background, the two introduced the women in the party. Vlad’s accent was so thick, Autumn thought she caught the names Jazzzzzz and Teeeeeena, but she wouldn’t bet on it.
Daniel’s quizzical gaze seemed to pick her apart and put her back together. “You’re the reason Sam can’t make it to Scores.”
“Or Cheeetaz,” Vlad added.
The boys obviously loved the strip clubs, and Autumn wondered if the women with them grabbed poles for a living. “The first night we met, Sam thought I was a dancer.” She took a drink, then set the glass on the table. “I think he was disappointed.”
“I wasn’t disappointed.” He slid his arm around her and pul ed her against his side.
Daniel’s brows lowered. “You okay, Sam?”
“Yeah.” He turned his attention to the glittering city below. The bril iant, flashing skyline of the Strip and the surrounding area lighting up the desert like stars. “You wanna get out of here?”
She looked up into his profile, at the blue neon light and night shadows against his cheek and jaw. “Is something wrong?”
His grip on her waist tightened. “It’s the thirteenth.”
“Are you superstitious?”
The last strains of “Sweet Home Alabama” trailed off into the breeze, only to be drowned out by the city below. “Yeah.” He looked down at her. “Is
‘have sex in a limo’ on your list?”
She felt his grasp ease to a soft caress. “No.”
“Wanna add it?”
He had to be joking. “Got a limo?”
“Yep.” He flashed her a grin as he reached inside his pant’s pocket and pul ed out his cel phone. “Good night, everyone,” he said, as his hand moved to the smal of her back, and they headed toward the bar. In the elevator on the way down, his palm slid to her behind and stayed there until they stepped outside the Rio.
A stretch Hummer waited by the curb, and she guessed he wasn’t joking. He helped Autumn into the enormous vehicle and paused a moment to speak with the driver before crawling in after her.
“Does he know what you have planned?” she asked, as the door shut and closed them in the dark interior. Running lights lit up the floor like a 747, and a smal bulb shone on the control panel. Even if he wasn’t joking about sex in a limo, could she real y go through with it?
“Probably.” Sam fiddled with buttons, and the privacy window slid up.
“I’ve never had sex with someone watching.” And she wasn’t so sure she could do it now.
“He can’t see.”
“Are you sure?”
“Reasonably.” He found a radio station and turned up the volume of Green Day’s “Boulevard of Broken Dreams.”
Through the dark interior, his mouth found hers, and there was a sort of desperation in his kiss that she’d never felt before. A sort of need and greed. Like he wanted to eat her up. Consume her, right there in the back of a stretch Hummer.
She was leaving in a few short days, and so was he. She’d never see him again, and having sex while speeding through Vegas was a lot better than thinking about going home, alone. The car sped away from the curb, and Bil y Joe’s voice fil ed the limo. As he sang of loneliness and shal ow hearts, Autumn straddled Sam’s lap and placed her hands on the sides of his face. She kissed him long and hard as his hands crept up her thighs because this was Vegas, and apparently she didn’t have a problem with sex in a limo. Not even with only a reasonable assurance that the driver couldn’t see. Nothing was real there. Not the facades, nor the fake canals and volcanos. Not the promise of easy money or the feelings threatening to overtake her good intentions. Certainly not the affair that had nothing to do with love.
Sam’s big hands slipped over her hips and up her sides. He tugged at the top of her dress until it was around her waist, and her bare breasts rested in his palms. His thumbs brushed across her hard nipples, and he said things.
“I need you,” he groaned. “I need you to fil me up.” He said other things. Dirty things. Things about what he wanted to do to her and how. Things about what he wanted her to do to him. Things that only a man like Sam could get away with saying. He reached between her thighs and pushed her thong aside. He touched her and did those things he said he was going to do. Later, in her hotel room, she did things to him that made him groan and beg her not to stop. Things that brought a smile to his lips. It was good to see him smile.
The next morning, she woke alone. She didn’t know whether to be sad or glad. She turned over and went back to sleep. At noon, Sam cal ed her room to tel her to meet him in the lobby at six and to wear something comfortable but not flip-flops. She wondered what he had planned, and when the time came, she wore a jeans skirt, white tank top, and leather sandals. He wore jeans and Clint Eastwood T-shirt, and they ate Chinese and drank Tsingtao.
“What’s left on your to-do list?” Sam asked, and took a long pul from the green bottle.
“A lot. I haven’t done half the things on it.”
“Yeah.” He smiled and lowered the beer. “Sorry about that.”
“You don’t look sorry.”
He shrugged. “You should thank me. Your list sucks.”
She gasped. “No, it doesn’t.”
“I’ve never seen a suckier list. It’s like you got out Frommer’s and circled things you wanted to see.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Fodor’s online.”
“Same thing. I wasn’t on your list. Sex in a limo wasn’t on your list. Hel , you’re in Vegas, and you don’t have one damn strip club on your list. Not even a male review. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a nun.”
Her nose wrinkled. “I real y have no desire to see men dancing around with their wieners out.”
He blinked. “I can’t believe you just said ‘wiener.’ ”
She ignored him and glanced about the Chinese restaurant to make sure no one was listening in on the conversation. “I don’t want some guy’s bal s flying around my head, and if one of them actual y put his… penis… on my shoulder, I’d freak out.”
He tilted his head back and laughed. Long and loud and attracting attention. She didn’t care. He had a great laugh, and she wished he’d laugh more.
“I cannot believe you’re the same girl who jumped on me in the limo last night.”
She couldn’t either.
“And you didn’t seem to mind my bal s flying around your head last night.”
She bit the corner of her lip to keep from smiling.
He lifted one hip and pul ed out two tickets from his back pocket. He handed them to her.
Her mouth dropped open. “Cher?” She looked up into his face. “How did you get tickets?”
“I got my ways.”
“Are you going to Cher with me?”
“That’s why there are two tickets.”
He hated Cher. “But you’re not gay or desperate to get laid.”
“That’s true.”
“You don’t like Cher.”
He grinned. “I like you.”
Oh no. She was in trouble. Big bad horrible trouble with blond hair and smiling blue eyes. Her throat got tight, and the air left her lungs. Her heart felt like it was expanding in her chest, and if it didn’t stop, it would burst. Right there in Beijing Noodle No. 9. Her eyes watered. This was horrible. From that very first night, she’d known he was the kind of trouble she should avoid. She just hadn’t realized he would overwhelm her and make her fal for him.
“Don’t cry. It’s just Cher, and they are nosebleed seats. No big deal.”
It was a big deal. Huge. She swal owed hard, past the big lump in her chest. She didn’t care about Cher. She’d only wanted to go because she was in Vegas, and it was a farewel tour. She wiped the tears beneath her eyes. “I don’t know what to say.” And she didn’t. Despite knowing better, she was developing dangerous feelings for him. It
