Chapter Eight

Sophie was early for once.

Only because she told herself over and over that their date started an hour sooner. She’d even set the alarm on her phone to leave her building at five-thirty, which gave her the necessary thirty minutes to walk to Ceasar’s and make it to the Fizz Bar, and then keep herself entertained outside it playing the slots as she waited.

She didn’t want to be late for her date, so she’d tricked her own overactive mind.

Now, the little hand on the clock had landed on seven. On the dot.

“I see you didn’t take my advice to heart.”

At her perch at the Wizard of Oz slot machine that had been occupying her restless fingers and seconds-counting mind, Sophie’s lips quirked up in a wicked grin as the deep, sexy voice of her date landed in her ears. She turned around and drank in the sight of Ryan Sloan, who looked just as lickable minus the tie and tailored suit she’d seen him in for their first encounter. Tonight he wore crisp, charcoal pants that showed off a fantastic ass, the kind you could bounce a quarter off of, and a white button-down that demanded to be unbuttoned. Such a simple look, but such a sexy one. Casual, but classy.

“Perhaps I was feeling a little defiant,” she said playfully, taking the time to cross her legs and show off the skinny jeans that she wore, in direct disobedience of his skirt request.

For some reason the prospect of going against his fashion wishes had felt like naughty mischief, and naughty mischief was irresistible.

She looked away from him and pressed the button once more on the one-armed bandit, hoping for a trio of glittery red slippers. “Over the Rainbow” played as the reel spun, and Sophie awaited her line-up, eager for a winning jackpot. No such luck. Sliding into place were a tin man, a lion, and a wicked witch, who cackled in mockery. Sophie pouted. “I guess my luck has run out on this machine. Are you a bad luck charm?” she teased as she glanced up at her too-handsome-to-be-believed date.

Ryan’s hand came down on her neck firmly, but his voice matched her light-hearted tone. “I don’t mind your defiance,” he said, returning to her earlier comment. “As long as you don’t mind having to wait longer now for all the good things I have planned for you.”

Instantly, her brain was awash with images, fantasies, and filthy scenarios she’d only dreamed of. She wanted all the good things.

“What sort of good things?” she asked, shivering as he touched her, his big palm wrapping around her neck. She closed her eyes as he traveled up to her nape. He threaded his fingers in her hair, gripping her locks. She tensed. His hand was sending a message, one that his mouth made abundantly clear when he bent his head to her ear and spoke.

“The kind that a skirt makes possible,” he said as he tugged her head back so she had to stare up at him.

“You don’t like the way I look in jeans?”

“I love the way you look in anything because you’re extraordinary to look at, and even more phenomenal to touch. But I especially like the access your skirts give me.” His lips were mere millimeters from her ear. He flicked his tongue against her earlobe, and she gasped. Then he drew the soft flesh into his teeth and bit. A burst of excitement whipped through her from his touch. Holden had never bitten her like this. Not with a sense of ownership.

Ryan ran a hand along the bare skin of her arm, on display in her black blouse with cap sleeves. The sheer material revealed a tight, lacy camisole underneath, which pushed up her breasts, showcasing ample cleavage.

“Maybe I wanted to make sure you didn’t forget about other parts of me,” she said, casting her gaze down her chest, letting him follow.

Ryan laughed deeply then shook his head, seemingly in admiration of the view. He let go of his firm hold and kissed her neck, a soft and unbearably sexy kiss. She nearly squirmed on the plush red stool parked in front of the gambling machine. “Sophie, there’s not a chance in hell I’d forget those gorgeous breasts, and I plan on getting better acquainted with them. Maybe even fucking them,” he said, as he dragged a finger along the bare flesh of her chest, and she nearly moaned out loud at the prospect of being fucked in the valley of her breasts by this dirty, dominating man. “Would you like that?”

She nodded as heat flared through her system. “I believe I would,” she whispered.

“Excellent. Because I believe I would like to do that to you. There are many things I want to do to you, and I always want you to feel good.”

“I’d say you’re meeting your goal because so far it’s all good,” she said, pausing before she added, “Quite good.”

He grinned. “And you should always tell me what you like and don’t like. Does that work for you?”

“Yes.” Anticipation bloomed inside her as they made some sort of impromptu pact, it seemed, to govern their pleasure.

“And I’ll do the same,” he said, bending closer to her head as he ran his nose along her hair, inhaling her scent. He murmured as he touched her, then kissed a curl on the side of her face. “Like right now when I tell you I really don’t like that you didn’t listen to me. And do you know what that means?”

She raised an eyebrow. She’d never experienced this sort of cat-and-mouse play before. By wearing jeans in defiance, had she violated some unwritten rule of the tie-me-up-and-take-me game? A squadron of nerves docked in her belly, and she wished she had more experience with men like Ryan. Her knowledge of the opposite sex was woefully limited, and while she wasn’t innocent by any degree, she felt a bit like a wide-eyed woman recently freed from an unusual marriage and thrust into an unknown battlefield with this intense, commanding man.

That was the point, of course. Still, she was a traveler wandering through a lush new land without a map.

Whether she’d been disobedient or not, this back-and-forth they had going was intoxicating, especially since they were in public, ensconced in the middle of the Caesar’s Palace slot machines, amid the whir and jingle of imaginary coins falling as gamblers hunted for payouts in the games of chance.

The cowardly lion roared idly from her game, trying to entice her to play another round. She ignored it.

“No. Tell me tell me what it means,” she said, turning to face him and running her lacquered fire-engine red nails along his arm. She could feel the outline of his muscles, his strong biceps, his steely forearms, through the fabric of his shirt. “I’m dying to know.”

“You want to know?”

She nodded, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on his. His midnight blue eyes were hungry. He looked as if he wanted to eat her. “Are you going to spank me?”

“Would you like that?”

A shiver of anticipation ran across her skin. “I think I would,” she said in a whisper.

He knitted his brow. “You think? You don’t know?”

She shook her head, biting her lip. “I’ve never been spanked.”

He let out a low whistle of regret. “That’s a damn shame, because you have a highly spankable ass. But this is music to my ears, because I fully intend to break it in,” he said as he moved his hand down her back along the fabric of her shirt, heading in the direction of her, evidently, quite spankable ass.

“I suspect I’d like your hands on my ass,” she said, and he groaned—a sexy, dirty rumble that turned her on. “So are you going to spank me on the rollercoaster? The hot air balloon? Or your secret hidden jet that you’ll be piloting tonight?”

“None of the above. You’re going to have to wait for all the good things now. That’s what happens when you don’t listen.”

“Ah, so that’s my punishment for my impudence. How long must I wait?”

He offered her a hand and pulled her up from her stool. “Until you’re wearing a skirt,” he answered crisply, and her eyes lit up as she stood facing him. She thrilled inside that he’d called her on this. The stern look in his gaze said he was serious, and that he could wait for her to change. He’d be waiting a lot less than he thought.

“Right now though, I want to spend some time getting to know you. That’s why I bought tickets to the High Roller,” he said, mentioning the Ferris wheel nearby. “So I can chat with you as we ride. Because you’re far too classy a woman for me to get you off in front of all the other people riding in our pod.”

“Why thank you for opting not to get me off in a pod. But you know it’s become a thing in Vegas now, trying to have sex on the Ferris wheel.”

He nodded. “Yeah, and most people get busted. There’s a difference between trying to get a tacky, tasteless notch on your public sex belt, and knowing how to pleasure a woman in public so that you’re the only one who knows she’s about to fall apart in your arms.”

“And I trust you know the difference?”

He cupped her cheek, drawing her face near to his so his nose touched hers. How was it possible that touching noses was sexy? Even an Eskimo kiss from this man made her sizzle. Then his words scorched her imagination as he said, “What I know, Sophie, is exactly what I want to do to you. And you’ll just have to wait to find out.”

He grazed his lips against hers, and she murmured as she melted into his touch. Their first kiss at the gala had been hungry and demanding. Ferocious and possessive. This was a soft, slow, unhurried kiss. It was an exploration, as his mouth caressed hers and her body turned soft and pliant under his touch. His kisses were velvet. They were melting chocolate. They were delicious appetizers at the most fantastic restaurant, the kind that made you roll your eyes in pleasure and want so much more.

His touch turned her into a weak-kneed, hazy-headed, buzzing-head-to-toe woman who wanted him. As he laced his fingers through her hair and held the back of her head in his hand, she gave herself over to him, letting him have her however he wanted.

When they separated, he whispered. “But kisses in public are good. They show everyone you’re with me tonight, and that turns me on—having you with me.” His tone, too, sounded thoroughly possessive. Then he laughed. “Which means I better sit and play a round, otherwise I’ll be walking around with a raging hard-on.”

He parked himself on the stool. In a flash, he pulled her back to him so she was seated on his lap. “Mmm,” she said, wriggling against his erection. “Not sure this is going to help get rid of the issue.”

He gripped her hips, the pressure pulling her down against his dick so she could feel his hard length lining up perfectly against her ass. Damn, he felt good.

He stretched out his arm and pressed the button on the machine. “Maybe you’re my lucky charm.”

She crossed her fingers in the air as they waited for the reel to roll through thousands upon thousands of permutations, and Sophie rocked her rear, subtly, but insistently, against his crotch. His breath hitched. He dug his thumbs harder into her hip bones, as if he needed to hold on to survive having her on his lap.

The reel slowed. One ruby red slipper. Then another. Sophie’s shoulders tensed in anticipation and hope. “Please let it be another slipper,” she murmured. She sighed when a witch’s broom busted their chances. “Damn,” she muttered.

“I don’t mind losing. We can just play here all evening because I like the way you feel sitting on me.”

“You’ll get no complaints from me. But we don’t want to miss the High Roller.”

He glanced at his watch. “We have time.”

They played a few more rounds, losing every one. But it didn’t matter, because his arms were wrapped around her waist, and he held her close in his lap, a delicious start to her second rendezvous with this man who was not as much of a mystery as he’d been the first night, but who was now even more enticing. Perhaps it was knowing his name, or maybe it was the email exchange earlier. It might even be the naughty compliments he never ceased raining down on her. Any and all of the above drew her in.

“How’s your dog?” she asked as the sound of a tornado grew louder from the machine. Dorothy’s home was churning in the cyclone during this spin.

He chuckled. “You remembered I have a dog.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I do. You had to walk him. He’s a demanding Border Collie. Is he totally adorable?”

“Ha. I suppose. Mostly I just think of him as badass.”

“Got any pictures?”

He shook his head. “No, but if you’re a good girl, I’ll send you one.”

“All the more reason to be good,” she quipped. “What’s his name?”

“Johnny Cash,” he said, with the swagger it called for.

“That is a cool name.”

“He is a cool dog. Loyal. Smart. Devoted. And a great listener.”

“Sounds perfect. How’d you pick it?”

“My dad’s favorite musician.”

“Is your dad in town?”

Ryan shook his head. Sophie looked back at him. A kind of darkness had descended over him. She processed quickly that he hadn’t used a verb when talking about his father. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is he gone?”

Ryan nodded.

She sighed wistfully. “Mine, too. Both my parents died two years ago.”

He squeezed her arm affectionately. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Actually, they were both older. Not terribly old, but late seventies. They met in their late thirties and had us in their early forties. They died within three months of each other. They were ridiculously in love even till the end.”

“I can’t imagine,” he said, his voice hollow. The empty sound made her want to ask why he couldn’t imagine loving someone until the end of your life. But it was too soon to press. Besides, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to know his answer. Better not to go there. She danced away from this topic, returning to more comfortable second date terrain as she pointed at the pair of flying monkeys that had landed in the last spin, alongside a shiny red apple.

“So, Ryan Sloan, former army captain, now head of Sloan Protection Resources…Flying monkeys.” She tapped the screen. “Your verdict—are they fearsome or comical?”

He laughed, and in that sound the tension deflated. “Absolutely fucking terrifying. When I was a kid I ran from the room every time the flying monkeys came on.” Then he squeezed the side of her rear lightly. “We should head to the High Roller.”

She stood up from her seat on his lap and held up a finger. “Give me two minutes.”

With her purple leather purse on her shoulder, she popped into the ladies room at the other end of the slots, shimmied out of her jeans, and slid into a short, flowy pink skirt that hit her just above the knees and offered a perfect amount of lift if she twirled. She folded her jeans in half, then tightly rolled them and stuffed them into a side compartment of her purse.

She returned to Ryan.

And twirled once.

His jaw dropped when he saw her change-up.

“See? I’m not all naughty. I can be a good listener,” she said with a flirty tilt of her head, as she jutted out her hip and ran her hands along the outside of the pink skirt with the white polka dots.

“You’re the perfect amount of naughty,” he said, his voice smoky as he drank her in from head to toe, from her black patent leather heels with the strap across her instep, to the bare legs, to the revealing blouse. “You’re going to be rewarded so well for doing as you were told.”