Royally Wicked Page 3

  What is with this guy and the marriage thing? I don’t get it.

  Men who look like him generally don’t run around Vegas casinos proposing to strange women, do they?

  Maybe they do. And maybe they’re all billionaires and secret princes, too.

  Anything’s possible, right? After all, this is Sin City. Where fantasies can come true.

  “Can you explain to me why you’re so hell bent on getting married?” I ask. “Maybe if you can shed some light on that, I might not take the first taxi out of this place and jump on the next flight home.”

  “You can’t leave.” His cute, adorable brows scrunch together and his mouth curves into a pout. “Please, promise me you won’t run off.” He jams his fingers in his hair, ruffling the waves and sending them off kilter. “I’m sorry I’m scaring you. It isn’t my intention. It’s just that…back where I’m from, I’m a bit of a…celebrity. And so women are always chasing me because of what they can get from me. You’re the first woman who’s appeared to like me for what she sees instead of what she figures she can get.”

  Interesting.

  So I’ve managed to find myself a celebrity from Bolivia?

  I scrutinize his beautiful features, rummaging through my slightly alcohol-sogged brain to try to recognize him.

  Doesn’t work. As far as I can tell (in my current semi-tipsy state) I’ve never seen those angular cheekbones, or that kissable mouth, or those deep, dark eyes.

  A face almost too gorgeous to be real.

  Nope. Never seen it before. I would have remembered it if I had.

  Then I try to remember what that other poker player had called him. Was it…Drier? Or Driessen? It started with a D.

  “How famous are you?” I ask.

  “So famous I expected you to recognize me.”

  Who the fuck am I sitting on? “Are you in movies?”

  “No,” my hot mystery-celebrity says.

  “A musician? Oh, I’ve always wanted to date a rock star!”

  My non-rock-star shakes his head, lips curved into a sexy, lopsided smile. “Sorry, no.”

  Hmmm.

  I wonder… “Are you going to answer no, no matter what I ask, since you like that I don’t know?” I ask.

  He shrugs his scrumptiously broad shoulders. “Maybe.”

  I smack my arms across my chest. “If you can’t be honest with me, then how do you expect me to stand at the altar and vow to love, honor and obey you?”

  “Well, I was hoping it wouldn’t matter.” Some of the sparkle fades from his eyes. His hand moves off my hip.

  Something’s changed.

  A wall has gone up. A barrier.

  He really doesn’t want me to know.

  Who the hell is this guy?

  “I’m sorry. Maybe life has taught me to be cautious,” I explain, for some reason feeling like I owe him an apology--which is ridiculous, of course. After all, he’s the one who asked me an insanely inappropriate question. “To be skeptical. Because if I’m not, I could be hurt. Or worse.”

  “I get it.”

  “Do you?” I push. “Do you really understand? Because we’re talking about a girl who has absolutely nothing to her name but a brand new, sparkly college degree in accounting. And I got that only because I am—was—a foster kid and so I qualified for free college.”

  “Foster kid?” he echoes, as if he has no clue what that means.

  “Yeah. My mom lost legal custody of me years ago. She’s a…” God, I can’t believe I’m about to tell a guy I barely know the biggest, most awful secret of my life, but, what the hell do I have to lose? Chances are I’ll never see him again after today. “She’s a drug addict and a whore. And I haven’t seen her in eight years. Since I was fourteen. She just disappeared one day while I was at school and never came back.”

  “I’m…” His eyes soften and that wall he’d erected, I see it starting to crumble.

  This guy is as cautious with his heart as I am.

  So what the hell made him do something as crazy as propose?

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “About your mother.”

  “I made it two months before I had to ask for help. I didn’t want to. Because I knew once I did I would lose control of my life. I would be forced to live somewhere else, wherever the state decided I should. And I would be forced to change schools. I liked school. I liked my friends. There, people respected me. And they cared.”

  He didn’t say a word, merely shook his head.

  What did that mean? Did he pity me now? Was he judging me? I doubted he wanted to marry me after hearing that awful story. He probably didn’t even want to have sex with me.

  Back to Plan A.

  Or maybe…fuck it. I’ll stay a virgin forever.

  Sex is probably overrated anyway.

  I stand. I don’t belong on this guy’s knee.

  I don’t even belong here, in this stupid city where strangers propose marriage like those vows mean nothing, like it’s no bigger a deal than having dinner together. Or a one-night stand.

  This place is so not me.

  It’s time to go home.

  This vacation has gone the way of a bad heroin trip. It’s twisted and confusing and I’m done with it.

  I need one of those rescue shots.

  My hooker heels click-clack on the polished stone floors as I beat a hasty retreat from my would-be fiancé.

  What was I thinking, coming to a place like this alone?

  Sure, I’m a street kid. I’ve had to scrape and claw my way through a good portion of my life. I know how to protect myself. Still, why did I think anything would be different here? Like Vegas would be the magical fairytale place where secret wishes could come true.

  Idiotic! That’s what it is!

  It’s time to go home and find a job and an apartment I can afford. I’ll use the money I didn’t blow here as a down payment. That should buy me a decent place to live. Better than the dumps my mom used to get for us back when she was still a part of my life.

  At the elevator, I poke the up button and wait for a car to land. Behind me I hear slow, heavy footsteps.

  He’s following me, Mr. Big Celebrity.

  I feel him stop behind me. Feel. Not hear. Or see. The closer he gets, the more my skin tingles.

  Where the fuck is the elevator car?

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “Home.”

  “Why? Did I say something to upset you?”

  What the fuck? Does he really need me to spell it out for him?

  “Look,” I say, “so you’re some big celebrity in Bolivia. Maybe you’re doing this to get a little face time in the tabloids? As they say, bad press is better than no press, am I right? Where’s the photographer? Hidden around the corner?”

  “There’s no photographer.”

  “Whatever. I don’t care. All I know is that marriage is no joke to me. I’m not marrying the first asshole who asks me just to have a new last name and a roof over my head. I’ll make it on my—“

  He smashes his mouth on mine.

  Okay, so what does this mean? I’m so fucking confused.

  His tongue pushes its way inside my mouth and I just stand there, frozen in place, not sure what to do.

  His hands slide around my waist and he pulls me against his big, bulky body. And wow, he does that well, that little thing with his teeth.

  And his arms are so strong.

  As he smells really good too.

  So what if his kisses taste better than fudge brownies! He’s using you. He has to be.

  I set my hands on his chest, intending to shove him away, but he leaves my mouth to trail kisses down one side of my neck, hitting my ticklish spot behind my earlobe. I shiver.

  He’s found my weak spot already.

  That’s it. I’m done. I surrender. I hear myself whimper.

  One of his hands slide up my body to cup my breast, and the wanton hussy that I am, I arch my back, shoving the tender fullness into his palm, begging fo
r more.

  What a slut I am. Here I am, me, head thrown back and eyes closed, letting this strange man from a faraway land grope me in public.

  But being a slut sure feels good. In a bad way.

  I’m making a mistake. A huge mistake.

  It can be just about this, I tell myself. My first time. That’s all.

  No. No it can’t. Mr. Big Celebrity wants something. What is it?

  His hand slides down, finds the bottom of my skirt and slips beneath it. Fingertips graze my swollen pussy lips. My bare pussy lips.

  Ohmygod!

  Who cares what he wants!

  I know what I want.

  I want him.

  He breaks from me and we both gulp in air. His eyes are heavy-lidded as he gazes down at me, his mouth swollen from the rough kisses he’s given me. “I have another proposal,” he says. “One you won’t mind agreeing to, I think.”

  “Really? You’re going to bring this up now? Has anyone informed you that you have a very bad sense of timing?”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, I’ve heard that lots of times,” he admits. “I propose another game of cards. I’ll have one of my men deal. One hand. Quick. Easy. Any game you want.”

  Another game of cards.

  Hmmm. Now that is something I can get on board with.

  An idea forms in my head.

  “The stakes?” I ask, suspecting he’s up to something sneaky. I’ll beat him. At his own game—so to speak.

  “If I win, you’ll agree to marry me, with the understanding that you will be free to leave at any time, for any reason, without consequence,” he says.

  No surprises there.

  “And if I win?” I ask. I have no intention of losing. Because we’ll play my game. The game I have never lost.

  “Then I will be your manwhore for one night. And I will give you twelve hours of mind-blowing, can’t-even-move-a-pinky-toe orgasms.”

  Now that’s a win!

  “You sound very sure of your skills,” I tease.

  His crooked smile is one hundred percent wicked. Wicked good. “That’s because I am.” He juts out a hand. “Do we have a deal?”

  I give him an up and down look.

  To have my first time be with someone as gorgeous as this? And mysterious. And sexy.

  It’s definitely going to be memorable! I place my hand in his. “Deal.”

  We shake.

  Then he yanks me into his arms again, fists my hair, and seals our deal with a kiss.

  Chapter 4

  Max

  “It’s called Homewrecker,” she tells me.

  Homewrecker.

  Never heard of it.

  I’m in trouble.

  To Sergey, the head of my security team, she says, “We need two full decks. No jokers.” Then she smiles at me.

  Yep, I’m in trouble. If you call getting to have sex with this beautiful woman for the next twelve hours trouble.

  The way I see it, there is no losing this bet. If I win, I gain a smart, beautiful, honest American wife.

  And if I lose I gain a night of sex…and then a smart, beautiful, honest American wife.

  She’s mine.

  Either way.

  “You can only discard into your four discard piles in order, aces to queens,” she instructs.

  Shit, I’ve missed most of her explanation of the game.

  Wait, I don’t care. Because I’m going to win either way.

  I nod and try to pay attention to the rest of the rules.

  It’s a complicated rummy-type game, but I can handle it. The goal is to play all the cards in our draw piles.

  Sergey deals our cards. Five in our hand, twenty face-down as our draw piles. The rest are placed face-down as a general draw pile.

  Kings are wild.

  She lets me start first.

  I have no aces and can’t play the five on the top of my draw pile, so I discard a jack, creating a new discard pile for myself.

  Now it’s her turn.

  She plays five cards, including two from her draw pile. Then she discards.

  I’m off to a bad start. But I don’t care. As I said, I win no matter what.

  My second turn is a little better than my first, but hers is longer. I sit and watch her draw and discard, draw and discard. It isn’t going to take long for her to win this game.

  It’s going to be sex, not a wedding, tonight.

  My dick is happy about that.

  At the end of my third turn, she scowls. “Are you intentionally losing?”

  Yes, I’ll admit. My ego is slightly bruised by her contention. Only slightly, though. “No. Of course not. I never throw a game. I don’t know this game.”

  That satisfies my sweet, strategic little American, and within fifteen minutes she’s won, no apologies. In fact, she looks very pleased with herself.

  She slaps her dainty little hands on the table. “So that’s it. I win. I get my very own manwhore for the night.”

  “Yes, you do,” I say as I stand. My dick is already hard enough to bust concrete. This is going to be one hell of a night. “Your room?”

  “That’s fine by me.”

  I offer my hand and she slips hers into it. I like the way it feels, walking through the hotel lobby with her hand in mine. I’m telling every asshole we pass that this woman is mine. All mine.

  Soon there will be more. A ring.

  A swollen belly.

  Mine.

  I stand very close to her as we ride the elevator up to her floor. She’s nervous. Her little hand is trembling slightly, her palm damp.

  Has she never had a one-night stand? Is this her first? It will be her last. I will make sure of that.

  I want to pull her into my arms and hold her, but I know if I do that now I won’t want to let her go. I’ll stop the elevator and make her have that first orgasm right here.

  Hmm. Not a bad idea.

  I reach for the red button to stop the car, but the door rumbles open and she tugs. “This is it, my floor.”

  Damn. Missed that opportunity. But there will be others.

  Next time.

  She leads me down the semi-dark corridor, stopping at her room and keying us in.

  Her room is much smaller than mine, the penthouse suite. With one king-sized bed sitting in its center, opposite a dresser and television. The curtains are drawn already, the room too dark for my liking. I want to see every inch of this beautiful woman as I make love to her. But when I flip on the light, she cuts it off immediately.

  “No. Lights off, please.”

  Is she ashamed of something? Does she not realize how beautiful she is? How much I want her?

  Nevertheless, I comply with her wish and leave the lights off.

  She stops in the center of the room and wrings her hands. “I…a drink?”

  “Come here.” I thumb her chin, tipping it up. Her gaze is bouncing around the room. She won’t look at me.

  She’s as skittish as a new colt.

  That’s hot.

  I press my thumb to her lower lip and hold her chin until her eyes find mine. At last. “What’s wrong?”

  “N-nothing.” Her voice is so small and breathy.

  “We can take things slow,” I tell her, hoping it’ll reassure her. I like sex as much as the next guy. And seducing a shy girl is a serious turn on. Maybe even more than having sex with an aggressive girl.

  But I don’t understand the sudden change from the girl who played cards to win me to this one, who looks like a virgin about to be sacrificed to a pagan god.

  Knowing a kiss will help her relax, I slant my mouth over hers. Instantly, my body heats. She tastes better than the most expensive wines in my father’s collection. Sweet and addicting. And I love the little mewling whimpers she gives when my tongue traces the seam of her lips.

  I loop an arm around her waist and pull her flush to me. Her soft body fits perfectly against my hard angles. It’s feminine and lush and tempting, and I’m already having a hard time ho
lding back. The kiss intensifies, my tongue plunging into the sweet depth of her mouth as one of my hands cups her round ass.

  So soft.

  I want to take her from behind and watch that ass ripple with every thrust. My cock presses against the front of my pants, so hard my teeth grit. I have to slow down. I promised her hours of pleasure. Orgasms on top of orgasms. I can’t blow my wad after just a few kisses.

  I have a plan.

  I slide down her body, resting on my knees. She looks at me from heavy-lidded, lust-filled eyes as I rake my blunt fingernails up her smooth thighs. Her lips are slightly parted and puffy from our kisses, her face a pretty shade of pink. I can’t wait to see that hue deepen when she has her first orgasm of the night…or her fifth for that matter.

  “This dress looks hot on you, but it needs to go.” The bottom hem catches on my wrists as I slide my hands up her legs and over her hips. Higher, I move them, to her waist, higher still. Her breasts. Those breasts. They are perfection and deserve hours of attention.

  But first things first.

  The dress gathers across her chest and she lifts her arms, allowing me to pull it over her head.

  Now she’s standing nude, with just her heels on.

  And I’m standing in front of her taking in all that lush beauty. I could stare at her all day.

  She shifts her weight and pulls her arms across her body.

  Oh, hell no, she isn’t covering up.

  I catch her wrists and pull them apart. “I want to see you.”

  “This is so…weird,” she whispers.

  “Weird? Hell no! You’re beautiful.”

  That pink stain on her cheeks...yes, it deepens.

  “Now it’s your turn,” she says.

  I can’t help smiling as I let my arms fall to my sides. “Undress me.”

  She moves within reach and starts with my shirt. It’s got way too many buttons. I want to just rip it off and get to the next thing but I don’t. I stand there in torment and inhale her sweet fragrance as she slowly pushes each button through its hole. When the last one is undone, her pretty little mouth puckers in a sweet bow.

  “You have a tattoo,” she says, tracing the lines with an index finger and nearly making me cum.

  “Yes. I have a few. Keep going and you’ll see the rest.”