“Yes, we’d like that very much!”
The Serpentine Lounge looked like a forest whose biggest tree had toppled over, sprouted a bar from deep within the rings of wood itself, and grew a gothic ballroom around it. Black lacquer sconces equally spaced across the red and brocade walls cast a light that Natalie could only describe as candlelight on blood. Skimpily clad wait staff dressed like Adam and Eve snaked their way through the room, taking and delivering orders while flirting with the guests. Signage at the entrance indicated it was Ladies Night, and that all men in attendance were required to wear black masks provided by Serpentine staff.
Quinn and Natalie followed a masked Adam to a reserved table just outside a roped-off VIP section. The other tables around them were filled with beautiful people in gorgeous clothes that covered little more than their own modesty, or what modesty they came there with.
Men everywhere were in identical black masks that hid all but their eyes and mouths, the ambient lighting darkening or hiding the rest. Around them music throbbed, the base pounding like their collective heartbeats against the walls and floors. Women dressed in what Quinn would have referred to as their ‘sluttiest’ danced in pairs or groups, drinks in hand, bodies moving strategically to attract the most amount of attention from the opposite sex.
“I love this place!” Quinn shouted over the music, her hands in the air as her body swayed back and forth to the beat. She shouted something else but Natalie couldn’t make out the words over the loud music. Places like Serpentine weren’t designed to encourage engaging conversation. So she leaned back in her seat and sipped from her glass of champagne, watching the roomful attractive people.
She spotted more than one couple dancing far more suggestively than that of the general population. The way they moved, legs intertwining, bodies pressed so close together, it was like watching foreplay. She couldn’t take her eyes off of them.
‘Have you always liked to watch?’ The twelfth man’s voice came unbidden from her memory, his words like the touch of the sun to her skin. Go away! It was like exerting physical effort to remove Gentleman Twelve from her mind’s eye.
“Why are you making that face?” Quinn shouted so close to Natalie’s ear it startled her. “You’re overthinking something. I can tell. Just sip more champagne and try to remember that you are on vacation, Natalie Harlow! Have some fun!!”
“You’re right.” Natalie downed the half-full glass of champagne at her fingertips and smiled when the fuzzy bubbles started behind her nose and eyes. “Fuck it. Let’s dance!”
“All right that’s my girl!! Whoo!”
She danced. She drank. She took a hit off a stranger’s cigarette and managed not to cough. She gave in to abandon. The more she drank, the less she cared about what she looked like dancing in full view of the public. Drink and song made her mind free and her body pliable, and she enjoyed every minute of it. She lost count of how many cocktails she’d had once she switched from champagne. She sipped from a water bottle and ate the leftover ice chips in one drink while Quinn ordered her a new one from an Adam. Whatever her hangover status was destined to be the following morning she did not care. For the first time in five months she was free.
Sometime after 1:00AM they’d been invited beyond the roped threshold of the VIP section where the alcohol flowed freely and bodies bumped against one another as the DJ played on into the night. She casually flirted with a masked man who wore a white tee shirt that could have either been a ridiculously expensive designer version or something cheap from Target, fitted jeans and designer tennis shoes that seemed to glow neon even the club’s ambient lighting. His hair was a dark controlled mess on his head, and the mask he wore only seemed to highlight the chiseled cut of his jawline and deep eyes. She could barely hear him over the music so she stuck to smiling instead, occasionally brushing a shoulder or hand against him in time to the music.
Quinn took one of Natalie’s hands and danced with her as the masked man watched them, keeping in time to the music.
“He’s hot,” Quinn loudly spoke into Natalie’s ear. There was a definite tone of approval, even in spite of the roaring sounds around them.
“Oh good, so it’s not just the alcohol then?” Natalie laughed, glancing at the man before returning her gaze to Quinn. “Sometimes you can’t be sure! He could be totally hot in the mask and then a dog once he takes it off!”
Quinn shrugged nonchalantly. “So fuck him with the mask on. As long as he’s got a decent body, who cares?”
Natalie rolled her eyes but laughed, turning her attention back to the man and dancing as close to him as she dared. When the music changed, the collective mood did, too. The DJ had gone from heart pounding dance to something with a bit more soul, and Natalie found herself moving her hips suggestively to the beat. The masked man’s hands went to her hips but she didn’t protest. She could feel him against her, his movements matching her own. She slid her palms over his hands then turned in his embrace, hips-to-hips as they moved.
It was exhilarating to be so careless with a man, even a stranger in a mask. His body moved suggestively against hers and she reciprocated, grinding on him, hands on his arms, fingertips appreciating the fine muscles that moved beneath his taut skin.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he yelled in her ear, the stubble on his chin scratching at her face.
“So do you!” she yelled back, smiling widely, her eyes hazy with drink. Something in his countenance – his obvious confidence or maybe the little smirk that perked at his lips – reminded her of the twelfth man, though he was far more put together and less college bro. Still, her body responded to him as they moved, their dance a delicious foreplay with the promise of more.
“All right, Miss Junior VP,” Quinn shouted from behind Natalie, her arm snaking around to Natalie’s front, a shot glass filled with brown liquor in her hand. “Time for a shot. And you,” she held a lime out to the masked man, who took it between his teeth and held it there. “Bottoms up!”
Natalie took the shot glass and downed it in one swallow, and then reached up and took the lime from the man’s mouth, her lips brushing against his. She bit down on the fruit and puckered involuntarily, spitting it into the now-empty shot glass and laughing along with them.
“Good girl,” the man encouraged her.
Without thinking, without consideration, she picked up her feet on her toes and kissed him, her hands smoothing over his cotton-covered chest to feel his body beneath. He smiled when they parted, his hands on her waist as she turned and resumed dancing, bumping and grinding her backside into his front. Quinn smiled approvingly before taking a shot herself, winking at Natalie before she turned and sought the attention of the Adam who’d been serving her all night.
Natalie was just drunk enough to want her masked partner, and his strong, smooth hands were an encouragement to her senses. She’d had a one-night stand before, she could easily do it in Sin City. When the music changed again she turned in his arms and managed her best smile.
“Wanna come upstairs?”
FIVE
She lifted her head expecting to feel like it had been split in two, but found it surprisingly devoid of much pain. Something was covering half her face. She reached up and gasped when her fingertips met velvet. The masked man! Hastily she removed the mask and took in her surroundings. She was in her flower-bombed bedroom, tucked into the bed wearing a cotton slip, her bra and panties still in tact beneath it. Apart from evidence of her own peaceful night’s sleep the bed was empty; there was no sign of the masked man anywhere.
She held the black velvet mask in her hand and appraised it. It was definitely his, he was definitely gone, and she had no immediate recollection of what had happened to him. Light was streaming in through the opening of the curtain-covered windows. She opened them and looked out below at the lush palm and banana trees dappled around no less than three sparkling blue pools, one which snaked around the other two like a python; a lazy river. She checked the bedside clock �
� it was nearly 11 in the morning – and realized she was starving.
Tossing the mask to the bed, she abandoned what little clothing she was wearing and started the shower, stepping in and washing the previous evening off of her skin. When she finished she stepped out, wrapped herself in a towel and grabbed a bottle of water, sipping generously as she headed into the common room.
Quinn was lounging on a silk couch, a towel wrapped around her as she sipped on orange juice and read from a magazine.
“Bitch you stole my outfit!” Natalie joked in her best Quinn-voice as she plopped down on a chair opposite in the room.
“Well good morning, Sunshine!”
“Hey, I don’t suppose you happened to see-“ But she quickly cut herself off when a gorgeous man wearing last night’s clothing exited Quinn’s bedroom. He didn’t look like he had escaped a hangover as successfully as they had. He walked to the front door and was gone without so much as a word.
“Nice of him to say goodbye,” Natalie rolled her eyes.
“Oh, no, we said goodbye.” Quinn smiled, a wide satisfied smile that had Natalie feeling like she’d slept in just long enough. “You were saying?”
“Uh,” she laughed. “I was wondering if you happened to see a guy leave my room this morning?” She put her forehead in her hands and shook her head, not quite believing the words had come out of her mouth.
“So you did come back with someone last night! Was it that hottie in the mask?”
“They were all wearing masks…”
“And they were all hotties”! Quinn winked. “But no, I didn’t. Why? He hit it and quit it?”
Natalie straightened her back and looked out the window to the neighboring hotels glittering in the sunlight. “Not really sure he hit it at all.”
“Oh!” Quinn frowned.
“But he changed me into my pajamas?” Natalie shrugged and laughed off how absurd it sounded. “Yeah. Okay we need to take advantage of that cabana hookup because I need a tan, some food and some more to drink.”
“And a massage,” Quinn added. “By a hot cabana boy doused in oil.”
“Okay Blanche, I’ll meet you back here in five.”
“Honestly, how can you go back to your regular life after lounging in your own private poolside cabana?”
“I’m going to Home Depot the minute our plane lands back home to start building my very own.” Natalie couldn’t deny it was easy to get lost in the luxuriousness of a pampered lifestyle. Maybe there was something to being well kept, as Quinn had often defined it.
They were resting on sun loungers, bowls of fresh fruits, plates of scrumptious grilled sandwiches and platters full of drinks at their disposal. A personal attendant – Scott, indeed a hot cabana boy – checked on them every few minutes catering to their every whim. They each reserved spa services; Quinn a hydrating facial and Natalie a simple massage. It was the life.
“Miss Potter?” Scott asked as he entered through the flaps of their banana-yellow cabana. “If you’ll follow me please I’ll escort you to your facial. Miss Harlow, Ben our masseuse is on his way now to see to you.
“Try not to fall in love with Ben,” Quinn teased Natalie as she stood, looking every inch a glamorous model in her barely-there bikini, and followed Scott out into the sunshine. Not less than a moment later a second attendant appeared, a folding massage table under his arm. He set it up next to Natalie’s lounger and instructed her to lay face down and wait for Ben.
She was lying comfortably on the table, face-down in a padded opening with her eyes closed when she heard rather than saw him come in.
“Good afternoon, Miss Harlow. My name is Ben. Are you enjoying your day so far?”
“Yes, very much. How are you?”
The man let slip a quiet chuckle, and then said, “I’m wonderful. Thank you for asking. What can I do for you, Miss Harlow?”
“Just a simple massage, please. Nothing too deep; I had a deep tissue massage a couple months ago and ended up looking like I had hickeys all over my chest,” she laughed.
She sighed when palms touched her shoulder blades, his fingers expertly working on the few knots beneath the skin with both strength and delicacy.
“That must have been interesting to explain to people. To your boyfriend?”
“Oh,” she chuckled. “Yeah, it was nothing that couldn’t be covered up with a long-sleeved shirt and some makeup. Mmm, that feels good.” She relaxed instantly beneath his expert touch.
“So what brings you to Vegas? Vacation? Celebration?”
“A little bit of both, actually. I was just promoted at work.”
“Congratulations. Vegas is the place to celebrate anything.”
“Thanks.”
The cabana entrance flapped open, startling Natalie who had started drifting into blissful sleep under Ben’s hands. She glanced up only to see expensive Italian leather shoes and navy blue suit pants.
“Ben. Treating our guest well?”
Natalie’s ears picked up at the familiarity in his voice, at the faint accent that she couldn’t quite place.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Fitzgerald.”
“Good. Be sure Miss Harlow gets everything she asks for.”
Natalie used her arms to crane her neck and torso up, but the man Ben called Mr. Fitzgerald was gone, the cabana flapping to a close behind him. Hastily she got up from the table and exited, following the man and leaving Ben confused behind her. She had to shield her eyes from the sky to give them time to adjust to the insta-brightness. The vicinity was bustling with swimsuit-clad guests, waitresses in emerald green bikinis making the rounds to and from sun loungers, lifeguards switching out from one post to another. And several feet away heading back towards the poolside entrance to the hotel, a man in a navy blue suit, honey brown hair coiffed neatly atop his head.
She headed back to the cabana and wrapped a sarong around her body like a dress.
“Who was that man who came in here?” she asked Ben, whom she laid eyes on for the first time.
“That was Mr. Fitzgerald. He likes to check in on special clientele or friends, which I was informed you and your friend are.”
“Someone told you Quinn and I were friends of his?”
“No.” Ben looked somewhat confused. “The Guest Hospitality Director informed us you and Miss Potter are VIP and to take care of you.”
It didn’t make any sense. They weren’t VIP's by any stretch of the imagination. Who was Mr. Fitzgerald and why did he care at all about two random girls from Los Angeles?
“Mr. Fitzgerald works here?”
The way Ben smiled had Natalie picturing a cartoonish speech bubble above his head with the thought, ‘Are you serious?’ emblazoned in it.
“No,” he chuckled. “Mr. Fitzgerald owns the hotel. You’ve never heard of James Fitzgerald?”
SIX
Natalie paced back and forth across the common living space of the hotel suite, her thoughts running a million miles a minute. She didn’t skip a beat when the front door opened and Quinn strode in, their towels and personal effects in her arms.
“He’s here.”
“Who’s here?”
“My bidder. Gentleman Twelve.” James.
Quinn took a seat in the nearest chair, her face agog. “Mister Six Figures?”
“Ha! Six figures. He owns this hotel!”
“No!”
“Yes.” She handed over her phone, the web browser visible on screen with ‘James Fitzgerald’ in the search bar. Quinn tapped and swiped her way through the search results, her face becoming just as disbelieving as Natalie’s own.
“Real estate magnate James Fitzgerald. Owns several hotels around the globe, Eden being the newest and most notable. Listed as one of the world’s richest people.”
Natalie opened the mini bar and poured herself a shot of Patron, glossing over the price tag entirely. She downed one shot and poured another. “Keep reading.”
“There’s some vague reference to one of the royal families and
a castle he inherited?”
Natalie took the second shot and poured a third. “After that.”
Quinn’s sharp intake of breath told Natalie she’d found exactly the right one.
“Married to Celine Robertson-Fitzgerald, they were college sweethearts who’ve been together ever since. They have one child, a daughter called Francine.”
Natalie’s eye shut as the third shot of Patron burned down her throat. She recalled the conversation she’d overheard all those months ago at the Golden Palm when the twelfth man thought she was asleep. He’d talked to just three people: Mark, whom she assumed was some kind of lawyer, Celine and Frankie.
“Well it isn’t every day you find out you’ve had a passionate one-night stand with a married, billionaire real estate tycoon. Could be worse! At least it wasn’t Donald Trump.”
Natalie couldn’t laugh at the humor. “He’s known since check-in that I’m here. Think about it! There’s some kind of booking error so the Director of Guest Hospitality personally places us in a much more expensive suite, then comps us a cabana and gets us a reservation at their three-Michelin-star restaurant? And while we’re there we just so happen to get that ridiculously expensive bottle of Dom Perignon from a ‘secret admirer’ sent to us?”
“But how do you know-“
“I saw him!”
“What? When?”
Natalie sat on the couch and stared at the empty shot glass in her hand. She was going from sober to drunk with no happy in-between thanks to the quick succession of shots, but she didn’t care. Her brain processed thoughts too quickly while sober and when drunk the outcome of those thoughts were much easier to handle.
“I was getting my massage and he just came in the cabana."
“You were face to face?”
“No. By the time I recognized his voice and got up he was already heading back into the hotel. I didn’t want to rush after him in my bathing suit so I asked Ben."
Sinful Reunion (Book Two of the Bidden Series) Page 3