“Hey stranger, I’m thinking pretty seriously about taking you to that dark alcove in the corner, and showing you what I can do with my hands.” He tipped his forehead to the corner of the club where tall windows looked out on the terrace, home to more dancing, drinking, and sweating. Each window was framed by an arch, giving the tiniest bit of privacy if you wedged yourself in just right.

  “Show me,” she said, and let him guide her to the farthest one.

  He boxed her in, resuming their position from the dance floor. The lower half of her body was hidden by the wall below the window, the upper half visible against the glass to anyone on the balcony who cared to look at the lovers pretending to be strangers. He rubbed his erection against her rear, then slipped his hand around her waist, his fingers inching under her blouse, spreading over her belly. She drew a sharp breath. “Since I’ve never touched you before, I’m not sure how you like it. I’m going to have to try different things.”

  “I’m all for experimentation,” she said as he traced soft, lazy lines over her belly, knowing full well that she loved it when he touched her stomach.

  “What about this then?” he said, drawing a path up to her breasts. “Is there any chance you like having your breasts touched?”

  “As a matter of fact, I like it when my man fucks them.”

  He growled in her ear and slammed his hips against her. “And what about this?” He dipped his fingers into the waistband of her skirt, tapping them against her underwear. “I don’t suppose you’re a fan of manual stimulation?”

  “I’m quite fond of it, as a matter of fact. I did it to myself this afternoon.”

  He inhaled sharply, breathing hard against her neck, his arms tightening around her. He’d be reaching that point she craved soon, all heat and tension and palpable need for her. She loved that he was like this. That he still wanted her as much today as he had the night they’d met. “Will you still want me this much in a year?” she whispered, letting go of their play.

  “I thought we were strangers,” he said.

  She shook her head, shedding the role-play. “I don’t want to be strangers with you.”

  “Good. Because I don’t either. I want to be the man who knows you,” he said, his voice gentle, his touch tender as he brushed his lips against her neck.

  “I like it better like this,” she said, letting him hear the vulnerability in her voice, in her heart. “I love that you know me. I love that you know my body, and my heart, and my mind.”

  “I love knowing you, Julia,” he said, cupping her cheek and turning her face so he could look her in the eyes. “I love that we’re not strangers. That we’re not uncertain. That we’re not on opposite coasts anymore.”

  “That we’re together,” she added, flashing him a smile that wasn’t sexy or naughty or wicked. That was simply true, like all she felt for him.

  “Always,” he added. “I want to be the man who loves you always.”

  “I want to be loved by you always,” she said, and her heart skipped ten thousand beats. They were treading near the territory that she desperately wanted. She’d hoped so hard that he’d propose this weekend, and while she knew he wasn’t about to get down on one knee in a nightclub, her heart filled with joy at how he promised—so easily—to love her always. He brushed a thumb over her lips, and she swore she could see forever in his eyes.

  “You will be,” he whispered, and she knew that he meant every word, that he would love her like this—deeply, passionately, truly—for their whole lives. He closed his eyes and fused his mouth to hers in a slow kiss that turned her knees to jelly. Equal parts desire and love surged through her as her stomach flipped wildly.

  He took his time kissing her, his lips lingering on hers, savoring her mouth, lapping at her tongue. She moaned softly, and he broke the kiss. “Always,” he added. He ran his hand down the fabric of her blouse and she shivered against him.

  “God, you make me feel so good. Everything you do turns me on, Clay. When you tell me you want to fuck me it turns me on, and when you tell me you love me, it turns me on,” she said as the loud music pulsed around them, and club-goers danced on the balcony. But the lights were dim, the corner was dark, and he was all that mattered to her.

  “I love you and I want to fuck you,” he said as his fingers skipped past her belly and down the front of her skirt.

  “Mmmm,” she murmured, a thrill racing through her, and turning into heat between her legs. “Like that. That turned me on.”

  “Let me check,” he said, slinking his hand up the inside of her thigh, and flicking it once against the cotton panel of her panties.

  “Oh God,” she gasped even as he took his touch away.

  “You love being touched, don’t you,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. It was the full truth.

  “By you. Touch me more, please,” she said, her voice shaky with want. She felt like she’d disintegrate if he didn’t touch her right now.

  “I will, but I don’t want anyone seeing you getting so aroused, so you need to stay here and keep your eyes on the balcony. My body will hide you,” he told her, as he kept her caged in with his broad chest, strong arms, and his height, like a protective shield covering up her desire, keeping it in a precious cocoon. Even though they were in public, surrounded by drinkers and dancers, she felt like they were all alone: the two of them, shrouded in the way they felt.

  His fingers returned to her panties, and this time he slid them down the front of her underwear, his finger brushing over her clit.

  “I want to tell you all the things I love about your pussy, Julia,” he whispered hotly as he stroked her clit, his other hand keeping a firm grip on her hip.

  “Tell me,” she said, her voice so desperate, her need for him so unbelievably high. She felt as if she might combust, rocket on out of here from the way he stroked her. Masterfully. This was no stranger’s touch. This was a lover’s touch. The touch of a man who knew, who had studied, who’d listened, who’d taken his time and learned everything that pleased his woman and then some.

  “These are the things I love. How when I first slip my hand inside your panties I find that wet spot on the cotton panel that tells me you’re hot for me,” he said, sliding his fingers across her. “Like right now, and then when I first touch your pussy, you’re already wet all over, with my favorite lubricant—your desire.” She shut her eyes, and was starting to see stars. She began to rock gently against his hand, and he let her. He didn’t try to stop her movements because she kept them subtle enough. “And you’re so sleek and soft on the outside, and hot on the inside,” he said, sliding a finger inside to demonstrate. She hitched in a breath as he continued his ode to her pussy. “And your panties get so wet they’re useless.”

  Another gasp. Another sharp inhale. A moan stifled in her throat.

  “I love that I do this to you,” he said, circling her clit faster with the pad of his thumb, thrusting his index finger in and out. “That you’re wetter now than the night I met you, that I can still whisper in your ear, and tell you all the things I want to do to your sweet, delicious, perfect pussy and it still makes you quiver in my arms,” he said against her neck, layering a hard kiss on her skin as he continued lavishing attention between her legs. “And I love that as I move my fingers, and slide them over you and in you, and on that fucking fantastic clit, I can feel your wetness all over my hand.”

  Her belly tightened, and the walls inside her felt like they were about to come tumbling down. She grew wetter, hotter, and she could feel her arousal dampen his hand. She bit back a cry.

  “Just like that. I can feel more of you right now, Julia. I love that as you get more and more turned on, it feels like you’re gushing on me.”

  “I am,” she whispered breathily, the whole world behind her eyelids like hot flashing light as pulses of pleasure spread through her body.

  “When I watch you touch yourself, I can literally see your desire for me,” he said, his finger plunging deeper, his thumb swirling faster against her aching, throbbing clit. “And when I bury my face between your legs, I feel like I’m drinking you, and I can’t get enough.”

  Involuntarily, she started rocking into his hand, and panting—panting so fucking hard as her orgasm took hold, and she desperately wanted to shout. She pressed her teeth into her bottom lip, and immediately he clasped his hand over her mouth. “Cry out in my hand. I’m the only one who can hear you,” he said in her ear, the music in the club keeping their secret.

  She moaned against his palm, his hand silencing her screams of bliss as he stroked the last few waves of her climax from her, his fingers inside her and outside her, sending her far into the beautiful abyss of pleasure and love.

  Eventually, when her body stopped shuddering, he smoothed out her skirt and blouse and licked her taste off his fingers. “Do you think we just violated your morals clause?”

  She laughed. “If anyone saw us, surely we broke all the rules of decorum.”

  “If anyone is looking, I hope they’re jealous as fuck because I get to have the most fantastic woman in the world.”

  * * *

  Back at the hotel a little later, he gave her another present wrapped in shiny paper. When she opened it, she ran her fingers over the silver metal of the handcuffs, inscribed with the name of the manufacturer, Joy Delivered, a high-end maker of sex toys.

  Then he cuffed her, held her wrists behind her back in one hand, grabbed hold of her hair in the other and delivered more joy to her as he took her bent over the bed, the only man who would ever make her feel this way, the only man who would could fuck her when she was on all fours and still make her feel like a queen.

  But she did. She felt like queen of the world, ruler of the heavens and earth even with her ass in the air, her hair pulled tight, her hands shackled. In that pose—that bound pose of submission— he sent her soaring, owning her body, because he wanted her to feel extraordinary. She did, oh God, she did as he pleased her, over and over and over.

  * * *

  Judging from the report of his associate, there’d been no card hustling going on tonight with those two, just a whole lot of public near-fornication at Tao. His dick twitched angrily as he thought of that man having his hands all over that luscious redhead. She was a hot little thing, and it pissed him off that he was horny for her.

  It made him want to get to the bottom of this even faster. Get her out of his way. She was a target, nothing more.

  Besides, a deal was a deal was a deal, and the fact that she was here, sniffing around his turf, made it clear that terms had been broken. She was the evidence of clauses not being followed.

  On his way out of the Allegro he spotted the guy she’d been having drinks with at the pool earlier. At least, it looked like him from the picture he’d seen: young face, skinny build, the guy with the hoodie again. He was playing the slots right now, trying to ring up some money from Dolly Parton. Hmmm. He looked like a regular old casino tourist, and he wasn’t sure what to make of him, or how the guy was connected to Julia.

  He went home that night, determined to handle her tomorrow. He couldn’t risk fucking up this gig; the last one had been botched, and this was his chance to make good. Once inside his home, he dug through a carton of leftovers in the fridge, hunting for something to eat before bed. But what he found was a week old, maybe more, judging from the smell. He tossed the rancid carton in the trash and went to bed hungry, mad as hell and ready for tomorrow.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Saturday, 11:14 a.m., Las Vegas

  After a breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast and home fries, Clay took another swallow of his coffee, finishing the cup. They sat at the breakfast table by the window of their hotel suite, him in his boxer briefs, her in a cami and lacy underwear. If he hadn’t just enjoyed two rounds of morning sex—one in bed, one in the shower—he’d have ripped off the panties. But he was sated.

  For now.

  Julia chewed the last bite of her toast, then checked her phone. She’d been antsy to hear from Tad after the meeting yesterday when he dispensed his be-a-good-girl rules. Clay was eager too to get a look-see at the morals clause. Strange item for a liquor company, but he could also see how stipulations like that might be necessary. A beverage-maker wouldn’t want a drunk representing its drinks. In fact, such clauses might even be more vital for a product that loosened lips and relaxed judgment.

  She tapped the screen. “I knew it. Saturday morning and he’s already all over me. Here’s a note from Tad, and he wants to know if I received the contract addendum and if I plan on signing it.”

  He motioned with his fingers for her to hand him the phone. “Let me see those documents.”

  She clicked open the PDF in her email and handed it to Clay. He took a minute to read it over. When he set down the phone, he simply said, “Hmm.”

  “Hmmm what?”

  “This hardly seems necessary. Which makes me think it’s personal.”

  Julia pointed to herself. “Personal about me?”

  “Or him.”

  “In what way?”

  “It might be a hot-button issue for him. Let’s see what we can find out.”

  “You figured that all out from looking at a one-page contract addendum?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

  He nodded. “Call it a gut feeling. Everyone has a motive. When someone is pushing hard for something in business it’s almost always personal. Take Gino at Comedy Nation. His wife just left him. Messy divorce, and she’s taking him to the cleaners. His negotiation style goes from hard-ass to complete prick. Now this Tad guy? I don’t know him from Adam, but I’ll bet you the keys to the handcuffs that something is up.”

  She reached out a hand to shake. “I’m not doubting you. I’m only shaking because I have a thing for handcuffs.”

  He grinned, and stretched across the table to give her a quick kiss. Then he lobbed in a call to his friend Cam, and asked him to run intel on Tad.

  As he hung up the call, he steeled himself for what might be a tough topic—Charlie, and the way things had ended with him yesterday. Pissing off a gangster was, generally speaking, not a good idea, and Charlie Stravinsky was most decidedly mad at him.

  “Julia,” he started, clearing his throat. “You know how we made a promise to always be open? No more secrets?”

  “Of course,” she said, shooting him a quizzical look. Small lines of tension knitted across her brow.

  “I called Charlie yesterday,” he said, then shared the details of the call, down to the cold end of it when Charlie had hung up, pissed.

  “Shit,” she said, sucking in a breath. “That’s not good.”

  “I know. But I actually think it’s not going to be too hard to make good with him.”

  “A man like Charlie is a man no one needs on their bad side.”

  “And I’ve got a few ideas I’m mulling about.”

  “You’re not going to go into business with him, are you?” she asked, her eyebrows now shooting up to her hairline.

  He laughed deeply, and shook his head. “No. You know me—I’ve built my law firm on the backbone of being squeaky clean and it’s served me well. Just a little something to say I’m sorry is all I’m thinking.”

  “You gotta be careful, Clay,” she said, her voice now intensely serious, her eyes flashing him some kind of warning. She held up her hands, turning them into claws. “When he gets his hooks in you, he doesn’t let go until he gets every last bite. He’s like a lion chasing down a gazelle.”

  “I don’t know how to tell you this, so let’s just cut to the chase. I know how to be a lion too.”

  She tilted her head. “I know you do. Though I see you as more of a tiger. You’re my tiger,” she said, then purred playfully. “But be careful. Especially now.”

  “Especially with Tad expecting you to only consort with upstanding people.”

  “I’ll admit it; I do kind of want the expanded deal. Being a spokesperson for my drink? I like the idea. I’m proud of that drink, and what it’s done for me, how it launched my career to a new level.”

  “As you should be. So don’t worry. I won’t get close to a gangster and sully your squeaky-clean reputation anywhere but in the bedroom.”

  “And that’s where I’m anything but squeaky clean,” she said, and stood up from her chair, walked the few feet over to him and sat down in his lap. “Dirty me up again, you sexy thing.”

  “Gladly.”

  * * *

  He glanced out the hotel window as Julia blow-dried her hair. The sun was rising high; it was a little past noon. He planned to pop the question in the afternoon because she’d least suspect that. A fancy dinner out at the Paris hotel? A late night-proposal in a gondola at the Venetian? That’s precisely what she’d expect. But he’d surprise her if he asked her in the middle of the day. Catch her off-guard, ask the question, make her melt.

  He hoped.

  He never wanted to take anything for granted, not in business and not in love, and certainly never with Julia. But damn, he’d pictured it, scripted it, and imagined her response. He hoped to hell she wanted this as much as he did. A forever together.

  Snagging his phone from the table, he tapped out a quick text to Brent. Ten minutes.

  His reply arrived seconds later. Ten-four.

  He deleted the trail of evidence—the thread of messages between himself and his brother this morning. Not that Julia would ever go snooping, but he didn’t want one to accidentally pop up.

  A few minutes later, she’d clicked off the dryer, so he headed to the bathroom and stood in the door. “I heard from Cam. Want to know what Tad’s story is?”

  She nodded eagerly, her green eyes lighting up as she fluffed out her hair with her fingers. “Tell me. And make it tawdry, please. I want to know that he was a very bad boy, that he likes spankings from nuns, and that he covers it all up by acting like a goody-goody two shoes.”

  He tapped his finger on his nose and pointed at her. “Bingo.”