Lucky in Love

by Brockmeyer, Kristen

  I blushed. "Sorry about that," I said. "I had an appointment in Lansing I was late for." Geez, the lottery. I had totally forgotten about that again. Chance gave me a suspicious look and I shrugged.

  "I do have a life, you know," I told him.

  Fisher cleared his throat. "Well, I'm going to run us to a hotel just inside the city to wait things out. There are a lot of conventions in town this week, though, and a big Elton John concert tonight at one of the casinos, so I could only get two rooms."

  "Lucky and I are old friends," Chance said. "We grew up together. Bunking together won't be a problem." His look dared me to argue.

  "Fine by me," I replied, trying for nonchalant while my stomach skittered with nerves.

  When we drove into Vegas, the sun was just setting, and the neon and flashing marquees gleamed in the dusky light. My view out the window was a blur of elegant casinos, gaudy restaurants, and thick traffic. People streamed down the sidewalks, tourists with cameras and Bermuda shorts rubbing shoulders with men in business suits, girls with miniscule skirts and hooker heels and more Elvises than I thought were statistically probably to see all in one place.

  Our hotel was super flashy, which I pretty much expected, and the ding and ka-ching of slot machines met us as soon as we came through the revolving doors. Apparently hotels in Vegas made it so you didn't even have to leave the lobby to lose all your money. To contribute further to the disorienting effect of the frenetically flashing slot machines, everything was either mirrored or plated in gold-toned chrome. The gleam of the lobby was dizzying, and I was glad when we were checked in and on our way to our rooms.

  We took a mirrored and gold elevator to the third floor, and I squeaked in horror when I caught sight of my reflection in its shiny little confines. My borrowed suit was rumpled and my wig was still covering the hair I'd hurriedly rebraided on the plane, but just barely. It looked ready to rear up and leap off my head at any second.

  "Why didn't you tell me I looked like such crap?" I hissed to Chance. The two men exchanged a glance and a shrug, as if to say, "We thought you knew."

  When we got off at the third floor, I was still finger-combing the mess and tucking stray reddish strands back beneath the blonde. Fisher stopped at a pair of doors next to each other and handed Chance a card key. He hefted a beat-up backpack over his shoulder.

  "There's a shop downstairs, just off the lobby, if you want to get a change of clothes and some basics. I figured we'd just order in some room service and cool our heels until we hear from Nate and Tanya."

  "Sounds fine to me," said Chance, running the card through the lock at the door handle. It released with a click. A change of clothes always sounded good to me, but mostly, I wanted to not be a Tanya clone as soon as I could possibly manage it.

  "All right then," said Fisher. "Guess we'll regroup in the morning if we don't get a call in the meantime."

  He disappeared into his room, and I followed Chance into ours. I ran into his back when he stopped in the darkness to fumble for a light switch. When the overhead light came on, I cringed automatically, expecting more reflective surfaces, but it appeared that the hotel had surprisingly spared their guests the garishness of the rest of the place in favor of subdued earth tones in a tasteful Southwest theme. I was even more relieved to see two comfortable-looking king sized beds. I had jumped Chance in the plane, but that was when I thought we were near death, for Pete's sake. I'd had a little time to reevaluate since then, and I wasn't sure that muddying the already murky waters with sex would really improve our situation beyond the obvious physical appeal. Besides, I was feeling less than sexy right now and needed a shower in a bad way.

  "Which one do you want first?"

  My eyes widened. "What?" I asked, sounding breathless.

  Chance grinned at the obvious conclusion I had jumped to. "Food or clothes? Jeez, Lucky, get your mind out of the gutter."

  My face reddened. "I knew what you meant. And clothes. I'm not sleeping in these things, that's for sure."

  "I didn't figure you'd be sleeping in anything at all," he murmured, heading for the door again.

  I valiantly struggled to control my reaction to his offhand words, but it was a losing battle.

  Chapter 20

  I was feeling a billion and a half times better an hour later, dressed in a black t-shirt that had green rhinestones spelling out the name of the hotel, which was, ironically, "Lucky Sevens." I also had a pair of matching black yoga pants, with three iridescent green sevens embroidered on the hip. My hair was freshly washed and hanging wavy and damp down my back and I had a plate full of room service French fries in front of me and a container of ranch dressing. I hadn't waited for Chance to get out of the shower before digging in. I was too hungry.

  The burger had long been demolished, since it felt like I hadn't eaten in six months, and there was a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie playing on the flat screen. If it hadn't been for my constant worry for Julian, now Nate and Tanya, and even whether or not Louie had eaten my mom, I would have been in seventh heaven. I reached for a thickly-frosted dark chocolate brownie and took a huge bite to distract myself, washing down the bittersweet deliciousness with a swallow of white wine from the tiny bottle I'd grabbed from the mini-bar.

  It wasn't a penthouse suite or anything, but I'd never stayed in such a nice hotel before. On my previous budget, the Holiday Inn was an almost unheard of extravagance and the rooms I'd checked into sure hadn't had mini-bars. Maybe when this was all over, I'd tour the country for a month and stay in fancy places, just because. I could take Addy, since I was sure she'd be tired of Jack in a month or less, and we could stay in a Hilton, a Waldorf, a Hyatt… I was trying to think of more extravagant hotels when the bathroom door opened and I almost choked on my brownie.

  Chance stepped out, wrapped only in a towel. All of his old awkward planes and angles had been chiseled away and hardened in the last decade and he looked like a battle-scarred warrior, which I guess wasn't too far off the mark, really. Skin burnished bronze, probably in an Afghani desert somewhere, stretched over the taut muscles in his chest, powerful shoulders and forearms, and tight abdominal muscles—in regulation six-pack formation, no less. All of that mouthwatering maleness was dusted over lightly with dark hair that arrowed down to disappear into the snowy white towel that was tucked around his hips and thighs. Which, of course, drew my attention to the sizeable bulge beneath that towel that got more intriguing the longer I looked at it. A flush burned in my cheeks as I quickly looked up at his face and all of a sudden, it was really hard to catch my breath.

  This couldn't be my Chance. This was some pinup guy that fell out of the pages of a hot firefighter calendar. He was a conglomeration of all the things women fantasized over: that body, those thick-lashed eyes that gleamed deep green with a hot glow, smooth-shaven cheeks, firm lips that could twist in a cocky grin as easily as they pressed together in determination, and that short, dark hair that I already knew was silky to the touch. This man was the stuff dreams were made of.

  I wanted to make a snarky comment or look back toward Fred and Ginger, still twirling around on TV—anything to break the charged moment—but my sarcasm skills had temporarily failed me and I couldn't look away. And then he was coming toward me with lithe steps, despite his size, his feet making no sound on the carpet. That brought my eyes level with his navel, an interesting little dip that I abruptly wanted to lap my tongue into. Instead, I looked up.

  "Dessert?" Chance reached up and brushed his thumb across the corner of my mouth.

  "Brownie," I replied stupidly, my tongue darting out to catch any frosting he might have missed. I definitely did not want to be sitting in front of this gorgeous man looking like a toddler that had just gone buckwild on a birthday cake.

  Chance's eyes locked on my lips, though, and he gave me a devilish smile. "Let me help."

  He cupped his hands around my elbows, lifting slowly until I was standing in front of him. Damp heat radiated from his skin, leftove
r from his hot shower, and up close, I could see a few drops of water still beaded on his chest. With one gentle hand, Chance lifted my chin, met my eyes for a charged moment, then bent his head to trace the outline of my lips lightly, teasingly, with his tongue. My thinking processes had gone fuzzy as soon as he'd stepped out of the bathroom, but one thought crystallized. I want this man now.

  His other hand slid around to the back of my neck, and he tangled his fingers in the hair at the base of my neck. He tugged firmly, startling a gasp out of me, and I dropped my head back so he could continue his soft assault on my neck. He trailed nips and soft kisses down the side of my throat.

  "Do you want this?" he asked softly, stopping what he was doing to look back up at me. His breathing was harsh and I wanted nothing more than to rip the towel away from his hips, loop it around his neck and yank him down on top of me. "I realize you thought it was an end of the world scenario back in that plane. Since it wasn't, just say the word, and we'll stop this right here."

  I didn't think, just voiced the thought that had been stuck in my head since we'd passed that iconic Welcome to Las Vegas sign: "We might not have been about to die in that Cessna, but I can't shake the feeling that the hammer's going to drop tomorrow. It's like all the bad luck in my life has been leading up to this."

  His look turned fierce. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

  "You can't control the world, Chance," I said, lifting a hand to run my fingers down his clenched jaw, feeling the tension ease a little under my caress. "What happens, happens. But I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be right now than here with you." I laughed a little brokenly. "You asshole, I've been dreaming about you for the last ten years."

  He lifted both hands to frame my face while remorse washed over his. "If I'd have stayed, I would have made you miserable, just like my dad did to my mom. I loved you, too, Lucky. So much that it scared the crap out of me. But I've got shitty DNA. I can't fight that."

  As a kid, I had never met his dad, just heard rumors at school, and seen the disgusted look on my mom's face whenever his name was mentioned. From what I could tell, he was a lazy, abusive drunk who wasn't above knocking his family around when the mood struck him.

  "You're not your dad, Chance."

  "You can't say that. You didn't know him, live with him. Watch him beating your mom when he wasn't in jail for another DUI. I almost killed him once, you know."

  "If you expect me to be shocked, I'm not. You protect people. It's what you do."

  He laughed bitterly, and dropping his hands, stepped away from me. The air conditioning suddenly felt frigid and I rubbed my arms where goosebumps had formed.

  "You can't be that different than the boy you were, Chance," I said softly, but he turned away from me. Another scar stood out white against his back, this one a round, smooth one, a few inches to the right of his spine.

  I stepped forward and touched it lightly. It couldn't have been from anything but a bullet wound. He stiffened.

  "Lucky, I've done a lot of things since you saw me last that I'm not proud of."

  "I'm not trying to poke into your past," I said wryly, trying to inject some lightness back into our situation, "And I already told you I was looking to get laid. What's your holdup?"

  "Is that what you want?" he asked again, this time in a snarl, turning around and grabbing my arms. His grip was tight, but not painful, and there was a hard glitter in his eyes.

  "I think I already told you it was," I replied, my breath catching in the back of my throat at his quickness. "I'm not scared of you. I know you." I said completely truthfully.

  He didn't move, though, obviously still caught up with those personal demons. So I did what I'd been wanting to do since he stepped out of the bathroom. Gave that towel a quick yank so it fell to the floor. He automatically let go of my arms to grab for it, and I stripped my tank top off in one quick move.

  I hadn't bothered with a bra after my shower, and my breasts hung free. They were bigger than they had been when I was a senior in high school, thanks to me being a little bit of a late bloomer, but thankfully, they were still pretty perky. As soon as the cool air hit them, my nipples pebbled and Chance froze, drinking in the view.

  Certain that I now had his attention, I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of the yoga pants and tugged them down so that they slipped to the floor, leaving me only in a lacy pair of black boycut briefs. He swallowed hard as I stepped out of the pooled bottoms at my feet and stepped backward toward the bed behind me.

  "Chance," I said firmly. "I trust you. I want you. I know you, and I know you won't hurt me."

  Chapter 21

  His face was agonized for a moment, but then his control seemed to splinter. He hooked one arm around my waist, and with the other, he sent the remote and the remains of my dinner clattering to the floor. In another millisecond, I was trapped beneath 200 pounds of furiously turned-on male and my heart was beating triple-time. Rocking back on his knees between my spread legs, he scooped my breasts in both hands and buried his face between them. His breath was hot and I was pretty sure I was about to have my first non-self-induced orgasm in several years right this second. My back arched, giving him better access, and he turned his face to lave one nipple. The friction was incredible and my hands went to his sleek shoulders, fingers digging in, which was good because I needed something to anchor to as soon as he moved his other hand down to rub my aching center through my already damp panties. I flew apart right there and cried out his name.

  The sparks had barely finished coalescing behind my closed eyelids before I heard him raggedly whisper in my ear, "Lucky, I can't wait, I'm sorry…," and then he was sliding my underwear down my hips. His erection was heavy between his legs and I shakily pushed myself up on one elbow and reached for its straining length.

  I gripped it lightly, running my thumb over the bead of moisture at the tip. Lifting my thumb to my mouth, I sucked it and watched his eyes go molten. "Nobody's asking you to wait," I said, feeling the tension inside ratchet back up like I'd never had it released. I couldn't think, couldn't see anything but him, and I wanted him inside me worse than I'd ever wanted anything in my life.

  With a growl, he flung my panties across the room and grabbed my hips, pulling me down the bed to him. "I won't last long," he rasped. "I haven't—"

  "Chance, shut up." I said fiercely, locking my arms around the back of his neck and yanking him down to me. I plunged my tongue in his mouth as he entered me in one slick, slamming thrust, and that was it. I was a goner. Seconds later, I was dimly aware of his groan, and his erection pulsing inside of me, filling me with warmth, and I opened my eyes to look into his face.

  "I still love you," I whispered, dazed with the realization.

  "I know," he replied darkly. "But you shouldn't."

  The second king-sized bed in the room went unused that night. I slept naked, as Chance had predicted, curled on my side with Chance's hard length a heated bulwark behind me between me and whatever pitfalls the universe would choose to set for me next. I didn't mention it, at risk of inflating his ego and shattering the fragile comfort level between us, but it was the first time I'd ever spent the night with a man. Even Brent, the professer-boinking ex-boyfriend that I'd been most serious about, had always found an excuse not to sleep over after one of our uninspired bouts of post-date coitus—he didn't want to foster a scenario of relationship-destroying mutual dependency or some such crap. In hindsight, he probably was off adding more notches to add to his bedpost, but the idea of that didn't even sting anymore. It only made me realize how much of a dingbat I'd been to keep him around.

  I was dead to the world until I was pulled gently from a sweet dream by soft caresses and whispered kisses against the back of my neck. And since my hips had been cradled against his groin, it was easy for Chance to slip his already heavy erection smoothly inside me. Once he'd finished his slick slide home, he held himself still with conscious effort. I could feel how tightly he'd leashed himself—hi
s big body was tense against my back as a piano string. But he'd stopped moving so completely that I could feel every pulse of him inside myself. It was like his heart beating deep within me, and we were joined in the most intrinsic way it was possible for two people to be together. It was the most incredibly erotic thing I'd ever experienced.

  "I don't want things to be fast this time," he said softly, his breath brushing against my ear, eliciting a shiver of pleasure that began at the base of my neck and slid down to the base of my spine. "As I recall," he continued with a tinge of the old high-school Chance's humor, "Our first time didn't last as long as it could have either."

  "For a teenaged boy," I said, "I'm sure you weren't bad. But this is better." He shifted a fraction of an inch, causing my inner muscles to clench around him reflexively. "Much better," I breathed.

  All of my nerve endings were focused intensely on where our bodies connected. He slipped his hand lightly down my belly to focus on the center of my pleasure, hidden in auburn curls. Slowly, achingly slowly, but with firm pressure, he began to tease me until my breath was ragged and I was gripping the sheet that still covered us so tightly that my nails should have ripped the fabric. I tried to focus, calm my breathing, drag out the sweet torture, but I could feel his hardness inside me and I wanted him to move, dammit.

  "Chance," I begged brokenly. "You're killing me."

  His chuckle sounded pained, but he stopped torturing me long enough to grab my hips and hold me still when I tried to grind myself back against him. "Not yet. I've got a reputation to salvage here."

  My hip-shifting had some effect, though—I could feel him growing impossibly harder where he was still positioned inside me. Then he was sliding back out and I caught my breath, but his fingers were back to their teasing circles.

  Finally, I thought. Let's do this.

  I was burning up, my chest and face flushed and hot, and all I wanted him to do was slam into me long and hard, but to my surprise, he pulled free.