Playboy

by Katy Evans

  Except what I found is more than a distraction. It’s a nuclear sex bomb and I don’t know if letting it blow up would be a good thing or a bad. I’m betting on both.

  FLUSH

  The next day, we have a late breakfast at the buffet and once we step into the casino, I tell him of my plans. “I’m heading off to mingle.”

  “Go on. Have some fun.” He hands me a money chip.

  “I really don’t need to—”

  “We’re in Vegas.”

  “And . . .”

  “You’re my date.”

  “That’s debatable. We’re basically in a dare—”

  “You’re in Vegas, Wynn.”

  “So?”

  “So go win.”

  He pecks my lips.

  I impulsively peck him back, then my eyes widen when I realize what I did. I hear him exhale, his hands, which somehow came up to cup my shoulders, clenching viscerally the moment my lips connect with his.

  Startled by the fizzle that runs from the contact-point to my toes, I drop back on my heels and meet his gaze with a smile that isn’t as shy as you’d expect. It’s actually quite naughty. As is the smile and the smoldering look that Cullen gives me in return.

  I spend the next few hours window shopping and ogling window displays, then answering a few emails from my assistant. I even head to the slot machines and play ten dollars, happy when I extract a voucher for eight. Which means I only lost two dollars after playing for over an hour. Yay, Wynn! Maybe I’m not as lucky as Cullen thinks, but I’m not that unlucky either.

  I’m standing at the craps table a few hours later, watching it all in curiosity, when I feel his arms slide around my waist. “Hey, beautiful, want to play?”

  “Oooh. Well, that sounds like the sexiest proposition I’ve heard since I arrived here in Vegas.” I turn on some exaggerated charm. “See, I’ve been sleeping alone since I got here and what happens in Vegas? Why, it might as well stay here. I mean, there’s no action underneath my sheets.” I keep my voice low so only he can hear me. While I speak, he’s rocking me side to side and I’m enjoying the feel of him, his rigid cock pressed against my butt.

  His body is hard against mine and his arms tighten around my waist. He takes a deep breath and whispers, “I’m supposed to meet this beautiful woman for lunch but if I can help you out . . . maybe help steam up those sheets . . . maybe I can get a raincheck on the meal.”

  I whirl around and face him. “You’re bad.” Before I think about it, I peck his lips, kind of like before, and wonder what’s up with that.

  What’s up with us?

  The question is still playing out in my mind when we enter the restaurant where Cullen made a reservation this morning. He takes my hand and leads me forward. I let him, though for some reason, I wouldn’t have if he were anyone else. Something about this guy simply doesn’t broach any argument. And it feels good, sort of protective.

  “Callan?” Cullen says.

  I lift my head. And spot Cullen’s brother, Callan, along with one of my besties, Olivia Roth, now Olivia Carmichael. The couple is seated at a table in the far corner and they seem as surprised as we are as they come to their feet.

  “Livvy! I had no idea you were honeymooning in Vegas!” We girls are throwing ourselves into each other’s arms in a second.

  We’re so excited that we’re probably jumping up and down and causing a scene, but as quickly as the joy hits, their curiosity follows.

  Livvy looks at me then shifts her gaze to Cullen and a dazed, puzzled smile touches her lips. “We’re not. Only stopping for two days before we head to L.A. and then Fiji. What are you doing here?” she demands.

  Cullen.

  I’m basically sending Cullen a screaming look, not wanting him to give any explanations.

  “It’s a long story,” I start to answer.

  “I can make it short. We da—”

  “We dared each other to experience each other’s jobs and . . . oh, pooh. It’s silly.”

  “My brother isn’t a silly man,” Callan says, and he’s stoic and not smiling at all. Not one little bit.

  “Well, this bet is. You know how he is. He can’t stop betting on stuff. Anyway, congratulations!” I hug Livvy again while the men head back to the honeymooners’ table.

  “Come sit. Join us.” She takes my hand and drags me with her.

  “Oh, we couldn’t.” I’m hesitant.

  “Cullen? Maybe you should take it from here,” Callan says.

  “Why? She’s doing fine.” And he slides me a look that means everything and nothing.

  Livvy and Callan notice.

  I notice something, too. Cullen and I are thick as thieves, kissing bandits, friends with secrets. Good. Friends.

  It’s like we’re an island unto ourselves.

  The thought makes me blush like mad and I’m aware of the heat in my cheeks, the eyes on me, the way Cullen looks at me with new surprise as if he knows what I’m thinking.

  And if we’re an island . . . and it’s just Cullen and me . . . then he knows what’s on my mind.

  Him. And I’m not embarrassed for him to know it.

  There’s a new effervescence in the air and it’s like a tonic. It’s invigorating, sweet, and refreshing.

  Cullen pulls out a chair for me, smirking when I hesitate. But then why did I hesitate? Am I so greedy that I want to spend my last two days in Vegas keeping Silver Eyes to myself?

  Pursing my lips when I realize the answer, I sit and decide getting some food in my stomach will make the butterflies I’m feeling when Cullen’s knee brushes against my own under the table dissipate.

  “Shall we order?” Callan asks, looking more amused when Livvy puffs her cheeks and gives him a stern look.

  I know what the exchanged couple-looks are all about now because as I swap glances with Cullen . . . I know what he’s thinking.

  And what he’s thinking is all that matters now.

  Cullen

  Two hours later

  “Explain.”

  “The situation fairly explains itself.”

  “In words.”

  “She’s available.”

  “Physically. Emotionally, don’t touch her, Cullen. She’s a good girl. And she’s hurting.”

  “I know she’s hurting. That’s why we’re here. She deserves to get over him. I mean for her to get over him.”

  “Let yourself get used so she—”

  “No. Not used.”

  “Then what.”

  “I get to enjoy her, and she gets all the advantages being with me brings.” I wink.

  “She’s a friend.”

  “She could be more than that.”

  My brother looks perplexed. “I meant, she’s a good friend to me. I knew her before me and Livvy.”

  “So what, I can’t kiss the family friend?”

  “You’ve kissed her!” He drags his hands through his hair.

  “Oh dear God. You did not just ask me that. Hell, I didn’t bring her all the way out here just to look at her.”

  “Well maybe you should’ve considered that as an option.”

  “And maybe you should remember that I didn’t coach you when it came time to watch you and Liv from the sidelines.”

  “You weren’t watching a train wreck.”

  “Is that what I am?” I’m slightly offended, but then again, Callan’s never seen me in my element. He only knows what his rich friends have told him. That gamblers are always chasing their next losing proposition.

  “You’ll hurt her.”

  “And what if I don’t?” I swallow back the reluctance of telling my brother the facts as I know them. “What if I don’t hurt her? What if we have a great time together? More importantly, what if that great time spins out of control and we find that we can’t get enough of each other? And if that works, who’s to say that we can’t fall in love and maybe have a happy ending of our own?”

  “Oh my god.” He stares at me in disbelief. “Are you listening to
yourself?”

  “What is it now?”

  “You’re falling for her. Hard. Fast. But it’s still a fall, all the same. You might as well brace for it, Cull.”

  “I’m not . . .” I stop and think. Wynn’s already had someone who told her one thing and did another. I won’t be that guy.

  “You’re not what?” Callan pulls out a pack of Malboros and lights up, twisting his cigarette around to offer me a hit.

  I shake my head.

  “Thought you quit.”

  He shrugs. “Stressful shit drives me to smoke. So does Vegas.” He grins, eyes twinkling.

  And I don’t know if I’m turning down the smoke or shaking my head in disbelief because of what I’m about to admit. “I won’t deny anything.”

  Callan watches me, carefully blowing out smoke as he narrows his eyes. He lowers his voice. “Can you be more specific? Because Livvy is going to give me twenty questions about this.”

  “She could be the one. I could fall for her.” Maybe I’ve already fallen. “Where things go from here, only time will tell.” I clench my jaw and lean back in my seat, then steal the cigarette from my brother and take a long inhale.

  “Fuck, Cull. This is worse than I thought.” He takes his cigarette back and sucks in a full drag.

  “Worse?” I shake my head. “Try better.” I smirk.

  My brother’s trying to find the right words but he won’t find them on time because I won’t give him another opportunity.

  I’m not walking away. Why would I?

  I want her.

  And I always get what I want.

  Wynn and I have a great time together and there’s chemistry and heat and . . . damn woman should’ve been finished talking to Livvy by now.

  I don’t know if Livvy will make Wynn question her decisions but if she does, I’ll be there to remind her of what she’ll miss if she walks away.

  She can’t leave. She won’t go.

  I’m confident because she knows, just as I do. There’s something here. Something beyond games and money, beyond art and poker, even beyond the prize waiting for us at the end.

  We’re not done here yet.

  Wynn

  “Okay, I’m out. Cullen needs me.” I stand up, ready to go. I played ten dollars at blackjack and lost five.

  I’m not a loser. I’m a lucky charm.

  I smile at the thought but it quickly dims when I look around and can’t find Callan or Cullen. What if Callan warns Cullen to stay away from me because I’m a serial dater? What if he listens?

  What if he decides to send me back home tonight?

  Calm. Down. Wynn.

  It’s never going to happen. Remember the island! You’re not on a ship with a thousand seas before you. You’re one woman. He’s one man.

  You’re having a great time. You have a bet going on. Bumping into Callan and Livvy won’t change that.

  I take a deep breath.

  “Hey, Wynn? I bet if you make him a cool mill tonight, he’ll make you feel like one in bed too,” Livvy taunts, leaving a red chip for the dealer as she stands to leave.

  “Nobody’s fucking anyone tonight except your husband and you.” I narrow my eyes, and Livvy grins cheekily.

  “Of course. This is my first time in Vegas too. We’re living the life!”

  “I can tell, Livvy, I can tell how badly you love that man.”

  “Wynn, no, but seriously?” She stops me, somber now.

  I pause.

  “Have some fun, but be careful. Draw some boundaries. Can you do that?” Her sheepish look suggests she thinks it’s an impossible request.

  “Trust me, they’re drawn. Cullen is not a guy who falls in love, and I would never let myself fall for a guy like him. I honestly just want to stop hurting. And I’m having the time of my life. Be happy for me?”

  “Okay. Oh, and if you want to piss him off, ask him to dance with you. Callan says he hates that.” She exhales, relieved. “He seems to dig you.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Of course! Why would he not?” Before I respond, she quietly adds, “And speak of the devil and he comes.”

  I spin around to find a glowering Cullen before me.

  He’s not exactly glowering. Just looking at us with drawn eyebrows as if curious about our conversation.

  And that look is all-male, all-mine. He seems to take his time as he searches me from head to toe, as if he thinks I somehow changed after we parted.

  I feel claimed, owned, and so very much his.

  Do I want to be?

  Oh stop, Wynn. Just stop!

  “I hope I’m interrupting.” He takes my hand like it belongs in his.

  “You are!”

  “Good. Sorry, Livvy. Wynn’s going to get busy now.”

  I groan and shoot him a warning look. “We’re heading to the tables now?”

  “Not if we don’t want to.” He leads me away.

  I casually peer over his back and wave at Liv. “Wait. So you stole me away from my bestie just because you couldn’t share me?”

  “I’ve shared you enough.” He laces our fingers together as we walk. “I’m entitled to time alone with you.”

  Did he . . . just put a claim on me?

  I so hope I’m not blushing now.

  I nudge him playfully, but the thrilling little frisson of female awareness that runs through me won’t go away no matter how much I tease him. “You’re obsessive. Superstitious. And a gambler. No wonder you’re single. Oh, and you don’t even dance.”

  “Right on all counts.” He doesn’t seem one bit perturbed about it. The more I talk, the more he closes the distance between us.

  He stops to get drinks at the bar of a small club restaurant.

  “I’ll just have iced tea. Thanks,” I tell him when he asks. He hands mine over and picks up his whiskey from the counter, leading me to a table.

  “Livvy actually dared me to make you dance.”

  “Nobody makes me dance. I’m defective, like a bird with no feathers. Can’t fly. No rhythm and no inclination.” He shoots me a warning look as we take a small round table. “Don’t think for a moment I’ll ever try.”

  “Oh, I know how to get you to dance.”

  He smiles indulgently, shaking his head.

  I twirl my straw in my glass.

  “For a bet.” There’s a silence. I peer up and into his face.

  Silver Eyes is looking at me weird.

  One eyebrow slowly starts coming up. Followed, very slowly, by the other.

  “Damn you.” He laughs as if he can’t believe I dared to mention it.

  “See?” I grin.

  “You’re a she-devil.”

  “I know your weakness.”

  He drops his foot on the footrest of my seat and leans forward, one elbow on his knee. He starts to grin. A grin that would make the very devil run. “How much? What are we betting?”

  Red flags start popping up in my brain, but I’m having too much fun to back out. And I really want to make the guy dance. “We’re betting . . .” I think about it, unsure of what would tempt him most. “You tell me what will get you up on the dance floor.” I nudge him and point at the dance floor.

  His hand flies out to curl around my finger and envelop my hand in the warmth of his. The sudden move makes me jerk my gaze up to his. “Fucking. You. All night long,” Cullen says meaningfully.

  “No. But I’ll sleep with you. In bed. Just sleep,” I offer. It’d be nice, to be honest. I’m selfish like that.

  “What are you wearing?”

  I glance down at my clothes.

  “To sleep, baby,” he says, rolling his eyes.

  I flush beet red. “Oh. My peejays.”

  “Wrong answer.”

  “Okay, a T-shirt and panties.”

  “Wrong again.”

  “Fine. I’ll go crazy and shed the clothes. All of them except my underwear. Only if you dance with me.”

  “You’ll wear the lingerie.”


  “No.”

  “Yes. It’s not even open for debate.” He slowly uncurls his body and stands, lifting me up with him. “You didn’t ask for it, baby. You begged,” he warns.

  I’m flushing again. Damn him. I wave that off as if it’s due to the lights and brush past him, heading to the dance floor.

  He spins me around. He pulls me forward and into his arms, the hard length of his warm body suddenly making me weak in the knees. He wraps a fist in my hair and forces me to look at him. There is fire there, a whole lot of it, and something else. Something questioning, but the question burns out of his eyes when I part my lips in expectation. Please, I think. He swears softly under his breath in a low hiss before his lips are on mine, his tongue entering swiftly. Wetly. Hotly.

  The music changes and “100 Years” fills the speakers and as he eases back, the way he looks at me sends a little tingle down my spine.

  “For a man who doesn’t dance, you have all the right moves.”

  “You think?”

  “You dance great.”

  “I don’t enjoy dancing. Don’t ask me why, I just don’t, never have.”

  He slows down the dance, slides his arm around my waist and pulls me against him with the kind of grip that makes me shiver and groan.

  I squirm helplessly in his arms as he kisses me again, and I kiss him back, wanting to touch him, press him closer.

  He pulls free, his nostrils flaring, eyes slitting. “How do you manage to push all my buttons? Huh?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. I think I’m just uniquely equipped with most of your pet peeves.”

  “Is that the secret?”

  “There’s no secret.” I feel . . . like the world just disappeared around us . . . like we’re on the verge of a zombie apocalypse but we’re not scared because we have each other. Even if we turned, we’d find our way together.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “You so don’t want to know,” I say, laughing.

  “If it’s that funny, I definitely do.”

  I hesitate and debate on whether or not to tell him, whether or not he’ll think I’m too much of a girl or maybe not girly enough if I’m thinking about zombies and monsters and end-time scenarios.

  “It’s like we’re the only two people in the world right now.” I leave out the zombie part. If the confession doesn’t scare him off, the monsters might.