“I’m so sorry. I didn’t plan this. I swear.” She dropped the vase and pushed his coat out of the way, grabbed her briefcase and bag, and sprinted for the door. She lost the towel somewhere along the way. She glanced back once. He was still on the bed, curled up in a fetal position. “I really am sorry, but this wasn’t supposed to happen.”
She ran past the living room to the foyer and fumbled inside her bag for the black dress she’d worn earlier. The boots would wait until she was in the elevator.
Dressed, she opened the door and came face-to-face with a stunning blonde. They were about the same height, but Terri was sure her auburn hair wasn’t that silky or flawless like the woman’s tresses. She must be the gift from Marx, and the last person Terri wanted in Rod’s room now. The irrational part of her didn’t want this woman anywhere near him. But her rational side knew blondie might alert hotel security.
“Yes?” Terri asked, keeping the door’s opening narrow. A groan of pain came from the bedroom. Or maybe it was a snarl of outrage.
The blonde looked at the suite number again. “Is this Roderick Thorne’s suite?”
“Yes, but I got here first, so you’re out of luck, lady.” The girl looked confused and opened her mouth to argue. “I mean it. You’re late, so he’s mine. Go find another one.” A girl with a name tag left the elevator and started toward them. Terri recognized Madam Zoe’s logo on the bag in her hand. Damn! This was the day she got busted and landed in jail because she’d been too chicken to hit a gigolo with a vase and just had to kiss him back.
“Mr. Thorne won’t mind a threesome,” the blonde said.
Terri wasn’t surprised to hear that. After that lusty kiss, she was sure Mr. Thorne had an appetite to last all night long. Terri glanced over her shoulder, expecting him to come charging after her. Roderick Thorne. His name was familiar, yet she couldn’t remember where she’d heard it. She had no time to ask the woman. As it was, her chance of escaping was becoming slimmer every second she spent talking to her.
“No threesome, lady. I don’t share. So go. Shoo.” The woman harrumphed and took off, almost bumping into the sales girl. Curses came from the bedroom. Terri opened the door wider and reached out to take the bag from the sales girl. “Thank you.”
The girl grinned. “Have fun.”
“I intend to.” Terri closed the door on her smirking face and dropped the bag inside her bigger bag. Keeping an eye on the bedroom, she slowly counted to ten, opened the door, and peered outside. The coast was clear. She slipped out of the suite and raced for the elevators.
~*~
Rod was pissed. He had no idea what went wrong. The woman had wanted him. Marx had even said she’d been looking forward to spending the weekend with him. As a rule, he didn’t pay for sex, but Marx often supplied them with party girls whenever Rod and his friends visited Vegas. They paid for the companionship and showered the girls with gifts. Sex was optional, but he often got laid because he’d yet to meet a woman who didn’t want to sleep with him. This time had been different.
Winning made him horny as hell, and he’d needed to celebrate the deal he’d sealed in New York, so he’d called Marx, and his old buddy had promised him a working girl. He liked his women feisty and lusty, adventurous in and out of bed, and the woman tonight would have delivered. He never thought she would not like him. Was it the way he’d kissed her, or the dirty talk?
His balls still hurt, yet his mindless cock hardened as he remembered the taste of her and the feel of her against him. She was tall for a woman, with nice breasts and curves. Even as he’d curled on the bed with pain shooting up his spine, he’d watched her run out of the bedroom butt naked. She had a perfect ass and an interesting tattoo on her upper thigh.
He wanted to find her and tie her to his bed for a week, torture her with sex, and make her beg him to take her again and again. He wanted to fuck her so hard she’d never want another man again.
He sat up and reached for his phone to call Marx, but something peeled from his side and fell. He checked down and saw the phone. She’d left it behind. Perfect. He picked it up and studied it.
It was a cheap, disposable kind. He swiped the surface. There was no password. He checked the last number she’d called and redialed it.
“Where are you? The bar is already packed and I need you here now,” a woman with a high-pitched voice answered. “You better not disappear on me again, or I swear, I’ll disown you.”
“She’s on her way, ma’am. She left in a hurry and forgot her phone, but I could drop it off at your bar. What’s your address?”
There was silence, then, “Who are you and where exactly did she leave her phone?”
Rod heard the suspicion in her voice and grimaced. If he didn’t play this right, he might spend the night bar crawling, trying to find a woman whose name he didn’t even know. All he knew was the perfection of her ass and a Scooby tat on her thigh.
“My name is Roderick Thorne. She forgot her phone on my bed when she left my room at the Versailles Palace. I could just leave it at the front desk and give them her description.”
“No, no, you don’t want to do that.” The woman laughed. “Just a second.”
While Rod waited, he noticed the suitcase on the bench at the foot of the bed. He hadn’t seen it because his people had dropped his duffel bag on top of it. Did that mean she would come back for it?
“Bring the phone to Lucky Barrel and ask for me, Lucille Barrel,” the woman said and gave him the address of a bar in the southern section of the Strip, then hung up. Rod knew the area, but not the bar. He tended to stay up north.
Grinning, he got up and pulled up his pants. Damn, his balls hurt. He went to the wet bar and found ice-cubes in the fridge. There was an empty plastic bag inside the wine cooler. He created an ice-pack and pressed it to his crotch.
He was on his way back to the bedroom when his attention landed on a few more items his mysterious woman had left behind. Black pumps and the bellhop uniform. He was tempted to open her suitcase and see what he could learn about her. One thing was for sure—she wasn’t the woman Marx had sent him. He loved role-playing as much as the next guy, but his tastes tended to run toward sexy. There was nothing sexy about the bellhop uniform.
Ignoring her things, Rod laid on the bed, cooling his balls with the ice. Never in his forty years had a woman kneed him. A few rough ones had yanked his pants off and jerked him off with more enthusiasm than finesse, but to deliberately hurt his jewels? Never. It was humbling. He reached for his phone and dialed a number.
“Why did you send Angel back, Thorne? She had no problem joining you and your lady friend,” Marx said.
Angel? “When did she get here?”
“Ten, fifteen minutes ago. A woman told her to get lost. Claimed she didn’t like sharing you. Angel would have been okay with a threesome.”
Rod cursed softly. His mysterious roommate hadn’t just kicked him in the nuts. She’d gotten rid of Marx’s girl, his companion for the weekend. That woman had a lot to make up for.
“She tends to be possessive. I’ll call you if we need a third player.” Rod highly doubted he’d need Marx’s girl. The hothead who’d kicked him was the only woman he was interested in now. He had to find her.