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I’ll wait another ten minutes for my supposed bodyguard and I’m out of here. He needs to guard my body. If he’s not here, he’s just going to have to find my body.
I wish it could be someone like that guy. I would be happy for him to guard me with really close security. What’s his name?
I’m going to ask him.
I’m sure he’s a movie star. I can’t be certain what I’ve seen him in, though. Maybe it’s a gangster movie. Something like that. Or one of those stories where the hot guy is doing something illegal, but he gets totally bound up with a fantastic girl.
Wouldn’t you know it. The hottest guy in the room, damn, maybe the hottest guy in this town and even he hasn’t recognized me. What’s that about?
It’s all like a bad dream. Doesn’t anyone have the internet on their phone here?
His suit is beautifully cut, but the way fills it should be illegal. Strong thighs and a drum-tight ass, what I can see below the back of the Italian suit coat. Under the jacket, his immaculate white cotton shirt swells loose over his heart-stoppingly deep chest.
Before I look up into his face–I know that black buzz of stubble over the cleft in his chin is worth a look, but the magnets of his eyes will drag me past the razor-sharp cheekbones.
So, first, I’ll sneak a casual glance at the packa… oh. My.
I flash up into his eyes and on the way past, I’m gut punched by a sarcastic tug of triumph on his cruel lips. And my breath catches. His eyes smolder.
They were waiting for me. Watching me. Registering my astonishment at the rock in the front of his pants.
He still doesn’t come across to me. My insides have turned to water. If I tried to walk right now, I would totter like a teenager on her first drinking session.
He’s near enough to hear me ask, “What have I seen you in?”
His eyebrow flexes. “Your dreams, maybe?” That would come off as so fucking arrogant, but he says it with irony, so it’s just a joke. He’s definitely got style.
Feeling silly, I swallow and say, “You’re an actor, right? I know I’ve seen you in some things.”
I chew the inside of my lip.
Finally, he moves toward me. In one step, somehow he manages to swagger. His head cranes down. Loose. Like he’s playing a game.
“I’m not an actor,” still like it’s a game, he says, “but I might play a part for you.”
Like an idiot, I say, “You really don’t recognize me? I don’t remember the last time I talked to someone who didn’t recognize me.”
With a gleam in his eye that raises the temperature in my panties, he says, “And you think I’m someone else. So this is odd.”
He’s making me think of secret affairs. Rushed meeting in darkness, in doorways. Stolen moments. Pleasure and pain.
His eyes flash as I look up and I say, “Interesting, though.”
“Definitely.” His thumb presses his chin, under the cleft. “I’m the opposite of famous. I could tell you who I am, but it won’t mean a thing to you.”
“Come on. You’re that actor. I know you are. I can’t think what character you were but there’s definitely a picture in my head.”
“I’m sure it’s a great picture.” Oh, he is smoking. “But your picture is definitely not of me.”
“It is.” It is now. Oh, my. “Tell me. Come on.” But he’s shaking his head. “And you seriously don’t know who I am?”
His lips pull back for a slice of smile like a blade. “I don’t. You should give me your number though.”
“Not if you don’t know who I am.”
His voice is a low scrape. “Oh, you are such a tease.”
I’m liking that.
“But seriously, give me your number. I have to meet someone here tonight. It’s business. But we could get together another time. Discuss all the kinds of heroes you might think I am.”
“I think you’re more likely a villain.”
“Oh. You’re definitely getting warmer.”
“I really am.” I giggle “But you should break your date. I won’t be in Vegas for long.”
“I would if I could. Like I said, it’s business.”
“Are you for hire, then? I could promote your services.” I take out my phone and start to turn. Holding the phone at arm’s length, I start to say, “I’m here in Vegas with…” and he snatches my phone.
His voice is a low rumble of thunder. “What the fuck are you doing?” His face has turned to fury. My insides shake and collapse. I’m in shock.
“You took my phone.”
“You were about to take my picture.”
“You’re an actor…” I’m starting to think he really isn’t. “It was just a selfie. It’s what I do.”
“You take people’s pictures without their permission?”
“I make video. For the web.”
“What?” He says it like it’s something dirty.
