Vegas Curves (A Masters of the Game BBW Erotic Romance) (3 page)

As she pours, I note her name is Tina, she doesn't wear a wedding ring, she has rhinestones on her manicured nails and a run in her pantyhose. As I catalog Tina and her life, my stomach reminds me with a gurgle that I haven't eaten in sixteen hours. "I'll take a slice of pumpkin pie."

"Sure thing." She throws me a wink designed to increase the size of her tip but the gesture is too devoid of sincerity have any chance of working. She heads to the counter to collect my pie. Her skinny hips bounce left and right like she's playing pinball and has made it to the final round of the world championships.

Again, I am not impressed.

Trying not to count how many Tina clones with their sashaying hips I can squeeze into my skirt, I scan the parking lot and street. I keep my expression one of practiced indifference in case one of Solandro's crew has managed to tail me and because it is never a good idea to let your waitress know you don't think much of her.

"Anything else, hon?" Tina slides a plate with a fat wedge of pie on it in front of me.

I give her points for at least being fast.

"Thanks. That'll be it." I push the lonely ten dollar bill Solandro didn't swipe from my purse at Tina then take a bite of the pie. Flavor spills across my mouth and I close my eyes. I run the flat of my tongue against my upper palate, the motion bringing out more of the ginger and nutmeg. When the cinnamon hits my taste buds, I am reminded of Masters and the hungry complaints move south from my stomach.

Eating, I try to shake the idea of something else in my mouth and sliding down my throat. I fail, my mind returning to Masters with each bite and swallow. I have never had this problem before tonight -- before Luke. Not only is there zero room or time in my life for romance, men don't approach me.

Why would they? I am not Tina or her slightly meatier cousin. I wear thrift store clothes. Make-up is a luxury I cannot justify. I get my hair cut once every six months and only then because neither Tommy nor Rose is competent when it comes to hair and scissors.

In no way am I the kind of woman who gets attention from men. Masters, however, wants me to believe and now I am obsessing over him. I wonder how his facial hair, which I normally hate, would feel rubbing across my nipples or between my thighs as he takes my flesh into his mouth and sucks. The question instantly becomes a sensation. My skin flushes, my nipples pucker, and I feel the warm crawl of moisture against my labia.

Like a dirty dream I don't want to wake from, Luke Masters chooses that moment to walk through the door and slide into the booth behind me. The tailored silk suit is gone. In its place, he wears jeans, a dark t-shirt and a denim jacket. A lived-in ball cap covers his thick, dark curls, the brim pulled low to hid those warm brown eyes.

He is only barely recognizable, but my infatuated heart has memorized the lines of his body.

"What can I get you, handsome?" Tina shimmies up to his booth and starts purring like a cat in heat who has landed in a room full of tomcats. Taking his order, she can't stay still. Her hip rubs against the side of the booth. Her shoulders squirm, lifting and pushing her breasts in a little dance just for Luke.

"Extra-large coffee to go." Amusement reflects in his voice and he moves a little closer to where she stands.

I watch their reflection in the plate glass window. She places her hand on his bicep and squeezes. I barely contain the hiss building behind my lips. Is she fucking serious -- touching a complete stranger like that?

She gives another squeeze and her breasts lift again. "Big strong man like you needs more than coffee to start his day."

I snort, certain Tina intends something other than a plate full of bacon and eggs -- unless the eggs are as over easy as she is. Ears straining for his reply, I swallow my last forkful of pie.

"Mmm...how about I come back for lunch, sexy?"

Hearing the reciprocating purr in Masters' voice, I feel the blood drain from my face. If I want proof that Masters faked the heat directed at me in his penthouse, it is standing less than a foot from me, reeking of cheap perfume and stuffed into a navy blue skirt, size two.

Still, it is a wake-up call I desperately need. Rule four only applies to conning cons, not fools. For Rose's sake and mine, I cannot foolish fawn over Masters.

"You do that, sugar!" Laughing, Tina walks back to the counter and grabs a super-sized Styrofoam cup and lid.

It is cosmically unfair that I am sitting here wondering how I'm going to save my sister and stay out of jail while Tina is scheduling a hook-up with Masters. Even if he has no intention of returning, his approval of Tina with her tiny little body vibrated through his voice when he talked to her. I watch her work and a small, vindictive part of my soul I would rather not acknowledge hopes she spills a little of the hot liquid on herself.

"You're not listening, Marie."

Masters has said something that I did not hear. Blood rushes back to my face, heating the skin enough to break a sweat. "What?"

"Green Honda Civic out back," he repeats. There is no purr in his voice, just irritation at my inattentive lapse. "Passenger seat. If the driver isn't there in ten minutes, go to the next location."

Tina returns with his coffee, but she does not immediately hand it over. She holds it like bait and flirts with him. I get up and leave. As I walk down the drive in search of the green Honda, I see them together one last time. She leans down, whispering something in his ear as her breasts brush against his shoulder. His hand is on her hip and his eyes are on her breasts. She stops talking and slides a slip of paper across the table. It is the perfect size for a phone number. He pockets it with one hand as the other squeezes Tina's flesh and she smiles.

Fuck my life.

**********

Three minutes after I close the passenger door on the Civic, the man who delivered Tommy bruised and bound to the penthouse eases into the driver's seat. Driving in silence, he returns me to the casino. In the underground garage, we enter an access-card-only area then an elevator. No buttons mark the floors we pass, but I sense we are descending even further below street level.

That downward perception may just be my mood or echoes of the spiral my life is in since Rose's abduction. Certainly the area revealed when the elevator doors part looks nothing like the bowels of a casino. Instead, I am greeted by a labyrinth of shiny computers and office chairs intended for prolonged use.

My escort navigates me through the maze of desks and cubicles, his attention seemingly focused on a narrow door at the opposite side of the sprawling space. Not trusting me to follow behind him, he makes me walk in front and steers me with the press of a finger against my shoulders, switching between them when he wants me to change directions.

I already don't like him but only seconds remain to make some kind of connection. If I can, maybe he will slip and reveal information that will help me, Tommy and Rose out of this mess. Approaching the door, I decide to try.

"My brother--"

"Wait inside." Sliding his access card, he unlocks the door and pushes it open. "Luke'll be in when he's ready."

Bracing my palm against the door frame, I look up at him. A cold void stares down at me. My pulse skips nervously and anger heats my skin. This guy is no different than Masters or Solandro or my father. I am trash to be used, ignored, or abused.

Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him.

"Your ass ain't so big I can't move it." He wraps a hand around my elbow, his fingers expertly finding the same pressure points Masters used earlier to move me from the table to the cashier's cage.

Studying his face to see just how far I can push him, I quietly resist. His expression turns ugly in a heartbeat. The thick lips thin and his eyes become narrow slits.

"Not a hair out of place, Tony."

A hand lands lightly on my shoulder, the thumb extended so that I can feel it bare on my skin. When I stiffen, the thumb begins to rub lightly and the man continues speaking.

"You're already in hot water with him over the kid."

Trying to make sense out of this new development, I look over my shoulder. It is the man who took my purse and briefed Masters right before Tommy arrived at the penthouse. Without doubt, the guy can melt ice -- provided no one has seen him standing next to Masters. He possesses the same dark hair, same eyes, but with a few less years on him. For all his looks, he lacks that one element that delivers a gut punch whenever I look at Luke.

"You're his brother..." I trail off as a confused look spreads across the man's face.

"You think I look like this ugly mug?" Lifting a brow, he points at Tony and I am forced to correct the misunderstanding.

"I meant Luke."

"Indeed." He gives a bow, his gaze holding mine throughout the gesture. "Vincent Masters, at your service, Mademoiselle Layfayette."

Vincent brushes Tony's hand from my elbow like it was lint then turns me. His eyes crawl down my body. Heat shimmers in his eyes, but I won't be fooled by another Masters male. Seriously, I am almost insulted that they are using the same technique in an attempt to manipulate me and throw me off balance.

Do they really think I am that stupid?

The question makes me reconsider how I should react. Clearly, they do think I'm some kind of idiotic mess who will melt at the first smile they offer. Rolling my lips, I take one second too long in deciding whether there is any leverage to be had by playing along.

"Don't tempt me, baby girl." Planting a hand against Tony's chest, Vincent pushes him out of my personal space then steers me into the room. Taking my bag, he hands it to Tony.

"Big brother would kill me. As for what he would do to you..." His words trailing off, Vincent's gaze drops once more to circle my thick hips and round thighs. He takes a step forward, his tongue darting out to wet the center of his bottom lip. His foot lifts, holds for a heartbeat and then he shakes his head. Pulling back, he reaches for the door handle.

"What about me?" Part of me -- the bit that rests above my shoulders -- cringes at the sensual cruelty lurking in his brown eyes before his attention plummeted down my torso. All my other parts flush, the heat making the zone between my thighs humid and swollen as I think of seeing that same hungry look on Luke's face.

A leering smile plays across Vincent's mouth before he forces a bored mask into place. "You'll find out soon enough, beautiful."

**********

The room Vincent dumps me contains a couch, glass coffee table, side chair and big screen television. On the off chance I might hear anything useful in the outer room, I sit on the couch because it is closest to the door. Assuming someone is charged with monitoring me on a security camera, I allow myself one deep breath in that I slowly exhale in a failed attempt to expel the tension running through my body. After that single luxury, I work hard to appear calm and in my element while straining to hear beyond the heavy door.

Sitting there, eyes closed for concentration, I replay the events of the night past. There is little worth recounting of my time at the card table or my meeting with Solandro. I am only hopeful that Masters' men took surveillance photos of Solandro's crew and are now in the process of finding out everything they can. I also suspect that I am in this room for a more thorough interrogation by Masters.

Luke…

Thinking of him, I cannot keep a calm façade. The hours at the table and Solandro become ghosts dancing through an empty house. It is Luke who dominates my memories and, through them, my body.

A dozen details compete inside my head. None of the reasons why I should be wary of Masters surface first. Instead, I remember his eyes, the way they moved over my body, his hold on my head as he kissed me, how I yielded to him, and his gentle erasure of my tears so that Tommy would not witness me vulnerable and weak.

At that last memory, fresh shame heats my cheeks. I cannot deny my temporary surrender to the illusion that a man like Masters could be sexually interested in me. Even knowing better, I could not control my body's response. He is a sensory feast. His touch is like lightning in the distant desert sky. He smells and sounds so sinful I can taste him on the tip of my tongue with just the thought of him. And he is beautiful in a way that makes me hurt. Transparent or not, his feigned sexual interest has trebled my body's response.

Rule number 5 -- If you can't spot the sucker at the table, it's you.

Guilty as charged. I have plenty of experience in my life handling men -- cops, affable con artists, and hardened criminals like Solandro and my father. I have zero experience handling admirers and less than zero handling lovers. I will correct the omission once this whole damn thing with Rose and Masters ends. I will at least go out on a mother-loving date.

Repeating the promise inside my head, I hear the lock click on the door. It may not be Masters but my body reacts as if it certainly is and I have to fold my hands in my lap so that no one will see them shaking.

"Marie."

Hearing Luke's voice, my body tingles as if zapped by electricity. I don't respond beyond a small shift in the tilt of my head and the direction of my eyes. I can see he has discarded the disguise of a working man and I am glad for the change. The silk suit adds distance, reminding me that he exists in a world entirely different from mine.

Reaching the couch, he cups my chin and forces my gaze up. His lips move from relaxed to a flat line and his nostrils flare. "You gave the contact lenses to Solandro?"

"Yes." Expecting recriminations, I nervously fist the fabric of my skirt.

"That's what I get for letting you distract me." His grip on my chin lightens, his thumb moving to stroke beneath my bottom lip. "I sent the cards for chemical and spectral analysis, but why don't you save me time."

This is not the reaction I expect. I re-assess, my mind shifting through everything I learned as my father's star pupil. I must assume everything Masters does is an attempt to influence and manipulate me. The strokes against my flesh and the false confession that I distracted him are meant to suggest he finds me attractive.