The Sunday Arrangement

by Lucy Smith

  “He dates supermodels, remember?” I said out loud, hoping my crazy hormones would receive the message. “Besides, there are plenty of guys here in Vegas willing to sleep with you.” It had been a long time since I had a man in my bed, especially one who, against all reason, made me ache with desire. I didn’t know how I would react tonight after a few drinks, and that was what scared me most about going on this date. I couldn’t believe this man had made my professionalism fly out the window, replacing it with raging, insatiable lust. Scarcely did I recognize the reflection staring back at me. You’re not supposed to like this man. Your family has always hated his, truce or not.

  I swept my thick bangs over to the side, fiddling with them one final time. It’s not a date; it’s not a date. He’s probably not even attracted to you. Tall, skinny blondes seemed to be more his cup of tea than voluptuous brunettes.

  There was a knock at the door. I took a deep breath and smoothed down my dress one last time before I made my way across the plush carpet.

  When I opened it, I was relieved to see that he had dressed up too. He was wearing a simple dark blue silk button-up shirt. The first few buttons were undone, revealing his olive skin, which made me blush in longing. His black slacks were sleek and slim. It was the most dashing and sultry I had ever seen him.

  A twinge of disappointment spread over me when I saw nothing in his hands. No wine. No flowers. Why would there be flowers? This isn’t a date, Lauren. Get a grip!

  “Hi,” I said after a moment of observing him.

  He looked me over, and I could tell he approved. “Hi, you look nice.”

  “Thank you. Are you ready to go?”

  We walked down to where his silver Shelby Cobra was waiting. The luxury car was almost as sexy as the man who owned it. “Nice car,” I said when he opened the sleek door for me.

  “Thank you. It’s one of my favorites. I had it airlifted over here.”

  I resisted the urge to gag a little in my mouth. He probably wasn’t used to dating women of equal financial upbringing. The one-of-a-kind sports car spoke enough about his wealth without him dropping lines about airlifting and multiple vehicles. He sounded just like my father, so I ignored his vain attempts to impress. I slid inside, the cool leather hitting my legs. “So where are we going?”

  He started the car, which roared to life with a purr. “I heard about this really different club. Great food. Cool ambiance. Tons of different shows. They apparently have an underwater act, which sounds pretty amazing.” He shrugged. “Sounded interesting to me anyway, so I thought it would be fun to go there. What do you think?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of such a thing,” I said. “Underwater? Like scuba diving?”

  He shrugged again. “I guess. Sounds cool, right?”

  Suddenly I became very aware that this was a date. Here I was, sitting in his car, making small talk as he drove me to a fancy restaurant in the middle of Vegas. My nerves went into overdrive. This isn’t a date. He’s just your business partner, and you’re exploring the city together. The rest of the drive was nice and silent. I was thankful since I didn’t really know what to say anyway. I was accustomed to handling formal conversations and business, not pointless chit-chat, especially when I was nervous. The club had a long line out front when we drove up. We both got out of the car, and Pierce generously tipped the valet.

  “Looks like we aren’t the only ones interested in this underwater shindig,” I said, glancing at the long, winding line.

  “Don’t worry,” he said confidently. “We won’t have to wait in that mile-long line. I’m on the list already.”

  We walked up to the red velvet rope, and the bouncer crossed his bulging biceps across his thick chest. “Name,” he said. His voice was deep and gruff.

  “Maverick.”

  He looked at his list and then took out a stamp. “You’re VIP.” He marked our hands with an obnoxious purple star, and we walked inside the dark entrance of the club. “Go through this door to the left.”

  As we stepped inside, a young waiter stopped us. “This way, sir and madam. The VIP section is over here. You get to sit closer to the center of show. Best seats in the house!” I heard the trill of jazz music, a saxophone sweetly playing, as we made our way to the main room of the club. When we arrived, my mouth dropped.

  “My God,” Pierce mumbled.

  We looked around the old-style theater. Every wall except for the front of the club had been replaced with gigantic aquariums. Floor to ceiling, larger than anything I had ever seen. The thick glass revealed a whole other world of sea life. Dolphins, many different schools of fish, colorful corral, and decorative rocks filled the tanks. I felt like I was in the middle of the ocean, completely captivated by the sea creatures behind the glass.

  Pierce gently touched my arm. “Lauren?” he asked.

  I hadn’t noticed that he had pulled my chair out from our table, right in front of the main stage.

  I quickly took my seat. “This is . . . amazing.”

  “I see now what they meant by underwater act,” he said as he sat down across from me. “Absolutely breathtaking.”

  Our eyes followed the purple- and blue-striped fish as they swam around the orange reef. “Do you see those starfish attached to the glass? Upper right corner.”

  “Oh wow! There’s so many of them!”

  “I know. I swear I could stare at this tank all night and not see everything,” he said. His boyish excitement was incredibly attractive.

  “Did you see the sea turtle? I think it’s as big as that entire school of clown fish.”

  “You’re right. He’s a beast,” Pierce acknowledged after he spotted it.

  The two giant tanks behind the stage were absolutely mesmerizing. I could feel my nervous anxiety about the evening significantly dwindling as I stared at the colorful fish dancing in the water.

  “First time here?” a waiter asked.

  I turned to look at the tall brunette and immediately glanced at Pierce to get his reaction. If he thought she was as stunningly beautiful as I did, his face didn’t reveal it.

  “What gave us away?” he asked playfully.

  She gave him a flirtatious smile. “Just a guess.”

  “I think we’re a little too obvious, huh Ms. Hart?”

  I nodded, grateful that he was bringing me back into the conversation and acknowledging my presence in front of the Peruvian beauty.

  “No please. Enjoy the tanks as much as you’d like. That’s why they’re here!” She reached for a yellow notepad in the front pocket of her black apron. “What would you like to drink this evening?”

  “Do you have a wine list?” Pierce asked.

  Pointing to the middle of the table, she nodded her head. “Yes, it’s right here.”

  He grabbed the menu and handed it to me. Obviously, he thought I knew more about wine than he, the non-drinker. I flipped open the extensive list and scanned for anything familiar. I drank mostly champagne at formal gatherings, and with French food, I liked white wine with my boeuf bourguignon. Deciding against my go-to glass of chardonnay, I decided to wing it and chose the first merlot I saw. I pointed to one of the more expensive wines on the list. “We’ll have the bottle.”

  “An excellent choice,” she said as she took the menu from me. “I will return shortly with your drinks.”

  Pierce looked around with amazement. “I have never seen anything like this.”

  “I know. I can’t believe we haven’t heard of this place before.”

  “We should add an aspect like this to our casino. For the spa area for the higher-paying customers?”

  “Agreed. It’s so peaceful. I’d kill for my spa to have one of these.”

  He grinned. “Yes, I think it would go over very well. It has a nice calming effect.”

  The waiter returned shortly with our wine. After opening the bottle and pouring a generous amount for each of us, she pulled out a small notepad to jot down our orders.

  “I think
I’ll just have your lobster bisque,” I said. I didn’t want anything too heavy on my stomach. My appetite wasn’t exactly for food. . . .

  “Seems wrong somehow to order seafood while we’re staring at fish,” Pierce said with a forced laugh. “Filet mignon with the mushroom sauce and green beans sounds good to me.”

  “The show will start in a few moments. Please enjoy,” the waiter said before leaving.

  I took a sip from the large glass and smiled. The sweet, dry taste was just what I needed. “Do you know what the show will be about?”

  “It was described as a taboo version of Hans Christian Anderson’s “The Little Mermaid” on the flier.”

  I chuckled. “How in the world can you make that innocent Disney movie taboo?”

  “Oh, I think you could . . . if you just used your imagination.”

  I squirmed in my seat. Using my imagination wouldn’t be a problem, though I preferred a more realistic subject than mermen and seashell bras. “I guess this is Vegas, after all. Anything’s possible, right? Should be interesting even though I’m not sure I’ll be able to pay attention with the tanks directly behind the stage.”

  “I know what you mean,” he said. His eyes locked on mine, and my breath caught at the intensity I saw within his stare. How did he always do that? He’d become serious and concentrated, leaving me breathless, wondering what he was thinking about.

  He quickly stood up and shifted his seat beside mine. “Better view,” he mumbled. Although his back had been at an odd angle with the stage, I couldn’t help but hope he wanted to be closer to me. Maybe, just maybe, he too felt the heat between us.

  The lights around us dimmed, and the lights in the tanks brightened. It was as if we were really seeing the aquatic life for the first time. The water was so clear, so vivid. Two swimmers clad in bizarre mermaid costumes and oxygen tanks swam into view. Ariel wore a long, red wig and a low-cut seashell bra, a little more adult than the Disney original. A spotlight shone on a man standing at a podium on stage.

  “Welcome to Club Oasis,” he said. The narrator’s voice resonated throughout the theater as several people applauded in eager anticipation. “Sit back and relax. You’re about to see the tale of The Little Mermaid and what happened when she asked Ursula for what she really wanted from Prince Eric.”

  “I wonder what she really wanted,” Pierce whispered in my ear.

  “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful mermaid named Ariel,” the narrator began. His voice was strong and captivating. “Ariel seemed like such a sweet little girl to everyone in the mermaid kingdom. She was innocent to the many temptations of the sea.”

  More swimmers came into view inside the tank. Like Ariel, all of them were wearing seashell bras and long, flowing wigs. Each of the mermaids held a white rectangular sign. Lust, greed, sexual fantasy, fornication—all representing a different path in the world. They swam in a circle around Ariel, moving their signs in front of her face in a choreographed movement.

  “Until one day,” the narrator continued, “Ariel saw a handsome merman. His dark hair, washboard abs, and seductive gaze made Ariel feel explorative. She was ready for an adventure.

  “Little Ariel didn’t know what to do with herself. She had never been with a merman before.”

  I tried to focus on the erotic story in front of me: the elaborate choreography between the two actors in the water, the beautiful creatures that surrounded them, the dynamic voice of the narrator on stage, the sexual movement of the actors in the tank. But I couldn’t.

  Pierce leaned in close. I felt his warm breath against my neck. “This is turning you on. Admit it,” he whispered in my ear.

  I could feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. Why was he speaking this way? He was so close. Thankful he couldn’t see my face well in the dark light, I stared at the table. “You planned this,” I whispered back before I could stop myself.

  “Actually, I had no idea how erotic this little fish tale was going to get,” he said. “But I can’t say that I’m disappointed.” He glanced at the tank. My eyes followed. The Little Mermaid was now pushed up against the tank receiving spankings from her handsome merman.

  “Admit it though,” he whispered again. “This is getting you hot.” He placed his hand on my upper thigh. His fingers, warm to my skin, slowly squeezed my leg as if he was forcing an answer from me.

  I shuddered at his touch. Was this really happening? Did he actually want me? I surprised myself by not immediately shirking away from his grip. In spite of Kat’s warning text, my own doubts about mixing business with pleasure, and the surefire field day the press would have with this information if it was leaked, I couldn’t help but cave to the heat radiating from his subtle touch. It was electric and magnetic, intense and irresistible. Captivating me, the slight movement of his fingers catapulted me from that dim room in the middle of a club to a dark room all our own. Doubt became my mind’s stranger as I toyed with the idea of letting Pierce pierce me where I wanted it most—the very idea that I hadn’t been able to shake since the day he and his father showed up at Hart Corp.

  I frowned. “What are you doing?”

  He grinned but didn’t remove his hand.

  “We work together, Pierce . . . we can’t . . .” I struggled to sound doubtful, afraid even. Even I didn’t believe the pretense I forced from my lips.

  “I’ve seen you, Lauren,” he said softly. “You’ve been staring at me the same way I’ve been staring at you the past two days.”

  I looked into his dark eyes. The narrator’s voice and the aquatic tanks we were so enraptured by only moments ago were now a distant thought. It was as though we were the only people in the room. Heat from my chest spread throughout my body as I allowed his heavy words to truly sink in. Could this possibly be true?

  He licked his lips. “It’s Sunday. We have tomorrow off, remember.”

  “What does tomorrow have to do with anything?” I pushed his hand off my leg, the very opposite of what I wanted to do. A bolt of clarity washed over me. I forced myself to concentrate on the many reasons I couldn’t sleep with Pierce Maverick. Not now. Not in Vegas. Not ever. “I don’t know about your father, but mine would kill me if this reached the press.”

  “Who says it’s going to get leaked?” He shrugged. His nonchalant behavior made me crazy. Was his arrogance and confidence about our potentially scandalous behavior really turning me on? God, it must be nice not to care what the press would do . . . what our fathers would do . . . “We’ll just have to initiate a no-Monday’s policy. Then we’ll have an entire day to catch up,” he said. “I promise you won’t regret being with me.”

  I ignored his last comment and tried to return to the show, which wasn’t the best choice; the intensity of the production had just reached an entirely new level of eroticism. Was the merman really motor-boating the underwater Disney princess? Her breasts bobbed in the water, and I found myself strangely aroused by the entire scene.

  Pierce’s soft hand touched my knee. Instinctively, I brushed it off and sent him a half-hearted glare that he probably couldn’t even see in the dim light. My mind waged a war with my hormones. Every fiber of my being wanted to throw myself into Maverick’s manly arms and beg him to whisk me back to his condo. I wanted to be like the mermaid in the tank, captivated and dominated by the sexual merman with the really long tail. But a quiet voice in my head told me to resist him at all costs. What will Dad think? What will the tabloids say? My hormones were winning the battle over my logical self-warnings to flee.

  While the underwater actors shared a heated kiss, Pierce put his arm around my shoulder. His thumb softly stroked the bare skin of my shoulder. His hand was warm and gentle, sending sensations throughout my entire body. If this is what he can do with just a thumb . . . I wondered what he was up to, why the sudden urge to be with me, and even more, why I was falling for it.

  He leaned over again and whispered closer to my ear. His hot breath traveled over my skin, and I whimpered with desire. “It
looks like that actress really wants him, doesn’t it?” he asked teasingly. I couldn’t deny it—the Little Mermaid had heat in her eyes for the actor in front of her that wasn’t easy to fake. It made me want to feel the same anticipation, the same thrill of experiencing what he would do to her. That moment, right before you feel your partner enter inside of you—the anticipation, the build up—was always my favorite part of sex.

  His hand returned to my thigh, and this time, I didn’t push it away. I didn’t want to. It moved underneath my dress and farther up my thigh until his fingers touched the lace of my tiny black thong. It had been so long. . . . The logic in my head quickly faded into the background as my arousal took hold of me. I could hardly breathe as his fingers gently rubbed the front of my panties. He was teasing me, arousing me. And I was in no mood to stop him.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered.

  “Please,” I responded breathlessly. I didn’t want this to end. Pierce was offering me a night of sexual pleasure, and I couldn’t resist the strong desire welling within me to explore every inch of his sure-to-be incredible body. The impulsive, lustful side of me won, and I gave in faster than I had wanted to. “Let’s go back to my place,” I offered.

  He quickly stood from the table, threw some cash on top of the linen tablecloth for the bottle of wine and our meals that had not yet arrived, and left the club through the same door we had entered not too long ago. I followed with anxious steps, ready and willing to take this leap with him. It wasn’t love that prompted me forward. It wasn’t even like. It was a burning lust that even I, a workaholic loner whose only relationship was with a bedazzled planner, couldn’t ignore. I wasn’t sure if the sex would even be worth it, and I knew that it was probably not the wisest decision, but I had to find out. I knew I’d regret it forever if I didn’t discover what being wrapped in the arms of the naked young millionaire Maverick was like.