“The Majestic?” I turned and looked at him, panic starting to thump through my chest. We shouldn’t be here. I thought of Thursday, just three days ago, and how brazenly I’d followed him into that private alcove in the club. Then, I’d only been thinking of his wife. I hadn’t thought about her father, and all of the danger that being Dario Capece’s fling might put me in. “Why are we here?”

Dario cocked his head at me, a question in his eyes. “You’re worried. Why?”

My hand tightened on the door handle, as much to hold the door closed as it was to shove it open and escape.

“I can’t walk in there. People will see us together. They’ll—”

The Rolls Royce continued through the valet area and down a hill, slowing before a gate, which slowly opened.

“We aren’t going anywhere that anyone will be able to see us. Trust me.”

I leaned against the door and watched as we drove down a parking garage tunnel, weaving around until we pulled into a small spot, one caged in by concrete walls. “This is a bad idea.”

Dario reached forward, opening a compartment and pulling out a bottle from the ice. “If you don’t want to go in, then we don’t have to. But I want to show you something. Something I think you’ll like.”

He held out the bottle of water. I took it, unscrewing the lid and taking a sip. The car shuddered, and the walls beside us started to move. I froze.

“It’s an elevator. It’s taking us to the premier level. It’s perfectly safe, I promise.”

An elevator. For a car. I’ve lived in this town for two years and thought I’d seen everything. Still, tonight was the first night I’d ever been in a Rolls. And now, the first time I’d ever taken a car into an elevator. The movement stopped and the doors opened. The sedan rolled forward, down a row of garages, one opening halfway down. We pulled in, and I turned to see the garage door closing. I thought of his promise that no one would see me. I thought of Lance’s story of cocktail waitresses disappearing and understood how—with a setup like this—it could occur. “Is this where you live?”

“No. We live a few levels up.”

We. A subtle reminder that this man was not up for grabs. Where was Gwen now? Was she above us, wondering where her husband was? And why, of all places, had he brought me here?

His door opened, and I watched as he stepped out, his hands moving to the front of his suit and fastening the button there. It was the middle of the night, and he was in a suit, getting out of his Rolls Royce. I looked down at my baggy T-shirt, at the chocolate stain from a Crunch ice cream bar, and my mismatched socks.

He closed the car door, and it softly clicked into place. My stress level spiked.

His security left through a side door, and I took the hand that Dario offered, letting him lead me to the double doors at the end of the garage. There was a keypad and he released my hand, gesturing to it.

“The code is 04182996#.”

He waited, and I realized he wanted me to enter it. I hesitated, my fingers on the white keypad, and he repeated the code. 0-4-1-8-2-9-9-6. I typed in the code, the digits familiar.

“My birthday…” I mused. “And the last four of my phone number. Creepy.” I hit the pound key and the lock quietly buzzed, a green light illuminating.

“I wanted something you’d remember.” Dario reached for the handle and swung open the door. “Go ahead.”

I walked through and stopped, the short hall opening to a two-story living room, one with a million-dollar-view of the Strip. The room had low-slung white leather couches, a giant flat-screen on the wall, and deep blue walls dotted with colorful paintings. To the left was an all-white kitchen, with a six-top table and fireplace. I walked to the windows, which stretched from the floor all the way to the second-story ceiling. Moving closer, I watched the Bellagio fountains dance.

“Is this where you bring all your girls?” I turned away from the view, watching as he moved into the kitchen.

“I ended my relationships. With the waitress, as flimsy as that was and…” He tilted his head as if reluctant to say her name. “Meghan.”

Meghan. She could be the nicest girl in the world, but I already hated her. I leaned against the window, curling my toes inside my socks, against the slick wood floors. “You broke up with them?” I lifted one shoulder. “Why?”

From this spot, I could see the ring on his finger. From this spot, everything I saw belonged to The Majestic and his wife.

“I’m making room for you in my life.”

It’d been seven days since we met. Seven days, and he’d ended two relationships, had me followed, tried to trick me into being a prostitute, and brought me here. I crossed my arms over my chest and looked away. “You shouldn’t have. And I’m not entirely sure you actually have.” I huffed out a laugh and tightened my arms.

He pulled open a few drawers before finding a wine opener. “I have. You drink wine?”

I wandered away from the view and leaned on the counter, my gaze taking in the spacious and modern kitchen. It was all white granite and stainless steel and I watched Dario crouch before an open wine cooler. “Yeah. Something sweet, if you have it.”

“We have it.” He fished a golden bottle from the cooler and stood. The under-cabinet light was on, and it lit up his delicious features. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, the top button of his dress shirt open, and his forearm muscles flexed as he opened the wine. I watched his face, the strong features relaxed, half doused in shadow.

He was painfully attractive, in his movements as much as his genetic makeup. He was the manliest individual I’d ever met, from his dominant presence to the sheer strength of his build. He popped the cork and set the bottle down, tossing the opener aside.

“Trying to get me drunk?” I wandered around to his side of the counter and braced my palms on the granite, hoisting myself up and sitting on the edge. He only had one wine glass out, and I watched him fill it up halfway.

He ignored the question and handed it to me. “Here.”

“You aren’t drinking?”

He headed to the fridge, and as he passed, gently squeezed my knee. The gesture was sweet, an unnecessary touch of affection, and I lifted my glass to my mouth to hide the resulting smile.

“I’m fine with water.” He opened the door, the fridge neatly filled with rows of soda, juices, and water.

I watched him reach in and grab a bottled water. I thought about my dad, the way his eyes lingered on alcohol as if it was liquid gold. I set down the wine glass. “I don’t have to drink.”

He straightened, leaning against the opposite counter and twisted off the water’s cap, raising a brow at me in question.

“I mean, if it tempts you. I can just have water.”

His mouth curved as he brought the bottle to his lips. “I’m not an alcoholic, Bell.”

“Oh.” I wrapped my fingers around the stem of the glass.

“Sometimes I drink. Typically, I don’t.” He finished off twenty ounces in a single swig. “And I’m definitely not going to drink around you.”

I stopped, the rim of the glass at my lips, and watched him toss the empty plastic into the trash.

He moved forward, his hands pulling my knees apart, and leaned forward, caging me in. “I need all of my wits around you.”

I puffed out a scoff, taking a deep sip of the cool and flavorful wine before placing the glass down. I wanted to kiss him. The urge was so strong that I had to focus on moving the glass away just to keep from grabbing at him. “Why is that, Mr. Capece?”

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, I saw our future. The growl of my name as he thrust into me. The grip of my arm when we fought, the hood of his eyes when he was about to come. He liked when I said his name. He’d like it more if I was on my knees before him, my mouth open, eyes begging.

“Every man needs his wits around a tempting woman.”

I rolled my eyes. “And every man needs a line that isn’t generic as hell.”

“Nothing about me is generic.” He stepped back, and my body missed the warmth and presence of him, the lost kiss crying out in the space between us. Snagging my wine glass from the counter, he downed it in one gulp. “Let’s go out on the balcony.”

Forty-two stories up seemed like a million. I stopped six feet from the railing and felt as if I was teetering on the edge of it.

“Not a fan of heights?” he asked.

“No.” I settled into a padded chaise lounge and kicked my feet up onto it. Reaching down, I pulled off my dirty and mismatched socks before I had to endure another second of them.

He walked over to the railing and put his weight on it, looking down at a gridlock of traffic and movement. “I’m terrified of heights. I fell out of a window when I was fourteen.” He turned to me, holding out his arm and pointing to a scar that ran halfway down his forearm. “Broke my arm and lost enough blood to drown a rat.”

His story didn’t match with the easy way he rested against the railing, his weight heavy, as if daring the iron barrier to give under the pressure.

“You don’t look scared to me.”

“I’m good at covering it.”

He jerked his head in the direction of the fall. “This scares the shit out of me. The height, the fall and what that distance could do to a body. But this railing is safer than that chair, safer than being close to you.”

“Then why am I here?”

He pushed away from the railing and stepped forward until his body blocked most of the view. The wind howled and I watched those gorgeous forearms as he brought his hands to his hips.

“Because I’m shitty at listening to reason. Because my wife is out of town and I have three uninterrupted days to figure out who Bell Hartley is and why I can’t stop thinking about her.” He met my eyes. “I think you need to figure out why you are here. You’ve got at least three good reasons to have slammed the door in Vince’s face.”

It was a fantastic point. I brought my knees to my chest and stole a glance of him out of the corner of my eye. He looked fearless. Strong. Damaged and repaired perfection. I met his eyes and felt my heart twist.

Why was I here?

Because he might be worth the risk to my heart.

“So… you brought me to a hotel suite.” I gave him a playful smile in an attempt to avoid the question. “Hoping to get lucky?”

“I was hoping you’d like the suite.”

“It’s a suite.” I shrugged. “It’s fine.”

He found that amusing, his mouth twitching. “A thousand-dollar-a-night suite, and it’s fine. You’re a tough woman to impress.”

“I’d rather be impressed by you, rather than your real estate holdings.”

“The suite was meant as a gesture of my commitment to a relationship with you. I’ve seen where you live. I’ve seen how hard you work. I want to provide for you, to give you a safe place to live.”

“You want me to live here?” I twisted in the chair and looked back through the large windows, re-examining the suite with new eyes. Gold-print wallpaper. A thick fur rug on top of the walnut-colored floors. A far cry from my crowded room, in the house that never sleeps, with the affordable rent.

“You’d like it here. Daily maid service.” He ticked off the pros on one hand. “All the room service you’d ever want. An expense account at the stores.”

He wanted a mistress. Someone he could keep quiet and happy with credit cards and jewelry. A new Meghan. Maybe, at an earlier moment in my life, with another man I couldn’t care less about, I might have been tempted. Now, I was only sad, feeling the ghost of Dario’s girlfriend hanging out in the space between us. “Was this Meghan’s?”

“No. I gave her until the end of the month to move out of hers.”

I made a face. So generous of him. So handy that he had a stack of available places to house his prospective fucks. “How long did you date her?”

He moved forward and sat on the end of my chaise lounge. “About five months.”

Five months. I thought of my pathetic night of moping, my descent into reality TV and ice cream. That had been after seven days. Five months would destroy me.

Our heights now equal, I studied him. “How long do most of them last?”

He reached for my hand, pulled it into his lap, and traced his fingers over the back of it. “I don’t want to talk about other women. I want to talk about us.” He looked at me and frustration tightened his features. “What don’t you like about the suite?”

I curled my fingers around his. “The suite is fine. The offer isn’t. I’m not interested in being taken care of by you.”

He pulled on my hand and patted his lap. “Come here.”

Here was a word with limited possibilities. I considered them, examined the ridiculousness of sitting on his lap, then obeyed. I crawled across the chaise and moved onto his lap, straddling him.

He tugged on my T-shirt. “I am a businessman, Bell. I’m open to negotiations.”

He didn’t understand. All his money, all his power, and he didn’t understand the simplest thing about a woman’s heart. It wasn’t up for negotiation, and my biggest struggle wasn’t in where I would live, but if I could protect that heart from him. I shook my head and tried to find my way back to a safe place of reason. “I told you not to contact me again.”

He sighed, his eyes studying mine, and when his hands slid upward, underneath my baggy tee and up to the curve of my small breasts, he saw the change in my eyes, the weakness of my composure, the depth of my need. “I tried, Bell. I tried to leave you alone.”

I hated him. I hated that with such simple words, with such a small touch, I was sucked into his orbit. Every rational thought said to back away. Every rational objection demanded I climb off his lap. Instead, I leaned into his touch.

His hands tightened and his mouth crushed against mine, soft velvet that took as much as it begged. My body reacted and I reached for him just to stop from falling.

I’ve kissed a lot of men in my life. Our first kiss in The Gold Room seduced my mind. This one broke the first chain around my heart.

DARIO

Their kiss escalated and her legs slid around him, wrapping tightly. When he stood, she didn’t let go, her mouth hot and needy against his.

“Take me to the bedroom,” she demanded, diving back onto his mouth, her hands fisting in his hair.

He stepped into the suite and her legs found their ground. She stepped away and through the bedroom door, a devilish gleam in her eye. He watched her disappear into the dark room and his cock twitched.

With her, everything was different. She hadn’t asked him to get rid of Meghan or Laney, yet he had. He’d booked this suite out for a year, and she had turned her nose up at it. He was three steps behind, chasing her for attention, yet terrified of her at each step. Vulnerability was a luxury he couldn’t afford, and each interaction with her brought it in spades.

He stepped into the room and shut the door, watching her turn, her eyes alive with desire.

He needed to get the upper hand, or he needed to let her go. It was that simple. But just as equally, it wasn’t simple at all.

He toed off his dress shoes, then reached for his belt and undid the clasp.