CHAPTER SEVEN
Tabby
The bed felt too large and too empty when I woke up, which was strange because I’d actually found it unfortunately small every other morning I’d woken during my stay at Harrah’s. I blinked at the ceiling for a few seconds and wondered what was different until a slight shift brushed the sheet across my nipple and sent a shiver straight down to my sex. It was then I realized my nerves were prickling, my clothes were discarded on the floor, and the bed felt empty because I’d fallen asleep with a man who wasn’t there anymore.
I could still feel him though. Fingertips on my belly, lips between my thighs, granite-hard cock in my core. Heat, breath, sweat… and the most gripping, electrifying orgasm I’d ever had.
He was a god.
Kicking the covers off, I fumbled to my feet and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. The digital clock on the nightstand read nine twenty-three in offensively bright red numbers, but the curtains were drawn across the window and blocked daylight so thoroughly I could’ve easily been convinced it was still the wee hours of the morning. Nevertheless, I padded to the bathroom. If the clock was honest in its tellings, I only had an hour and a half to get downstairs and extend my stay for another night to accommodate my promised visit to The Blackjack Club with Owen.
Twenty minutes and a quick tooth brushing later, I hustled my butt to the lobby. There were still smudges of eyeliner beneath my eyes because I’d forgotten to remove my makeup last night, but I’d wiggled myself into a pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt, so I figured I was presentable enough to chat with the Harrah’s receptionist. I wasn’t presentable enough, however, if I ran into any of Grace’s other bridesmaids, as they were likely to be wearing outfits from Neiman Marcus, but I didn’t care. My body was still buzzing, and my head was still foggy from my romp with Owen, and I was more preoccupied with the niggling wonder of why he’d snuck out of the bed and the room at some mysterious hour earlier in the morning.
Luckily, the lobby was empty of sorority alumnae and there were relatively few guests, so I approached one of the two unoccupied concierges without waiting.
“Good morning,” she greeted brightly, presenting a smile too sunny for the foggy state I was feeling. She was a petite brunette with one of those buns on top of her head that was supposed to look tousled despite clearly being carefully styled. I thought her a better fit for a professional cheerleading squad than a hotel-slash-casino, but I wasn’t going to judge. “How can I help you?”
“I’d like to book my room for another night, please,” I told her.
She turned to the computer in front of her. “Absolutely. Name?”
I passed along the information, along with my current room number and my association with the wedding party, and leaned an elbow onto the countertop while I waited. A quick glance around revealed an older couple in Santa caps walking in, and a half-dozen young women dressed like Daisy Duke, the tallest of whom wore a sash labeled “Bride.” There weren’t any familiar faces, thankfully, but I was admittedly surprised because checkout was drawing near.
“Oh!” The woman’s waxed and shaped eyebrows shot upward, and she leaned nearer to the computer screen like she wasn’t believing what she was reading. “You’re already booked for the night!”
“I… what?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Yes, your stay has been extended to include tonight. It’s been paid in full and everything. And…” She droned into silence and bent down behind the counter as I gaped at her with a complete lack of understanding. She resurfaced again with an envelope in her hand. “Your flight has been changed for you as well.”
I took the proffered envelope, gave her an uncertain look, and flipped up the flap. Tucked neatly inside was a plane ticket. The airline and flight time was exactly the same as the ticket I had upstairs in my room, but the date was for tomorrow rather than today. Furthermore, a brief moment of disbelieving squinting revealed I was going to be returning to Chicago in first class.
“Who did this?” I already knew the answer, but I needed to hear it.
She beamed. “It’s all compliments of a Mr. Owen Driscoll.”
“Of course it is.” A mixture of feelings coursed through me as I closed the envelope again. “Well, thanks.”
“My pleasure, Miss Rickard, and if there’s anything else we can do for you please don’t hesitate to ask.”
As I walked back up to my room with ticket in hand, a new concern presented itself to me. Last night with Owen was incredible — mind-blowing, actually — and even the less personal time we’d spent together was more enjoyable than any dating experience I’d had in some time. I liked him. Yet, he’d been so persistent in his efforts to get me to this unexplained Blackjack Club, and he’d now gone as far as to pay for my extra night in the hotel and cover the costs of my changed flight that I couldn’t help wondering why. Something about me and the Blackjack Club together was very important to him, but what if, once he got me there as he evidently wanted so badly, he would be satisfied and lose interest in me? What if finally getting his wish would mean he was done with me?
Why did I care either way? After all, the logistics of a potential relationship were far from promising. The miles alone between our respective homes were hardly accommodating to Friday night dinners or impromptu weekday lunch dates. And that wasn’t even taking into consideration the drastic differences in our classes — he, a wealthy investor with reasonably impressive connections, and me, taking pictures of corner diners to pay my rent. It wasn’t like we were compatible on paper no matter how much physical and mental electricity zinged back and forth between us. Nevertheless, as the elevator doors dinged and opened and I mechanically stepped on, I had a small pit of dread in my belly that his interest in me was going to peak once I entered the den of mystery with him tonight.
“Tabby, there you are!”
I had just reached my room when my mother’s voice rang out down the hall. She and my father were bustling toward me with their wheeled luggage in hand.
“I knocked on your door five minutes ago to make sure you were up and packed,” Mom huffed, shuffling her tote-sized purse around on her shoulder. She eyed my empty hands. “Where are your bags? Did you call for a bellhop?”
“A bellhop?” I repeated with amusement. The term sounded so old-fashioned and yet perfectly in keeping with my mom’s idea of fancy hotels. “No, Mom, I didn’t call for a bellhop.”
“Checkout’s right around the corner, kid,” Dad warned.
I slid the key card into the slot and watched the light flash green on the mechanism. The door clicked, and I turned the handle to catch it. “Yeah, I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“No, you’re not,” Mom argued. She stood her luggage on its butt and dug into her purse, pulling out two boarding passes. “Our flight leaves in three hours. See?”
“Those are your tickets, Mom.”
“Yes, but we booked the same flight so we could fly back together, remember?” She paused, then eyed me with a level of suspicion that should’ve been reserved for someone skulking around the backyard. “Did you make a change without discussing it with me?”
It was funny. At home in Chicago, I saw my parents once every couple of weeks at most and usually had quick five-minute phone conversations — three minutes with my dad — about unimportant drivel, like the inconvenience of construction, on a semi-daily basis. They were far from controlling and let me go about living my life as I saw fit. As long as I was happy, they were happy. For whatever reason, however, Grace’s wedding had turned my mother into somewhat of a demanding busybody, and I wasn’t exactly a fan.
“Sort of,” I told her, shoving my foot between the door and the jamb to keep it from swinging shut and locking again. “I decided to stay an extra day to go out with Owen.”
Dad jammed his hands into his pockets and looked away while Mom knitted her brow. “But he lives in New Orleans.”
“Yes.”
“And you live in Chicago.”
“Right.”
She tossed her hands, sending her purse sliding down her arm to the crook of her elbow. I heard thuds and clanks coming from inside and could only imagine the amenities she’d slipped in there. “What kind of future could you possibly have with a man who lives halfway across the country?”
“The kind where we can both look back fondly in our gray years and say, ‘I had a nice time that one weekend,’” I retorted wryly.
“Well, I would think seeing your cousin getting married would at least get you thinking about your future. You don’t want to end up alone, and Lord knows your childbearing years are closer to ending than beginning. Besides, how can you afford to stay the extra night? Taking pictures of his restaurant couldn’t have paid you that well.”
Actually, Owen’s check was sitting on the bedside table in my room at that very moment, and it was more than enough to stay a month at Harrah’s. I leaned into the door to hurry the conversation along, having had more than my share of Mom’s sudden desire for me to be wedded, and god forbid, bear her first grandchild. “I owe him. Bringing someone to a wedding automatically requires large repayment,” I informed her.
She started to argue, but Dad mercifully cut her off. “We should get going. Have fun tonight, kid.” He stepped forward to give me a one-armed hug, then added sternly, “Not too much fun though.”
“Gross, Dad.” I groaned. I might have been in my mid-twenties, but my father had a way of making me feel fifteen when the topic of dating came up.
“What are you—?”
Dad held out his hand. “Maureen let’s go.”
Mom huffed, hugged me, and hitched her purse back up onto her shoulder. “Call me when you get home tomorrow,” she ordered.
“I will,” I promised. “Have a good flight.”
Dad gave me a casual salute while Mom nodded, and then they trucked toward the elevator together while I dipped into the safety of my still-dark room. Happening across my parents on their way out had interrupted my angsty thoughts, but now I was free to worry and wonder all I wanted. I dropped onto the bed to do just that.
***
I had just clicked the in-room blow dryer off when I heard a knock on the door. I checked the clock next to the bed. It was ten to seven. Owen had told me seven o’clock on the dot, but it didn’t surprise me he’d be early. He struck me as the punctual type. Tugging the hem of my cocktail dress to be sure it fell smoothly and checking myself one last time as I passed the mirror, I hobbled on my heels to the door and opened it.
“What are you wearing?”
I stifled a groan. It was Grace.
I’d gone by her room shortly after seeing my parents to bid her goodbye and wish her well on her honeymoon, but nobody had answered, and I’d assumed she already left for Bora Bora. It wouldn’t have surprised me that she would’ve left without saying goodbye, but it did surprise me to see her standing there now looking at me like I was an alien.
“A dress.” I looked down to make sure I had it on correctly. “How are you still here?”
“We paid for late checkout,” she said, striding into the room without waiting for an invitation. Her eyes were swiveling from left to right as if expecting to see someone else crouching in a corner.
I let the door close and turned to face her. “Grace, late checkout is at, like, four o’clock.”
“Yes, I know. Kenneth paid extra to let us stay here until we needed to leave for the airport.” She sniffed. “Like I was going to hang out at an airport from three until nine.”
It was so incredibly hard not to roll my eyes. “Right.”
“The receptionist said you didn’t checkout yet. I was wondering what was going on,” she continued, finally looking at me again rather than the room.
I wanted to cross my arms over myself and hide my dress so I could claim nothing was happening, but the damage was done and there was nothing else to do but explain. “I have a date with Owen tonight,” I admitted. “He changed my plane ticket and everything.”
“You mean he’s not just some guy you hired to be your date?” she jibed and smiled like she was joking, but I saw the jealousy burning in her eyes. I couldn’t blame her. Kenneth was a nice guy — much nicer than someone like Grace deserved, honestly — and better than okay-looking, but he wasn’t in Owen’s league of looks, charm, or money and I knew that ate Grace right up.
“No, Grace,” I said through tight lips and gritted teeth. “I did not hire him to be my date. And, speaking of date, he’s supposed to be here in the next few minutes so we should probably finish this conversation.”
She put a hand on her shapeless hip and cocked her head. “You’re embarrassed of him, aren’t you?”
“What?” I was stunned. “Of course not!”
“You seem awfully eager to get me out of here, and you bugged out of the wedding pretty early last night. I didn’t see you after dinner at all.”
“I’m not embarrassed of him,” I insisted. “It’s the opposite, in fact.”
She snickered, her pretty face turning ugly as she smirked at me. “Maybe you’re afraid he’ll see me and have some regrets.”
The arrogance of her was nauseating. “He already saw you. Yesterday? In your wedding dress? When you were as made up and perfect as you’ll ever be?” I didn’t add the snarky comment I wanted to make about how, despite his seeing her perfection, he’d still opted to take me out this evening.
“Right.” She sounded bored now.
A knock sounded, and my stomach leapt. “Okay, you really need to go now,” I urged, reaching for her arm to pull her to the door. When I opened it, I didn’t find Owen standing there, but Stephan. His silvery hair matched the tie he wore beneath a gorgeous suit coat that definitely wasn’t off-the-rack, and his soft smile loosened the knot forming in my belly by a fraction.
“Good evening, Miss Rickard,” he greeted cordially with an inclination of his head.
“Hi, Stephan. It’s good to see you again.”
Grace looked between us with flaring nostrils and demanded, “Again? What do you mean, again?”
“The pleasure is mine,” Stephan said, ignoring my cousin. I felt a rush of delight as he turned obligatorily to Grace and added, “Ma’am.”
She scowled, but I ignored her. “Did Owen send you?”
“Only up to fetch you, miss,” he explained. “He is waiting for you downstairs in the limo.”
Grace’s scowl deepened. I pushed her gently out of the room, snagged my clutch off the table near the door, and exited into the hallway. Addressing her with more brightness than I probably ever had, I said, “Have fun on your honeymoon. I’ve got to get going.”
Stephan took my elbow with delicate elegance and nodded once to Grace in farewell. As he guided me down the corridor toward the elevator, I glanced over my shoulder and offered my openmouthed, wide-eyed cousin a cheerful wave.