CHAPTER EIGHT
Harper
THREE DAYS AFTER the dessert incident, I stagger back into the Bellagio clutching a foot-long sub in a bag. Work sucked the big one, and my evening plans consist of mainlining carbs and greasy sandwich meat until I burst. Pepperoni, salami, cheese and banana peppers—what’s not to love? Sure, tonight’s dinner packs 940 calories and forty-eight grams of fat, but those details are on my to-ignore list for tonight. It would take hours to burn them off on the elliptical machine in the gym downstairs, but I’ve already decided that they’re welcome to take up permanent residence on my hips.
I really need to invest in a place with an actual kitchen, but the last place I looked at was a complete nightmare. The zip code was great, offering a rental in one of those tall, sleek high-rise buildings full of chic condos. New Me liked the white and chrome—it made us feel sexy and sophisticated. Turned out I wasn’t the only one feeling the Fifty Shades of Grey vibes. From the moaning and thumping echoing through the small space, the neighbors to the left were going at it. The Realtor and I both started giggling so hard that I was afraid I’d interrupt the guy’s rhythm.
So now here I am, just me, my sandwich and I. A foot-long dick or margarita sounds like more fun, but I’ll have to make do with carbs. When I reach my room, however, the door is ajar on the latch. Since I don’t see the housekeeping cart, I ease the door open and peer inside, ready to jump back if there’s an assailant hiding in the bathroom.
Nope.
No bad guy—other than the six feet, three inches of biker sprawled on my bed. Vik grins lazily at me as I hover in the doorway.
“You’ve got four porn channels.”
“That cost twenty dollars each.”
I step inside and shut the door behind me. I’m not entirely certain what to do or say, but since Vik has made himself at home without an invitation, I figure he has some kind of plan.
“How did you get in? Just out of curiosity?”
He lays his finger beside his nose and winks. “Trade secret, babe. I brought you something. Guess.”
I’m sure it’s no surprise that I suck at games. “An exercise bike so I can work off some of the calories you had delivered the other night?”
His gaze slides down my body. “We need to be clear on one thing. I don’t have to hold back, do I?”
I roll my eyes. “As if you would.”
“True.” He nods. “So I’m just gonna say that you look amazing. Guess again.”
“Flowers.” I should be exasperated, but he’s so fucking cute. He bounces on the bed, his eyes gleaming with mischief. Whatever his present is, I doubt it’s as tame as a florist’s bouquet.
He rolls his eyes. “Only roses I do are ink.”
He leans over the side of the bed and lifts something up. “Voilà!”
He’s brought me a cat carrier. No, better. He’s brought me my cat carrier and that means—
“You stole my cat!” I’m pretty sure I shriek the words, but Bing’s already meeping his own hellos and demanding that some human spring him from the carrier now. Bing has zero patience and isn’t a fan of waiting. If he ever had to live in the wild, he’d starve within a week because he’s not the kind of cat that could lay low, stalking its prey for hours on end. Like me, Bing prefers his food hot, tasty and delivered.
“Technicalities. I sprang your cat. Set him free. Reunited him with the one love of his life because I’m such a fucking romantic.” Vik flops back on the bed dramatically, arms splayed out on either side of him. Whatever point he’s trying to make is lost on me because his T-shirt rides up, exposing a chiseled stomach that demands licking.
I err on the side of caution and fly around the side of the bed to spring Bing from prison. Bing’s all over me, too, like we’ve been parted for months and months. He rubs and purrs, and I try to pretend I’m just having an allergic reaction and not tearing up. When a tissue dangles in front of my nose, I take it.
Eventually Bing decides he’s had enough of me (or needs to teach me a lesson for abandoning him to Mark’s dubious charms) and disappears under the bed to check out his new kingdom. Vik rolls off the bed, saunters over to the table by the window. His butt in those jeans is a work of art. They should showcase it in the fine art gallery downstairs. Better yet, if he were on display, he wouldn’t be reaching for my sandwich bag. He pulls my dinner out, unwraps it and takes an enormous bite.
“That’s mine.”
“I rescued your cat. I don’t get a thank-you present?”
“Thank you.” I grin happily at him—and stick my hand out for the sandwich. Hello. I haven’t had dinner yet.
“Halfsies?” He gives me a charming grin, which is not what I need right now. Hell, now I’m going to have to share with both a biker and a cat. I’ll be lucky to end up with any sandwich meat at all. It’ll be all banana peppers and lettuce for me.
“How did you convince Mark to give up Bing? Wait. Back up.” I’m missing a step here. “How did you know where I lived?”
He shrugs like it’s no BFD. “You had to give your driver’s license to Gia at Ink Me. And Mark the Douche may not be aware that he’s a cat light at the moment.”
“You stole my cat.” I know I’ve already said this, but it bears repeating.
He hands me half of my sandwich. “That’s a technicality. I left the back door wide-open on my way out. Just how much of a dick is your ex?”
Sadly, I don’t have to think hard. “Huge. He’s a dick of pornographic proportions. Twelve inches of sleazy man schlong.”
“Then we’re good. He won’t want to tell you that he lost your Precious.”
I’m not sure what he expects me to say. Yeah, thanks so much for committing a felony on my behalf. I must be some sort of freak because I find it kind of hot, so maybe we can go knock over a bank or clean out Tiffany’s before you ride away? None of those seem appropriate, so I concentrate on my sandwich.
My half a sandwich.
Now that I’ve got Bing, I’m not giving him back. From the way he’s wolfing down salami, I’m not sure Mark was feeding him.
“I can’t keep a cat in a hotel room. I don’t even have a litter box.”
Vik points to the corner. “I brought supplies.”
In my reunion glee, I hadn’t even noticed the two large carriers from the pet store chain. There’s even a giant plastic container of cat litter. I spare a second to wonder how Vik got all this up here. Or if he came on his bike.
“But I’ve got a better idea.” He polishes off his sandwich half and looks hopefully at mine. Not a chance. I shove the rest of it into my mouth, and he snorts. “You don’t like to share, do you?”
“Uh...” I work on chewing and swallowing.
“You’re in luck, babe. I’m very good at sharing. You and Bing can move in with me.”
I choke on the last bite of my sandwich. “You don’t think that’s a little too friendly? First you offer to be my booty call, and now you’re offering to be my roommate?”
“I’ll even put out for you.” He winks at me. “Total friends with benefits.”
“What?” I shake my head, pretending I’m not staring at his chest. He makes it so hard to think straight. “I can’t move into some stranger’s place. That’s like just begging you to be a serial killer and bury me under the porch.”
“Don’t have a porch, babe. You’re safe.” He reaches out and tugs me down onto the bed beside him. This is dangerous territory. It’s not that Vik doesn’t take no for answer—it’s that I’m all yes, yes, yes when I’m around him.
“We barely know each other,” I protest.
I sound totally mature, like a grown woman making all the right decisions. Good one, brain. If I’d known he’d be here tonight, I’d have made a list of all the reasons why moving in with him was a really bad idea. In fact, once he leaves tonight, I’ll get right on that. And this new plan of mine is totally working, right up until the moment he rolls over and props himself up on one arm. One hard, inked, super-close-to-me arm.
His bare skin is my Waterloo.
Worse, he tugs me closer with his free arm. My stupid, traitorous body rolls right up against him like we fit together. I’m always taller than most of the men I meet. Mark was two inches shorter, although he claimed we were the same height. Vik being built like a mountain, however, almost makes me seem petite. Okay. Not really, but we’re a good match.
“I know you’re fucking gorgeous.” His gaze, full of appreciation, slides over me, and I swear I feel my clothing melting away.
“That’s an outside thing, not an inside.” I know I’m not making a whole lot of sense but I blame that on his outside. He’s still way too gorgeous, and whenever I look at him, my brain stops functioning. Plus, now my fingers are sort of petting his arm, tracing the dark swirls of ink that wrap around one hard, perfect male bicep.
Biting him is suddenly way too tempting.
“Inside, huh? Too bad I can’t remember our first meeting.” He laughs wickedly when I pinch him. Guess he doesn’t mind a little pain, either. “I know plenty about you, Harper. I know you like numbers, you count everything, you’re way too nice for a guy like me and you’re good with animals. Those are all good qualities in a roommate, although your being nice won’t stop me from trying to score with you. I’ll bet you’re also the bomb at paying bills on time and doing all the organizational shit. I should probably be paying you, if we’re being honest.”
“You’re good at this compliment business,” I observe.
“You don’t believe me?” He rolls and somehow I end up underneath him. This isn’t a hardship, particularly when he eases my glasses off my nose and sets them down on the bedside table.
Still, a girl has to have her principles.
“You’re a player. I don’t think we should be talking about this.”
“You don’t have anywhere to live. You’re looking for a place.”
“True.” Moving sucks, but getting summarily evicted with zero warning hurts even more. Playing by the rules hasn’t won me the prize. I had a master plan and the execution seemed straightforward. Bachelor’s degree from an Ivy. Master’s from the same. Fill my 401K and my checking account, get a place of my own and conquer the career track before turning thirty. Stay at a prominent investment firm or start my own company—it’ll be my choice. I’ll find a guy who shares my goals and values and we’ll get married. Settle down in our McMansion, discuss whether or not we want our 2.3 kids and when. I thought Mark was that guy, The One, and if he hadn’t been my One and Only, he’d have certainly been good enough. Now I have to start all over again.
“So why not live with me?”
“Because it’s really freaking hard to find Mr. Right when you’re shacking up with...with...”
“Mr. Right Now?” Vik beams at me. “Not a problem.”
He has no idea.
I push him up and roll off the bed before I do something really stupid. Such as riding him like a cowgirl. Or reverse cowgirl...yeah. I like that plan. Of course he follows me, putting my strategic retreat at risk.
“You really want to find Mr. Right?”
I stare out the window. The Bellagio has awesome views of the Strip, all blinking, whirring lights and waterworks. If I have to be homeless, this is definitely the place to do it. I shouldn’t be whining about being out of a place when I’m here and so many other people are less fortunate.
“I do,” I say to my reflection. “I really do. It’s what I’ve been planning.”
“And you like your plans.” Vik’s head nods in the glass. I think he might actually understand, not that it matters. He’s not the one in charge of my life or my dreams, although I kind of like hearing that he doesn’t think I’m crazy. Not that he’s said that, but I’m reading between the lines.
“Being organized is important.”
“I’m not looking for any kind of right, Mr. or Ms. I’m not boyfriend material.” He plants his hands on either side of me. I could duck. I could go left or right.
I don’t.
His mouth finds my ear. “Ask me what I’m good at, Harper.”
“Do tell.”
“Fuck buddy,” he says roughly. “I’m the best toy ever and I don’t even need batteries.”
The man makes an interesting point. He’s not my Mr. Right but since those plans are temporarily on hold...why not seize the moment? We can be friends. Hang out. Explore some sexy side benefits. Maybe he’ll even take me for a ride every now and then, and I’ll...fuck if I know what I have to offer. I’m solid and stable and way too boring for a man like this.
“You think too much,” he says roughly.
“Impossible.” I scoot around so I can see his pretty, pretty face because he’s even more fun to look at than the Strip.
And then he kisses me, ruining everything.
Vik doesn’t kiss me soft, doesn’t lead up to the main event. No surprise that he’s all in, his mouth taking mine in a hard, thorough kiss as he catches my face in his hands. Heat shoots through me as fast and high as the fountains outside. He knows just how to flip my switch and get me going. Pure animal heat. I’ve been kissed before but never like this.
I fist his hair, dragging him closer.
I’ve never wanted anyone more. Or faster. All the hot, painful, pent-up need inside me explodes as I kiss him back. When my knees actually go weak and I sag against him, he chuckles and lifts me like I weigh nothing at all.
“Legs,” he whispers against my ear, and I shiver. I do what he says, or try to. His hands bunch beneath my butt, arranging me. Fabric tears because pencil skirts weren’t made for man-humping, but do I give a fuck? No, I do not. My legs part around his waist and then I’m grinding against his dick. God, his dick is spectacular. It’s as big and thick as every other part of him, and I ride it shamelessly. I don’t care that I’m pressed up against the glass, giving the entire Strip a show.
Vik kisses me back like kissing me is the only thing that matters right now. His tongue leaves no inch of me untouched, stroking deep and then light and then who knows what the hell he does but it’s so goddamned amazing that I pull at his hair, steering his head in search of more. He hangs on to me like letting go just isn’t possible, and I like it. I like him. There’s just something about this biker that makes all of me weak.
Or to be more specific, his hands definitely make me weak. One calloused finger traces the edge of my panties. The big, bad wolf is knock, knock, knocking at my door and I’m ready to beg him to come in and eat me up.
This needs to stop.
But...
He slides a fingertip beneath the lace trim. He’s not stopping. He’s...
A tease.
Because that finger does stop moving, and it takes all the willpower I have not to wiggle until it’s right smack on top of my clit. And then I’d have a few directions for him. It wouldn’t take long, not the way he has me worked up.
“Test ride,” he growls, his mouth so close to mine that I could make him my own personal lollipop and lick him.
“What?” Proximity has short-circuited my brain.
“Take me for a test ride as your fuck buddy. Lemme show you what your new best friend can do.”