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* * *

  But something about him, something about that short exchange and the way his face had pulled into a smile… I felt unsure and exhilarated, all at the same time—a dangerous combination around a man like him.

  Four

  I knew what to do. I’d served princes and presidents, celebrities and mobsters. I was to deliver drinks and disappear. I didn’t hear anything and I didn’t speak unless spoken to. If flirted with, I politely evaded. If yelled at, I retreated and let security deal with it. The rules weren't taught to me, but learned from two years in this building, two years of mistakes and lessons, hundred-dollar tips and occasional scorn.

  * * *

  I’d been proposed to and propositioned. Groped and flipped off. Cursed out and courted. Everyone who had the means to walk in these doors was entitled, and that made for a volatile cocktail, one contained by distractions. Women. Alcohol. Risks. Possibilities.

  * * *

  I walked toward Lance and Dario Capece and wondered what Capece's distractions were. Certainly not alcohol, not with the Coca-Cola he'd ordered. Not cards, since he hadn't stepped toward a table or glanced at a chip stack. Maybe risk. Maybe women. I slowed as I approached, and his gaze slid from Lance to me, his eyes starting at the bottom, at my vomit-stained heels, and moved up my bare legs, lingering across the sequined shorts and the black halter top. The action was so obvious that Lance turned, his eyes darkening as he saw me, the apologetic look in them almost laughable. I reassured him with a smile and took the final steps toward them.

  * * *

  I served Lance first, then tucked the tray under my arm, passing the glass of soda to Mr. Capece. I didn't meet his eyes and stepped back to allow them privacy. Escaping down the back stairs, I let out a long breath.

  * * *

  He had checked me out. Held my gaze longer than necessary. Two things that happened a dozen times a night. That was half of our purpose here, being eye candy. Britni and I got more attractive the more they drank, the more they won. It wasn't the first time that evening a man had blatantly swept his gaze over me.

  * * *

  I shouldn’t have been trembling, not just from a brief moment of interaction. And I definitely shouldn’t be smiling. I fought to swallow the expression and wondered what the hell was wrong with me.

  * * *

  I entered the control room and shut the door. Rick glanced over and held up a hand for silence.

  * * *

  “--and that’s how we plan to keep it,” Lance finished.

  * * *

  I watched the monitor, saw Dario’s mouth move, the sound of his voice a bit delayed. “What do you do when you get hit hard? Too hard?”

  * * *

  “We have cash reserves to cover up to twenty mill.”

  * * *

  Dario’s quiet chuckle came over the speaker. "Twenty mill? Come on. That's one winning streak for these players."

  * * *

  “It hasn’t been a problem yet. You know what it’s like. No one walks away on top.”

  * * *

  “Still...”

  * * *

  There was a break in conversation as someone walked by, words of greeting exchanged, a restless moment where Rick stretched his legs and I watched the monitors. I needed to get back to my tables, yet I couldn’t move from this spot.

  * * *

  Quiet fell.

  * * *

  Dario spoke first. “I’d like to invest in your operation if you aren’t interested in an outright purchase.”

  * * *

  Rick leaned forward, his fingertips pressing together as if in prayer. "We aren't interested in selling. Besides, the reason we work is because we are a neutral location, with neutral ownership. You don't want to be seen at Bellagio, and they don't want to be seen at your place."

  * * *

  I watched the monitors as Lance spread his arms, encompassing the place.

  * * *

  "Here, you can all gamble in private and without padding any of your competitors' pockets."

  * * *

  "A good point." Dario nodded. "But I could be a silent owner or investor."

  * * *

  Lance shook his head. “We aren’t looking for either. Still, I appreciate the offer.”

  * * *

  “You'll need a bigger bankroll. Who you going to call when you are in the red? The Italians?"

  * * *

  “I was under the impression that you were the Italians.”

  * * *

  There was a smile in Lance’s voice, but I still stiffened. In this town, success didn’t come to the innocent, and there were few men as successful as Dario Capece.

  * * *

  The devil smiled. "Everyone in this town is, in some way or manner, Italian. But I don't want you having to get into business with them. If you need a short-term loan, call me. I'll cut you a fair deal."

  * * *

  Lance held out his hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Capece.”

  * * *

  I sensed the end of the excitement and moved to the door, my hand on the knob when his next words stopped me short.

  * * *

  “The woman who escorted me in. Tell me about her.”

  * * *

  I turned.

  * * *

  “You looking for new cocktail waitresses, Mr. Capece?”

  * * *

  I heard the edge of protection in Lance’s voice and silently warned him to be careful.

  * * *

  “I run casinos. I’m always looking for cocktail waitresses.”

  * * *

  “I can’t speak for Bell, but I think she’s pretty happy here.”

  * * *

  “You look worried, Mr. Blake.”

  * * *

  I turned to watch the monitor. On it, Lance’s arms were crossed over his chest, his imposing stance diminished by Capece’s powerful build.

  * * *

  “I’m concerned any time a stranger asks about someone I care for.”

  * * *

  “It’s just curiosity. I’m a man. She’s a beautiful woman. You understand.”

  * * *

  Lance shifted. "As I said, she's happy here."

  * * *

  “Noted."

  * * *

  I watched the monitors as the two men shook hands.

  * * *

  "Call me if you ever need funds, or anything else."

  * * *

  “Thank you.”

  * * *

  They turned, making their way back to the front room, and I looked away from the monitors, Rick’s gaze dead on mine, stopping me in my exit. “What?” I asked.

  * * *

  Rick spoke slowly, as if I might have trouble understanding him. “Dario Capece is bad news.”

  * * *

  “Yeah. Got it.” I tilted my head toward the gaming floor. “So are pretty much every one of those assholes out there. Don’t worry about me.”

  * * *

  “I saw you two. Whatever moment that was?” He flicked his index finger back and forth, between me and an imaginary Dario. “You’re a tiny minnow in this town, B. Sexy and smart as hell ... but still a minnow. And he’s—”

  * * *

  I interrupted him before he got fully into the lecture. “I KNOW. He’s a whale. Or a shark. Or a killer whale, or whatever freaking ocean reference you’re about to make. I get it. Focus on your own shit, because he came in here after your business, not my ass.”

  * * *

  I yanked the door open and didn’t miss the twitch that broke his stern expression into a smile.

  "I got you peanuts."

  * * *

  Meredith held out the bag, and I grabbed it, moving my feet and giving her room to pass. She juggled two beers and almost spilled both of them by the time she settled into the seat next to me. "God, it's hot."

  * * *

  I stole the second beer and lifted it to my lips, nodding in agreement. "Miserably."

/>   * * *

  There was the crack of a bat, and we shifted out of the way as everyone around us rose to their feet, then moaned in disappointment and settled back down.

  * * *

  “Foul. I knew the minute I heard it,” Meredith said.

  * * *

  “Sure.”

  * * *

  “I’m serious. You can hear when they hit the right spot.”

  * * *

  I smirked, my mind taking the words in a dirty light, and she rolled her eyes.

  * * *

  “Stop.”

  * * *

  “You’re the one playing porn in our house all hours of the day. How are we supposed to keep our minds clean with all that?”

  * * *

  She sniffed. “I’m almost done with the project. Then, I swear, I’m done with glory holes and gangbangs for life.”

  * * *

  The soccer mom ahead of us turned, glared, and covered the ears of her teenage son, as if he'd never heard those words before. Meredith stifled a laugh, and I elbowed her with a smile. The kiss cam came on the scoreboard, and the crowd started to cheer.

  * * *

  “So ... tell me about this man.” She leaned in, raising her voice to be heard over the crowd.

  * * *

  I sighed, tipping back the beer and looking out at the stands. "You know. Another guy."

  * * *

  Meredith scoffed. “Another guy? I don’t know anything about casino stuff, and even I know Dario Capece."

  * * *

  “I shouldn’t have mentioned him. He checked me out. He was hot.” I pulled open the peanuts and shook a few out, offering the bag to her. “And he’s married.”

  * * *

  She nodded in the annoying way that typically precluded idiocy. "Uh-huh. Forbidden love."

  * * *

  “Forbidden love? You’re so dramatic. Love and I aren’t even in the same hemisphere right now.”

  * * *

  "Not even with the sexy professor?" She put her beer in the cup holder and settled back in the plastic seat.

  * * *

  “Especially not with Ian.”

  * * *

  "Yeah … A hot, smart guy with a job and a delicious Irish accent. I agree. Worthless. I can't believe you’re even wasting your orgasms on him."

  * * *

  I hid behind my beer as the mom ahead of us turned around again. I swear, we weren’t even talking loudly. And her son had to be fifteen. Too old to have his ears covered. Meredith was right. On paper, Ian was pretty damn awesome. Naked, his stock was even better. But other than having fun with him, there were no feelings involved, no fluttery emotions, or breathless anticipation of our next meeting. “I’m pretty sure our thing is going to end with the semester.”

  * * *

  “That sucks.”

  * * *

  “Not really.”

  * * *

  Meredith fished in her purse and held out a bottle of sunscreen. “Here, I brought this for you. Cover that pasty white-girl skin of yours.”

  * * *

  I took it without argument, and squeezed out a generous glob in my hand, eyeing her ebony complexion. “You need some?”

  * * *

  “Nah. Already got it on.” She settled back in her seat. “So, let’s get back to forbidden love. You think this guy’s gonna come back in The House?”

  * * *

  I sighed. “I don’t know.”

  * * *

  I’m a man. She’s a beautiful woman. I thought of the way he'd shrugged, as if because he was male, and I was female, that it was done. "He asked about me, said he needed cocktail waitresses."

  * * *

  She asked where I’d make more money, and I mulled over the question.

  * * *

  "Probably staying where I'm at. Besides, I can't leave Lance and Rick."

  * * *

  It was the truth. They were too good to me, and they were like family. The thought of leaving them, of working at one of Capece's giant supermarket-sized casinos—it was no interest to me. Especially if it was one he owned. I didn't need to work for a man like that.

  * * *

  I passed back the bottle. "And, I don't think it was a legitimate job offer. He was just fishing." Fishing to find out more about me. The thought shouldn't have caused a reaction in me, but a spark of excitement still occurred.

  * * *

  Meredith dropped the lotion into her purse. "You're not changing jobs, your lovefest with professor Hot Pants is ending in five weeks, and you're basically the most boring person I know. That sum everything up?"

  * * *

  Damn, I loved this girl. From the moment she’d sat down next to me in a freshman orientation session, we had clicked. And friendship—true friendship—was hard to find in this town of users. Which was another reason why I loved Rick and Lance so much.

  * * *

  I smiled and pulled my sunglasses back down, shielding my eyes. “Nailed it.”

  * * *

  Number 8, the shortstop with the great ass, walked up to bat, and we started paying attention to the game.

  Five

  The man, sitting at the first spot on one of the main tables, looked like a model and reeked of suspicion. I watched him carefully through his first few hands, delivered his drinks and stiffened when he reached out to tap me.

  * * *

  "A cigar, please." He smiled, and I nodded, stepping away.

  * * *

  He was hot, whatever he was. Clean cut. Pretty eyes. An expensive suit that didn't quite fit him right, like he'd borrowed it from someone or stole it off their dead body. In this city, either was possible. But a guy betting a thousand bucks a hand ... I eyed his chip count with increased suspicion. His suit should fit.

  * * *

  I took three more orders on the way to the bar and forgot him amid getting drinks, cigars, and a bottle of champagne for the chubby guy at table two. An hour later, I was on my way to the bathroom when the pretty boy stepped in my way, blocking the hall.

  * * *

  "I'm Chris." He reached out a hand and I shook it. It was the sort of handshake that involved an object, though I couldn't tell if it was cash or a note. I pocketed the item without looking.

  * * *

  "I haven't seen you before." He leaned on hand on the wall and his suit bunched around the shoulder.

  * * *

  I smiled politely. “Well, you haven’t been here before.”

  * * *

  He laughed, and I’m not that funny. I stepped to the left to see if he would move. He didn’t.

  * * *

  “I meant, I haven’t seen you around town.”

  * * *

  My bladder was close to breaking, and I lied through a pained smile. “My boyfriend keeps me busy.”

  * * *

  He winced. “Ouch. I was hoping that maybe … you work outside of here.”

  * * *

  He tucked his hands in his pocket, a casual gesture that didn’t soften the sting of the words. You work outside of here. He was asking if I was an escort. If he flashed five thousand bucks, would I suck his dick? If he promised ten, would I go back to his suite and spread my legs?

  * * *

  I shook my head. "I don't have any side jobs. Just drink delivery and good luck carrier." I patted his arm and squeezed around him, making enough of a production about it that he stepped out of the way.

  * * *

  "I'll pay anything." He followed me, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a purple chip. A purple chip that could cover my bills for an entire year. Or even better, the remaining mortgage on my parents’ house.