SinCityTryst (5 page)

Chapter Seven

Ethan woke up suddenly and completely, as he was apt to do
in his line of work, and two things registered immediately.

One, he had a raging hard-on. And two, Sara was no longer in
bed beside him.

Already missing the feel of her plush curves against him,
Ethan blinked at the digital clock beside the bed and frowned. They’d only been
asleep for a couple of hours. He stared unseeingly into the gloom of the
darkened room, listening intently for a few seconds.

Then he threw back the covers with a curse, dragging a hand
through his tousled hair and striding across the room toward the bathroom,
where he knew he wouldn’t find her. The hotel room had become too still, too
quiet.

Goddamn it. She’d snuck out while he was asleep.
Real
fucking smooth, la Montagne
, he thought with derision as he snatched his
clothes off the floor and stuck his legs back in his pants. His entire body
felt sore and exhausted, and there were teeth and claw marks on his arms. He
felt an unmistakable stirring deep in his belly when he thought of how he got
them. He flipped the switch in the bathroom, moistened a hand towel and wiped
his bobbing, half-erect cock. He’d come again earlier in the evening while
watching Sara scream through multiple orgasms, although he sincerely doubted
that she had been aware of that fact at the time, and the stickiness still
coated his belly and upper thighs.

Tossing the rag back into the bathtub, he wanted to kick
himself for his stupidity. He’d taken this all way too fast. They’d devoured
each other like animals, hungry and so needy they’d been heedless to anything
else. It had been so blistering and all-consuming that it hadn’t left much of
an opportunity for talking or coddling. She’d probably be shocked to know that
he’d had his eye on her for months, and he wanted to take his time getting to
know her, in bed and out. If she hadn’t run out so quickly, maybe they could’ve
had a nice long, hot shower together, while he reacquainted himself with those
fantastic curves, all slick with water and soap…

Shaking his head and swallowing hard against the steamy
images in his mind, Ethan yanked himself back into the present and checked to
make sure that she hadn’t called his cell while he was asleep. He dialed her
cell and waited, cursing softly when it went straight to voicemail. He thought
for a moment to text her, but discarded it. He didn’t want to text her about
last night, he needed to see her face and gauge her reaction when he brought it
up.

She was everything he had hoped for in a woman—warm, funny,
irreverent, easy to talk to and a sexual dynamo to boot. Her passionate nature
was a huge turn-on, and he was eager to finish what they had started with
gusto. His body hummed with renewed excitement just thinking of the way she’d
generously deep-throated him, the way she had screamed and collapsed in
paroxysms of pleasure when he’d used her dildo on her. He remembered the way
she’d writhed against the bedclothes, dewy and trembling and hotter than any
Vegas act he’d ever witnessed. Damn, she was the whole package. A complete
sweetheart and phenomenal in the sack.

Where the hell could she be? Why hadn’t she tried to wake
him up?

He snapped his cell open again to make sure that there had
been no calls, and blinked. Three missed calls from Sean? Sean! Fuck. It was
his best friend’s bachelor weekend in Vegas. And he was the best man.

Ethan sucked his teeth in annoyance and exhaled noisily. He
supposed he should feel like shit for cutting out on his friends without any
warning, but he couldn’t dredge up any real regret. It had all been so fucking
incredible, the most intense sensual experience of his life. If he had the
chance, he knew he would do it all over again. His gaze lingered on the bed as
he recalled the way Sara had suckled him on her knees, her huge eyes looking up
at him with a seductive twinkle, her plump bottom begging for the flat of his
hand to warm it. Her sweet submissiveness and utter trust called something
deeply primal in him, and he planned to explore it further at the earliest
opportunity.

And he needed to talk to her. Soon. He needed to let her
know that it hadn’t been a case of hit-it-and-quit-it for him. Despite his
elusive little lady’s disappearing act this evening, he couldn’t wait to prove
to her over and over again that the tender feelings that had roiled up in him
during their lovemaking hadn’t been a fluke.

Just then, his phone rang. “Sara?” he answered
automatically. “Is that you?”

There was a stunned pause, and then a shout of deep
laughter. “Uh, no, dude. But I guess I don’t need to ask you where the hell
you’ve been the past three hours.”

“Sean.” Ethan’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. “Hey,
man. No, I didn’t mean—she and I, we didn’t—I mean, we
did
but we
didn’t…” Ethan clamped his mouth shut against the half-uttered excuses that
threatened to tumble out on their own accord. Sean didn’t need to know the
details.

What the hell could he say anyway? That he’d been unable to
keep his hands off the sumptuous maid of honor for one more second and that
they’d spent the past few hours in a sexual haze when he should’ve been sending
his best friend off to the state of holy matrimony in high style? He sounded
like a douche, even to his own ears.

Plus, he wasn’t sorry about the latest development in the
slightest.

“We were catching up in private,” Ethan explained
cautiously.

Sean chortled uproariously. “Oh, I just bet you were,” he
howled over the phone. “Don’t worry about me, brother,” Sean admonished. “If
you and Sara stopped dancing around each other long enough to see how perfect
you are for each other, I’m happy for you, bud. Where is she anyway?”

Ethan sighed and rubbed his face, almost groaning at the
faint scent of her excitement that still lingered on his hand. Sean knew him
too well. “I wish I knew, man. She took off while my back was turned.” He
kicked at his socks on the floor, and one landed near the TV console.

“Damn, already?” Sean hooted. “You must be losing your touch.
What happened? Been so long for you that you forgot what goes where on a real
woman?”

“Fuck you, man,” Ethan retorted without any heat as he
retrieved his wayward socks. “I don’t know. I think she’s running scared.”

“Again? You got warts on your willy or something?”

Ethan sighed. “Shut up, will ya? Angie tells me that that I
don’t have anything to worry about, but, damn…she took off without a word. I
kinda do feel like a leper.”

He could practically see his friend shrug. “Well, will you
at least tell me if she was worth the wait? You’ve been hankering after her for
almost eight months. Don’t spare any details. Angie’s wanted you guys to hook
up from the very beginning—so, what’s up? Can I tell my soon-to-be-wife that
you’ve finally been tamed?”

But Ethan wasn’t listening anymore. He was busy staring into
the small trash can beside the console. He reached in with a frown and slowly
pulled out Sara’s vibrant pink dildo. She must’ve thrown it away before leaving
since he distinctly recalled tossing it beside the bed after she’d passed out
from the last orgasm he’d given her with it.

He stared at the glittering phallus and recalled how fucking
amazing Sara had looked as she strained and arched into each measured thrust
he’d delivered, the way her full thighs had glistened with moisture and the
musical sounds of her exuberant orgasm when he’d cranked the toy to its highest
setting. At the time, he’d wanted to be deep inside her so bad, feeling those
voluptuous contractions on his bare cock, that he had practically ground his
teeth into dust. His jaw ached in proof. His cock twitched with remembrance and
renewed vigor, pressing against the seam of his zipper.

He tried not to read anything into the fact that she’d
discarded the toy like rubbish. She probably just thought it was unsanitary to
wander around town with a very well-used vibrator in her purse…but, well, he
wished she’d felt some sort of attachment to it.

It was stupid, but it had been their first time together,
technically. The tacky vibrator was a kind of memento, a testament to their
first coupling. He suddenly felt anxious and out of sorts. He really needed to
see her, to find out what she was thinking, what she was feeling after
they’d…they’d…

Fuck, they hadn’t even gone all the way, and he was distracted
as hell. He knew he had it bad, obsessing over the whys and wherefores like a
damn chick. He couldn’t wait until this whole weekend was over, so that he
could corner her at home and have it out once and for all.

“Yo, la Montagne, you still there?” Sean yelled. “You fall
asleep again?”

“Nope,” he barked back, tossing the vibrator into his open
duffel bag in the closet and shoving his feet into his shoes while holding his
cell to his ear. “Sorry, man, I’m getting dressed. Where’s everyone at?”

“Where do you think? You orchestrated the whole night. We’re
finishing some shots right now, and then we’re heading to Gardens of Olympus to
catch the show,” Sean reminded him, mentioning a popular gentleman’s club
located off the Strip. “Why don’t you meet us there? You can’t do anything
about Sara now anyway, man. Not if she doesn’t want to be found.” There was a
chorus of ribald hooting and epithets at Sean’s mentioning of the strip club,
and Ethan managed to grin.

He’d arranged a private lap dance for the man of the hour,
and it had cost him an arm and a leg. The least he could do was go out and make
sure Sean had a good time. He checked his watch. It was only a short cab ride
away. He could still make it there in plenty of time and hopefully redeem
himself in the eyes of the wedding party. And it beat the hell out of sitting
in the dark, fantasizing about big brown eyes that pleaded at him to
please,
please, make me come
…

Fuck, man, get a grip
, he chastised himself. He
exhaled slowly, commanding his raging hard-on to subside. “See you guys in
twenty,” he grunted, and hung up as he headed out the door.

He reminded himself that male-bonding was compulsory this
weekend. But as soon as the curtain fell tonight, he knew he’d be heading
directly to the hotel where Angie and her friends were staying, to finally
collect his woman and let her know that there was no need to run away from him
ever again.

From now on,
he
would be her escape—because she was
already his haven.

Chapter Eight

“Isn’t this fun?” Caro shrieked over the pulsating techno
music, dewy with exertion and crushed between the gyrating, oil-slicked bodies
of two male strippers, one wearing a rakish cowboy hat and the other in animal
pelts. Both had on glow-in-the-dark thongs that cupped their impressive bulges
and framed their gleaming, chiseled buttocks.

Sara grimaced inwardly as she nodded in agreement. She
pertly waved the banner that Angie had worn earlier that evening over her head
in a show of allegiance, and tried not to look at her watch for the millionth
time that evening. Instead, she watched as Angie and Caro bopped rhythmically
against the well-endowed young dancers, giggling and touching their chests and
abs and anything else they would let them get away with.

Mount Olympus boasted the hottest, most riotously sexy male
exotic dancers off the Strip, and as far as Sara could tell, they hadn’t
over-exaggerated. The male strippers were ripped, meticulously groomed and
swiveled their latex-clad hips with well-oiled precision. Music pounded in the
background as the gorgeous men took turns dancing at tables as well as on the
stage. Drinks were liberally poured, and a legion of inebriated females
shrieked in glee as the good-looking dancers came up to them in turn and
nibbled at their necks or cleavage.

Sara wondered why it all left her feeling so drab and
invisible. Exhausted too, if she was really being honest. She supposed part of
it had to do with having had wild, out-of-control dildo sex with Ethan earlier.
The other was the fact that after having engaged in their incredible bout
of…whatever it had been, she was suddenly very aware of how expressionless and
mechanical the male dancers seemed. The suggestive hip thrusts and
cocoa-buttered bottoms, designed to inspire lust in the hordes of hungry
females, seemed rather insipid tonight. And they were all way too waxed and
smooth to be drool-worthy. Not one of them had the brawny natural good looks
of…someone else she knew.

Her thoughts turned again to her vibrator, and she silently
bemoaned the fact that she’d discarded it. All this oily flesh did absolutely
nothing for her. Ethan really
had
ruined her for life.

And they hadn’t even gotten to the actual sex part yet!

And there was a very good chance that they never would, she
admitted to herself. Where exactly along the path of ruination their friendship
currently lay was still up in the air, which really worried her. Now that the
heat of impulse had worn off, she was aware of how shamelessly she’d behaved.
Even now, she could scarcely believe that person had been her.

She recalled the feverish look in his eyes as he watched her
scream and buck against his hand. And going down on a man had never been her
favorite in the best of circumstances, but with Ethan…it all felt so sexy and
liberating. And strangely right. She could still feel his hot, hard length
against her tongue, the frenzied thrusts of his hips under her hands as she
plied his heavy sac, his dark shout of completion as he tunneled his fingers
into her hair and spent himself deep inside her mouth.

Sara felt an answering throb deep between her legs and
pressed her thighs together. It had been a heady feeling, she acknowledged with
a shiver, to know that she had been in control of his desire, despite being on
her knees in front of him. Her breath grew shallow in memory, and her aching
nipples stiffened against the knit fabric of her top.

A buff, darkly tanned Indian chieftain danced past her,
wearing a strategic loincloth and a smile, and did a double take upon seeing
Sara seated so quietly and unmoving amongst the wildly gyrating groups of
women.

“Hey, baby, you wanna dance?” he yelled over the din,
crossing his hands behind his head and treating Sara to a front-row view of his
impressive pectorals and washboard abs. He wore an ornate feathered headpiece
and war paint on his face, but it was the blindingly white, bulging thong that
demanded women sit up and take notice.

“Geronimo here is happy to see a sexy mama like you!” he
crowed, striding over to the empty table that she occupied. Most of the girls
in the bridal party were on the floor or lined up against the stage, trying to
tuck dollar bills into bobbing banana-hammocks, or in the ridiculously long
line for the bathroom.

Surprised and uncomfortable that she had been picked off
despite the crowded stage and dance floor, Sara swallowed a groan and tried her
best to act as if she hadn’t seen or heard him. She shifted in her chair,
affected a casual slouch and reached for her half-empty beer, deliberately
keeping her face averted.

“Aw, don’t play hard to get, baby! C’mon, let me give you a
dance you’ll never forget!” He bopped over to her and leaped onto the arms of
the chair she occupied, in effect straddling her so that all Sara had in her
line of sight was his tremendous tumescence. The screams and hollering by
nearby tables that accompanied his show of freakish agility was lost on Sara.

She was starting to get a little annoyed.

“Look, no thanks—my friend is the bride-to-be, she’s right
over there ---”

“No, no, honey—this is all for you tonight!” Glistening with
sweat and bronzer, he began to gyrate energetically to the primal beat that
pounded out of the speakers, causing Sara to flatten herself against the back
of the chair for fear that his “arrow” would accidentally slap her across the
face as it flailed about rhythmically. Sara knew her face was flushed red from
embarrassment, but did her best to not squirm out of the chair while he danced
and thrust like a maniac above her. She held her breath and counted the
seconds…twenty…thirty…
forty
…

Yipping like a deranged jackal, he flipped backward and
landed in a dramatic crouch before Sara. She yelped as he suddenly grabbed her
foot, pulled off her shoe and pressed it to his chest, leaning into her at the
same time so that her leg folded in toward her chest—which had the unfortunate
side effect of causing her skirt to ride dangerously high up along her thigh.

Sara shot her leg out and shoved him with all her
considerable might. With a loud grunt, the dancer sailed backward, his plumage
tumbling in disarray to the floor. Sara was half out of her chair, her heart in
her throat and her hand reaching out inanely as she watched him almost knock
over some passing waitresses before landing safely, if incongruously, on his
naked bum.

Goooaaalll!
she thought.

“What the hell, lady!” he shouted, scrambling onto his feet
and securing his wayward thong in one hand. “Why’d you kick me?”

“I’m so sorry!” Sara bit her lips hard against the sudden
laughter that threatened to bubble forth at that moment. She didn’t think the
mock chieftain would appreciate it very much. “Sorry! It was an accident! I’m
unbelievably ticklish, see. It was complete reflex.”

The young man scowled as he rolled his kohl-rimmed eyes.
“Whatever. You’re still going to tip me though, right?”

“Huh?” Sara’s mouth fell open in mild shock.

“A tip. Y’know, for the dance? How ’bout it?”

“Um, no,” she said. “I don’t think so.”

“Hey, you owe me, lady. You got the goods!” He had the nerve
to sound offended.

A snort escaped her as she picked her shoe up off the ground
and unceremoniously shoved her foot back into it. “Please,” she retorted. “I’ve
seen better in my morning Zumba class.”

“Screw you, lady, it’s not like you were complaining!” he
yelled back with his hands on his hips.

Fine, two could play this game. Sara sat primly back in her
chair and lifted her beer to her lips, taking a dainty sip and flat out
ignoring the six-foot-tall cretin with too much attitude. No way in hell was
she going to allow this college punk to intimidate her out of twenty
hard-earned bucks. She was practicing what she preached to her fifth graders
and doing her best to passively defuse the dancer’s growing ire.

To her relief, he just threw up his hands in disgust and
stomped away. “Fucking figures,” he shot over his shoulder. “Fat-assed chick counting
ceiling tiles, should’ve known you’d be cheap, too!” His firm buttocks jiggled
impudently as he dove back into the throng.

Sara’s hands curled into fists at the sight of his
retreating back, the indignation choking her. She instinctively looked around
to see if anyone had overheard his cutting remark. Fortunately, the music was
so loud she could barely hear her own thoughts—she doubted the average person
would be able to hear an actual exchange of words in this dump. She picked up
her beer again and took a resolute sip, silently counting to one hundred and
willing away the annoying sting behind her eyes, determined to act as if
everything was peachy-keen if it killed her.

How mortifying, she thought self-derisively, letting some
random stranger’s mean-spirited comment bother her to the point of tears. But
it had been a long night and she was anxious and sick over recent events.

Fuck it, she needed some air. She grabbed her purse and
almost tripped in her eagerness to escape. She was almost out the double doors
leading to the valet when the sound of male laughter coming from a nearby
doorway stopped her in her tracks.

The layout of the ground floor was identical to the
upstairs. Sara realized that there was another stage in this enormous place.
Curiosity got the better of her, and she stepped through the thick, heavy
curtain that shielded the room from view in the lobby.

She was surprised to find herself in a darkened but posh
gentlemen’s club, complete with gleaming wood tables, a bar, and a lighted stage
and pole against which two topless (and virtually bottomless) buxom blondes
were kissing and stroking each other.

Wow. Even from this distance, she could see that their perky
boobs were the product of modern science and not nature. Sara scanned the crowd
with interest, grateful that she had entered through the back of the wide room.
She’d never been to a female strip club before. The clientele seemed pretty
high end, made up of large groups of well-dressed men, although a few loners
and women did in fact dot the crowd. There was a lot of clapping and whistling
while the two women undulated against the thick, gleaming pole in the center of
the runway.

A sudden shout of laughter had her cocking her head once
more. There it was again. Where was it coming from? It sounded so familiar. She
peered through the smoky interior. Her gaze landed on a nearby table occupied
by six or seven large, burly men. A red-haired stripper wearing a G-string and
tassels on her nipples was sitting jauntily at the men’s table, perched on the
edge like a pinup model and smiling seductively at a man who sat in a chair
before her. Sara watched in fascination as the woman nimbly rose and straddled
the man’s lap, making sure that her tasseled breasts rubbed all over his face
on the way down and bobbing suggestively in his lap for good measure.

The man laughed and tucked a bill into her miniscule
G-string, smiling over at his friends and saying something over the music. At
the sight of his profile in the dim light, Sara froze like a deer in
headlights.

Holy shit. Ethan. She’d know him anywhere. Big and
sleep-rumpled and smiling, it was definitely him who sat beneath the questing
hands and pumping hips of the red-haired dancer, wearing a grin from ear to ear
on his handsome, oblivious face.

All the breath in her body left in one great whoosh as a
dull, pounding ache filled her head. She was unable to look away as the dancer
continued to grind her gravity-resistant breasts against him and stroke his
wide shoulders, the same shoulders that Sara had clutched and clawed at with
such abandon only a few hours ago.

Possessive outrage flared inside her but she ruthlessly
quashed it and stashed it away quickly before she could analyze it any
further—deep, then deeper, into that secret, vulnerable part of herself that
was used to being passed over by men her entire life because of her physical
shortcomings. Hope died a slow, painful death as it dawned on her that Ethan
was not pining over her somewhere, counting the minutes until their next
meeting.

He probably had no intention of inviting her back to his
room tonight. And why would he? He was a freakin’ stud, for crying out loud.
Why the hell would he feel the need to cloister himself in his hotel room with
a pudgy, prudish schoolteacher who lacked an iota of sex appeal? She watched
with burning eyes as the stunning redhead turned so that her bare bottom was
waggling in front of him, inciting a riot of catcalls from the males that
surrounded her.

Sara realized with dawning dread that the parts of her that
she’d presented to Ethan earlier that evening couldn’t possibly look as taut
and perfect as that woman’s shimmying posterior. In fact, she cringed as she
began to realize how much thicker her waist, thighs and hips were in
comparison—not to mention the stretch marks and jiggling cellulite. The
redhead’s unblemished breasts and flat tummy mocked her, as did her long, slim
yet shapely legs. She watched Ethan say something to the group that caused them
all to hoot again, and someone handed him another bill to slip under her
G-string.

She’d seen enough. Sara turned away, dejected.

He could have his choice from a bevy of beautiful women.
They practically threw themselves at his feet. From what she could see, Ethan
was definitely one of the boys, and he wasn’t about to fall down on one knee
with a declaration of love after a one-night stand. Sara wanted to kick herself
for being so naïve. Being around ten-year-olds all the time must’ve been
rubbing off on her.

She slunk out of the club, tugging her silk wrap around her
and clutching the ends in her fist. She hailed the first cab she saw and gave
the driver the name of her hotel.

She was going back home to San Francisco tonight. There was
no way she could continue to play the part of jolly old Sara, the perpetual fucking
bridesmaid. She would use her return ticket early and Angie would just have to
understand. She wasn’t made of stone. Ethan might have felt no compunction at
the idea of casually sleeping around, but she suddenly felt as if she would
shatter at a strong gust of wind. She was a fool to think that she could get
out of this deal unscathed; her history of failed relationships alone was
testament to the fact that she didn’t do casual sex very well. She needed both
time and distance to allow her feelings to scab over.