spins back around and hands you a check for thirteen thousand, seven hundred, and fifty dollars.
“Holy crap!” you exclaim.
“Holy crap is right,” agrees Freddie. “Pretty good for your first time.”
“All right!” cheers Jett. “This girl is a lucky charm!”
“That was so much fun! But this is yours,” you try to hand the check to Jett, who puts both hands in the air and refuses to take the money.
“That’s not mine, you won that fair and square. I only fronted you two grand—and we just paid the marker back. The rest was all you.”
“Oh my gosh—thank you!” You certainly don’t need the money, but the win feels phenomenal and the payoff is sweet.
The secret service guy, who you didn’t notice has been standing a few feet away the entire time you’ve been at the booth, walks over to you once again. “We’d like to invite you to come back tomorrow evening,” he tells you in a deep baritone. “Champagne is on the house.”
Freddie looks up at the tall guard and steers you gently away by the elbow. “Of course he would like you to come back tomorrow,” he whispers, “so you can lose all the money you just won. Once they get you back in the odds favor the house. Then they give you all free champagne you can drink so you’ll bet recklessly. Oldest trick in the book.”
Jett laughs appreciatively. “Don’t worry,” he winks, “I won’t let her fall prey to their sinister plans.”
You fold the check and tuck it carefully into your bustier. “Safe and sound,” you say.
Freddie rolls his eyes. “Well, I think we should call it a night.” He stretches and lets out a huge yawn, “I’m beat.”
“I can walk her up,” Jett offers.
“Nah, I’m going up anyway, so no reason for you to go out of your way.”
Are these two really fighting over walking you back to your room?
“Gentlemen,” you tell them, “first of all, I am perfectly capable of walking myself back to my room. Second, who said I’m ready to go? I think my win deserves a celebration. Who’s up for a drink?”
“Not me,” yawns Freddie. “I need my beauty sleep. Plus Sasha has been texting me since he left making sure you are still alive. I promised to keep an eye on you, and I am a man of my word. Let’s get you back upstairs before Sasha gets back and I have to explain myself to him again.”
“It’s still hours before I usually go to bed. Besides, I’m on a total adrenaline rush from that run at the roulette table. I just want to unwind for a few quick minutes then I’ll be up. Promise.”
Freddie hesitates and looks warily at Jett, who assures him, “I won’t leave her side.”
“You better not,” Freddie warns. “She is already past her curfew.”
“Okay, Dad,” you tell him, reaching on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Good night. I will see you in the morning.”
Freddie points a finger threateningly in Jett’s direction before softening into a smile and walking off toward the lobby.
“Wow, your friends are really protective of you,” Jett says. You suddenly feel like a teenager whose chaperone is finally off-duty. “So, about that drink . . .”
Jett smiles and takes your hand. His hand feels wonderful wrapped around yours, warm and strong. As you walk, tiny sparks of electricity fly up your arm.
You find a private booth tucked into the back of the bar, blissfully isolated from the noise and crowds of the casino. A waiter comes over with a frosty bottle of champagne, opens it expertly, fills your glass, and sets it on the table. He fills a second flute with sparkling water for Jett. “Enjoy,” he says, then glides away.
“He knows me,” Jett says by way of explanation.
“Ah, I see,” you tease. “You bring all the girls here.”
Jett peers through his thick eyelashes and laughs. “It has actually been quite a while since I brought any girl anywhere,” he tells you.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, I’m flattered,” he clinks his glass to yours. “To beginner’s luck,” he toasts, “and to the beginning of something wonderful.”
“Very poetic.” You take a sip of the delicious liquid, feeling the bubbles tickle your throat and warm your stomach.
Jett scoots closer to you in the booth, and presses his leg against yours under the table. You feel a little thrill rising in your stomach and take another sip of the champagne.
“That run was really pretty amazing,” Jett says. “And you’re a smart player—you quit at exactly the right time.”
“Thanks. I had no idea what I was doing so thank you for your guidance—and thank goodness you tipped the dealer. I had no idea you were supposed to do that.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what I’m here for,” Jett tells you. “Very useful knowledge acquired through years of scientific research.”
You laugh. “What made you decide to come to Vegas?”
Jett takes another quick sip of his water. “Well, it’s a little-known fact that being a DJ was really always my dream. I kind of fell into the TV gig after my mom took me to an audition for a toothpaste commercial. The director happened to be casting for The Silversmiths and the rest is history. But spinning tunes was always my first love. Been doing it almost since I could walk.”
“No you have not.” You’re sure Jett is teasing.
“No, really, I have. Did it every spare chance I got. I made some good industry connections and being on The Silversmiths didn’t hurt. I got lucky enough to be asked to partner up with the original guy who DJed at the Max and then was invited to cover for him when he started taking other jobs, and then eventually they offered me the gig. One of those things that just worked out. So, that’s my story.” He pauses and scoots a tiny bit closer. “But I’m more interested in finding out more about you.”
His eyes are locked to yours and you feel yourself helplessly pulled in. Suddenly his lips are on yours, soft and warm, and his tongue is in your mouth. His kiss is like a long drink of champagne, sweet and inebriating.
“Now I know how you got the name,” he smiles, licking his lips.
“Huh?”
“Honey,” he says, “it’s what you taste like.”
You feel heat rise to your face and you take another sip of champagne in a fruitless attempt to cool down. Jett reaches in for another kiss and this time his lips move to your neck, causing your stomach to clench. You feel your nipples harden under the tight silk of your corset. His lips return to yours and he pulls away for a moment to look at you and smile.
“Come on,” he says, “let’s get out of here.” He reaches into his wallet and throws a hundred dollar bill onto the table then takes your hand and leads you out of the bar. You keep your eyes on the ground and hope you aren’t attracting any attention as you make your exit.
Jett leads you back to the bank of elevators, and as you step on, the memory of his first kiss comes flooding back. Two couples and a single man step on with you, and you instantly resent their invasion of your privacy.
The ride to Jett’s floor seems endless. The elevator stops to allow each of the couples to exit at floors three and six, and then the last man, swaying slightly in his wingtips, makes an uneven exit on the eighth floor. At last, you and Jett are alone in the elevator once again.
“Jett,” you say, taking a step toward him, “about that first kiss . . .” Before you can say more, Jett grabs the back of your neck and pulls you toward him into a rough embrace. His lips are on your lips, your neck, your chest, his hands grasp your buttocks and pull you toward him. You feel the hard bulge of his desire against the top of your leather leggings.
“God, Honey,” Jett whispers gruffly into your ear, “you are so hot.”
You return his kiss and press against the hot bulge beneath his jeans, then let your hand travel down to reach for him. He groans, and reaches up to gently s
queeze your breast, kissing the top of your cleavage where it strains against your bustier.
The knowledge that the elevator could stop again at any moment gives you an even greater thrill. You reach your hand down to feel the tip of him, and run your fingers gently along the smooth, hot shaft of his cock.
Jett stills your hand and pulls away for a moment. “My place?” he asks.
But you don’t want to be anywhere but right here, right now with him. You slide your room key from your bustier and insert it into the little slot in the elevator panel, then hold the “close door” button for the count of five. The elevator comes to a gentle stop.
“Right here,” you tell him.
“How did you do that?”
“Useful knowledge of my own—acquired through years of research,” you answer.
Jett laughs. “I don’t think I want to know.”
“Too bad,” you tell him, “because I’m in the mood to share.”
You push Jett back against the opposite wall of the elevator, press your hands against his chest, and kiss him hard, thrusting your tongue into his mouth while your hands travel down to undo his fly. You run your fingers through his hair and then press against him, the cool, smooth leather of your leggings the only barrier between your skin and his. He runs his hands up under your bustier and gently pinches your nipples, making you gasp with pleasure. Your hands find their way under his shirt and you reach up to run your fingers along his firm chest, then back down to find him. You look up with a gleam in your eyes, then kneel down to take him into your mouth.
Jett stops you, pulling you gently back up to him, “Don’t,” he says. “I’m too close.”
The slightly embarrassed look on his face is adorable. Maybe it really has been a while since he’s been with anyone.
“That’s okay,” you kiss him again then lean in close to whisper into his ear. “I’m ready, too.”
You take his hand and guide his fingers to find you. Bright sparks of desire dance inside you as his fingers find your most sensitive spot. As he pushes your leggings down, you reach around to grab his bare buttock and pull him toward you. He thrusts, the tip of him insistent and hot against you. You hesitate, realizing you don’t have your LV clutch or any protection with you.
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