BELL

Some nights, when The House was closed, we played poker at Lance’s. Strip poker, if we got drunk enough.

Tonight, we were definitely drunk enough. I tipped back a cold bottle of Miller Light and eyed my cards, my jeans and tennis shoes already kicked into the pile of clothes beside the table. The rules were simple. If you won the hand, you got the pot, and your clothes stayed on. If you lost, a piece of clothing hit the floor. I had panties, a bra, T-shirt and sweatshirt standing between me and stark nudity.

“Come on, B,” Lance urged. “You ain’t got shit.”

I glared at him and ran a thumb along the side of my first Ace. The second Ace, cozying right next to it, I ignored. “Raise, twenty.”

I pushed the chip into the pile and studiously avoided Rick’s eyes, who sat to my left. It was a ploy, one that he bought with a laugh and a push forward of chips.

“Re-raise. I’m putting Bell all in.”

I made a face, then pretended to catch the action, pursing my lips together and raising my eyebrows at Lance. “Please call this asshole.”

Lance shrugged. “You know I can’t say no to a lady.” He eyed Rick’s chip stack. “I can cover your stack. I’m in.”

Rick stood, flipping over two pair, kings and queens. “Go ahead. Give me your money and take off those clothes.” He pointed at Lance. “Keep yours on. It’ll be more of a win if I don’t see your dick tonight.”

Lance read the cards and winced, tossing his into the center of the table. “Come on, B. Tell me you’ve got three of a kind under there.”

I flipped over my Aces, which paired nicely with the fourth-street Ace, and lifted both hands in the air with a whoop loud enough to raise the dog’s head. “And that’s how you do it.”

I pointed to Rick, then Lance. “Both of you, keep your underwear on. I’m taking my money and running.”

I pulled the pile of chips toward me and picked through them. Britni, who had perched herself at the bar, wandered over to help me. I caught the brief eye contact between her and Rick, then she looked at me and smiled.

“Good hand.”

“Thanks. It was about time. I’ve had crap luck all night.”

She stacked a tower of fives and slid them toward me. “That’s why I bowed out once the strip poker began. I’d be butt-naked in five minutes.”

Rick stood up, moving past the table and heading to the kitchen. He reached out to squeeze her shoulder. I wanted to smack myself in the head for not seeing the signs earlier.

I counted out my chip stack and pushed it toward Lance. “Four hundred and forty.”

Not bad for a night off work. Maybe I’ll quit The House and become a full-time player. Lance’s eyes met mine over the table, and he smiled. “Nice play.”

“Hard to lose with pocket aces.”

He stood, reached for the baseball cap that held our buy-ins, and started to count out the cash.

I watched my bare legs as they shimmered under the water, my limbs distorted by the hot tub’s churn. Beside me, Lance was quiet, his arms splayed out to either side, a cold beer in one hand. He pressed it against my neck, and I smiled. “That feels good.”

“I know. I’m tempted to jump in the pool to cool off.”

I tilted my head, considering it. “Nah. Too far away.”

He laughed, bringing the beer to his lips and tilting it back.

I watched the inside of the house, the figures of Britni and Rick moving through the kitchen, then disappearing into the living room. “You think they hook up?”

He chuckled. “Absolutely.”

I closed my eyes, enjoying the heat from the tub, the massage against my back. I contemplated loosening my bra, the underwire a bit uncomfortable, but left it alone.

“How’s your boy?”

I cracked open one eye. “Which one?”

There was the flash of white teeth in the dark as he smiled. “Oh, so it’s like that?”

I shrugged, closing my eyes again. “I don’t know. It’s a mess.”

“But you’ve seen Capece again.”

I wet my lips. “Yeah. He wants me to move to The Majestic, to a suite there.”

He started coughing mid-sip and leaned forward, setting his beer on the ledge and wiping his mouth. “What the fuck, B? And you haven’t said anything?”

I scissored my legs under the water. “I’m not moving in there. You know me and relationships. We hide from each other.”

“Huh.” The skepticism seeped through the word and I rolled my eyes, wondering exactly how transparent I was. He picked the beer back up and took a sip. “Must be nice, to have spare condos lying around.”

I snorted and looked over at him. “Oh yeah, because you need that?” I waved my arm in the air, gesturing to the empty pool deck. “All these women, everywhere. God, where are they all going to sleep?”

The water was unexpected, a splash of heat, and I sputtered, using my hands to force a wave back in his direction.

“Shit. Stop. Truce. Watch the beer.” He held it out of the way and waited for the hot tub to settle.

“Besides, you don’t have a wife you have to hide women from.” I sat up, moving away from the side of the tub and into the center of the space, skimming my fingers along the top of the water and watching the water spray. “Tell me I’m being an idiot by seeing him.”

Lance tilted the beer bottle to one side and eyed it. He was quiet for a long moment before speaking. “You’re being an idiot. But I can’t say, if I was in your position, that I wouldn’t do the same thing.”

He lifted his shoulders, the muscles bunching under his handsome face. “He’s a good-looking, rich, powerful guy. That’s not an easy thing for a girl to walk away from.” He set down the beer and lifted his hands, linking his fingers and resting them on top of his head. “But like I told you before, you need to be careful. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I know.” Be careful. Don’t get hurt. I didn’t know if he meant my heart or my body, but I didn’t know how to protect either, short of staying away from Dario altogether.

And the last week had proved that I wouldn’t be able to do that. I was already, after just one sexual session, a hundred texts, and two sleepovers, in too deep. I could feel my fall, I just didn’t seem to have a way to stop it.

DARIO

Dario leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and listening to the floor manager go through pre-shift. As the woman spoke, he let his eyes drift over the assistant managers, assessing each one as he moved. There was a position opening up at the north location, and he wanted to promote from within.

Against his thigh, his phone vibrated. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the cell, swallowing a smile as he saw the text notification from Bell.

—I can’t stop thinking about your cock

Jesus. A groan slipped out of his mouth, and he coughed to cover the sound, making eye contact with the manager before stepping away, out the side door and down the hall.

He moved briskly, his head down, fingers on the screen.

Tell me.

This hall was too long, his office too far. He jogged up the back stairs, nodding to employees as he passed, and shoved open the door, moving down the gilded hallway of the executive level.

His receptionist rose at his approach, and Dario cut off his greeting with a terse shake of his head. “Not now. And no interruptions.”

The receptionist nodded, lowering himself back into the chair, and Dario could die in his office of starvation before the man would open the door. That was the benefit of hiring the right people and training them properly. They stood, jumped, sat and stayed where you told them to. They kept their mouth shut and didn’t see anything. They refused bribes and were paid handsomely as a result.

Dario shut his office door and placed the call.

“Hey.” She sounded lazy, as if she hadn’t yet gotten out of bed.

“You were thinking about my cock?”

She sighed, and there was the rustle of fabric against the phone. “Yep.”

“I’m going to need more information.” He sat down at his desk, his dick already half-hard from her text. Now, with her voice, the soft huff of her breath … he imagined her in her bed, naked, her dark hair messy, eyes hooded, hands running over stiff nipples and in between her thighs.

“I don’t think I’ve experienced its full potential.”

He had to chuckle at that. “No. You haven’t.”

“I’d like to.”

He glanced at the clock and tried to place her schedule. “Shouldn’t you be in class pretty soon?”

“I’ll leave in a few minutes. Right now, I really wish you were here.” She huffed out a breath and he imagined the sensation along the ridges of his cock, her hands sliding along his thighs, her eyes on him, her lips wet, tongue darting out. He thought of how she had licked his length, the way she had grinned, the flick of her tongue, her capable grip.

Maybe it was the distraction, the idea of her mouth, her body, the possibilities, but he told her the truth. “I don’t know what to do with you, Bell.”

“What do you mean?”

He should change the subject. Evade. Redirect her attention to the organ between his legs that was screaming for release. Instead, he continued down the path of destruction. “Our relationship is a risk to my marriage.”

The lazy drawl dropped from her voice and it sharpened into steel. “First off, we aren’t yet in a relationship. Second, I thought you had some arrangement with her. Your waitress, your mistress—”

“I didn’t care about them.”

He interrupted her, his words hardening, his arousal fading. A shame, since that’s what this was supposed to be. Fucking arousal. Bell was supposed to be a piece of ass. A piece of ass that showed up and sat and bent over where he told her to. A pretty face, nice ass, and entertaining mouth, like all of the others. She was meant to be like the others, yet hadn’t been. From the very beginning, she had flipped that possibility on its head. How?

He was suddenly mad without reason, his earlier realizations coming back stronger and sharper, their negatives all he could think about in the wave of fear. She might break him. Ruin everything for Gwen. Lose everything they’d fought so hard to have.

“So, because you care about me … that’s why I’m a problem for you?”

“Yes. It’s not that complicated of a fucking concept.” He growled the words with a ferocity that few women had seen and pushed himself to his feet.

“Well, join the fucking club! You think I want to like you? You think I want to be sitting here, all swoony-eyed, unable to get you out of my fucking head?”

He took a deep breath at her words. This was, without a doubt, the most fucked-up argument on the planet.

He should have become a fucking choir boy when he married Gwen. He should have become abstinent and not dipped his cock into whatever woman caught his eye and risked falling into love.

Not that this was love. It couldn’t be, not this soon. She was a liability, and he was the king of this town. Any spark between them would trigger a bomb, one with Robert Hawk’s name on it. Any love between them would only end in tragedy, the sort that involved body bags and evidence lockers.

He’d been stupid. Egotistic. Cocky. He’d thought with his dick and his heart, and not his brain.

He ended the call before he did any more damage.