“I’ve got someone joining me,” he said while the waitress straightened back up with her tray.
“Any idea what they want?”
“I’m working on finding that out.”
The waitress smiled at him and moved on, but his head stayed wrapped around the question. What did someone like Molly want? He could only guess, and it wasn’t anything a man like him could afford—and he wasn’t talking about money. She’d want the boyfriend package: steady job, steady income, steady emotions.
At least he’d roped her in for the night, even if it hadn’t exactly been in an honorable way. Who would’ve ever accused him of being honorable, though?
He took a drink, glancing toward the casino floor, where a cluster of gaming tables waited for tourists to throw away their money. And what do you know?
There she stood, Molly P. Preston, fenced in by her friends.
He barely saw anyone else, though, not while her mermaid-blond hair drew most of his attention. She’d pulled the strands back into a bun again, just like when he’d first laid eyes on her, and he burned to undo it so he could bury his face in the light cloud of it. Her delicate features fascinated him, too—features like the thick lashes that surrounded her eyes, which weren’t blue or green exactly; it was like they couldn’t decide what they wanted to be. Then there were those pink, beautiful lips that turned up at the corners and could either tell him to go to hell tonight or else part in a moan, just like in all the fantasies he’d already had about her.
Cash saved the best for last as he perused the rest of her—the legs that went on for miles, that tiny waist, those breasts that’d fit real nice in his palms.
Unfortunately, she’d packaged herself up nice and tight, wearing a white sleeveless button-down blouse and a slim black-checkered skirt that made her look like . . . well, an accountant. During the poker game, her friend Arden had let a few factoids about Molly slip, but after talking to Molly at the bar and finding out how prissy she was, he would’ve guessed that she was something similar anyway. A librarian maybe. Either way, she hadn’t exactly looked like she crunched numbers by day in that sundress she’d been sporting earlier. And with that blond hair flying free.
The only nonaccountant part of her now that he could see was a pair of black high heels with peekaboo toes and straps encircling her ankles, a subtle tease. All in all, he had the feeling that she was a laced-up nerd who needed only a nudge to undo that strict bun again.
Heat shot to his groin, and he ran a hand through his hair, which was still damp from the shower he’d taken. It wasn’t like he’d gone out of his way to dress up, but somewhere inside of him, excitement had been flickering all day—the anticipation of a kid on his first date.
But that was fucking dumb. Still, as she talked with her friends—were they arguing?—he stood from his chair, wanting her to see that he was already waiting. Wanting her to tell her buddies to go away so she could come to him.
Funny, because he was usually running the other way.
Just as the thought tailed off, their gazes locked, and a yank of desire made him tense up. So pretty. So off-limits. So not-his-usual type. And that made him want her more.
She raised her chin, then walked toward the lounge’s entrance, waving to her friends. They stood by a bank of slot machines, their hands on their hips, but he didn’t care about how they stared at him. Molly was cutting a path through the tables, smoothing a hand over her skirt like she was nervous. Or maybe there was another reason she picked at her clothes an awful lot. It was one of her tells.
He pulled a chair out for her, then waited until she was sitting before he took his again. He knew from experience that manners were only a warm-up, a sort of foreplay that got a woman thinking good things about a guy, letting him go further and further until he got what he wanted.
“You made it,” he said, grit in his voice. He hadn’t expected it to be there.
“I told you I would.” She ran a hand down the strap of the purse she’d slung across her chest, then nodded toward his drink. “That looks like soda.”
“I’m driving, and I’d hate to crash my car.”
She slanted a gaze back toward her friends, giving them a subtle get-out-of-here gesture. Arden, the redhead he’d cleaned out at the poker game, frowned until the tiny exotic-looking Sofia reluctantly pulled her away.
Molly laughed uncomfortably. “They wanted to make sure everything started smoothly.”
“Good, but I’m glad they won’t be hovering all night. Your posse’s not a part of the deal.”
Freezing in place, she gave him a wide-eyed look. But then she laughed and shook her head. “Sorry. I thought you said something else.”
“What—that your pussy’s not a part of the deal? I wouldn’t discount that, Molly.”
Now her mouth opened wide, too, before she clamped it shut. Damn, this woman was out of her element with him, and that made this meeting even more fun. He’d tapped virgins before, when he was younger, but most of his usual type now was of the heavy-eyeliner category. Molly made him think about what he might have been like if he’d been dealt a whole other set of cards in life. Made him . . . want.
A spurt of anger flared deep inside his gut, but he put it out like he always did. And when the cocktail waitress dropped by again, he looked to Molly.
“What’ll you have?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I drank a lot of whisky this afternoon, and I’m not quite over it.”
“Then you need the Hair of the Dog.” He looked at the waitress. “One shot whisky, one tablespoon honey, and double cream for her. A glass of water, too.”
As the waitress left, Molly sent him one of those suspicious glances he was getting to know so well.
“I’ve heard of the hair-of-the-dog-that-bit-you theory,” she said, “but I didn’t know it was a drink.”
“An old Scots remedy, so they say.” He grinned and allowed his gaze to linger on her—down to her lips, to her chest, back up again. “Don’t ever tell your friends I didn’t take care of you.”
She smoothed down her blouse.
“Why’re you always doing that?” he asked.
“What?”
He adjusted his T-shirt, demonstrating. “That.”
She seemed surprised that he’d noticed, then blanked her expression. Maybe she should’ve been in the poker game today instead of Arden.
“No reason.”
“It’s what they call a ‘tell’ in poker,” he said. “Some people show on their face that they’re holding a hand that’s good or bad, but some have got other signals they’re not even aware of, like picking at their clothes.”
She sat up straighter in her chair. “You’re extra-observant, aren’t you?”
“It’s how I get by.”
“Is that right?” She rested her elbows on the table, leaning toward him like she was going to read him as easily as the latest book club selection. “Are you telling me that you play cards for a living?”
Well, if he was going to ask for a night with her, this was part of the deal, he supposed. Women liked to think they knew the men they were with, so you had to tell them a thing or two. “I’d call poker a supplemental income. But I find other work wherever I go.”
“I already heard that. Sofia said that your card-dealer friend Hooper told them you’re in construction, and you move from place to place. But he didn’t mention the gambling part. Maybe that’s because it would’ve tipped off Arden not to be playing at your table.”
The waitress arrived and set down Molly’s cocktail. Cash took out his money clip and gave her a fifty-dollar bill.
“Thanks.” She smiled gratefully and took off.
Molly’s eyes got real big again. He kind of liked making them that way.
“Never let it be said that I don’t spread the wealth.” He took another drink.
She brought her glass closer to her, sniffing at it, like she’d done at the bar with the whisky. Creature of habit, Cash thought. Easy to read.
Easy to conquer?
Before drinking, she said, “If you’re so keen on spreading the wealth, maybe you’d consider spreading it to Arden?”
He laughed. She had him there. “Ten thousand dollars is a lot of spreading, princess.”
Was that a blush he saw? It was hard to tell because of the low lighting, but maybe she’d thought of a different kind of “spreading.” That’s a conversation he’d love to expand on.
But he had the feeling Molly didn’t do dirty talk. She was pure vanilla, from her hair to her skin to probably her likes and dislikes. The temptation to dirty her up tapped at him.
He goaded her. “Don’t you have ten thou on hand to loan your friend?”
“Not exactly.” She wrapped both hands around her drink, her nails smooth and shaped just so. Her grip seemed tight.
He didn’t want to mess that hard with her. “Arden mentioned what happened with your job.”
“Oh, she did?”
“She told me a little about it after she lost the money to me. She was still kind of toasted, even though her powers of concentration in that game were pretty good, and she spilled the story about how your boss drove you out and how you girls wanted a nice trip to get your mojo back. Or maybe I heard that part when she was talking too loud at the bar.”
Molly kept staring at him like she expected him to say more, but when he didn’t, she seemed relieved.
There was something else to this story, wasn’t there? Interesting.
When she shook her head and muttered, “I’m going to kill Arden twice,” he chuckled.
“It’s really not funny,” she said. “This trip hasn’t exactly been what I was thinking it would be.”
“Didn’t you want something different?” he asked. “I’d say you now have an adventure you can bring back to your weekend parties with all your Gap-wearing friends back home. It’s just too bad that you didn’t stop by the Rough and Tumble at night. Then you’d really have some stories.”
“You mentioned that earlier. Everyone crawls out of the woodwork at night, yada-yada-yada.” She drank a healthy dose of her cocktail.
“There’re some real characters that materialize after dark, all right. They’re probably descending on the saloon about now, too. A band will be playing some roadhouse music, the place will have beer splashed all over the floor, and I guarantee one or more of my friends will sweet-talk some girl into doing a striptease on the bar. It’s a Rough and Tumble tradition—first man to get a new girl to dance there has his drinks paid for that night. Everyone puts money in a pot early on.”
“And how many rounds have you had for free?”
He sat back in his cushioned chair, crossing his arms behind his head. “That’s confidential.”
She laughed. “I’ll bet your friends would tell me.”
Friends. He could see them now, their eyes popping out of their heads if he brought an accountant to the Rough & Tumble at night. Most of the girls there would be experienced—they’d be fun and free like he was, all of them running away from something or other outside the bar.
Shit, he’d love to take Molly there, showing his friends that he was top dog in the get department before he eventually moved on to wherever he’d be going next.
But there was a part of him that wanted to keep Molly from all that wildness, wanted to keep her to himself. That part of him was weak, though, and he stuffed it away. He was never going to be weak for a woman—or anyone—again.
He tested her out. “My friends could tell a few tales, mostly about me. I wouldn’t want you to ever meet up with them.”
Yup, that’d intrigued her. As she sipped her drink, she assessed him, then set down her half-full glass, running a finger over its rim. The gesture tickled him in his gut, riffling something that shouldn’t be disturbed.
She smiled. “Maybe I’ll go out there one night with Arden and Sofia. That way I can have my posse with me while I get the dirt on you.”
It was the opening he’d been hoping for. “Maybe we should just go out there tonight.”
Her gaze went smoky, like she was actually considering the possibility, like there was even a chance that she was as insanely attracted to him as he was to her. If that was the case, she was good at hiding it. Girls like her flirted, but they never followed through.
So what made him think she’d go there tonight to be shown off like a trophy he’d won?
When she finished her drink with one decisive toss back, pounding her glass on the table, he had to look at Molly P. Preston twice. Was that a wild streak he saw? The same one he’d detected when she’d accepted his offer of a whisky at the saloon this afternoon?
“So it’s too much to hope,” she said, “that the date doesn’t end here? You’re dictating that I go with you to that saloon now?”
“I’m not making you do anything. But I will say this . . .” He smiled. “If you were to go there with me, I could find it in my heart to negotiate with you about how long this date will be lasting.”
She seemed disappointed that she’d overlooked that detail. “How long will it last?”
“I was thinking you’d be with me ’til dawn.”
She gaped at him again. But the more he thought about it, the more he liked this idea. Taking her to the Rough & Tumble would mean scoring stud points for days. And who knew what else he could talk her into out there?
Yup, this was getting better and better, because nothing was going to happen in this bar. He could sense it.
A tug-of-war played on her face before she blanked her expression again. “I have a compromise in mind.”
Better and better.
She continued. “If I were to go to that saloon with you, I would stay for one hour only, and that would knock off Arden’s debt to you entirely.”
He didn’t react, but she had to be bullshitting. An hour?
Then her complete meaning came through: this deal was a shortcut to ending her commitment to him, and the fact that she wanted out so soon bit at him.
Before he could answer, she’d grabbed another cocktail napkin and a pen from her purse, writing out her conditions.
“For shit’s sake,” he said under his breath. “Wouldn’t you just take my word for it if I agreed?”
She kept writing.
He stiffened in his seat. “I always keep my word, Molly.”
The seriousness in his voice made her stop writing, and she put the pen away, her document unfinished.
Then she nodded. “I keep my word, too. It’s only that I don’t know you well enough to be sure about anything you tell me.”
“Then if I accept your conditions, you can text your friends. Let them know where you’re going and when you’ll be back. Take a picture of me for their files in case I kidnap you and live up to all your sterling expectations of me.”
He’d sounded bitter, and he hadn’t meant to. Since when did he care what anyone thought about him? Growing up, he’d gotten through five foster homes without caring, and he’d only really cared about anyone once in his life before she’d broken him apart. Care wasn’t worth shit.
The princess must’ve seen something genuine in him, because she softened her tone. “I know you wouldn’t kidnap me or anything.”
That weakness he’d felt before returned full force, sympathizing with her, but he killed it. All he wanted was to get her out of this manufactured, calm environment for some good times. Or did he want to take her to the R&T because her fish-out-of-water discomfort would give him a rise? Either way, he was damned sure he could persuade her to let him have more than an hour with her at the saloon.
He got out of his chair, letting her choose whether to leave or stay, and when she stood, too, his heart
did something stupid: it knocked against the walls he’d put around it a long time ago.
“An hour at the Rough and Tumble,” she said, taking out her phone and texting. “Arden better appreciate this.”
And that was the reason she was going—for Arden.
But Cash was a man who always took more than what he could get, whether it was in a game or with a challenge like Molly.
***
The summer night air nuzzled Molly’s bare arms while they waited for the valet to bring Cash’s vehicle around to the front of Caesars Palace. A huge fountain splashed in happy, fluid rhythm as hotel guests unpacked and packed their luggage into their cars while, next to her, Cash sat on a low marble wall, looking out of place next to the people in their snazzy Vegas wear and college students in their shorts, flip-flops, and plaid shirts.
She had to be nuts, completely nuts, to be doing this. Sofia’s texts even said so. But Molly had never been this wonderfully crazy in her life, and her adrenaline was flying around, animating her.
Just an hour, she thought. It’d be an adventure. And that’s why she’d come to Vegas, right? Besides, she had a plan: when she got to the Rough & Tumble, she’d check in with Kat the bartender, a fellow woman, and keep in touch with Sofia and Arden the whole time. Soon enough, she’d have Arden’s debt cleared and a story to tell, as Cash had said.
Also, she had pepper spray in her purse that Sofia had taken from the glove compartment of their car, so there was that, too.
When a shiny, sleek black vintage car pulled in front of her and Cash, she blinked. This was his?
“Told you,” he said. “Not a biker.”
He looked smug as he slipped the valet some money and a ticket then opened the car door for her.
The inside seemed so dark, like a room full of seductive surprises. A blue glow emanated from the dashboard, adding to the allure.
Taking a breath, she slid inside, and he closed the door behind her.
It smelled good, like beaten, smoky leather. Like Cash smelled. She ran her hand over the seat, seeing that he’d spared no expense on this toy. Everything was so pristine and classy that he didn’t even have anything cheesy hanging from his rearview mirror.
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