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He stared out at the view, a canvas of neon lights and moving traffic. I expected him to look at me, to follow up the comment with what he needed a distraction from. He didn’t, and I wrapped the blanket a little tighter. I looked out on the horizon and saw a faint glow.
“Look.” I pointed. “The sunrise.”
Had it been that long? I glanced back at the table, at the half-completed puzzle and the empty bottle of wine. My mind moved through the conversations and the pauses. He had told me stories of growing up in Louisana, of swamps and voodoo. He’d talked about Vegas, of places he wanted to take me and dishes he wanted me to try. I’d told him about the horses I grew up caring for and my first days at The House. I laughed at his ridiculous ego, and he’d told me that my smile made him happy.
He straddled the chaise lounge and sat down, patting the spot before him. “Come here. Sit.”
He held the cigar to the side and moved back, reaching out when I sat down and pulling my back flush against his chest.
Together, we watched the sky change, a bright orange wave sweeping over the buildings, the streets almost empty. I followed a street sweeper as it moved down the Strip and saw a police car stop beside a woman.
The city, coming to life.
Our night together, ending.
His hand cupped my chest, holding me to him, a firm squeeze of reassurance.
I turned my head, resting it against his shirt. “Do you think you’ll live in Vegas forever?”
“Probably. Why?”
I looked out on the city, one I felt swallowed by. Funny how, on the street, I never realized its enormity.
Up here, it seemed like a monster.
I sighed. “I don’t know. Just wondering.”
He pressed a kiss against the nape of my neck. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”
In bed, we didn’t talk. He shed my robe like it was tissue paper, then pulled my naked body against him, my back to his chest, his arm around me. I tried to stay awake, tried to memorize all of the pieces of this moment. The smooth sheets. His warm body. The muscles of his body. The brush of his lips against my back. The husk in his voice when he said my name.
“Bell.”
The dawn light streamed through the room and highlighted everything in its path. Expensive fabrics. Stainless steel. Marble. Wood. I swallowed and could still taste the wine on my tongue. There was still the faint smell of cigar on his skin.
“Bell.” He tightened his grip on me and I realized I’d fallen, or almost fallen, asleep.
“Yes?”
“Thank you for tonight.”
I wasn’t sure what he was thanking me for. I drank his wine. Butchered his puzzle. Went to third base and didn’t give him much of an ending. Kept him up way past the hour when a businessman should sleep.
Still, I smiled. “You’re welcome. Thank you.”
He kissed my shoulder, and I closed my eyes, letting the pull of sleep drag me into its depths.
I woke to blood.
Sixteen
The blood was on the sheets, long dark streaks that had dried, flecks of black dotting the white surface. I held my breath, pulling back the sheets carefully, and lifted my hands, half-expecting to see them stained red. They weren’t. They were pale and clean. I looked back at the bed, Dario’s side empty.
“It’s okay.”
The sudden voice had me shrieking, my hands clutching the sheet to my naked chest, and I whipped my head around to see him in the doorway.
“What happened?”
He shut the door and strode toward me, his hands busy on the cuff of his left sleeve. “I didn’t realize I was bleeding like a stuck pig until I bent down to check on you and saw the blood on the sheets.”
His demeanor was calm, his voice wry, and I relaxed my grip on the sheet. I noticed the bright light from the window and glanced at the clock on the bedside. Almost noon.
“Let me see the cut.” I reached out for him.
He sat on the edge of the bed and lifted his elbow, exposing the back of his forearm.
I hissed. “Jesus.”
The cut looked deep and painful and already had a salve applied over it, a greasy substance that wasn’t stopping the blood. I watched a line of it drip down and he pressed a pad of gauze to the spot.
“It’s fine. I’ve got a doc in the living room, he’ll give me a few stitches.”
“What happened?”
He shrugged. “Just some business that turned sour.”
“It’s not even noon yet.”
I thought of Vince, and the men he’d come to The House with. “Why isn’t your security protecting you?”
“It’s fine.” He leaned forward and kissed the top of my head, a dismissive gesture that only added anger to my worry.
“It’s not fine. When did you leave? Why didn’t you wake me up?”
