Text Appeal (22 page)

So fucking tempting.
But not tonight.

Are you buying some other woman lingerie tonight?
she
typed. She meant to be teasing, but she realized there was a part of her that hated the idea of him with another woman.

You got part of it right. Have you found the package yet?

Riley frowned.
What package?

I left it on your pillow.

Standing, Riley looked to Lacey. “Was Charlie here earlier?”

Lacey nodded. “Yeah, he visited a little while you were at dance class.”

Riley shot to her bedroom, smiling as she wondered what Charlie had left her.

The Fredrick’s box sat on her pillow, a skinny ribbon encompassing its middle. Riley fought her schoolgirl grin as she lowered herself onto the mattress. She positioned the box in her lap.

After casting a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure Lacey hadn’t followed her into the bedroom, she
slid
the ribbon off the end and lifted the lid. There wasn’t much inside, but the little that was there made her insides flip-flop.

Black lace panties with ties at each hip, and a barely-there black lace bra that had so little fabric, she wasn’t even sure it qualified as
demi
-cup.

But what really sent her belly a buzz was the note in Charlie’s solid hand:
I’ll be by at seven. Wear whatever you want on top and these underneath. Tonight, I show you what’s it’s like to do Vegas
with the Devil
.

She pulled her lip between her teeth and clenched her thighs together. How could he send her this and then tell her they’d spend their evening in public? Didn’t he know that this gift would make her want to be alone with him?

Her phone beeped.
Will you be ready?

Yes.

She took a breath. She was an adult who’d had twenty-six years of practice in self-restraint. She could do this. Her only real problem was she had no idea what to wear. She hadn’t spent much time in the casinos—she preferred managing the controlled chaos to experiencing it—but she knew enough to know that not a single item in her closet was appropriate for the kind of night Charlie had in mind.

She glanced at the clock. Six p.m. She didn’t have enough time to go shopping. There was only one solution.

“Lacey!”

Lacey stuck her head in Riley’s door. “Yes?”

“I need an outfit for a night on the town,” she said. “Can you help?”

Lacey’s lips curved into a cat-who-ate-the-canary grin and she pressed her door open all the way and gestured inside. “This is going to be fun.”

***

There was only one thing in this world that Charlie enjoyed more than a beautiful woman: a woman who had made herself beautiful for him. And the only thing that could top
that
was
Riley
making herself up just for him.

She wore a red gown in some filmy fabric that draped over her curves and stopped just below her knees. Red-painted toes peeked out of strappy red sandals. Her hair was down in waves around her shoulders, a lock swept back from her face in sparkling clip, exposing glittering rubies at her ears. Her eyes were lined, and her lips were painted to match her dress.

At the sight of her, his stomach clenched with some emotion he couldn’t identify—or wasn’t sure he wanted to.

He ran his gaze over her again—bare toes to bare shoulders to wide eyes—and thought that he had to be the luckiest fucking bastard on the planet.

“I don’t normally dress like this,” she explained.

He raised a brow. “Damn shame.”

Her lip twitched, a smile pulling at it. “Your sister helped.”

He extended his hand for hers, and as she put her small fingers into his palm, he said, “Remind me to buy her something really expensive to express my gratitude.” In one quick movement, he pulled her to him and pressed his lips to hers.

She responded instantly, opening her mouth beneath him and sliding a hand inside his jacket.

He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close so he could feel all those curves pressed against him. Knowing what she wore underneath only added to the sweet torture.

“
Er
-hum!”

Charlie broke the kiss, and looked over Riley’s head to see Lacey standing behind her, hands on hips. “Can I count on you to have her home by midnight?”

Charlie swallowed, his mind still swimming from the effects of Riley’s kiss. At the moment, he wasn’t interested in taking her anywhere but her bedroom. He’d resist that urge. He was here to woo her. Sex could wait.

Riley turned to her friend, leaning back against Charlie’s chest. “Midnight is unlikely, Lace.”

Lacey frowned. “Well, I won’t be at work in the morning to shut off the fire alarm, so you better bring her home instead of taking her up to that suite of yours.”

Charlie looked down at Riley, questioning. Riley shook her head.

Lacey crossed her arms over her chest and looked them up and down. “You two look good together.”

“Then why do you look so worried?” Riley asked.

“Because I can’t decide which one of you is more likely to get
hurt.
”

Riley waved a hand, dismissing her concern. “See you later, Lacey. Don’t wait up.” She laced her fingers with Charlie’s and led him into the hall.

Charlie pulled the door shut after them. “Wait,” he said softly as Riley started to head to the stairs.

She turned, looking up at him.

His breath caught. Would he ever get over how beautiful she was? Tracing his thumb along the edge of her jaw, he said, “You know I won’t hurt you, right?”

She wrinkled her nose, still smiling.
“Said the lion to the gazelle.”

“No, I—” He dipped his head, kissing her softly. When he pulled away, her eyes were closed, and she touched her tongue to her bottom lip, as if looking for his taste there. “I won’t hurt you,” he repeated.

Her eyes fluttered open and she shook her head. “I may be relatively inexperienced, Charlie, but I’m not naïve. I know what this is. Don’t worry about me.”

She headed for the stairs and Charlie frowned. What did she mean by that?

Chapter Sixteen

“So, where are we going? Didn’t we do the romantic dinner thing a couple nights ago?” Not that she minded. She’d had too few romantic dinners for a twenty-six-year-old woman.
Chaz
had taken her out, but it had never felt like wooing. And he’d
never
picked her up in a limo. Not unless her father had somehow footed the bill.

Charlie leaned forward and opened the mini-fridge. He studied its contents for a moment before choosing a bottle. “Last time,” he explained, “you belonged to someone else. Tonight, you’re mine.” He turned the bottle to her. “Champagne?”

Riley nodded. “Please.” She bit her lip. “What makes you think I’m yours now?”

Charlie popped the cork on the champagne and poured her a glass. “Well,” he said, offering the golden liquid to her, “are you
his
?”

As she took the glass from him, their fingers brushed, and for a moment the air between them thickened with awareness, lust, and primitive need. “I’m not his,” she said, shaking her head to clear the fog, and thinking
I’m not anyone’s
. “Let’s not talk about
Chaz
. Tonight isn’t about him.”

“No,
tonight’s
about letting go, cutting loose.” He raised his glass.
“To fun.”

She
clinked
her glass to his.
“Your specialty.”

He winked at her as he took a sip of his champagne, and she followed his lead, pouring the bubbly liquid on her tongue.

Riley had indulged in champagne on five other occasions in her life.
Four times belonged to the midnight on each New Year’s Eve since she’d turned twenty-one.
The other time, she’d been sixteen and snuck a boy into her house. Charlie Singleton reminded her all too much of Adam
Renard
, the tall, dark, and handsome jock from the wrong side of the tracks. Adam had talked her out of the key to her father’s wine cellar then, later, her virginity.

She smiled into her champagne. Usually, she was ashamed to remember those days—a precious few weeks of rebellious youth when she’d dared to live a life that pleased her more than it pleased her father. In a couple months’ time, Adam had introduced her to her ING, and then Riley and her hidden naughty side had been fast friends.

Once—in a rush of defiant independence—Riley had even told her father to
fuck off
. Oh, he’d been angry. But more than that, he’d been shocked. When she’d moved in with him at twelve years of age, he’d taken the reigns of her life into both of his hands and carefully guided
every
move she’d made. Imagine his surprise when he came home to find his daughter, the girl the media had already labeled Vegas’ Good
Daughter, drunk on his expensive champagne and naked in the arms of some kid who did not meet his list of requirements.

Sometimes she’d wondered how her life would have been different if Adam hadn’t been as terrified of Quinton Carter as the rest of the world was. She couldn’t blame him. He’d been a kid at the time, and in addition to a daunting physique, her father had considerable social and political power. When he’d threatened to destroy Adam’s future, Adam had been right to believe him.

When she’d sobered up—alone—she’d come to her senses, and her father had found her a nice girls’ school where she could finish her high school education.

“What are you smiling about?” Charlie asked. He sat across from her in the limo, his long legs extended in front of him, crossed at the ankle. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, hard body, he filled his dark suit perfectly—so perfectly that when he’d shown up at her door she’d found herself wondering how well he would fit into the corporate world. She’d had to shake away the thought—that was a mind used to measuring up men as potential spouses, and she wasn’t interested in Charlie’s spouse-potential. This was about something else. He’d nailed it perfectly with their toast:
fun
.

“The champagne reminds me of my wild youth,” she admitted, answering his question.

Charlie raised a disbelieving brow. “Oh? Do tell.”

She shrugged. She didn’t want to tell him of a time when she’d been brave enough to think, do, and act for herself. How could she confess she’d only known what that was like for a few months when he’d been living that life for as long as he could remember? “It was short-lived. I’m just glad it lived at all. Every girl needs a few wild memories.”

He leaned forward, settling his elbows on his knees. “You’re still young,” he said softly, his eyes locked on hers. “Who says you can’t make more?”

She grinned. “Is that an invitation?”

Charlie shrugged carelessly, and she threw back the rest of her champagne. Charlie leaned across his seat and flipped a switch and sultry club music filled the limo.

She crossed to him, and before she could hesitate, she hiked her dress and straddled his hips.

Charlie
groaned,
a deep, rumbling sound in the back of his throat. She lowered her mouth to his, anxious to be swept away by the high created by his touch. If Charlie Singleton was a drug, she was a helpless addict.