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This is exactly what I needed.
Chapter Three
Hank
Kygo ends his set with a banger of a Whitney Houston remix. The place goes nuts. Confetti cannons go off, arms are raised, and drinks fly everywhere.
Stevie’s got one hand on my nape, fingers playing with my hair—fuck, I love when she does that—and the other on my waist.
My hands are on her ass, where they’ve been since she put them there a while ago.
The girl has ass for days and days.
The song ends, and Stevie leans back to look at me. Our eyes meet, and hers smile, and I know I’m this fucking close to popping the woody I’ve been fighting all night.
“A hand of blackjack?” she says. “And then . . . bed?”
A piece of confetti lands on the tip of her nose, and I grab it, thumb grazing her cheek. “Yes, ma’am.”
Taking her hand, I head for the exit. Rhett cuts me a look, eyebrow raised. You good?
I nod. I’m good.
Stevie waves to her girls, and then a bouncer escorts us to the VIP exit just off the stage.
We spill onto the casino floor, the two of us blinking at the sudden onslaught of light and the chime of slot machines. I check my watch.
It’s almost four, but the casino is packed. People crowd the tables, jockeying for a seat, and guys wait four deep for drinks at the nearby bar. The energy in the place is palpable.
I’m wide-awake. My ears are ringing, and so is my body.
Looking at Stevie for the five hundredth time tonight—Jesus fuck—I wonder if I’ve ever been more turned on in my life.
“One hand,” I say. “Just one.”
Stevie turns her head to glance at me, digging her teeth into her bottom lip. “But not just once in bed, surely?”
I let out a bark of laughter. “Naw, honey, I hope you didn’t have plans to sleep tonight ’cause I sure as hell ain’t gonna let you.”
We manage to nab a seat at a five-hundred-dollar-minimum table. I start to pull out the chair for Stevie, but she presses her breasts against my chest and shakes her head. “You play.”
“You’re the expert.”
“And you’re the student. You only get better if you practice.”
I smile. I cannot fucking wait to put my mouth on those tits.
I wanna put my mouth all over her. That is something I’d definitely like to practice.
“If you say so.” I take the seat and grab a wad of cash from my wallet. Stevie stands behind me, hands curled over the back of my chair.
This dealer is a lot less fun than Helen was, so I’m glad we won’t be staying long. I still play my hand with him the way Stevie taught me, setting a few chips closer to the center of the table so he can gamble with me.
“Fast learner,” she says behind me, swiping a finger across my shoulder blade.
“Easy enough when you learn from the best.”
My first card is an eight. Waiting for my second, I hold my breath.
Another eight.
I glance over my shoulder at Stevie. She’s smiling, and I’m struck dumb the way I always am by this Julia Roberts thing that’s wide and real and nothing short of beautiful.
Yeah, probably should be careful with this one. There’s a reason I gave Rhett explicit instructions at the start of our trip not to let me fall for anyone. I’ve played the love-sick asshole before, and it’s a sucky role.
Especially when you’re lovesick for your brother’s girl.
A girl who’s now his fiancée. A month or so ago, Rhett gave me the news that Samuel and Emma had gotten engaged.
I wait for the way my chest clenches anytime I think about them and how badly I fucked up.
I wait some more.
Stevie’s finger moves up my nape. My skin ignites.
Wow. Wow, the awful tightness actually isn’t happening. Guilt is still there, don’t get me wrong. It sits on my breastbone like a goddamn gorilla night and day. But longing, for Emma at least, doesn’t rise to meet it.
Halle-fucking-lujah. The relief’s been slow to come, but tonight—being with Stevie—it’s hardly even a thought.
She’s setting me on fire.
Reaching behind me, I give Stevie’s thigh a quick grab. She responds by pressing her tits into my back.
Fuck careful. Where’s the fun in that? I’ve been careful my whole damn life. While it’s paid off in some respects, it didn’t stop disaster from happening in others.
“You know what to do?” Stevie asks.
“Split ’em,” I say to the dealer.
I split my cards and put more chips on the table. And whaddya know, the dealer busts, and I end up winning north of three grand.
“Hot damn!” I stand and give Stevie another high five. Our fingers twine like we’ve done it a hundred times. “You know your shit, honey.”
“And now you know yours. Shall we celebrate in my suite?”
“I’m sure a high roller like you has a nice room. But mine is nicer.”
