Yes… much better.

  “Can I help you?” a man behind the concierge desk asks with a genuine and friendly smile. Not snooty as I would expect in a fancy hotel, and I guess that goes to the superior customer service The Royale strives for.

  “Yes… hi,” I say as I nervously tuck my hair behind my ears on both sides. “I need to see Mr. Brooks. How do I go about getting access to his apartment?”

  Micah told me some time ago that Walsh lives here.

  The concierge never loses his friendly smile, but a single eyebrow arches high at my temerity.

  “Oh, gosh,” I stammer. “That came out stalkerish. Mr. Brooks… I mean, Walsh… and I are longtime friends. He used to babysit me.”

  “Your name?” the man asks as he pulls up something on his computer.

  “Jorie Pearce.”

  After a moment of scanning, he looks up at me. “Your name isn’t on the approved list.”

  “Well, he’s not exactly expecting me.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Pearce,” he says with true regret in his voice. “But our policy is strict. No one gets up to the private penthouse without their name on the list.”

  I lean on the desk with one elbow and lower my voice. “Just out of curiosity… are there any women on that list?”

  The eyebrow shoots up again.

  “No, wait,” I say hastily as I hold my palms toward him in a silent plea to not process my last request either mentally or on the computer. “That’s totally stalkerish, and I didn’t mean that.”

  “Miss Pearce,” the concierge says, now with a hint of annoyance. “Perhaps you’d like to leave a message? I can get it up to Mr. Brooks today and he can call you.”

  “No, I need to see him now,” I tell him firmly. “And I swear it’s not to cook a rabbit in a pot on his stove. Can you please just call up to his apartment?”

  “That’s not our policy—”

  “Look,” I snap as I lean across the desk slightly. “I’m a lifelong friend of Walsh’s. My brother is his best friend. We lost touch for a few years, but we ran into each other last night. I really need to talk to him about something that happened last night, and I’m not leaving this hotel until you call up to his apartment.”

  The eyebrow doesn’t arch but it does draw inward to meet its match on the other side as he considers what I just said.

  “I swear to you,” and here I pause to look at his name tag, “Bentley. Please just call him. He won’t be mad.”

  With a sigh, he relents and picks up the phone receiver, punching in a five-digit number. After a pause, he says, “Mr. Brooks… I’m very sorry to disturb you, sir, but there’s a Miss Jorie Pearce here to see you. She says she’s a longtime friend.”

  I watch as Bentley listens, but I can’t gauge what’s being said as his face remains blank. Finally, he says, “Very good, sir.”

  I take this to mean I’ll be getting an escort to the penthouse suite, but Bentley replaces the receiver and says, “I’m sorry, Miss Pearce. But Mr. Walsh told me to tell you he’s busy and can’t receive you right now.”

  My eyes narrow at Bentley. “I don’t believe you. Call back and let me talk to him.”

  “I assure you, I just talked to him and that’s what he said.”

  “Call him back,” I order as I point to the phone.

  “I can’t,” he says almost with a wail. “If I do, he’ll fire me.”

  Okay, that hits home. I don’t want to get anyone in trouble, so I say, “Fine. Give me just a moment.”

  I take a few steps away from the concierge desk and pull my iPhone out. I shoot off a quick text to Micah. What’s Walsh’s phone number?

  I wait a few moments, but I know Micah is awake in San Francisco at this hour. His phone is always on, and he never ignores a text from me.

  He responds with the number before I can even start to tap my foot with impatience, adding on, Why?

  I hate the lie, but I write back,Came to Vegas for the day. Thought I’d see if he could meet up for lunch. Haven’t seen him in years.

  Cool, he writes back. Tell him I said, “what’s up, douche?”

  I roll my eyes as I text back, Real mature. Love ya. Later.

  After I save the number to my contacts, I open a new text to Walsh. Let me up to see you or I’m going straight back to The Wicked Horse to satisfy some further curiosities I have.

  I hit send and then walk back to the concierge desk. I merely lean one elbow on it and watch Bentley with a silent smile. The phone rings about ten seconds after that.

  Bentley’s eyes fly to mine as he listens, and then says, “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  When he replaces the receiver, he says, “I’m to show you to the penthouse elevator.”

  “Thank you, Bentley,” I say brightly.

  He scurries out from behind his desk, and I follow him through the main floor of the casino to a locked door that he opens with a security card. This leads to an elevator that opens when he pushes a button, and then with another swipe of his card on the interior, he pushes a button that says Penthouse Suite.

  Nice.

  Bentley gives me a smile before he backs out of the elevator and the doors close.

  I have no clue how tall The Royale is, but I’m guessing twenty floors or so. The ride up is swift, though, as there are no floors underneath to stop at.

  When the doors open, I’m momentarily stunned to be looking at a living room, as I hadn’t expected the elevator to open right into Walsh’s apartment.

  “This better be good, Jorie,” Walsh growls, and I turn to see him laying on a couch to my left with a tennis ball in his hand. He tosses the ball up casually and catches it. He tilts his head my way, one leg laying straight, the other propped up casually.

  And wow… he looks good in casual. Just a pair of track pants and a t-shirt that’s not overly tight but fits his form nicely. His feet are bare and the top half of his long hair is pulled back in a ponytail.

  “What are you doing?” I ask instead. “Brooding?”

  “Not in the mood for your sass,” he mutters as he sits up and puts the tennis ball on the coffee table. He plants both feet on the ground and props his elbows on his thighs to watch me with a flat expression. “Had enough of it during your tween years.”

  “Stop it,” I say swiftly.

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop talking about me as if I’m a kid to you,” I tell him.

  “But for the years I was around you, you were a kid,” he reminds me. “That’s how I remember you best.”

  “Liar,” I say softly as I walk toward him. “You remember me best by what we did last night.”

  Walsh’s jaw tightens as he watches me come closer.

  “I’m curious,” I continue as I come to a stop on the other side of the coffee table. “Had you ever thought about me in a dirty way before last night?”

  A muscle starts jumping right where his jaw meets his ear. The flash of guilt in his eyes and his silence tells me he did. A flood of triumph and desire courses through me as I realize that last night wasn’t just a fluke.

  “Walsh,” I say as I take a step around the coffee table.

  “Don’t,” he snaps at me as he stands swiftly from the couch and moves the opposite way to keep the table between us. “Just don’t come near me.”

  I blink at him in surprise. For a moment, I think I might have made an unwise decision. Maybe Vince did more damage to my self-esteem than I had originally thought, because my first reaction is Walsh is keeping me at bay because last night was a fluke and he’s repulsed by me.

  I flush with embarrassment and take two steps backward. “Um… I think I might have—”

  “Christ,” Walsh snarls as he rounds the coffee table and takes me by my shoulders. “Don’t get it in your head that you did anything wrong last night. I can see it written all over your face. You are the sexiest thing I think I’ve ever laid my eyes on, but Jorie… you and I are not going to happen again. Ever.”

  “I’m the sexiest thing you’ve ever laid eyes on, but you don’t want me?” I ask with uncertainty because I am beyond confused.

  Walsh closes his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath in that flares his nostrils wide. When he releases it, his eyes open to pin me in place. “You are Micah’s little sister and I just can’t.”

  “But that’s stupid—”

  “It’s not,” he says softly but with absolute surety.

  “I don’t get it. You’ll have to do better than that because we are both adults. I need a better explanation, Walsh, because what we did last night… I never—”

  “Just don’t,” he snaps again as he spins away. “I don’t need the reminder.”

  “Was it bad?” I ask, because that’s the way he’s acting right this moment. Good God, he’s confusing the shit out of me.

  Walsh looks over his shoulders at me, shooting me an exasperated look. “That’s about the dumbest question you’ve ever asked me, and trust me… you had some stupid ones growing up.”

  I take my own deep breath, trying to calm my nerves and my annoyance. “Okay… please just tell me why me being Micah’s sister should stop us from having a relationship?”

  “I don’t do relationships,” he says icily. “Only no-strings fucking.”

  “I’m down with that,” I say with a shrug. Truly that’s not really the way I operate as I’m more of a traditional girl, but hey… my husband kicked me out of our house so maybe I need to reevaluate my personal norms.

  “God, Jorie,” Walsh says with a pleading voice. “Why can’t you just accept—”

  “I’ll accept it if you give me a good reason, Walsh,” I tell him with sincerity. “Just take a few moments and explain it to me. We’re both adults.”

  “Fine,” he says as he jerks his head toward a chair that sits adjacent to the couch. I take a seat there as he silently requested. He sits back down on the couch, elbows on his knees as he looks me right in the eye. “Micah is more than my best friend. He’s like a brother to me.”

  “I get that,” I say quickly. “Your parents did more raising of him than my dad did.”

  Walsh nods. “But that’s not the only reason, Jorie. I watched you grow up. No, I more than watched. I had a hand in helping you to grow up. Every time Micah had to watch you, I was there, too. I watched you learn to crawl and then walk. I watched you get scraped knees, play with dolls, and score soccer goals. Christ, you even made Micah and me have tea parties with you. Then I watched you develop into a beautiful girl who crushed on boys along with Elena. I watched your heart get broken, and I beat two guys who hurt you to bloody pulps. Yes, Micah’s like a brother to me, but Jorie… you’re like a sister, and I just can’t.”

  Complete disappointment floods through me as I had not considered this at all. I thought this was a bro thing, which I can argue against all day long. Micah would never begrudge me a relationship with Walsh, assuming Walsh was open to one. He has made me question that, but first…

  “When was the first time you had a dirty thought about me?” I ask, changing the conversation to throw him a little off balance.

  Never in my life have I seen Walsh embarrassed. First, it would be hard to tell given his olive skin—passed down to him by his Greek mother—but second… Walsh is just one of the most self-possessed people I know. He doesn’t blush.

  Except right now, I can see red clearly staining his cheeks.

  “When?” I press upon him.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he says as he stands abruptly from the couch. “You wanted an explanation and I gave it to you. I need you to accept it and move on from this, Jorie. What happened last night was amazing. You’re amazing and Vince is wrong about you. But it’s not going to be me who helps you along this journey of self-discovery. It can’t be me.”

  I don’t stand right away, but merely study him for a moment so I can assess how strongly he believes his own words. Judging by the hard set to his jaw and the concrete determination focused right on me, I’m guessing he believes it deeply.

  “Fine,” I say as I stand up and walk toward the elevator. “I just hope it’s not awkward if we run into each other at The Wicked Horse again.”

  “It won’t be,” he grits out, the muscle in his cheek jumping again.

  Hmm… I thought that little threat might get him to budge, but he’s calling my supposed bluff.

  Here’s the thing, though. Walsh hasn’t seen me for a long time. I’ve grown in ways he’d have no idea about. He’s judging me based on an image of a little girl.

  What he doesn’t know is that I don’t bluff. If I say I’m going to do something, I do it.

  I give him a bright smile as I step backward into the elevator and push the one and only button available. “Good. But if you’re in any way anxious about it, I’d avoid The Orgy Room tonight. That’s the room I want to try out next.”

  The doors slide shut, and I smile at the fury on Walsh’s face.

  CHAPTER 7

  Walsh

  I’ve been coming to The Wicked Horse ever since it opened a little over two years ago. I forged an easy friendship with its owner, Jerico, and it absolutely suits my lifestyle.

  For as long as I’ve been sexually active, I’ve always been dirty.

  I mean, really dirty.

  My ex-wife Renee can attest to that, and it was really the one thing that held the marriage together for as long as it did. She was a wildcat in bed. While The Wicked Horse wasn’t around when we were together, she would have totally been a swinger there with me. I know this because we swung with other couples on occasion.

  Once I got divorced, I found dating to be just fucking hard. It was more effort than it was worth. I didn’t want to get married again, but not because Renee destroyed me or anything. In fact, our parting was quite amicable. It’s just that marriage didn’t serve any purpose. At least my marriage to Renee hadn’t other than having constant and amazing sex whenever I wanted it. After my divorce, I wasn’t lonely. I didn’t feel the need to share my deepest thoughts with a woman. I was completely fine and happy having casual sex without commitments.

  So coming to The Wicked Horse has always been a treat. It’s never been repetitive. It’s never been dull. It’s been quite fulfilling as a matter of fact, which is probably why I come at least five out of seven days of the week.

  But tonight, as I ride the elevator up, my stomach is cramped into a painful knot. I’m here two hours earlier than I normally come, and only because I need to know if Jorie is really going to take advantage of this place again.

  I swear I’m not going to interfere, but I need to know.

  “Good evening, Mr. Brooks,” Larissa says from behind the podium with a welcoming smile. She’s a great fuck, and I’ve had her multiple times. I’m not the kind of man who only has a woman once. If she’s sweet and makes me come, I’ll hit it again.

  And again.

  I just won’t buy her dinner for it first.

  “Larissa,” I say somewhat stiffly because I’m tense as hell. I should ask her to take a break and suck my cock, but that wouldn’t even scratch the surface of my anxiety.

  I head to the bar and order two fingers of whiskey, house brand being fine because I do nothing more than shoot it down. The bartender eyes me warily since I never drink alcohol here. With a hiss, I set the glass down and make my way to The Orgy Room to see if Jorie is really going to do what she promised.

  ♦

  Two hours later, she still hasn’t shown, and I don’t know whether I’m relieved or pissed. I mean… of course I’m relieved she’s not here. I don’t want her randomly fucking guys because she needs to prove to her ex-douche that she’s sexy and desirable. I’m happy she hasn’t walked through those doors.

  But I am slightly pissed I’ve wasted two hours of my life because I let Jorie pull my chain.

  No, wait… she yanked my chain and she did it hard.

  She did it to prove I’m invested in her and she did it brilliantly, little minx. I have it in my mind that the next time I see her, I should bend her over my lap and turn that pale skin bright red with the palm of my hand.

  No, wait… not going to see her again. We’re done. If I were to put her over my lap and spank her, that would most definitely lead to me slipping a finger inside to see how much she loved it and then that would lead to us tearing each other up.

  I’m sure of it.

  My eyes roam around The Orgy Room where I’ve been waiting for Jorie to appear. There’s a chance, I suppose, she went to one of the other rooms to seek her pleasure, but I doubt it. She mentioned this room specifically because the little smartass knew I’d show. Her not showing means she has the power right now, and I don’t like that one bit. Control is my middle name.

  I should just fuck someone in here. There’s not a woman in here who would say “no” to me and I’ve had several approach who I’ve turned down. Pick a girl, pound one out for both of us, and get gone. Easy plan.

  Except I’ve sat here in this room for almost two hours, watching all kinds of filthy stuff going on, and while my dick isn’t dead, it hasn’t reacted appropriately. It’s been semi-hard for sure, but it’s not been aching for release. I have a moment of panic that maybe I’m getting too old for this shit, or that I’m just not turned on by this stuff anymore, which means my sex life will be on the decline.

  But I immediately push that thought away. I have no choice but to because Jorie struts into The Orgy Room, and my dick goes rock hard. She’s wearing a denim mini-skirt that’s barely covering her goods, black ankle boots with a heel so high I’m not sure how she walks, and a white halter top that’s so thin her hard nipples are poking through.

  Fuck.

  I involuntarily push my palm down onto my dick, not to rearrange it, but to try to force it into submission.

  No luck.

  Her eyes scan the room slowly… leisurely. They cross over me, and she sees me standing there because she gives me a slight smile and a nod of greeting before continuing her perusal. She doesn’t look back my way, and that fucking pisses me off so badly my feet are moving before my brain tells them to.

  As I cross the room, Jorie’s eyes seem to focus on something, so I look that way.