“Sugar, I know that.”
“Actually, you can buy me a scotch.”
“Why Cristal?” the guy asks. “I’ve always loved Veuve Clicquot.”
My eyebrow shoots up. “Oh?”
“Yeah, it’s not as trendy, but I like it better.”
So the guy knows his expensive champagnes. And is he really going to buy a bottle just to give me a glass?
“But if you want Cristal—”
“No, I’ve been meaning to try Veuve Clicquot again. The first time I tasted it, it was sour, but friends swore it had to be a bad batch, or worse, counterfeit.”
“Veuve Clicquot it is.” He raises his hand to flag a waitress.
Okay, so this guy has me intrigued. Not interested, but intrigued.
But I don’t care how much money he spends on me. I’m not about to spread my legs for any price.
He is attractive, though. The body of The Rock and a face that’s pleasant to look at. Certainly not the kind of guy who has to pay for sex, at least not in a town like Vegas.
So does that mean he likes me?
A dark-haired waitress finally approaches us. “Bottle of Veuve Clicquot,” my date tells her.
“You didn’t just do that,” I say. “You didn’t just order a bottle of one of the most expensive champagnes.”
“Maybe you’re worth it.”
“And maybe you’re a drug dealer.” I smile sweetly to soften the accusation.
The guy laughs. “Yeah, I get mistaken for that a lot at my restaurant.”
“Your restaurant?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You know what’s crazy?” I ask.
“What?”
“How long have we been talking and I don’t even know your name?”
The guy laughs. “Rusty. My name is Rusty.”
“Rusty.” I run the name over my tongue. It’s a nice name.
“And you are?”
“Samera.”
The waitress reappears, and I can’t help thinking that she was super fast. She presents us with the bottle of champagne and asks if we’d like her to open it.
“I’ll open it,” Rusty tells her. But before he does, he withdraws his wallet from his blazer and passes her a Platinum American Express card. “Charge it to this.”
“Absolutely.” The waitress grins as she strolls away.
Rusty now turns his attention to the bottle of champagne. He wrestles the cork open, and the popping elicits cheers from those around us.
Rusty reaches for one of the two champagne flutes on the tray the waitress brought to our table. He fills it, passes it to me, then fills his own.
He grins at me as he clinks his glass against mine. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I echo.
The fruity taste plays over my tongue. “This is delicious,” I tell him. “I definitely had a bad batch the first time.”
“I figured you’d like it.”
“So.” Once again, I cross my legs. “So, you’re in the restaurant business.”
“Five establishments in the state of Illinois.”
“Really.” Is this guy bullshitting me?
“Tex-Mex joints.”
“Wow. I’m impressed.”
“Thanks.”
“Why’d you decide on Tex-Mex?”
“I grew up in Houston, practically the home of Tex-Mex. When I moved to Illinois, I didn’t see a lot of places like that in my town.”
“Which town is that?”
“Springfield.”
“Haven’t been there.”
“Lucky you.” Rusty grins. He really does have an attractive smile.
“How’d you end up in Springfield? Considering you were from Houston.”
“Love,” he answers honestly. “But I don’t live there anymore. I’m in Chicago now.”
“The love thing didn’t work out?”
“Oh, it worked out. I married her.”
“I see.” My stomach clenches. So this son of a bitch is married.
“My wife died six months ago.”
“Oh.”
My eyes widen in horror. “Oh my God. I’m sorry.” Now I feel like a fool for judging him.
“Thanks. It was an awful time. She was my soul mate.”
It strikes me as odd, this beefcake of a guy talking about his soul mate. But he’s clearly not just a guy in Las Vegas to get laid. He’s a guy capable of emotions, capable of love.
I should know better than to judge someone based on their appearance, considering people do that to me all the time.
“I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose someone,” I say.
“It was the worst thing I ever had to go through,” he goes on. “But it was for the best, you know? She had cancer. God, that’s one bitch of a disease.”
“Oh, that’s awful.”
Rusty nods solemnly, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s going to get emotional.
“Yeah. What can ya do? Life hands you something like that…”
Rusty lowers his eyes and breathes in heavily. Despite the fact that we’re in this bar with music playing and many people mingling and laughing, I feel like it’s only him and me in the room. I reach forward and gently rest my hand on his.
“Rusty…” I really don’t know what to say.
His smile is faint but appreciative. And then he pulls away.
He downs his champagne, a deliberate gesture as far as I’m concerned. I think he needed to break the intimacy between us.
When he faces me again, he seems totally normal. Not at all like a guy who just got lost in emotional memories.
“I feel like dancing,” he announces. “Maybe we can go to the club. It’s a little more upbeat than this place.”
“Sure,” I agree. “No…I have a better idea. Why don’t we go to Bellagio?”
“Bellagio? Why?”
“Because when I got to Vegas, I thought that’s where my friends and I were staying. And when I found out we weren’t…well, I was a little disappointed.”
“Disappointed? This place is gorgeous.”
“I know. But I kind of want to check it out before I leave. Why not with you? They’ve got to have a nightclub there.”
“All right. Why not?”
“Oh, shit,” I say suddenly. “The champagne.”
“We’ll take it with us. Sneak it into the club like a couple of teenagers.” He winks at me. “Wait here while I go find the waitress and get my credit card back.”
As I wait for Rusty, I drink more champagne and sway my body to the R&B tune filling the lounge. A few guys look my way and smile, but I ignore them.
“I have to tell you,” Rusty begins when he returns. “I feel like the luckiest guy in this place. Every man in here is looking at me with envy.”
Rusty helps me to my feet, then lifts the bottle of champagne off the table. I loop my arm through his and together we head for the door.
Ten minutes later we’re entering the Fontana Bar, Rusty not-so-discreetly hiding the bottle of champagne beneath his blazer at his side.
We search around until we find a table near the terrace, from which we can see the impressive fountains. A range of colors illuminates the water as it shoots into the air in a dazzling show.
“You sit here,” Rusty tells me. “I’ll get a couple of glasses.”
With Rusty gone, I check the place out. There’s a dance floor and large stage to my right, but the red curtains are drawn, meaning there isn’t an act performing tonight. At least not right now. Instead, a DJ mixes the music. The dance floor is packed with people bouncing their bodies to the electric techno beat.
Rusty returns and fills two wineglasses with champagne. We both drink a little. Then he places his glass on the table and sweeps me into his arms.
“Ready to shake that beautiful body of yours?”
He doesn’t wait for my answer, just leads me to the dance floor and finds an empty space for us. I immediately throw my hands in the air and sway my body. I move my hips a beat slower than the music in a way that is designed to seduce.
Rusty raises his eyebrows as he dances toward me, matching my moves.
Slowly I turn, positioning my butt against his groin. His hands lock on my hips, hold me against him. When the music changes to a salsa tune, I ease my upper body forward and gyrate against him in a much bolder sexual movement. I’m not sure, but I think I hear Rusty growl as he runs his fingers over my ass.
What I am certain of is that he’s got a boner. A big, impressive boner.
I stand fully and turn around so that I’m facing him. I reach for Rusty’s hands, hold them as I twist my hips and lower my body. Lower and lower I go, until I’m on my haunches, my head positioned in front of his crotch.
Rusty pulls me upright. “Naughty girl. Naughty, naughty girl. You should be spanked.”
I laugh, turn again, and jiggle my ass against his cock. The champagne has worked a number on me. My head feels light, and I’m in a especially flirtatious mood.
Leaning against Rusty, I grip his thighs. They’re muscular. Firm.
Just the way I like it.
Rusty breathes hotly against my ear. “Do you have any idea what I want to do to you?”
I laugh again. Then I grab his hand and lead him off the dance floor.
“You don’t want to dance anymore?” he asks.
“I’m thirsty.”
Hanging on to Rusty’s hand, I zigzag through the crowd until we’re at our table. I’m not sure where I want my association with him to lead, but for now I’m having a ton of fun.
So much fun that I push Rusty onto the soft leather chair. He stares up at me, a look of pleasant shock on his face. My eyes don’t leave his as I lower myself onto his lap. From this position, Rusty’s head is very close to my breasts.
I know I’m torturing him, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
“You have me seriously hot and bothered—”
“Shh.” I place a finger on his lips to shush him. I let it linger in a deliberate sexual gesture.
Should I fuck him? I wonder.
He can be an easy Vegas fling. Given the story he told me about his wife, I’m sure he’s got to be grieving. In other words, he might be up for a fling to distract him from his sadness but nothing more than that.
We’re on the exact same page.
I reach beyond Rusty’s head to lift one of the wineglasses off the table. First I take a liberal sip, then I put the glass to Rusty’s lips so he can do the same.
A bit of champagne drips down his chin. I scoop it up with a finger, then put that finger in my mouth and suck on it slowly.
“You’re fucking killing me.”
“Want to go back to the dance floor?”
He thrusts his groin upward, I suppose to make sure I feel his erection. “Is that what you want to do?”
A moment passes before I answer. “Yeah.”
Before we head back to the dance floor, I pour myself another glass of the Veuve Clicquot. It’s meant to be savored, but I finish the glass in a few large gulps.
When I look around, I catch Rusty’s eyes lingering on my ass.
“Want some?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah.” With his gaze fixed on my behind, there’s no doubt what he’s referring to.
I hold the bottle of champagne toward him. “I was talking about this.”
Rusty takes the bottle from me and drinks straight from it.
“Come on, baby.” I tug on his hand. “Let’s dance.”
I’m already moving my body to 50 Cent’s “In Da Club” as we head onto the dance floor. My hands are in the air. The rhythm of my body is slow and sultry. Rusty can’t hide the lust in his eyes as he stares at me.
I kick the seduction routine up a notch, running my fingers through my hair, gyrating my body in an even more explicit manner. Around me, I hear some catcalls, but I tune them out. All I care is that I’m turning Rusty on.
He wraps his arms around me and holds me close. “Anyone ever tell you that you dance like a stripper?”
I howl at that, but don’t answer him.
“I know you’re not mine,” he goes on. “But I’m feeling a bit possessive right now. So many guys are lusting after you. Even some of the women.”
“What’s your point?”
Rusty locks his hands on my hips and holds them in place as he rubs his cock against my pelvis. “That’s my point.”
“You expect me to fuck you?” I whisper in his ear. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”
“Oh, don’t play coy. You know your way around a bedroom.”
I walk away from Rusty and don’t look back. Let him wonder what’s going on.
If I fuck him, it’ll be on my terms, not his.
Back at our table, I fill my glass with the last of the Veuve Clicquot. But I suddenly have an odd feeling—as though among the crowd in this club, someone is watching me.
Maybe I’ve had too much to drink. Forgoing the champagne, I reach into the small purse that’s hanging off my shoulder and withdraw a cigarette.
“Wanna cigarette?” I ask Rusty, who has joined me at our table. I wobble a little, and he slips an arm around my waist.
“Here.” I offer Rusty the cigarette.
He takes it from my hand, and the next moment, leans forward and covers my mouth with his. I’m completely caught off guard, but I don’t pull away. His tongue is hot and hungry as it plays over mine, igniting my body completely.