Negligee Behavior

by Shelli Stevens

  God, what the hell had made him do it? Marco shook his head as they walked down the street. What had made him kiss the choir teacher like he was some teenager in heat? It wasn’t as if she was dressed in some sexy outfit that fried his mind. She was wearing a shirt with a cat on it, for Christ’s sake. It was so shapeless that he still had no idea what her breasts might be like. He knew what her hips and ass felt like, though.

  Do. Not. Go. There.

  Damn, what a mess. He’d lost all reason when Brandy had stared up at him with a helpless vulnerability in those baby blues.

  Don’t make this into something romantic. It’s nothing but you needing to get laid. It was just six months without sex doing this to him. Made him want to sleep with any available woman—didn’t matter if she was a stripper or a choir teacher.

  Even as he thought it, his gut tightened and he knew he was spouting off bullshit in his head.

  Realizing they’d been walking down the Strip with no destination, he steered them toward a restaurant in another casino.

  A hostess sat them down in a dark corner, in a booth that was far too romantic for his taste.

  He couldn’t help but take a moment to stare at Brandy who sat flipping through the menu; her lips still swollen from his kiss and her cheeks flushed.

  She’d been right when she’d said that she wasn’t his type. His type gravitated toward tall, skinny blondes who didn’t blush at the mention of sex. Brandy was too conservative…too much of a good girl. She was everything he didn’t want. So what had come over him?

  The waitress arrived to take their order. Brandy didn’t even bother with real food, but went straight for the dessert. Chocolate cheesecake and wine. What kind of dinner was that?

  He, on the other hand, was starving. He’d left work without grabbing food, thinking he’d toss a steak on the barbecue once he got home. But Brandy had thrown a kink in that plan.

  They sat in silence until the food came. She seemed to be off in her own little world, anyway. Understandable, since she probably had a dozen things occupying her thoughts.

  When the food arrived he dug into his greasy burger, his awareness of the woman across from him diminishing some. He was almost able to stop thinking of her as the woman he’d just shared an insanely hot kiss with, and instead went back to thinking of her as the choir teacher in a cat shirt.

  Then she slid her fork into the cheesecake and lifted a bite to her lips. With her eyes closed, she began emitting the most seductive, orgasmic noises as she took a bite.

  “This is good,” she said, her fork diving back down for another bite. “This is really good. I needed this.”

  Did it make him an asshole for thinking she needed a whole lot more than cheesecake? She needed to get laid, and not by some dumbass named Gordon.

  “Did you want some wine?” she asked.

  Marco blinked. “Wine?”

  “You were just staring at my wineglass, and I thought you might have wanted some.”

  Actually, he thought, I was staring at your breasts behind the wineglass. Were they big or small? It was the damn mystery of the night.

  “No, thanks.” He gave her a brief smile and picked up a fry.

  “Can I have one?”

  He looked down at his dwindling fry supply, ready to protest, but she’d already picked up a fry and proceeded to eat it, savoring each bite as erotically as she had the cheesecake. Was she doing it on purpose? No. That would have been about as likely as Brandy having actually been a stripper.

  “So where do we go from here?” she asked, licking the grease from her fingers.

  He ground his teeth and forced his attention away from her mouth.

  “I was thinking,” she went on. “Maybe we could go to a show? I haven’t had the chance to really do the whole Vegas…”

  He listened to her drone on about the Vegas experience as she polished off the rest of his fries. He hated going to shows. They were a waste of time and money.

  “I’ll pay, of course.” She drained the rest of her wine and then looked at him, a dazzling smile on her face. “I think the alcohol is kicking in. It should by now. I mean I had a half a bottle earlier, and another glass here. I can tell because—”

  “I think a show sounds great,” he interrupted, not even wanting to know how she could tell she might be drunk.

  “Oh. You are the best.” She snagged another fry. “Do you think we could get tickets for Donny and Marie?”

  Donny and fucking Marie? Seriously? This was hell. He was fantasizing about a woman that dressed worse than his grandma and wanted him to go see The Osmonds in concert.

  He should have taken her up on the wine.

  “They are still here, aren’t they? My mom loved Donny Osmond. I had to listen to him when I was a kid. You know that song, “Puppy Love?” I could sing it for you.”

  Fuck, please don’t. “No, that’s cool. I know it,” he said so fast he nearly tripped on the words. “But I don’t think I can get tickets. I’m sure you have to book way in advance.”

  Brandy ate the last bite of her cheesecake and gave him a suspicious look. “Okay, let’s be honest. I’m guessing you’re like every other man out there. You’d rather have a root canal than see Donny and Marie in concert.”

  Marco grimaced. “That about sums it up.”

  “How about a magic show?” she suggested hopefully. “That’s not so bad, is it?”

  When? When would this night end? Come midnight he was gone, out of here. Good-bye. Good-night. Gone. Good Samaritan hat could be hung back up.

  “No. That’s not so bad,” he heard himself say.

  Her mouth tilted upward and something shifted inside him, made his breath catch.

  “You’ve got an amazing smile,” he told her without thinking. The compliment had her mouth snapping shut and her lips drawing down into a frown. “What. What did I say?”

  “I think Gordon only loves me for my teeth,” she confided despondently.

  “For your…your teeth?”

  “Don’t look so confused.” She sighed. “He’s a cosmetic dentist for a reality television show.”

  “Which show?”

  “New You.”

  He winced. “That’s a pretty shitty show. No offense.”

  “None taken. I agree.”

  They both laughed and some of his irritation faded. Curiosity arose in its place.

  “So, we’ve known each other a whole two hours. Are you ready to tell my why you ran from your wedding?”

  “Oh.” Her expression sobered and he almost felt bad for changing the subject. “Umm…I don’t really know why I ran. I just know I didn’t want to get married in a shrine to Elvis.”

  “That’s it? The location alone?” He raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

  She bit her lip and looked down. “And I wasn’t so sure I wanted to get married to Gordon. We’ve been together for a year, but still…”

  “So why did you agree to marry him in the first place?”

  Marco’s curiosity increased as she started to blush again.

  “You’re going to think I’m ridiculous,” she muttered.

  “Doubtful.”

  “I was starting to feel bad because I’m not married. And…” She took a deep breath and folded her hands on the table. “I turn thirty next week.”

  Marco snapped his mouth shut. She wasn’t thirty yet? Hell, in that outfit he’d had her pegged for thirty-five at least.

  He cleared his throat. “It isn’t so bad being single and thirty.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course being single in your thirties works for you. You’re a guy.”

  “I’m almost twenty-nine.”

  Brandy blinked and then shook her head. “I need another drink.”

  Marco gave her a close look. “What’s the problem?”

  “You’re younger than me,” she said on a huff, as if that was an explanation in itself.

  “By a year.”

  “Never mind.” She shook her head and wave
d down the waiter. “I just thought you were older.”

  “Do you have an aversion to younger men?”

  “Like dating a younger man?”

  “Whatever works.”

  “I—I’ve never really thought about it.”

  He gave her a curious look. “How old is Gordon?”

  “Forty-one.”

  “Ah, a sugar daddy.”

  “What?” she yelped. “Gordon is not my sugar daddy.”

  He gave her a searching look. “Did you grow up without a father?”

  “No! What are you, a psychologist?”

  “Do I look like a psychologist? I’m just trying to figure out what makes you tick.”

  “Well don’t worry about my ticking,” she grumbled. “That’s my biological clock’s department.”

  Marco gave a soft laugh. “Did you really want that other drink or would you rather see a show?”

  Brandy sighed and looked down at her almost empty glass. “The show. Alcohol’s open twenty-four hours a day here.”

  With another laugh, Marco caught the waitress’s attention and signaled for the bill.

  “That was amazing.” Brandy knocked back a shot of tequila and covered Marco’s hand with hers, giving him an earnest look. “In fact, you know what? You’re great, Marco Vargas.”

  “Er—you’re pretty great too, Brandy.”

  She was completely trashed, Marco realized, as she picked up the bottle of tequila and poured herself another shot. The golden liquid sloshed over the shot glass, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  He should have cut her off. He’d tried to, seeing as it was second nature to him by now—it was what he did for a living. Seeing people get drunk and push their limit was nothing new to him.

  But Brandy had been so adamant that she could handle her alcohol. So after she’d promised to get a room at one of the hotels, he’d driven her to another bar. Stupid. Real stupid.

  Marco checked his watch. God. Was it almost two in the morning? What the hell had happened to his midnight cutoff? He needed to get her checked into a room and then head home.

  “I don’t want to crash your party, Brandy, but I have to be at work by ten tomorrow. I should head out soon.”

  Brandy’s eyes widened and then she nodded. “Oh. Of course. I’ll just grab a cab once I finish this bottle of tequila.”

  Marco’s lips twisted despite his fatigue. “I didn’t realize a trip to the E.R. was one of your sightseeing destinations.”

  “The E.R.?” She slurred her words now. “Why would I go to the E.R.?”

  “Tell you what. Let me use the bathroom and then I’ll drive you to a hotel,” he said. “It’s after two and we need to get you a room somewhere.”

  “After two? Already?” Her eyebrows drew into a scowl and then she suddenly grinned. “How about we get a hotel room together, big boy?”

  Big boy? What the fuck? And she wanted to get a room? The blood in his veins rushed south and his mind flickered back over that kiss earlier. Hmm. Get a roo—No.

  Besides, would she even remember this conversation in the morning?

  “I don’t really want to be alone tonight.” She toyed with the neckline of her shirt and gave him a suggestive look, running her tongue across her mouth.

  “Brandy—”

  “Please, Polo.”

  What the hell? “It’s Marco.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  She was trying to be sexy, he could acknowledge that. But she wasn’t doing a very good job. In fact she was pretty much failing miserably. Instead of coming across as a sex kitten, she was what she was. A drunken choir teacher in a cat shirt.

  “It’s not a good idea.” He stood up. “I’ll be right back and when I return we can go. All right?”

  “All right.” Brandy frowned, swishing the shot around in the tiny glass.

  Marco stood up. Thank God this crazy night would soon be over.

  Tequila was interesting. The color, the taste, the smell. Brandy frowned. Although she’d never really been a tequila person. Well, not before tonight. Did she really want this last shot? Her stomach rolled and it seemed like such an effort to even hold onto the glass.

  Marco was going to take her to get a hotel room soon. Too bad he didn’t seem interested in sticking around. She frowned and pushed a wad of curls out of her face.

  But what had she expected? That he’d jump at the chance to have sex with her? Come on, Brandy, you’re the drunk one, not him. He was unbelievably sexy, and a younger man. And she was…a dried up old prune who usually preferred playing the piano to sex.

  She could have been married right now. Married and having more sex with Gordon.

  “Yuck.” She set the shot glass down on the table and shuddered.

  At least when she was drunk she could bring herself to admit sex with Gordon sucked. Always had.

  Still, you would’ve had a husband. Meaning you would’ve been one step closer to having children.

  Brandy shook her head and the movement made her a bit dizzy. Nope. She was completely all right being thirty and single. Besides, she still had plenty of time to get married and have children.

  Wincing, she could almost hear the death cry of another egg inside her body.

  And this was why she was drunk.

  She pushed back the chair, stumbling slightly. How pathetic was she? She’d forced a sweet man—well not conventionally sweet—to take care of her all night. And obviously he wanted nothing more than to be rid of her. And then, after practically begging him to go to bed with her, he’d still turned her down.

  Her face, already warm from the alcohol, suddenly grew hotter.

  Scooping up her purse, she hurried out of the bar area. She didn’t really have a plan, only to get far away from Marco and her burgeoning humiliation.

  She made her way out of the casino, zigzagging through the gamblers who were still going strong despite the late hour. Was the room spinning? Leaning against an empty slot machine, she took a deep breath and waited for the room to right itself.

  “Hey, sugar, will you pull my lever?”

  Brandy turned to look at the leering old man a few machines down.

  “Yuck.” Her nose wrinkled and she pushed on through the casino, spotting the freedom of the front entrance up ahead.

  The automated doors opened, sending a rush of warm air at her full force. She stepped outside and gulped in a lungful of fresh air—then promptly started coughing as she realized someone nearby was smoking.

  She kept moving, walked further away from the hotel and finally onto the sidewalk that ran parallel to the Strip. What was she going to do? Where would she go?

  Cars whizzed past her, headlights blending in with the bright lights of the city. Dizziness assailed her again and she stood still for a second. Why was it so darn hot? It was the middle of the night, for goodness’ sake.

  Swiping a hand across her forehead, she closed her eyes. When she opened them she saw the most glorious sight. The fountains of the Bellagio hotel.

  She’d left him. Marco stood and turned in a slow circle, searching every corner of the room trying to find her, but she was gone. Nowhere in sight. He was completely free of her. So why didn’t he feel more relieved?

  Maybe because she was drunk off her ass and wandering around Las Vegas without a hotel room.

  Shit. He tossed enough money on the table to cover her drinks and then stuffed his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans.

  He made his way out of the casino, seeking out frizzy hair and a cat shirt. Letting her out by herself was a bad mistake. She was too sweet and naive to be out on her own this time of night.

  The doors swished open and he bolted through them. He looked left and then right. The city was slowing down, but nowhere near dead. How the hell was he going to find her? She could be anywhere.

  Though she couldn’t have gotten far. Seriously, she’d been out of his sight for a whole of five minutes.

  The brighter lights came from the left. S
he probably headed toward the big-name hotels. He took off running, keeping an even pace as he looked around for her.

  Fifteen minutes later he was ready to accept defeat. It was useless. He’d lost her somewhere in the Vegas night.

  Anxiety churned in his belly. This isn’t your fault. She’s not your responsibility. He could tell himself that all he wanted, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

  Time to go back for the bike and head home. Hell, what else could he do? He stared at the Bellagio hotel as he passed noting the water shows had closed down for the night.

  Someone bumped into him, a security guard, who pushed him aside as he ran by. A second later another one went running past him.

  What was going on? His eyebrows drew together. “Oh, God.”

  Breaking into a run, he followed after the security guards who were attempting to pull a woman—Brandy—back from the edge of the fountain.

  He spotted the silver of handcuffs on one of the guards, while the other one wrestled to get her back from the edge.

  “I don’t see the problem here. I was just dipping my feet in.” He could hear her protest. “My feet are perfectly clean, I just had a pedicure. And it’s not like I was actually swimming.”

  “Excuse me.” Marco reached the group. “I’m sorry about this, the lady’s with me.”

  “Hey!” Brandy’s face lit up. “It’s Marco Polo! You followed me. We should swim together. Maaarco. Poooolo.”

  One of the security guards gave him a bored look. “Yeah, well pretty soon, Marco Polo, it’s going to be a police matter.”

  The hell it was. “No, you don’t understand. This whole thing is my fault. I fucked up—” think, Marco, think, “I called her my ex-girlfriend’s name during our wedding ceremony. She was so pissed she ran off and I’ve been trying to find her all day. I guess she’s been getting drunk.”

  “You’re an idiot.” Brandy snorted and then broke into a fit of giggles as she turned towards the guards. “We’re not married, you guys. He’s totally pulling your leg.”

  Fuck? Did she want to spend the night in jail? He leaned forward to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear in what he hoped looked like an intimate loving gesture.

  “That’s because you didn’t let us finish the ceremony, princess.”