by Odell, Roxie
Derrick was dressed in his tuxedo again, minus tie and sash. He looked so hot in that dark suit and white shirt, especially when he turned and gazed at her. “Ready?” he asked.
“Where to?” she stammered.
“Cards,” he said.
“I’m not super good at it,” she said. “I’ve played a little blackjack, as you know, but I’m not sure I even know all the rules.”
“It’s just for fun,” he said. “Besides, I have a feeling you’ll make a great pupil.”
Corrine purred. “Oh, teach me,” she said wickedly, and they made their way to the elevator.
Everyone in Vegas seemed to be glammed up and, as tacky as it was, it was also expected in such a high-end place. Corrine loved making an entrance with her handsome man on her arm. As they walked into the casino, she felt particularly beautiful in her halter dress, with her hair cascading over her bare skin. She loved the way he guided her, always with a gentle, firm hand on her back, manhandling her in a delightful way.
It wasn’t her imagination that the dealer’s face brightened when Derrick approached the table. Maybe it’s nothing, or maybe he just thinks Derrick’s a real player. He certainly looks like a high roller in that suit!
A woman with her platinum blonde hair in a huge, exaggerated blown-out up-do appeared in an instant and placed a cocktail napkin in front of him but not her. “Rick!” she said and leaned down and kissed his cheek.
“Uh, hi,” Derrick said, blushing, a strange look on his face.
Corrine knew she was a very attractive woman, but it was difficult to handle the waitress coming on to her boyfriend. While Corrine was tall and lean, the casino server was certainly not without curves, some of which Corrine was sure she’d bought and paid for with the high tips she received while working there. She struck Corrine as the kind of woman who had a library of sexual knowledge, an expert who knew how to give men endless pleasure. Corrine was not slack in the sack, and she had a pretty good repertoire, a decent bag of tricks, yet there was something about the buxom blonde that made Corrine feel inferior, as if the lady was more of a woman than she was.
Derrick gently pushed the waitress from him and pinched a napkin from her tray, then tossed it in front of Corrine. He leaned around the waitress’s ample backside to uncomfortably ask Corrine, “You want something?”
The waitress didn’t seem to mind being manhandled, but she scowled at Corrine as if she was caught off guard by the fact that Derrick was there with someone. Her eyes shot daggers as Corrine stared back at her.
“I don’t know,” she said, her tone clipped. “Is there anything left for me?” It definitely felt like something had gone on between the two of them, something that made her feel too uncomfortable and awkward.
Every move Derrick made from that point on felt like an apology, as if he needed to smooth things over.
Corrine tried not to lapse into a bad mood or drum up accusations in her head, knowing it would only wreck what had started out as a great night. They had such an adventurous relationship, and that said something. Of all the places we could have sat, what were the odds we’d end up sitting here, to be served by someone he’s slept with? She darted her eyes from Derrick to the woman and back to Derrick again.
“Do you want something to drink?” he repeated.
“No thanks, Rick,” said Corrine.
Derrick cut his eyes at her, once again placing unfounded blame when he, himself, was in the doghouse. “Manhattan neat,” he said finally.
The waitress smiled, but it was stiff. She didn’t look any happier than Corrine felt. “As if you have to tell me that,” she said sensually, her smile becoming more genuine as she cast Derrick a glance.
“Apparently, you have to be told,” snapped Corrine, “because you obviously don’t know.”
“’Scuse me, honey?” asked the waitress.
“I’m not your honey, and like I said, you apparently don’t know,” Corrine repeated.
“Know what?” the server scoffed.
Corrine had had it with the woman’s boldness, so she fired back. “That Rick and I are married!” she lied triumphantly. “I guess he didn’t send you an invitation.”
Corrine genuinely had no idea she was going to spurt such a lie, but she was glad she did. She arched her back and stuck her chest out, then folded her arms in front of her, shamelessly gloating.
Derrick’s jaw dropped. There was no hiding his shock, but he was good enough to play along and didn’t try to contradict her.
The waitress, clearly unhappy and making no effort to conceal it, gave Derrick a deadly look and disappeared.
“Great, now she’s gonna spit in my Manhattan,” he complained.
“And you’re not into that?” Corrine asked sarcastically.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing. It just looks like I stumbled upon a couple pages of your romantic history.” She found it difficult to hold back the bitchiness. “I can’t believe you brought me here, where some former flame of yours works.”
“If you must know, I liked to hit the tables to avoid going home when I was married. Teri and I flirted big time, but nothing ever happened.”
“But you wanted it to, right?” she fired back.
“If I had, it would have,” he said softly. “I promise, Corrine, nothing happened. I mean, I really could’ve screwed around on my ex-wife, but I didn’t. Look, there’s no way I’d ever do that to you, to us.”
“Good to know,” she sang, pleased with his answer, “since we’re married now.”
“Also good to know,” he said, cuddling close to her.
“What?”
“That you’re that jealous over me, Mrs. Quinn.”
Corrine did not expect that response, so she whipped around to face him. “And why is that a good thing?” she challenged.
Derrick manipulated her so she was facing the dealer again. His voice was sultry, and his breath tickled her neck as he huddled into her and said, “Because I like it when you’re all flustered,” he said. “You’re so wonderfully reactive.”
“All right then.” She relaxed against his shoulder. “That’s more like it.”
“All right then, indeed,” he scolded softly.
“Damn right,” she said. “At least for tonight, that bitch better know you’re mine.”
“I don’t think she’d be so pissed if she didn’t. My kind excuse for not getting with her was that I was married, and I didn’t look her up or anything outside of this place. She knows. Believe me. And even if she doesn’t, I sure as hell do.”
His words knocked all playing aside, and a warmth that wasn’t tequila and sexual afterglow pooled inside her. She was so in love with him. No matter how much pettiness and insecurity threatened to sidetrack her from that, it always came back around.
“Are we ready to play cards, Mrs. Quinn?” he asked, still amused by her ruse.
Corrine gasped with glee. I’ll never get tired of that, she suddenly realized. Marriage wasn’t something they had discussed, especially since he’d just so recently put the cap on his horrible divorce. It was well known to them that theirs was a rare and wonderful connection, a real treasure, but now that she’d mentioned the two of them sharing nuptials, she couldn’t help thinking about it. “Are you going to keep calling me that all night?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he replied smoothly.
“I like it,” she said. “Yes, Mr. Quinn, I’m ready to play some cards. What shall we bet?”
“Money,” he said with a chuckle. “That’s the only currency they take here.”
“Not that, silly. I’m talking about you and me. What do I get if I win? You get X, and I get Y, and—”
“I can do without the algebra references,” he answered with a smile. “I’d rather not think of my ex-now-a-why, if you don’t mind.”
She had to laugh at that, a clever but very true play on words that she fully understood, since she’d met the woman in the lobby of
the attorney’s office and certainly wasn’t impressed with her. “Hmm…” she said.
“Well, you give it some thought, and I will, too,” he said. “I’m sure we can come up with something.”
The dealer had been very patient, but he appeared to be relieved when they finally turned their attention to the gaming table. His first round was a bust, so Corrine and Derrick both won, but they kept score based on who had the better hand.
“The Porsche,” Corrine randomly said.
Derrick turned his head and looked at her for clarification, looking a bit surprised. “Huh?”
“I want your Porsche,” she said, nodding decisively.
“My car?” he asked with mock offense. “You only love me for my wheels, don’t you?”
She very covertly reached under the table and caressed his thigh. “Just for a week,” she said, for his ears only. “But I promise that’s not the only hot rod I’m interested in, Mr. Quinn.”
He smiled, so aroused that he couldn’t even speak.
Corrine beamed with pride that she had such an effect on him. “Had you going there, didn’t I?”
“In more ways than one,” he said sincerely, taking her hand in his to stop her from going any further.
“You know I can drive a stick just fine,” she said, giggling at her own mischief and innuendo.
He leaned over and, in a whisper, asked lasciviously, “And what do you think I want from you, missy?”
Tingles cascaded down her spine. He didn’t even have to bother articulating the words because the tone of his voice said it all. She drew in a deep breath and gasped.
Derrick smiled victoriously, straightened in his seat, and watched as the dealer flung out a new hand. He then looked carefully at his cards and tapped the table with his forefinger very authoritatively. “Every single day,” he said. “Or maybe twice a day.”
She was dizzy with arousal, and a goofy grin lit up her face. “But we already… I mean, you already… you know. We already…” she stammered.
“Then I guess I already won,” he replied seductively.
Corrine extended her forearms and bent her wrists the way dealers did. “Good luck,” she said and gave the table a knock. “I seriously think I hope you win.”
“You think?” he asked, pretending to be offended.
Before Corrine could answer, the cocktail waitress returned with shots of Courvoisier. “To the happy couple, on me,” she said.
Corrine couldn’t help but let down her defenses and smile at the seemingly soft-hearted gesture. “Aw, thanks,” she said.
The two made a toast to themselves and their fake marriage, making sure to include the busty Teri, then tipped back the shot glasses filled with very smooth, delicious liquor. Derrick was still nursing a highball, but Corrine was sober enough to see the slight transformation in him, an indication that he was buzzed.
He won again, but it was a push for her, nudging her a bit further from a week in his Porsche. The more he won, though, the more aggressively he bet, and he doubled down on the next hand. It became a tense, slow-moving game, with so much riding on it, and Corrine found it enjoyable that Derrick and the dealer seemed to be very well-matched in their blackjack skills. She loved watching him strategize, and she smiled when he forced the dealer to make the last move.
The entire table erupted at the end of the close, risky game. In the end, the dealer lost, and Derrick was a slightly richer man than when he arrived. Corrine was ready to wrap it up and get some real food to counteract the alcohol they’d consumed, but Derrick seemed desperate to stay.
“Just one more,” he said, but his gaze was so fixed on the cards that he didn’t even look at her when he made the promise.
“Ugh,” she said impatiently.
“Ugh is bad luck,” he replied with a smile. “Seriously, just one more.”
It was a quick hand, and he was a winner once again. Corrine was sure that would stoke his good mood, but instead, it seemed to frustrate him, leaving him unexpectedly tense. He hunched in his tuxedo, placing his elbows on the table and staring down at them, as if he was deep in thought.
“What’s up?” she questioned.
“I should have bet bigger,” he said, his face twisting up as he did the math, as if he was replaying his hand.
“It’s fine,” she said. “You won anyway, right? I’ll buy dinner.”
“Dinner?” he whined without thinking.
Corrine looked at him with an annoyed expression on her face, and that seemed to relax him a bit.
“Oh yeah, dinner,” he said, as if her frustration had jolted him back to reality.
“Yeah, dinner,” she said. “Because if you want me to keep my end of the bargain, I’m gonna need all that energy.”
“More energy than you know,” he tried to tease, but something in his voice made the remark fall flat.
Chapter 27
When Derrick mentioned having a little fun in the casino, Corrine had no idea that meant they’d be there for hours. She didn’t like it as much as he did, and she was not happy that it was so tough to pull him away from the table. Still hungry and growing more and more irritated, Corrine had almost been ready to leave without him.
Finally, he relented and pushed away. He left on top, with more money than he’d started out with, but something about it had soured his mood. She hoped a nice steak dinner would put a smile back on his face.
The minute they were seated, a bottle of wine arrived at their table. “Compliments of the Bellagio,” said the porter. “For the newlyweds.”
Instead of making Corrine happy, the bottle of wine soured her mood. Neither of them needed any more alcohol, especially not Derrick. Things between them were already a little tense. Corrine was also aggravated that the waitress must have tipped the staff off about them. Since the wine showed up the second they sat down, it was obvious that Teri was spying on them.
Corrine cased the room for a sign of her. “Wow, that Teri is quite the PR person,” she said in a snarky tone.
“What’s that?” he asked as he eyed the wine.
“Well, how else would they know about our, uh, marriage?” she asked. “She had to have blabbed it.”
“We did book the honeymoon suite,” he said defensively.
“I’ve got a feeling she’s been checking up on us,” said Corrine.
“She is working, and you have nothing to worry about,” he said.
“Yeah, I guess,” she said. Then she smiled and shook her head. “My jealousy makes me very objective.”
“Clearly,” he said, extending his long leg so he could stroke her foot under the table.
Corrine grinned, very satisfied by his attention. “So, dear husband, what are you gonna have?”
“Not sure,” he said coyly, looking far more innocent above the table than his foot was being beneath it.
Suddenly, Corrine was in a hurry to have a glass of the wine. “Are you sure it hasn’t been tampered with?” she kidded, looking curiously at the label. “This Teri wouldn’t have poisoned it, would she?”
“Corrine!” admonished Derrick.
“Sorry, Rick,” Corrine shot back, grinning.
As they mulled over their menus, the porter decanted the wine for them, and that was the last thing Corrine remembered about the evening.
The next morning, she woke up strewn over the edge of the mattress in the honeymoon suite, and she was holding a bridal bouquet in her hand, even more beautiful than the tulips he’d delivered to her house. Her head was throbbing with murderous revenge. Gee, I don’t remember drinking that much.
She rubbed her temples to ease the pain. Much like a heated game of blackjack, alcohol was always hit or miss with her. Sometimes, she could handle a lot of it and be fine, but other times, she was something of a lightweight, and it only took a little for her to be “off to the races,” as Derrick liked to put it.
As she lay there, she realized that one of her left fingers was also throbbing even worse than her head. I
t hurt so intensely that she thought it was probably what woke her up in the first place. She shook her hand, fearing she’d slept on it wrong since it felt swollen. She was a bit bleary-eyed, so she squinted to take a good look at the offending finger.
Her injured hand was white except for her ring finger, which was pretty drastically discolored thanks to a band fit far too snugly around it, way too small for her. She knew she hadn’t worn that to the Bellagio casino, and she had no idea how it ended up there.
Corrine snapped to, her mind struggling against the roaring hangover. She desperately wanted to remove the ring before she cut off all the circulation and the situation became medically dangerous. “Oh shit! I could lose my finger! Derrick!”
The only answer was silence.
Assuming that Derrick had blacked out as she had just a short while ago, she struggled to get up. She barely brushed her finger against the mattress in the process, but the pain nearly sent her through the roof. On wobbly legs, she staggered around the suite, but Derrick was nowhere to be found.
“Damn,” she cursed under her breath, knowing she was still intoxicated but was also suffering from a fairly serious injury. “Where the hell was I last night? What did I do? And why the hell did I have so much to drink?” She had experienced some rip-roaring times before from drinking, but never had it been life-threatening. This time, she’d crossed a line, and she was terrified. She sighed and looked around, trying to clear her head and her vision. “And where’s Derrick?”
She stumbled to the phone and managed to call the front desk. When she mentioned that she was injured, they asked if she needed an ambulance. “I—I’m not sure,” she half-said, half-slurred. “See, I woke up and… this ring on my finger is too tight, and it’s turning all purple, and—”
“Have you tried soap, ma’am?”
“No, I didn’t think of that,” she said, so buzzed that she wasn’t even sure what she was saying. She hung up the phone and made her way to the bathroom, where she stuck her hand under the running faucet and did her best to douse it with shampoo to lube it up.