Sin and the Millionaire (9 page)

Sin on the Run

“Would you like to dance?” Blake asked.

“Only if I get to lead,” Rhonda snarked back.

“Why?”

“I like my toes, and if I let you lead, I predict they'll get stomped.”

He looked down at the silver painted toes peeking through her shoes. “And very pretty toes they are, but I'm not that drunk.”

She quirked an eyebrow, not buying his bullshit. He liked her more and more.

“Fine, what the hell. A smart man knows when he's beat.”

“A smart man wouldn't consume fifteen ounces of alcohol in less time than it took the bartender to pour them.”

“Touché. Be gentle with me,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the dance floor. “It would appear I'm drunk.”

Rhonda stayed still while the most beautiful man in the world circled an arm around her waist and drew her in far closer than needed for a slow dance between two almost strangers. But she figured, what the hell. When in her lifetime would this happen again? Never. She didn't meet men like this and men like this certainly didn't date strippers. When he smiled down at her, her silly knees forgot that fact and nearly gave out.

She'd never have gotten the nerve to talk to him if he hadn't been in danger of drinking himself stupid. She recognized a man on a mission to numb himself. She'd not only seen it at the club but in her home. And yes, she'd done it for Maggie, stopped him from doing something that might embarrass the bride, but Rhonda had done it for him too. She certainly hadn't been on a mission to save anyone. Hell, she was done with that part of her life. But standing by and watching him do something that pathetic was a sin. Alcohol solved nothing and ruined everything.

She kept their pace slow. She wasn't sure if he could or couldn't hold his liquor, but a dizzy six-foot-two guy wouldn't be a good thing for a short, five-foot-five girl wearing five-inch heels. On a turn, she spotted the other bridesmaids staring and Shannon giving her the thumbs up. Blushing, she turned her face into his shoulder, which Blake mistook as her wanting to get closer, because he drew her in even tighter. She might as well enjoy it while it lasted. No way would a chance like this ever come her way again. And for once in her life didn't she deserve to do something nice for herself? Sighing deeply, she inhaled his cologne and wasn't surprised to find out he smelled almost as good as he looked. She actually stifled a groan when the dance ended.

“That was very nice,” he said, yet to let her go.

“Yes,” she agreed, “and I have all my toes.”

“Dare we try that again?”

“Another dance?”

“It beats being set up with matronly women.”

“Hey,” she said, “Mrs. Haddle is a very classy lady. And she likes them young and pretty. Who am I to judge?”

He blinked. Said nothing. And blinked again.

“What?”

“If it was the other way around, would you be saying he's a very classy guy who likes them young and pretty?”

Now it was her turn to blink. “You're right,” she agreed. “Mrs. Haddle is a pervert.”

He laughed, his accent making it hot and sexy as hell. She laughed with him.

“And pretty?” he asked, sounding offended. “Bloody hell, Rhonda, you do nothing for a man's ego.”

And then he kissed her. Right there on the dance floor. For everyone to see. Which she promptly forgot the moment his tongue swept across her lips, and she opened her mouth. The man could kiss. When was the last time a man this good-looking kissed her so completely? Oh yes, that would be
never
. Her eyes drifted shut, every part of her vibrating in a wild hum as his tongue took command of her mouth. He tasted like scotch and blessed, selfish desire.

“Nothing against Mrs. Haddle”—he broke their kiss—“but I prefer my partners closer to my own age.” He shifted the hand at the small of her back, perilously close to doing something far more inappropriate than kissing her on the dance floor. “And”—he finished kissing her nose—“less apt to remind me of my mum.”

He moved them off the dance floor, Rhonda surprised her legs still worked. She ignored Alice's stunned expression and hoped to God Blake didn't see Wendy high-fiving Shannon. “Where are we going?” she asked when he didn't stop, clearly heading toward the door.

“Somewhere less crowded.”

“It's just breakfast,” he said, “not a marriage proposal.”

How had she allowed herself to fall asleep? Now she'd have to remove a walk of shame from the list of things she'd never done. Her face heated at the memory of all the other firsts she done last night. She dropped to the floor to look for her shoes. They'd gone at it two more times. Not only did she not sleep with men she'd just met, she'd never had a lover with that kind of stamina. He truly was God's gift to women.

“I already ordered it. Stay. I only need to refuel.” He spoke over her head.

Stunned, she made the mistake of looking up.

“You did me in,” he said, a heated glint in his eyes.

Feeling heat rush to her face again, she returned to the task of finding her shoes. To top it off, he still looked too pretty and far too sexy to be real. Add that with the whole tuxedo pants and no shirt thing and he was sex incarnate. She, on the other hand, was doing a great impression of a walking corpse. Finding no shoes under the fallen bedcovers, would she look stupid crawling to the bathroom? She could at least wash her face. Maggie had gotten them all rooms, but Rhonda's was two floors below. She didn't like the idea of going faceless, but it beat scaring the other hotel guests. Okay, this was ridiculous. She didn't crawl on the floor for anyone. She drew a deep breath and stood to face Mr. Perfect.

“Look, not everyone wakes up with pixie dust sprinkled over us. I can't sit here and eat breakfast with you looking like that.” She pointed to his face.

It wasn't like she'd be seeing him again anytime soon, so what did she care what she looked like? But a girl had her pride.

“Pixie dust? That's a new one, but really?” he said, acting insulted.

“Come on, you're so beautiful, you hurt my eyes. In fact, I swear I saw you on the cover of GQ.”

“Thanks, that's so much better.”

Why was he getting upset? Surely he knew that even dead women would crawl out of their graves for a piece of him. “I only meant that compared to your angelic hotness, I look like a demon.”

He yanked her into his arms. “I think you look—”

“Don't.” She tried to push away. He might be prettier than sin but he was solid muscle. He didn't budge. “Don't tell me I look fine. I can see the knots in my hair and my makeup must be all over my face.

She'd never let anything or anyone get to her. Maybe her attack had changed her or maybe sleeping with a guy she'd known for ten minutes had something to do with it, but now she was embarrassed and wanted to return to her own room.

“You
are
beautiful. You look sexier. And,” he added, sliding one hand to grab her bottom, “I thought you enjoyed last night?”

“I did.” She also did her best, and failed, at not squirming. She couldn't help it. She could recall in vivid detail what else that hand had done to her. “What's that got to do with looking like crap in the morning?”

“First, stop it. Second, I think you look like a woman who had the best sex of her life.” He drew in close and kissed her. It was so chaste and he pulled away so slowly that it took her took long to get over the absurd way he made her feel feminine, to react to his assumption, correct though it was. “I know I did.”

“You did not,” she said, recovering, more indignant that he'd try such dribble than flattered.

“There are many things I don't know,” he said, running his knuckles down her face. “But I think I know if I enjoyed what we did last night. Are you saying you didn't?”

She wouldn't lie. She'd made it very obvious that he'd rocked her world. And it was the best sex of her life, but his? “Not the point. I don't have women throwing their panties at me.”

“Lass, you assume too much.” He pulled her in tighter, removing any space between them. It was evident he had something other than breakfast on his mind.

She couldn't help smiling. The tingles that raked her body were too good not to react. “Is it bras they toss at you then?” she asked feeling more like her sarcastic self. “Money, maybe?”

“First you infer I'm a slut, then that I prostitute myself. I am neither. You, madame, do me a grave injustice, and I demand recompense.”

She had to say, the haughty Scot was a turn-on. Or it could just be the Scot? “What do you propose, your lordship?”

“Get naked and I'll show you.”

A knock on the door stopped from her deciding to accept or reject the idea. Last night had been something she wanted to do for herself. Did she dare continue this or was she pushing her luck? She hurried to the bathroom, not wanting to be seen.

“Set it over there,” she heard Blake say, “by the windows.”

Maggie had been extravagant in reserving their rooms, one of her gifts to the wedding party, and like hers, his Salone suite had the same view of the Bellagio fountains. Even in the morning light, the setting was beautiful.

Someone grunted. “Sorry, I not mean to step,” the waiter said in a heavy accent.

“No worries,” Blake replied. “We were looking for those earlier.”

The waiter must have found her shoes.

She heard drawers being opened and wondered what he was doing. Then she noticed his wallet on the marble counter and realized he probably wanted to tip the guy and was looking for money. Well, wasn't that her dumb luck. She contemplated cracking open the door and tossing it toward the bed. However, if she missed, she'd be even more embarrassed. It was stupid, but that girl pride kicked in again.

She shook her head at herself and reached for the knob when she heard a pop, and then someone falling to the floor. Her hand covered her mouth. She didn't want to believe what she thought had just happened. It couldn't be.
What the fuck!
Her other hand trembled as she set the wallet back on the counter. What was she supposed to do? Could it have been something else? No, someone had fallen. Blake.
Dear God
, someone had shot Blake.