Chapter Nine

Sloane finished the final round, took another sip of water, and scooped up her chips. She nodded politely and smiled at the group of onlookers crowded around the tables, trying to get a peek of the famous players in the casino for the big tournament. Sloane chatted casually with some of her opponents, some of who she counted as good friends, and fought her way down the hallway toward the rest rooms.

God, she was tired.

And tense. So tense. These next few days were a build-up to the most important tournament of the year, one she was focused on winning. Each game was like foreplay, but instead of being sated, her body was drawn as tight as a pair of Spanx a size too small. She wished she could drink, or smoke, or have a fabulous, energy draining, mind-blowing orgasm.

Like last night.

Sloane shook her head in an effort to clear her mind from the image of Rome Steele. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. His last words haunted her, twisting a deep-seated knot in her belly that begged for release. He was going to punish her. Rome wouldn’t allow her to be tense. No, he’d wring her body dry until she was boneless, limp, and happy. He wasn’t scared of her, or threatened. He just wanted to spank her, fuck her, and give her pleasure. On his terms.

God, she wanted him.

And just like that, there he was.

She skidded to a halt. Stared at him like a hungry she-wolf. He must not be working tonight. He was dressed casually, in dark washed jeans, a navy blue buttoned down shirt with the cuffs rolled up, and Italian leather shoes. His short gray hair only intensified those gorgeous eyes. He leaned against the wall, seemingly relaxed, but Sloane caught the leashed energy vibrating around him, the set of his square jaw, and the tightness of his finely sculpted lips.

Immediately, she grew wet between her thighs. Her nipples stabbed against the thin lace of her bra. Sloane gathered her composure, told her body to behave, and closed the distance between them. “Slumming?” she asked sweetly. She knew he worked at the Bellagio, but this round of initial games was being held at Wynns.

He grinned and pushed himself from the wall. He reeked of sex and attitude, the perfect combination. “Maybe. Maybe I came looking for you.”

Her breath strangled in her lungs. “I can’t imagine why.”

“I think you do. Now, let’s stop the cute banter and get some dinner.”

Sloane couldn’t help it. She laughed. He grinned right back at her and held out his hand.

And just like that, she was done. There was no way she could deny him. At least, a meal. Sloane told herself she could handle him and the situation. Plus, she was starved, and needed some downtime and good conversation.

“Fine. You win.”

“I always do.”

He ignored the roll of her eyes, grabbed her hand, and led her out of the casino. They headed to Botero, the famous steakhouse named for the Columbian artist, weaving past the long line of diners toward the redheaded hostess. Sloane watched as he worked his magic, whispering in her ear, and she nodded, grabbed two menus, and escorted them in.

Impressive.

Sloane slid into her seat, enjoying the view of the bronze sculpture of the Seated Woman, a sensuous display of lush curves and natural lines. The colorful floor unwound in bright flowers, setting off the perfectly placed fat cream columns. She placed her napkin on her lap and gave him a respected nod.

“Nice choice. No reservations needed, huh?”

Rome smiled but there was no trace of ego. Sloane sensed he didn’t need to brag or play the game of who has a bigger dick. He did things to please himself. And her. He knew she liked a good steak and didn’t doubt this restaurant was for her benefit. Warmth flooded through her.

“You could’ve gotten in just as easy,” he commented, opening his menu. “You’re a celebrity in this town. How much did you make last year?”

“Two million.”

She braced herself for the usual reaction but he just nodded, and then looked up. His blue-gray eyes gleamed with pride. “Good girl.”

Her tummy dropped to her toes. Sloane froze, hit hard with a lust so raw and violent, it speared through her and demanded he slake the thirst. He caught the look, and his eyes darkened, sweeping over her body like he owned her. Appreciated her.

Claimed her.

He carefully placed the menu down. Leaned in. “I can’t stop thinking about last night.”

She tried desperately to be cool, but heat seared her skin. “Me, too.”

“I have a new proposition.” Sloane waited for him to continue. “Spend the week with me.”

Her eyes widened. “I don’t want distractions.”

Rome gave a husky laugh. “I watched you today. Your play was impeccable. I could also tell after several hours, your body pays a price. Your muscles are tight. Your face reflects a combination of weariness and a need to blow off some steam. I can do that for you.”

“Are you volunteering to be my personal sex slave?” she shot back. The idea was outrageous. But the temptation of five nights of perfect sex with this man made her mouth water. “Sacrifice yourself for the good of the win?”

A smirk rested on those full lips. “No. But you will be.”

“Be what?” she asked.

“The sacrifice. You’ll be my sex slave.”

“Good evening. May I get either of you a cocktail?”

Sloane fumbled for the cocktail list, then remembered she didn’t drink. “Sparkling water, please,” she croaked out.

“I’ll have the same.”

The waiter recited the specials and she waited patiently for him to finally leave. When they were alone again, Sloane lowered her voice to a hiss. “I’m no sex slave, buddy. To no man.”

He waved a hand in the air, dismissing her concerns. “I’m offering what we had last night. I guarantee your pleasure. Your orgasms. If you do as I command in the bedroom. I’ll fulfill your fantasies and make sure your body is primed for the tournament on Saturday.”

The deal was delicious, but she couldn’t accept. Could she? Sloane deliberately picked up the menu again and tried to focus. “I’m intrigued by your confidence, but will have to pass. I’ve been doing fine on my own now for years, without sacrificing myself as a slave to pleasure. But thanks anyway.”

“As you wish. Now, what shall we order?”

Practice helped Sloane conceal her emotions, but his easy surrender pissed her off. It also suggested he had a bigger plan, because she already knew Rome never gave up. It was part of his personality, and a quality she admired herself.

Damn the man. He was just so...intriguing.

They feasted on Snake River Farms gold grade special cut steak with a coffee rub. Rare, of course. Plump, oversized prawns. Yukon whipped potatoes so well cooked they sang in her mouth. The sexual tension faded to the background and they talked. She loved being with a man who understood the business, loved Vegas, but wasn’t caught up in the glittery trappings. With a sharp intellect and wicked humor, the hours passed quickly, until the bill came and she regretted the end of the evening.

She tried to split the bill with him, but he cut her that warning look and she melted. The Dom look. How did a man ordering her around turn her on so much? And why did she want to do it again?

“Are you staying at the hotel or heading to your house?” he asked her as they walked out.

“Hotel. It’s easier to be on the premises this week.”

“And what happens after you win?”

She gave him a cheeky grin. “I head out to AC for a bit, and then take a little time off.”

“Nice. Are you tired?”

Sloane searched carefully for double meaning in his question. “Not yet.”

“Good. Let’s do some slots.”

He grabbed her hand and dragged her to a row of machines. Big signs, flashing lights, and loud noises competed for players’ attention. She laughed and shook her head when she found herself in front of Godzilla.

“No way. Slots are sacrilege. I’m a card player and this is beneath me.”

Rome grabbed a red stool on the end and pulled her onto his lap. “Stop being a snob. I need some luck. I suck at slots. Besides, I love Godzilla. I want to get to the special bonus screens.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered. “If anyone sees me, I’d done. Front page news.”

“Hit the button and stop whining.”

He put in a twenty and she hit the button. After a few busted rounds, they finally scored three monster eggs in a row and the screen screamed and lit up. “Bonus! We got the bonus!”

“Damn, you are lucky. Go with the middle.”

Sloane shook her head; finger paused on the three monster eggs that directed her to pick one. “No, never, ever pick the middle. Let’s go right.”

Screeches belted out from the machine, and the big Godzilla stomped onto the screen. Coins drifted across. BIG WIN.

“Oh, my God! What did we win?” Sloane jumped up and down on his lap.

“I don’t know, do you think it’s that sports car? The fifty grand? Wait, what? Is that it?”

The final bonus calculated to a mere fifty dollars.

“That’s it?” she screeched. She jumped up from his lap. “I got excited about fifty dollars! I told you these things were ridiculous. I feel dirty. I need to go play some roulette.”

“I’m sorry. But you have to admit Godzilla was super cool.”

She glared at him, suspicion forming. “Did you play the maximum bet?”

Rome looked away. “Umm, let’s go. We’ll check out Roulette.”

She blocked his exit, narrowing her gaze. “Roman Steele, answer my question. Did you or did you not play the maximum bet?”

His lips tightened in stubbornness. Blew out a breath. “Fine. I didn’t. I hate playing maximum bet, that’s how you lose all your money.”

Her mouth dropped open. “That’s how you win big! We could’ve won the jackpot but if you don’t play all the lines, you get nothing!”

He shrugged. “Oh, well.”

She placed her hands on her temples and rocked back and forth. “This is terrible. I’m never going to sleep tonight. I’ll dream of lost possibilities.”

“At least I got my twenty bucks back.”

She stared at him. “I saw the bill. You left the waiter a thirty percent tip. You wear Italian designer clothes. You ordered a three hundred dollar steak.”

“I don’t like to lose on the slots.”

And once again, she laughed, long and deep and hard, and her heart melted a bit more. He watched her mirth, smiling, and then his eyes turned to a steely blue, face carved in determination. Before she could recover, he backed her up into the corner, squeezed in between two slot machines.

Sloane stopped laughing.

Remaining still, she allowed him to bury his hands in her hair, holding her face. His thumbs caressed her cheeks, her jaw, her lips. His breath drifted softly over her mouth, the scent of red wine and coffee intoxicating her.

“I don’t beg, kitten,” he growled. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip. She shuddered, her blood heating and thickening in her veins. “I want to worship and wring a hundred orgasms from your sweet body tonight. I’ll ask you one more time. Be mine for the week. Same rules apply. Say the word poker, and the whole thing is done.”

The evening washed over her. He’d entranced not only her body, but also her mind, and her emotions. He made her laugh. She didn’t want him to walk away and leave her to a lonely, empty bed. It was only one week. They’d enjoy each other, and she’d go to AC and back to living her life. She could experiment with this side of her that craved submission from a man who was worthy of her.

“Yes.”

He kissed her. Firm, hard, possessive, it was a kiss tame enough for public, but seethed with the undercurrent of dirty, hard-core sex that was about to come. When he lifted his head, his eyes glittered with triumph.

“Your suite?”

Her voice was too wobbly to try speaking, so she nodded.

He led her back to the room.