by Elsa Kurt
I turn back to the man sitting beside me and feel the blush creep over my cheeks at his thoughtful stare. It wasn’t a throwaway question while perusing the news, he is waiting patiently for my reply. The truth feels like a request, and I barely know him, so I give the next best thing. It may not be the perfect Saturday that I want, but it is the closest to perfect I can expect.
“A hike, perhaps. Enjoying the view from a new hilltop or relaxing under a shade tree. Watching my dog chase butterflies. Cheese and grapes with a warm baguette. A swim to cool off. Dinner with friends and good wine. That might be a perfect day.” I smile and wait for the $3,000 suit wearing Vegas billionaire to dismiss me for my simplicity.
“You have a dog?” is his only response.
“Unfortunately, no.” I laugh at the one point he picked out. “I travel too much for a dog.”
He cocks his head. “I notice there is no man in your list, either.”
“I travel too much for one of those too, apparently.”
His gentle smile is a reminder of how much I told him last night.
“Well, this is Vegas. It’s where people come for the things they can’t have in real life. Here, you can have everything.”
Chapter 6
Maxwell
There are things I should be doing today. Our contractor in Seattle has questions on the designs for the new tower. Clint warned me that building the hotel of the future in the midst of a technological mecca would pose unique problems, but somehow, he’s making it work. When it’s done, it will be as much of an escape as anything Vegas has ever come up with. Especially if you like virtual reality.
I make a note to ask him for input on the South Africa project as well. Building something sustainable is hard enough in Seattle. South Africa may prove impossible. One misstep and the whole project will fall apart. He can join me in my meeting with the law firm there next week. Usually meeting with lawyers is torture, but the partner helping with contracts there may be the first lawyer I’ve ever really liked. Simeon Breitenbach seems truly dedicated to improving his country and the lives of the people there. If one hotel can help, I’m determined to make it work.
All thoughts of work and sustainable building disappear when she steps into the small lobby. I’ll admit that when she walked away I watched that little sundress swish across her sun-tanned thighs and cursed the thought of her changing. I’ve always been a sucker for short skirts, especially when I’m familiar with the firm ass hiding just underneath. It turns out, I may be a fan of khaki shorts as well. And hiking boots.
She seemed unsure when Stacy showed up with bags of clothes and shoes, but I can tell she’s happier now. Her long ponytail is draped over her shoulder and her smile is wide. She stops in front of me and taps the toe of her hiking boot against mine.
“You look like something out of a sports magazine. Did Stacy have to outfit you too?”
“I didn’t have any hiking boots here, if that’s what you mean.” I pull her into a long kiss before heading to the rooftop elevator. I should probably keep my hands to myself in public, but I’m finding it hard to behave.
“You seriously don’t own hiking boots?” Her words are breathless but I’m willing to bet it’s from that kiss, not my lack of hiking boots.
“I own hiking boots. I just don’t have them here. It was supposed to be a quick trip. I don’t actually live here.”
“Oh.” The sudden wrinkle between her eyebrows is adorable. “Where do you live?”
“All over, really. I have hotels all over the world. I move around depending on the project. I was just here to meet a business associate.”
I flash my badge in the elevator but hold tight to her hand as we ascend. Any questions are cut off by the chirp of her phone. She looks at it and smiles, then tucks it away.
“You found your phone.”
“Cici brought it to me. She tracked me down while I was changing.”
“What did you tell her?” I’m curious how honest she will be with her friend.
“I told her that the stripper seems really into roleplaying, so I was going to spend the rest of the weekend pretending to be the mistress to a mafia kingpin.”
When the elevator doors open it’s my laughter that startles Matthew. He’s standing at the exit to the rooftop with a large black German shepherd named Jackson. Even Jackson tilts his head in confusion. I’m not sure they’ve ever heard me laugh like that.
“Layla, this is Matthew. He’s the head of security here at the de’Scala. But you can call him Fat Tony if you prefer.” Her laughter and deep blush are my rewards for joining in her game. Matthew just raises an eyebrow.
“You are so handsome!” The momentary flicker of jealousy dissipates when she leans down to pet a very pleased Jackson. “Who is this?” She spares me a quick glance.
“That’s our dog for the day, Jackson. You know—perfect Saturday and all?”
“We’re borrowing a dog?”
“We are. You can thank Fat Tony.”
She gives me a small slap on my shoulder and turns her beautiful smile on Matthew.
“Please ignore him.” She extends her hand to him in greeting.
“I’ve tried. He can be very persistent.”
“I’ve noticed.” She laughs.
“Speaking of which,” I place my hand at the small of her back and lead her to the rooftop.
Jackson is bounding onto the helicopter before Layla even has time to recover. She clearly wasn’t expecting me to pull out all the stops. I’m surprised, given her clientele. I can’t be the first man who has tried to impress her.
I pull her into the bird and buckle her in as the pilot moves through his checklist for takeoff. When I place the headphones over her ears, she grabs me by the t-shirt and pulls me in for a kiss. Her excitement is clear in the force of her lips on mine, and the smile that is still in the pull of her cheek. If this is how she rewards a small helicopter ride, I might be convinced to give her the world.
Using my own seatbelt as an excuse, I try to shake the thought from my mind. She’s clearly not interested in a relationship, and neither am I. It’s just a little weekend fun and tomorrow we will both be heading back to our lives. Knowing her, I’ll be forever referred to as her stripper. The thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
When I look up, she has one hand stroking the very happy dog, and the other pressed tight against the window. She’s content to watch the Vegas skyline disappear and the desert as it grows on the horizon. She clearly doesn’t need me to be happy, and I’m not sure why I am surprised. Her perfect day had nothing to do with a man, there’s no reason I should be the exception. For whatever reason, that realization feels like a loss. I’ve never been very good at losing.
I reach over and run my hand up her back, smiling at the way she leans into my touch. I should be part of her perfect day. Before I’m done with her, she’ll know it.
By lunch, I think I have made some progress. We are spread out on a blanket by the river at the base of Red Rock Canyon. The hike down was hot, but here the Aztec stone hovers over the floor of the canyon, providing shade and protection. This is a quiet spot where the water gathers into a deep pool of sparkling turquoise and the birds dart in and out in play. Jackson lies on a mossy spot in the shade, taking a break from chasing lizards.
I cut into the brie and pass her a torn piece of baguette and get lost in her soft moan of appreciation. The girl from the bar stool last night is gone, and while that girl was gorgeous, this woman is mesmerizing.
The soft catch in her breath when I stand and pull my shirt from my back pushes me forward as I pull my toes through the cool water. I can feel her stare and decide to take things a bit further. I drop my shorts on the sand and dive in.
When I surface, I push the water from my hair and look at her. Her rounded lips are covered by her fingertips and remind me that I have yet to have both wrapped around my cock.
“Join me?” I tread water and wait for her to decide.
She looks around our secluded spot, and for a moment I think she’s going to refuse. Then she stands and pulls her own shirt from her back. Her shorts join mine in the sand, followed by her bra and underwear. I let out a small curse. I’m supposed to be the one in control here, not the one sinking deeper. And then she pulls the tie from her hair.
Without thinking, I stand and cross the distance between us. I ignore her shocked screech at the cold water dripping from my skin and lock my arms around her. I can feel the desperation in my kiss and walk her backward to cover the emotion. She is flat on her back on the blanket before I even come up for a breath.
But even with the pause, I can’t seem to breathe. It’s not until I push inside her, feel her body constrict against mine, feel her nails dig into my back to pull me close, that the oxygen returns.
I rest my forehead on hers and let my lungs fill, suddenly worried that I went too far.
“I got carried away,” I whisper.
“Don’t stop,” is her reply.
I begin to move again, slowly, allowing my cock to trace every inch of her warmth. I set a tortoruous pace, pushing deeper, feeding off every whimper of need. Her nails bite into my forearms and I smile. Finally, she’s as desperate as I am.
I pull her hands above her head and hold them tight, increasing my rhythm and pushing deeper with every thrust. She arches underneath me, and I lean in to take her breast between my teeth. Her gasp punctuates the silence as I pull gently on the nipple before covering her mouth with mine.
Her kiss is frantic, and I realize she is much closer than I expected. I bury myself into her with all my strength and am rewarded when her body tightens against me. It’s my name as a moan on her lips that pushes me across the brink with her.
This woman is like a drug, and I can feel myself sinking deeper into addiction with each taste. I should be getting bored, this should be getting predictable. Yet, I’m surprised by my own need every time. There on the sand, again in the water, when she pushes me against the rocks and wraps those lips around my cock. That vision is seared into my memory with the red stone walls around us.
On the hike back I try to impress her with my knowledge of the Southern Paiute and Anastasi that once roamed these canyons. I point out the small petroglyphs hidden amongst the rocks and soak up every ounce of her excitement.
When I buckle her in, she pulls me in for another kiss, and the soft thank you on her lips sends an unexpected warmth into my chest. It’s the flight home that is most reassuring. She spends the entire flight asking about my life, my hotels, where I grew up, my family. It’s not intrusive. She’s clearly just curious. I don’t mind telling her everything. My family and my business are the best parts of me. Maybe they will be enough to make her stay.
We land, and Matthew is there to greet us. He reaches down to brush the sand from Jackson’s fur and looks pointedly at my hand wrapped tightly around hers. He may have been reassured by the security check he handed me this morning, but his look now is definitely a plea to slow down. Slow down is still better than his usual looks. Usually, it’s better described as disdain. When Jackson follows us onto the elevator and then promptly lies down at her feet, I can’t help but look up at him and grin. Maybe he should be glaring at his dog, not me.
Instead, he just sighs and lets us know that we have about an hour to shower and change before everyone arrives. He warns Layla that her kitchen has been stocked and that the chef might be there a few minutes early. She takes it all in stride, only giving me a curious look.
“Dinner with friends.” I squeeze her hand and kiss the edge of her brow as the elevator opens to her floor.
When she steps off, Jackson whines and Matthew finally gives him the same look he gave me. “Jackson, keep.” He finally snaps as he points to Layla. He shakes his head as his best friend bounds after her. Her cooing praise for the dog echoes through the hallway as the doors slide shut.
We ride in silence to my floor and I know he won’t say anything if I don’t provide the invitation. It takes the entire ride for me to decide if I want his input.
“Thoughts?” is all I say as I pause in the door.
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure I understand the endgame.”
“I’m not sure it’s a game.”
“It’s always been a game. I’m not sure she’s one that you should play with.”
“For her sake or mine?”
“Both.”
I take the extra step out and let the doors slide closed between us.
Chapter 7
Layla
Washing the sand from my hair takes longer than I anticipated, so I find myself rushing to dress. Based on the trays in my refrigerator, a small army of people might arrive at any moment. Cici hasn’t responded to my texts to find out if she’s one of them.
Things would be faster without my large black shadow, as Jackson refuses to let me out of his sight. Tripping over him every time I turn would be irritating if it weren’t so great to have my own dog for the day. I have to keep reminding myself that he isn’t really mine. I have to keep reminding myself that none of this is real.
It seems that the Vegas magic has finally reached me. I’ve heard other people talk about this. They talk about how they love Vegas because they can be a different person. They can feel like someone else for a few days, 72 hours of being a big spender, a king for a day, a risk taker. Vegas turns your fantasies into a reality until you have to leave. I’ve never bought into it… until now.
Maxwell is definitely the key to my Vegas magic. The man is clearly insane. Or extremely bored. Why else would he let me think he was a stripper? Why would he give me this day? This absolutely perfect day. Through all of this, he never seems to hesitate. He never seems to question. He just moves forward as if the world will bend to his will. So far, I see little evidence that it won’t. I see little evidence that I won’t. And it terrifies me.
I fasten the ruby red earrings just as the chime for my door sounds. It distracts me from wondering if the jewelry is real. Jackson beats me to the entry and the quick wag of his tail reassures me enough that I don’t even bother looking through the peephole. It might have helped to do so, I might have been able to hide the brazen want from my eyes.
When I dressed in the charcoal silk gown and slid my feet into the red-soled heels, I knew our little dinner with friends was going to be far from casual, but I never stopped to imagine Maxwell Scala in a tuxedo. His silk bowtie is the perfect match to my gown and my mouth waters at the thought of pulling it from his neck. Especially when the look on his face is as hungry as my own.
Jackson’s small whine reminds me to pull Max inside. Within seconds my back is against the door and his lips are on mine. His fingers drag through my curls and tug, just as the chime rings again.
His frustrated sigh brings a small smile to my lips, which he runs his fingertips over before pulling away. I know I told him my perfect day involved dinner with friends, but I would give anything right now to have these last hours with him alone.
The man who steps through the door is my next surprise. Griffin Pierce’s wife Grace was a frequent client of mine before her illness. She was one of the most generous and caring souls I have known, and we became friends as I helped to identify corporations and benefactors that might be willing to support her charities and events.
Mr. Pierce wasn’t generally part of our planning, but I’ve met him at some of the events and it is shocking to see him like this now. He’s still striking, with silvering hair and cobalt blue eyes, but there is a heaviness to him that is heartbreaking. They loved each other, that was clear. And it seems her death has taken its toll.
He apologizes for being early, and I watch as Maxwell looks at him with the same concern I feel. Their handshake is warm, and Maxwell squeezes his shoulder before turning to introduce me.
I watch the surprise as Mr. Pierce looks from me to Maxwell and tries to understand our relationship.
“Are you working with de’Scala Hotels?�
�
“No, I…” I rub the back of my neck and think of how to explain.
“You know each other?” Max looks to me as I nod, and then reexamines his friend. “Perfect, you can tell me her secrets.”
I leave the confused Mr. Pierce to explain that we don’t really know each other while I answer the door. I’m excited to see Cici there and laugh when I catch her eying a wary Matthew. Behind them are two men in chef’s coats, and just before I close the door, I spy Stacy coming down the hallway with a bottle of wine. It happens to be my favorite.
With everyone inside, my impressive suite is transformed into a bustling center of conversation and laughter. If you ignore the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the strip, you might even call it cozy.
I take a sip of my wine and watch the man across the room who made this happen. He is lost in serious conversation with his friend, oblivious to his impact on me, oblivious as to how much this little dinner party means until Mr. Pierce nods in my direction.
Maxwell looks up in time to catch me staring, and his smile is wide. When he excuses himself to move in my direction, I look around to see who else caught me watching him. Cici is standing by the table grinning next to Stacy. Cici’s eyes are sparkling with happiness while Stacy’s are full of pity. One of them clearly believes in fairytales. Unfortunately, it’s the other that knows the man I was watching. I look away, but her look continues to erode my sense of safety long after she has covered it with a smile.
Dinner is a series of small plates that begins with duck confit and ends with a caramel soufflé that melts across my tongue like the silk I am wearing. By the end of the night, Cici has made fast friends with everyone at the table, but I find myself falling quieter by the minute.