Blindfolded Innocence Read online

  "A bit. It's okay. Early loves can be a bitch."

  "Did you love your wife?"

  "I met my wife in college, and yes, believed I loved her."

  "And now?"

  "Do I love her now?"

  "No. In retrospect, do you think you were in love with her?"

  "I think love is a hallmark image that society has created. I cared very deeply for her. All of the books and movies love the phrase "I loved her, I wasn't "in love" with her. I think for a marriage to work, both parties have to understand that it’s not about being "in love". Both people need to care deeply about the other person; to put the others' needs before their own, and to make a daily commitment to that person to stick it out. Hillary made that commitment to me, and probably would have stuck it out till we were old and grey and dead. I wasn't committed and dropped the ball. But, what I should have added first, is that choosing the correct person is the most important step. There's no point in putting all of the daily time, effort, and commitment into a lifelong marriage with the wrong person. Hillary and I were the wrong people."

  "But you said on our first date that you wouldn't get married again."

  "All of my beliefs about what makes a marriage work are based on my work experience and marriages I've seen that do work. A woman who can meet my needs sexually wouldn't fall into the same criteria that I would want in a wife. It's a catch 22." He shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head at me. "I like being a bachelor. I don't need or want a wife, and I'm happy alone. I get plenty of enjoyment out of life." He raised his almost empty glass to his lips and shot a side look at me. "Like now." He drained the glass and set it down, staring at me with hungry eyes. "You look breathtaking."

  I laughed and leaned forward, shaking my finger at him. "Ah ah ah, you are not going all Rico Suave on me. We haven't finished this conversation."

  "Fine. What else do you want to pick my enormous brain about?"

  "God, you are cocky. Okay, last question."

  "Shoot."

  "How many women have you slept with?"

  "What?"

  "You heard me! If I'm even going to think about sleeping with you, I need to know what number I'm going to be."

  His hand was back on my knee. The unexpected touch caused my breath to hitch. I swatted his hand away again, but slower this time. "So you are thinking about being with me?"

  I looked at him through lowered lashes. "Kind of. You are very persuasive, though I don't want to know how many times you've given that "Sex is Society's Blessing" opening statement." He laughed and removed his hand, but lingered as he did so, grazing my inner thigh with his fingers. I waited for his response expectantly.

  He rolled his eyes and laughed. "God, Julia - I don't really know."

  "What? Of course you do! Don't guys notch it into their bedposts or something?"

  "Not gentlemen."

  "Oh please, don't pull that. Okay, rough estimate if you're too "gentlemanly" to give me an exact."

  He thought for a while, pulling on his ear, his eyes getting hazy. He finally shrugged. "If I had to guess, probably in the 150 to 180 range."

  I think my eyebrows hit a new high on my forehead. I had been expecting something high, but this took the cake. "Bullshit."

  "I have no reason to brag to you. If I calculate about two a month, there were probably ten before I got married, I've been divorced five or six years… it's got to be in that range."

  "You pig!" I sputtered.

  "Why? Because I love sex and enjoy having it with beautiful women?"

  "I don't know - it just seems wrong. Haven't you had any relationships in the last six years?"

  "Of course I have, but they weren't monogamist, on either side."

  "Then that's not a relationship."

  He waved a hand at me, dismissing the subject. "I don't want to get into that with you now."

  I stared at him in stony silence. That was way too many women. I didn't have any good reason why. The same reason I didn't have any good response to his argument that women should have carefree, emotion-free sex. He had bended my thinking on that, but I'd be damned if I was going to let him know that. I finally sighed and relaxed my angry shoulders. "I'm still hungry. Are we ordering dessert?"

  He laughed and leaned forward, cupping my chin in his hand and kissing me. "Yes, we are, but not here." He waved a hand to our waiter, who had been waiting for a lull in our conversation. The waiter presented the check, which Brad quickly signed. "Come on, let's go." He stood up and held out a hand to me. I grabbed my purse and stood, smoothing down my dress. My hand clasped firmly in his, I followed him through the restaurant, past George Clooney (oh my god!) and outside, onto the balcony.

  The balcony, where I had watched my first fountain show, now had several small round tables set up with tablecloths, silver, and candles. A tuxedoed man held out my chair, gold with red velvet cushions, and I smiled at him and sat down. Brad took the seat across from me, and nodded to our waiter, a new gentleman, older and short, with a thick white mustache.

  "Monsieur? Madame?" the man greeted both of us and poured Voss water into both of our chilled glasses. While pouring, he described their dessert selections, a long lengthy speech that Brad cut off while he was still on the first dessert.

  "How many choices do you have tonight?"

  "Four sir."

  "We'll have one of each."

  "Yes sir."

  "And a bottle of Dom, 1996."

  "Certainly sir." The man left, and I leaned forward and whispered to Brad. "You shouldn't have ordered champagne. I'm going to be drunk if I have any more."

  He leaned forward also, our faces now only inches away, and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, "What is drunk Julia like?"

  "Very horny and also very sleepy. It is a very narrow window."

  "Are you horny right now?"

  I wet my lips, our faces still very close. "No." YES!

  "Then you should drink some more."

  "What, don't think you can close the deal without me being inebriated?"

  "Touché, Ms. Campbell." He waved, and the miniature tuxedo was instantly at his side.

  "Yes, Mr. De Luca?"

  "I think we will hold off of the champagne please."

  "Certainly sir. I will let the wine room know immediately." He rushed off in a blur of coat tails.

  Faint notes began, drifting across the water, and I turned to watch the now-still lake. Brad watched me, smiling at my rapt attention.

  I rose and walked to the balcony's edge, leaning on the rail and staring. The notes were louder now, and the initial, delicate, fountains of water were beginning to grow, shooting higher into the sky. I wanted to stay here forever, in this spot. In this gorgeous gown, my skin glowing, a gentle breeze on my shoulders, watching lights and water dance on a lake to a man singing opera. I felt Brad's presence behind me and he leaned forward, resting his hands on the railing on either side of me, his face next to mine, watching the show. We stayed there, silent, spooned together against the railing, until the last note traveled across the water and the lake went dark.

  "It's heartbreaking isn't it? Heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time."

  "What is that song?"

  "It's Andrea Bocelli. Time to say Goodnight."

  "It is wonderful. Achingly beautiful."

  "That is a good way to put it." He moved his hands from the railing to my arms, and grasped them. Pulling on one and pushing with the other, he spun my body until my back was on the railing, my face tilted up to his. I stared into his eyes, pools of so many complex things I didn't understand. I only knew one thing. I wanted him. So badly it hurt, ached inbetween my legs. I knew it wasn't right, I knew I was one of hundreds, but I didn't care. I wanted him more than I had ever wanted anything in my life. I leaned forward, closed my eyes, and kissed him with everything I had.

  He responded instantly, pressing his body hard against me, and moving his hands from my arms. One hand grabbed the back of my neck, the other gripped my
ass hard, and I hooked one leg around him, crazed to feel more of him against my body. He was hard, and I felt it, liked it. We kissed like teenagers for almost a minute and then separated, breathing hard. He kissed me one final time, hard, and then let me go. He smiled at me playfully, then we walked back to the table.

  Our waiter appeared, quick enough for me to suspect he'd been standing in the shadows, waiting for our makeout session to complete. I blushed, but he seemed completely at ease. He was followed by a tall man carrying a large tray loaded with desserts.

  Fifteen minutes later, I had eaten small bites of tiramisu, pineapple cheesecake, fruit-loaded creme brûlée, and some extremely rich chocolate mousse. We had downed ice water but no alcohol, and I stretched luxuriously, my stomach filled to the brim. Candlelight flickered off the remnants of our desserts and Brad's face glowed across from me in the light. I licked the last bit of mousse off of my spoon and played with the metal in my mouth, eliciting a smile from Brad.

  "You are incorrigible." he murmured.

  "That I am," I said. "Would you be too disappointed if I wanted to skip the show, and instead curl up in PJs and watch Friends? Tonight is a marathon." I let my eyes light up.

  He sighed and looked wounded. "If that's what you really want."

  "Do you typically come to Vegas alone?"

  "It's probably half and half."

  "So when you're alone, if you were alone tonight, what would you do?"

  "I'm not normally ever alone. Even when I come alone, I normally meet someone here. Beautiful women fill the casinos."

  "You mean prostitutes?"

  "I think the preferred title is escort, but no."

  "Never?"

  He sighed and looked at me, bemused. "You ask a lot of questions."

  "As do you. And I answered all of yours."

  "Point made. A previous host I had sent up a girl once. I declined the escort, and spoke to the host. They understand to not have it happen again."

  "So you just sent here away? Was she pretty? What did she say?"

  "She was extremely pretty, young, 19 or 20. Had too much makeup on and a short dress, something similar to what you are wearing." Great. I'm dressed like a hooker. I pulled my dress down a bit, trying to get it to cover more leg. "I had just gotten up to my room, and was getting ready for dinner when she knocked on the door."

  "What did she say when you opened it?"

  "God, I'd hate to sit through the opera with you. Let me tell the story, or I'll really stretch it out. She said that Jeff - he had been my old host - Jeff had sent her up, and then gave me a look that I think was supposed to be sexy. She then asked if she could come in. I asked her if this is what I thought it was and she didn't answer, just walked past me into the room."

  "And?"

  "And, we didn't do anything. I told her I appreciated the gesture, but was not interested. I think I made up a relationship I was in or something. It was a few years ago. I asked her if she wanted anything to drink, we talked for a bit, and then she left."

  "Really. Just talked. You, who have been pushing the envelope with me since we met, sat in your Vegas hotel room with a 19-year-old girl, had a drink, and talked. Then your gentlemanly self walked her to the door and she left." I crossed my arms, shook my head, and fixed him with a stare. "I'm not buying it."

  He laughed and leaned forward, pulling one of my arms until it was free and held my hand. "Why do you have such a low opinion of me?"

  "You admit yourself that you are a sex fiend. Why would you pass on it when it is right there for the taking?"

  "Because it is right there for the taking. That girl rode up that elevator to my room not knowing anything about me and was ready to have sex with whoever opened the door. There is not a worst turnoff than that. Now you, who are fighting me supposedly tooth and nail, THAT is a big turn on for me." His voice had lowered and he fixed me with a look that he probably thought was sexy. Which it was, deadly, but I wasn't about to admit that.

  "Supposedly? I am fighting you tooth and nail, and WILL be victorious. And listen to what you just said. In that line of thought, rape should be right up your alley."

  "Don't be ridiculous. You know what I mean. I like the chase."

  "Is that the only reason I'm sitting here? Because I'm an intern in your firm, therefore off limits? And because I said no when you initially asked me to lunch?"

  "You're taking this personally. I invited you here because I enjoy spending time with you. You challenge me and make me laugh. And because every time I see you walk by I want to rip your clothes off and put my hands on you." He finished the sentence in almost a growl. My eyes widened and I felt myself get weak despite my resolve to keep him at bay.

  "So you didn't have sex with her."

  He laughed and lifted his head, catching the waiter's eye. The man scurried over with the bill, which Brad signed. He took a final sip of champagne, and nodded at me. "Let's go."

  We walked out to the big double doors of the casino floor, me holding tight to Brad's arm, balancing carefully on Becca's shoes. The casino assaulted our senses as we entered - mechanical sounds of coins clinking, colors and lights everywhere, and a musical chime of voices talking and laughing. The faint smell of smoke was in the air, and we had to move slowly, crowds of people everywhere. I gripped Brad's arm tightly, giving it a quick squeeze, and he looked down at me and smiled, then leaned over and kissed the top of my fhead. He slowed a bit as we passed the blackjack table, his eyes lingering and I pushed him on, laughing. We finally made it through the casino and lobby, the exit doors opened for us by two white-gloved doormen who beamed at us.

  "Mr. De Luca, your car is ready." A suited man appeared at Brad's side, and held out his arm, indicating our limo. It looked just like the one that had brought us from the airport, and then I saw the familiar face of the driver, whose name I couldn't remember.

  "Leonard," Brad said, shaking his hand.

  "Got the car all ready for you. We going to New York New York?"

  "Let's talk in the car. I need to check with the boss." Leonard grinned broadly and winked at me, holding open a door.

  "Ms. Campbell, you look beautiful."

  "Thank you Leonard. Good to see you again."

  Once we were both in the car, Brad turned to me. "In the restaurant you had mentioned staying in. If you don't want to go out, we can do something tamer. Leonard can just give us a tour of the Strip and come back."

  "You and me, alone in this car? Sounds disastrous." I grinned at him. "Where would Leonard be taking you if you were alone?"

  "If I'm alone, I normally go to dinner with Philipe or one of my other friends. Then we make a guys night of it."

  "Meaning?"

  "You know Vegas - cigars, strip clubs, scotch."

  "But no prostitutes?" I teased him.

  "You got it." He kissed me briefly and pulled back.

  "Then let's do it De Luca style."

  "You really want to jump into the snake pit?"

  "Viva Las Vegas baby."

  "Viva Las Vegas."

  CHAPTER 20

  The stripper's name was Alexis. Not truly. Her real name was Sarah Hinkle, but that didn't sound sexy, it sounded Midwestern and hicky, which is what she had been. All braces and acne until she was 16, when the braces came off and she stole enough makeup from the local Walgreens to paint her face and hide her pimples. It took two more years and a girl down the street, Jennifer, who showed her the "right" way to put on makeup for Sarah's beauty to really show. Now, Springfield Illinois long gone, she shimmered in light gold body glitter, her skin toned and the perfect shade of tanning bed bronze. Her jet-black hair, grown long and flowing down her back, had just the right amount of curls, and when she flipped her head over, it feel into perfect place. Her nails were long, with a perfect french manicure, and her nude painted feet were slid into jeweled 5-inch stilettos. Naked in the dressing room, perfume filling the arm and soft naked bodies everywhere, she tapped a fingernail on her lips and surveyed her outf
its. Finally making her selection, she leaned forward and starting pulling hangers out.

  ---

  Brad called up front and asked Leonard to head to Baccarat. Leonard nodded and pulled a U-turn, heading back into the Bellagio gates..

  "What's Baccarat?"

  "It's back at Bellagio. We can grab cigars and drinks there, and play a few hands - if I'm giving you the Vegas experience, you need to at least try your luck before we head home." I nodded, grabbing my purse and double-checking that I had my ID. Leonard, pulled around to a different entrance, parked, and hastened around to my door. We stepped out and made our way in, through the casino again, and to a side bar. The opulent theme continued in here, and a baby grand was front and center with a distinguished man playing Frank Sinatra. The maitre'd -recognized Brad and led us to a roped-off area reserved for VIPs. We settled into a plush, velvet loveseat that Brad took up 80% of. A stout, dark-skinned man appeared, dressed in all black, and offered us leather bound menus. Brad waved them off.