ACE: Las Vegas Bad Boys (25 page)

I
don’t live
my life for anyone but me. Does that make me a dick? According to my family, sure. But family isn’t everything.

Right now, the thing I’m most interested in is finding a nice piece of ass to take back to my suite tonight.

Is this something out of the ordinary? No. I like to fuck—no hiding that. And what I like more is a woman who’s fearless in the bedroom. I don’t want some girl I can train into dominating.

I don’t want to be called
Sir
. I want to be called a motherfucking King.

Besides, I’m not into that hardcore shit. I just like to spank an ass, use a blindfold, tie a girl up to the bedpost while I lick her pussy.

And, looking around this wedding reception, I can’t help but think there must be some girl here looking for a hook-up that’s less risky than swiping through Tinder.

“When they said their vows, I thought I’d just melt,” Tess says, her tone reflecting absolute longing. “I want what Ace and Emmy have so much it hurts.”

Tess, sitting next to me at the wedding party table, sighs into her Lemon Drop cocktail. She’s the epitome of sappy bridesmaid.

I smile tightly at her desire to be partnered up. I held her arm as we walked down the aisle, and I swear I could see her heart pitter-patter through the strapless pink chiffon.

“Chin up, Tess,” I say, offering her my best groomsman pep-talk. “Surely there’s some chap here you fancy.” I look around the room appraisingly, wanting to find myself a woman to bang.

The wedding reception is small—neither Emmy nor Ace have any family—but there are business associates and friends in attendance. Still, only fifty or so people have gathered here today, and Ace was adamant about no paparazzi.

Jack appreciates it, and his on-and-off girlfriend, Grammy-award-winning pop star Ashley Fast hangs on him with the same starry eyes Tess has.

I don’t want any woman like that tonight. Sure, a nice wedding always gets a girl’s panties wet—but I’m an asshole, and not interested in a woman looking for anything longer than one night. Some women get so damn clingy after a night with me, and I can’t handle a girl like that.

Ace and Emmy are on the dance floor, swaying to their first dance. I truly thought Ace would be above all this wedding bullshit, but Emmy has his nuts in a pretty tight grip. Not that I blame him. Emmy is an absolute gem of a girl. I understand why Ace fell so hard, so fast. Plus, I’m sure she’s absolutely banging in the bedroom.

I mean, with a rack like that—which, I know, not cool to talk about my friends wife that way—but the truth is, what Ace has found isn’t something I want. Not in the least. I’ve spent my life avoiding commitments and running from my posh, old-money childhood. Running from my father’s estate, and his wishes that I’d come home and work in the family business.

But my stick-up-his-ass brother Geoffrey has always held that role. And I learned early on that I wanted nothing to do with him and his long-time girlfriend Fiona. They’re wound up so tight they give me a fucking ulcer just being around them.

Everyone claps as Ace dips Emmy low at the end of the song. They’re laughing, all smiles, and my shoulders tighten as I take another glance around the room. There are some women over at the bar holding up their phones, but they look tacky as hell taking selfies at a fucking reception. At this point I’ll consider one of the waitresses—they might be my best bet for tonight.

The band, playing old jazz standards, opens up the dance floor and McQueen, who sits next to me, takes Tess’s hand like the gentleman he isn’t, and leads her to the dance floor. Jack and Ashley follow them, and the lights dim as couples find their way.

“Landon, you need to ask someone to dance, bro,” Ace says, coming up behind me. “You kinda look like an ass sitting alone.”

“I’m not alone,” I say, looking across the table at Emmy’s friend Claire, who’s still sitting here. But she’s nearly as bad as the selfie girls; she’s been looking down at her phone in her lap all throughout the reception.

Emmy takes a seat next to Claire, and I see a smile stretch tightly across Claire’s face. Her eyes are brighter than they have been throughout the reception, but I can tell it isn’t genuine. I know, who the hell am I to judge her, right? I just appreciate she isn’t starry-eyed like Tess and Ashley.

“Go dance with Claire, asshat,” Ace tells me. “She looks sad as fuck.”

“You see that, too?”

“Yeah, Emmy says she’s been off lately. Stressed out about money and shit. I feel bad for her, in all honesty. Tried to give her a raise, but she said it was ridiculous to pay her twice as much as the other cocktail girls. That girl doesn’t want hand-outs.”

“So she isn’t a gold-digger?”

“Hardly. She’s a pull-herself-up-by-her-bootstraps kind of girl.”

“Okay, I’ll dance with her. I just can’t deal with a clinger right now.”

“Then Claire’s your girl. And, fuck, looking around this reception, you don’t have many other options.”

“So you don’t mind me leaving with Claire tonight?”

“Shit, dude,” Ace says, laughing. “I said dance with her, not fuck her.”

“Ace, hate to break it to you, man—but one dance with me and she’ll want me for more.”

* * *

Don’t get me wrong. I like happily-ever-afters, and this Ace and Emmy thing is a freaking Cinderella dream-come-true. I don’t begrudge them their happiness. They went through so much crap to get here today. I
want
them to go off on their honeymoon in Tahiti riding a freaking unicorn.

It’s just not always sugar plum fairies in the real world, and I can’t help but wonder what happens next for them? Because I’m the freaking poster child for dashed dreams and grin-and-bear-it, crash courses in reality.

But who wants to listen to my sob story right now? I sure as hell don’t. Especially when this wedding is about my friend.

And, okay, I call her my friend ... but I am a pretty shitty one.

I haven’t been honest with Emmy ... like, at all. Not even a little. But she counts me as one of her closest friends—heck, I’m a bridesmaid in her wedding—and eventually I will open up and tell her and Tess my not-so-little secret.

I’m a private person. And, as a rule, I don’t mix work with my personal life. I didn’t expect to take this job and meet these girls who see me as a sister.

So, I will tell them ... it just hasn’t been the right time yet.

The last few months have been the Ace-and-Emmy whirlwind, and then they planned this wedding in like ten days. And the truth is, I do think they are a teeny bit insane.

Like, maybe take the next year and be engaged and actually get to know one another. Like, maybe don’t rush down the aisle before you live together for a month and learn about the terrible habits your partner has. Like, maybe spend a year figuring out if this guy is actually the person you want to make babies with.

You know—all the things I should have done before I got pregnant.

This afternoon while we were at the spa getting our entire bodies waxed and shined and sprayed for the wedding, I kept checking my phone, and it was driving Tess and Emmy nuts.

They kept asking who I was texting. And I should have just said it right then and there. But I didn’t, because it felt weird to tell them after spending three months in their company when I hadn’t dropped any hints.

Now it would just be awkward.

So I made excuses.

“My mom doesn’t now how to figure out her refinance loan and she keeps texting, asking what APR means.”

Which was true. I
was
been texting my mom, but not about a refinance. And sure, she
is
refinancing and doesn’t know what an APR is, but that wasn’t why she was texting right then. She was texting because Sophia was sick, and she wanted to know if I knew where the children’s Tylenol was.

They know I live with my mom in her condo, and that I’ve lived in Vegas my whole life. What they don’t know is who else lives with us.

Emmy sits with me, after her and Ace’s first dance. I slide my phone into my clutch and then squeeze her hand.

“It’s all been so perfect, Emmy.”

“Thanks, Claire. I don’t understand how there hasn’t been one single catastrophe today. It’s all been seamless.”

I can’t help but think when they’re able to throw thousands of dollars at everything they do, things do seem to happen without a hitch.

“I can’t believe you’re going to Tahiti,” I say, picking up my flute of champagne. I catch Landon looking at me from across the table and I turn back to Emmy without pausing on him. Or his chocolatey eyes, or his chiseled jawline.

Ace’s friends are not my type ... I need regular. I want a guy who spends his weekends fly fishing or working in the garage on a car. Not these bad boys.

I’ve had enough bad boys in my life. Well, I’ve had enough of one particular bad boy, and I will never fall for another one as long as I live.

“I can’t believe you’re not dancing, Claire,” Emmy says. “You’ve been so wound up lately.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. “I’m chill. I’m smiling.” I flash her a tight grin that’s not at all sincere. “Sorry, things have been stressful. You know that. And my mom is trying to refinance her condo, and she keeps asking me how to make the Internet work. Like, those are the actual words she used.”

Emmy smiles, and I do, too. My mom’s last text was actually a relief. Sophia’s fever was gone, and after fighting it all day she was asleep for the night.

“Excuse me,” Landon says, standing next to me. I didn’t even notice him get up from the table. “Would you care to dance?”

Okay, I know I’ve said Ace’s friends aren’t my type—and they aren’t. But Landon’s English accent is actually pretty hot. As in very hot. Like, the hottest.

“Oh,” I say, caught off guard. “Yeah, sure.” I raise my eyebrows, setting down the champagne.

He takes my hand, leading me to the dance floor, and I tell my shoulders to relax. Yes, that is something I actually have to command. Because Emmy is absolutely right.

I have been wound up lately.

Or, more like, I’ve been wound up for five years straight.

I’m a twenty-four year old single mom in Las Vegas—a cocktail waitress trying to make life as stable as possible for my five-year-old daughter. Which isn’t easy when I’m doing it all on my own.

And there isn’t a man in sight who’s up for the task of helping me balance it all.

C
laire may be no-nonsense
—but she’s also rather hot. Her platinum-blonde hair and always-on bright red lipstick make her an absolute bombshell.

So why have I never attempted to shag her before? Mostly because Ace told me if I so much as tried, he would murder me. And considering he grew up in the mob, I tend to believe him.

And, secondly, Claire isn’t my typical conquest. She’s ... well, how do I put it? She’s quite adult. I’ve been out with her and the crew numerous times, but she’s never gotten drunk, never let any bloke get too close—certainly never gone home with anyone. She always pays her own tab and doesn’t chat about trivial things, like the celebrity sightings in the casino that get Tess and Emmy all bubbly.

She is, like I’ve said, much more mature for her age than I’ve ever been—than I am. Fuck. I’m twenty-seven, and a completely worthless asshole compared to her. And yet, as I lead Claire to the dance floor, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to sleep with her.

She isn’t a stick-up-her-ass adult, mind you. She’s clever. And funny. And gorgeous. She’s just not frivolous. Which is actually quite an appealing combination.

She just seems a bit out of the league I usually play in.

Which isn’t to say I can’t have her. Ace is going to be off with Emmy, headed to a honeymoon in the South Pacific. He doesn’t bloody well need to know about Claire and me having a little post-wedding rendezvous.

“So, Claire, how are you this evening?” I ask, wrapping an arm around her waist. I’ve never been this close to her before, and as she places one hand on my shoulder and takes my hand in other, I can’t help but think that I like the way she fits against me.

I’m rather tall and lean, whereas Claire is average height and her body is quite slight—narrow shoulders, not curvy or voluptuous.

Rather, Claire is a classic beauty, save for her bright blonde hair. Still, even with her loud hair, she isn’t gaudy and excessive. And besides her signature red lips, there’s little make up on her face. Her skin is naturally bronzed from plenty of time in the Vegas heat, and her eyes are bright, alive. A gorgeous green.

And, being this close to her, I’m actually quite taken by the way she hums along with this old jazzy tune. The way her body seems to rest into mine as we glide over the dance floor. And she actually appears to know how to waltz. I haven’t waltzed in years—not since they forced us to learn at the boarding school mum and dad sent Geoffrey and me to—yet we’ve unconsciously found a rhythm.

“Are we waltzing?” I ask Claire, leaning close. My lips graze her ear as I speak, and a smile finds its way across my usually sharp and sarcastic face. Fuck, this woman smells amazing, too—honeysuckle and vanilla—and I would inhale her if that weren’t a very creepy thing to do in public.

Claire lets out a sigh, and I swear she’s just breathed me in, too. “I was obsessed with learning these stuffy dances when I was a girl. Forced my mother to get me lessons at a dance hall where a very old woman named Mrs. Macarthur taught me. No one else knows how to waltz. But you do,” she says, crinkling her eyes in surprise as we continue to float across the room.

“I do. I know quite a lot of things, actually.”

“What else do you know, Landon, blackjack player extraordinaire and self-proclaimed asshole?”

“Fucking bullocks. You already know all there is to know about me. I’m just a washed-up Englishman far from home.”

“You’re all talk, Landon,” Claire says, smirking. Her lip curls in such a teasing way that I’m sure when she’s in a bedroom she knows exactly how to play. “I heard you’ve taken the lead with the property investment that Ace was wrapped up with. That isn’t something a washed-up Englishman would do.”

“I suppose.” I shouldn’t be surprised Claire knows about the property, I’m sure Emmy tells her everything. “But I don’t even know what I’ll do with that half-burned down space.”

“I’m sure someone as smart as you will figure it out.” Claire squeezes my hand as the song comes to an end, and suddenly I don’t want to let her go.

I want to take off her dress, if I’m being honest.

We stand on the dance floor, arms still holding one another, and the MC calls everyone to watch as Ace and Emmy cut their cake.

I swallow, all of a sudden wanting Claire so badly. I want to see her glowing skin bare, her blonde tresses pulled down, my hands running over all of her.

Fuck. My cock twitches in desire.

Claire turns her head, and I follow her gaze. We watch as Ace and Emmy cut their cake, shoving it in one another’s faces. It’s sugary sweet, the entire thing.

“Do you want to go somewhere with me?” I ask Claire.

“Is it somewhere less ... I don’t know ... perfect?” She looks around the ballroom filled with bouquets of red roses—Emmy’s signature flower. There are piles of decadent food and glossy people and flawless ambience. “It’s an awful lot to take.”

I see then that the reason Claire doesn’t have eyes all starry like Tess and Ashley is because she’s jaded, bruised. Not like Emmy—not because of a sordid past full of drugs and whatnot. No, Claire has had her heart broken and she can only take so much love-at-first-sight nonsense.

Good. She’s even better to take to my suite than I thought. She won’t get clingy after tonight. She isn’t looking for forever, because she doesn’t believe in it.

“I’m taking you to my room, and we’re going to fuck ourselves silly. It won’t be rose petals and love notes. It will be hot sex, just one night.”

“I can’t do one night,” she says, and for a moment I wonder if I’ve read her all wrong. But then she licks her lips, smiles. “I can only do one hour.”

* * *

I don’t do hook-ups, mostly because the guys who offer them are creeps at the casino. And Landon is a casino junky, and an absolute no-go as far as boyfriend material is concerned. To be honest, what I’m really looking for is father material.

But I can’t help but feel myself get hot at the idea of his hands on my skin, his body pressed tight to mine ... oh, God, I’ve never been with anyone as sexy as Landon.

Those regular shmoes I’ve been dating don’t have ripped muscles and strong jawlines and absolutely panty-wetting accents. Beer bellies are kind of a guarantee.

Landon does not have a beer belly. He has a rock-hard chest, at least from what I could tell as he led me around the dance floor.

“Well,” Landon says. “If you can only spare one singular hour, we’d best be getting on.”

“We should wait until they’re off, shouldn’t we?”

“Look,” Landon says, pointing at the happy couple. “They’re ready for their wedding night to begin as much as we are. Watch.”

The MC directs everyone to wish the bride and groom a happy life, as Emmy tosses her bouquet into the crowd. Tess dives for it. Bless her heart, of course she does.

Then Ace sweeps his bride up in his arms and they’re off, toward the helicopter on the top of the casino, to the airport and Tahiti and most likely ridiculously amazing beach sex.

I’m not jealous, I’m just really, really horny all of a sudden. Standing so close to Landon is getting me all bothered.

Reaching for a flute of champagne that a waiter carries on a tray, I take a swig of liquid courage. I need it. Before today’s spa with Tess and Emmy, I hadn’t been properly trimmed down there in well, years.

To say I’m a bit rusty in the sex department is an understatement. Sex with hotties is never on my priority list. That’s usually taken up with Kindergarten drop-off and bedtime stories.

So. Okay. The truth is I haven’t had sex with anyone since Sophia was born.

Five years ago.

Sex is never on the agenda. And most of those guys I date don’t get past second base. Because if isn’t going to be the real deal, I don’t have time to waste.

“Let me grab my purse and you can do with me whatever you like.”

I mean it. I need it. I don’t even know if I know how to do it anymore. But for one hour, I want to try and remember.

Landon slides an arm across my back, smoothly guides me to our table where I grab my clutch, then expertly holds the door for me as we walk to the bank of elevators.

I don’t know how these hook-ups work. But from the looks of it, Landon is a player, a bad boy, who knows exactly how they operate.

If I’m going to have sex for the first time in an embarrassingly long time ... I’m actually very glad it’s with someone like him.

Someone who’s not a man I’d ever bring home, not a man I’d ever sleep with twice. Not a man I’d give more than one hour, one time.

“Are you nervous?” I ask, tossing my suit coat on a chair in the corner. Claire bites her lip, seemingly very out of her element.

We’re standing in my suite. I’ve gotten myself a permanent space here, set up courtesy of Ace. Considering what I spend a month at the casino, the room rate is a joke. Being able to call myself a serious blackjack player—which is an oxymoron in and of itself—is a perk of being the son of a diamond tycoon.

“I just ... I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Done what?” I ask, my brows furrowing as I pop the cork on a bottle of champagne. It’s all she drank tonight, and the moment I let her in my room, it was clear she needs to loosen up some more.

Pouring a glass, I hand it to her, and she looks up at me with those piercing green eyes.

“It’s been
a
while
.” She shrugs, dropping her eyes to the floor.

“Ahh.” This is quite shocking, actually; Claire is confident and drips sex appeal. She’s classic and smart—and hell, her legs in those fishnets she wears around the casino each day ... there’s no way men aren’t shagging her left and right.

“I don’t know why I told you that. That was stupid. I
want
to do this. With you. I need to do this. I never do anything for myself. And so, I shouldn’t be weird about it. Or nervous. Right?”

Rambling women usually give me a headache, but Claire’s rambling reveals a softer side to her that I’ve never seen before. It’s actually quite precious.

“Claire, relax. It’s me. I’m not a stranger. And this is just sex. At least for me it is. Is that the problem? You want this to be ... more?”

“Oh, God no,” she says, so emphatically I actually start to laugh. My ego is impossible to bruise—but I do, however, appreciate her honesty. “This is for one hour. Only.”

“Got it, one hour,” I say. “And if you’re apprehensive about your ... err, skills ... I can take control of the situation.”

Claire swallows a sip of champagne and nods eagerly. “Yes, just—please, Landon, don’t make me feel like a idiot.”

“Never.”

I take the flute from her hand and set it on the table. Then I wrap my arms around her and find the zipper of her dress. I slide it down, inch by inch, and feel my cock grow in desire as the dress gives way and falls to the floor.

Claire takes a sharp indrawn breath, suddenly naked save for the strapless bra and tiny thong crossing her soft skin.

“You are divine,” I tell her.

“Shut up.”

“You are. Now don’t be coy with me.”

Her hands reach to the collar of my dress shirt and she slowly eases off my tie. It falls between her fingers as she drops it to the floor. Button by button, she moves her fingers down my chest. I tug off the shirt once she’s finished.

“Now the trousers,” I direct.

A soft smile plays on her face; she tugs on my belt, whipping it from the loops. It hits the floor, and she quickly unbuttons my pants. I know she’ll get wet when she sees what I have for her.

My cock is thick and massive, the kind a girl like Claire, who hasn’t been properly fucked in far too long, is going to love.

My trousers fall to the floor and my hard rod has sprung to life under my boxers.

“This is really happening,” Claire says, her voice full of soft surprise.

“Do you want it to happen?”

“Badly.”

I unclasp her bra and her perfect tits fall out. They are full and round, with faded stretch marks on the sides, reminding me that Claire is a fucking woman. Her breast are gorgeous and her hard little nipples beg me to lean in, kiss her skin.

She inhales as my lips reach her breast; her flat stomach pulls in as she holds her breath.

“It’s okay, Claire. You’re perfect.”

The tiniest hint of insecurity flashes over her body. Her hips pivot; her head turns away for a moment. I cup my hands on her face, reflexively, holding her still. Not wanting her to look away. I want to fuck her, sure. But I also want her to know it’s perfectly okay to enjoy it.