Secrets of a Shoe Addict (3 page)

“Thank you, Piper,” Loreen said to him.

Rod chuckled again. “You”—he clinked his glass to hers—“are adorable.”

“So are you!” she gushed, a little too enthusiastically. Then, in a misplaced effort to regain the cool dignity she was going for, she said, “For someone so young, I mean.” Oh, that was dumb. Really clumsy. And it didn’t seem like she was going to be able to stop herself anytime soon. “How old are you anyway?”

He looked at her very seriously. “About the same age as you, I’d guess. I’m twenty-four.”

“Smooth, Rod. That was really smooth.”

He looked at her guilelessly. “What do you mean?”

“I’m
not
twenty-four,” she said, downing the rest of her champagne. “And you know it.”

“Twenty-three?” he guessed, then furrowed his brow in mock consternation. “Younger? Tell me I didn’t just buy a drink for an underage Lolita.”

“You’re good. You’re really good.” Loreen smiled and took a sip of the champagne. It was sort of blah as wine went. Like unsweetened ginger ale. But, hey, if this was the drink for celebrations, she’d go for it, because
this
was a celebration. “This is great.”

He gave a nod and looked deeply into her eyes. “So what are we going to do next? Or should I ask
when
?”

It would have been the perfect opportunity to say something sophisticated and witty, but apparently Myrna Loy wasn’t available for channeling right then. “I—I’m . . . not sure.”

“Obviously we could use some privacy.”

Mmmm
. His voice could melt butter.

As a matter of fact, his voice—or maybe his long-lashed baby blues or perhaps that shiny mop of dark hair that her fingers were just
itching
to run through—
was
melting something deep in Loreen’s long-chilly nether regions.

And he wanted to be
alone
with her!

This was a night she’d
never
forget.

“Privacy would be nice,” she said, then giggled as the champagne bubbles actually tickled her nose, just like all the bimbos in old movies said it did.

“I have a room upstairs unless . . . you’d prefer your room?”

She pictured meeting the babysitter and all the kids at the door and laughed. “Let’s go to your room.”

“Of course.” He held a hand out and helped her off her stool. “Send the bottle up, please,” he said to the bartender.

“You and Piper seem to know each other.”

He looked puzzled for a second, then smiled. “There you go again. Yeah, Roger and I have worked here for a long time.”

“Ah.” She hadn’t realized Rod worked there, but she’d already said so many dumb things that she didn’t want to add to it by asking what he did, just in case it was somehow obvious. “How long have you worked here?”

“The hotel or the town?”

“Um . . . I . . .”She didn’t really care either way. “The hotel.”

“Oh, about a year and a half now.”

Only a twenty-four-year-old could think that was a long time. “You like it?”

“It allows me to meet beautiful women like
you
. How could I not love it?”

She could have gotten stuck on that plural—beautiful
women
—but since this wasn’t a real relationship in any sense of the word, she let it slide and just took the compliment. “You’re quite the flatterer.”

“No, I mean it.” He stopped her and looked her in the eye. “Sincerely.”

She felt the heat climb into her cheeks. “Thanks.”

He pushed the elevator button, and they glided upward to a suite on the top floor. One entire wall consisted of windows that overlooked the aurora borealis–like glow of the Las Vegas strip. It was enchanting.

Loreen was standing in front of the window, looking for the big guitar they always showed in movies, when Rod came up behind her and put his arms around her. “Like it?”

“I love it. I could look at this view every night for the rest of my life.” As soon as she said the words, Loreen had the horrible feeling that maybe this handsome stranger was a serial killer who was about to murder her, and, though he would be the only one to know, her final words would echo ironically through time.

There was a knock at the door, and Rod went to get it, murmured some things, and came back into the room with an ice bucket, a bottle, and two champagne flutes.

As he poured the champagne, Loreen noticed the label:
PIPER-HEIDSIECK
. Oh, shit. Rod hadn’t been calling the
bartender
Piper; he’d been asking for the champagne.

But then, like an idiot, she’d proceeded to call the guy “Piper” and, worse, feel really clever doing so.

Fortunately, Rod seemed to think she was joking, and even said she was adorable. So . . . she’d go with that.

“That was nice of Piper to send up some more Piper,” she said,
knowing it was pathetic, but at the same time at a complete loss about what else to say.

Rod moved over to Loreen and smoothly took the glass from her hand and set it on the end table by the sofa. “I can’t wait any longer to do this,” he said, then lowered his mouth down onto hers.

He didn’t give her time to work up some nervousness. He just went for it.

Never—
never
—had she been kissed like this. Everything in her tingled, from her head right down her spine and into the center of her being. Rod undressed her slowly, so slowly that even the fabric running across her skin felt like a caress.

He was an expert at touching a woman, pushing buttons she didn’t even know she had, bringing her to the crest of ecstasy over and over again, then backing away just long enough to make her nearly scream with need.

By the time he finally got down to business, she wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

She couldn’t say how long it lasted. Maybe an hour, maybe five, but the time Loreen spent with Rod was so intense that his abrupt withdrawal at the end of it came as a shock.

“Oh, shit.”

It wasn’t exactly the romantic conclusion she was expecting. “What’s wrong?”

“The fucking rubber broke.”

“What?”

“I said the
fucking
—
rubber
—
broke
.” Suddenly Rod sounded like a seven-year-old who’d struck out at bat.

So much for ol’ Rico Suave.

But Loreen’s first reaction was one of relief. The
“Oh, shit”
wasn’t
because he’d just realized what he’d done, with whom, and regretted it. “The rubber broke?” she echoed, trying to get a grasp on what he was
actually
saying.

“Yeah.” He threw up his hands. “Fuck.”

She swallowed the urge to say,
I believe we just did
, and instead asked, “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I’ve done this enough to know when there’s a problem, and
this
is a problem.”

A moment of heavy silence dropped between them.

“Have you been tested?” Loreen asked, her former relief replaced rapidly by panic as she realized the implications. She’d just had sex with a stranger and the condom had broken, spilling all kinds of potential diseases and bacteria right into her most vulnerable parts. Short of slashing open her wrist and rubbing it on a petri dish, she couldn’t do something more bacterially dangerous.

“I’m tested every month,” Rod said. “What about you?”

“I haven’t had sex in about a year.”

He nodded like that was unsurprising. “Yeah. But have you been tested?”

That
yeah
was insulting. “My doctor did that test,” she said, “along with every other medical test, last year when I couldn’t shake the flu. It was negative.”

His shoulders lowered slightly with relief.

She waited a moment, then, when he didn’t volunteer the information, prompted him with “And
your
tests?”

He waved the question away like it was silly. “Negative on all counts. We have a really good doctor here who checks us out really thoroughly.”

“Heck of a medical plan you have.”

“It’s the law.” He shrugged. “What about pregnancy? Are you on anything?”

For the past year? On the remote chance that she’d have sex with someone without taking the time to plan? Not likely. Good thing she couldn’t have more kids. “After my son was born, I had my tubes tied,” she lied. It was easier than explaining that she just wasn’t able to get pregnant, that a couple of years of trying with Robert had proved that beyond a doubt, and that it made her hang on to her only son’s childhood like it was a life raft in the ocean.

“Good thing.” Rod gave a dry laugh. “I’m sure the last thing you need is a pregnancy.”

“Right,” she agreed, because she was polite. But . . . what did he mean by that? The last thing
she
needed? Even though it was true, what was it about his words that sounded distinctly detached? No, they didn’t know each other, and no, she
definitely
wasn’t going to get pregnant from this, but still. . . . What a dick.

Nah, she was probably reading way too much into this. She’d had a weird night—a one-night stand! The first time in her life! That was so unlike her. And she was still out even though it was—she looked for the green glow of the digital clock by the bedside—11:36
P.M.

Good Lord, she had to leave. Everyone was probably wondering where she’d disappeared to.

“I’ve got to run,” she said, meaning it literally. She threw back the sheets and started running around the darkened room, collecting her clothes.

“Are you sure? I’m still available for a few hours. And I had a great time with you,” Rod said, and back was the mellow, sexy tone that had drawn her to him in the first place. Then he grabbed her wrist,
pulled her to him, and kissed her deeply. If it weren’t for the time, she would have fallen right back into bed with him.

“I did, too,” she said, wishing she could come up with something more clever—more
memorable
—than mere agreement.

“Maybe next time, then.” He ran his hands down her back, sending tingles along the trail of his touch.

“I don’t come here often,” she said to him as she pulled back. She had to get dressed and leave, no matter how great his hands felt on her.

“Well, if you do,” Rod said, pulling up his jeans and turning to her with the button tantalizingly undone, “you know where you can find me.”

She nodded and gave a laugh. “At the bar downstairs?” She was joking.

He nodded. He was not joking. “Unless I’m already working.”

“Oh.” Okay, so he hung out at the bar all the time? And he could say, absolutely, that he’d be there at some nebulous time in the future?

Something here wasn’t adding up.

“You can just leave the money on the dresser, sweetheart.” He was buttoning his shirt, and didn’t have so much as a
hint
of a smile when he said it.

But Loreen laughed. Because . . . it had to be a joke.

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” She was trying to keep the mood light, but still . . .
ew
. She didn’t like this joke. It wasn’t really funny, no matter who said it.

Rod looked at her, confused. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh, nothing, I was just kidding.”
Too
.

Right?

He gave a vague smile and gestured with a hand that suddenly
seemed a little limp. Something less masculine than it had seemed just a couple of hours before. “Yeah. So, the dresser right over there.” He gestured and went into the bathroom. “And tag on a hundred and forty for the champagne.”

Oh, God. He wasn’t kidding. He was . . . She’d just . . . Oh, God, she’d just hired a male prostitute. How the hell had this happened? She thought back over their conversation, trying to figure out just where the breakdown in communications had occurred.

Are you looking for company tonight, Loreen?

What had she said? Oh.
Are you offering?
An innocent question. Flirty. Not really a proposition.

Yes, as a matter of fact, I am
.

What an
idiot
! How had she not seen this before?

“Loreen?”

She snapped back to attention. “Yes?”

“Is something wrong?”

“No!” She said it too quick. “I was just . . . I just realized we didn’t discuss . . .”

He narrowed his eyes at her. Suddenly he didn’t look so sexy. “We didn’t discuss what, Loreen?”

“Price.” It sounded like a question. From a tiny little person. She could barely eke the word out.

His brow relaxed fractionally. “Right. When you didn’t ask, I thought you were a regular, and that for some reason I just didn’t remember you.”

Great. Not only had the whole flattery thing been a game, but he actually thought she seemed like someone who
regularly paid for sex
.

From
him
.

The guy actually thought he’d fucked her before—perhaps more
than once—and forgotten. And he thought that didn’t really matter. Like . . . her feelings wouldn’t be hurt?

She felt sick. “No,” she said coolly. So much for looking at her like she was a swimsuit model. But it was stupid to be upset with a prostitute for not telling little white lies to be polite. This was all so confusing.

She had to get out of here.

“It’s one g.” He put Rembrandt Extra Whitening on his toothbrush and started to brush vigorously, presumably to remove all DNA traces of Loreen so he’d be fresh and clean for the next pathetic loser who came along.

“I’m sorry, I don’t . . . How much is that?”

He spit a foamy toothpaste mess into the sink, then swished water in his mouth and spit again. Less attractive by the second. “A thousand dollars,” he said, taking the hand towel from the chrome rack and blotting his face. “Plus the champagne, like I said.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. A
thousand
dollars.

These three hours were going to be
$333 an hour
. She hadn’t had a therapeutic massage since Mother’s Day six years ago because she couldn’t pay the sixty bucks an hour. There was no way she was going to have to pay $333 an hour, times three, for having
sex
with this guy. Good Lord, she’d even gone down on
him
.

He
had
to be kidding.