“Are you passing through or local?” she asked.
“Passing through, but might stay awhile. Something caught my interest. Roderick Thorne,” he said, extending his hand. She didn’t hesitate from shaking it.
“Terri Randal. I hope whatever caught your interest is worth it.”
“Oh, yes. It should be.”
“Should be? Expecting trouble, or maybe opposition?”
He grinned. “Nothing I can’t handle. She’ll be worth it.”
“Sounds like a big gamble.”
“Life is a gamble. Make the right choice, and you get your reward.”
She chuckled, her lips curling into a sexy grin. “And the wrong one?”
“You flip it, work a little harder, and make sure you get what you want.”
She tilted her head sideways and studied him, a tiny smile on her lips. He had a feeling she was judging him. She’d already seen him naked, and had been impressed, if he recalled correctly. When his eyes went to her lips, she licked them and smiled.
“You always win, Roderick?”
“When I want something real bad, yes. And you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve gotten the short end of the stick from time to time and didn’t enjoy it.”
“You like them long.” He sipped his drink and watched a naughty twinkle enter her eyes.
“The longer the better. Thickness may vary, but the length matters.”
He nearly choked on his beer. Man, that mouth of hers. She took off to replenish someone’s drink and take more orders. She was good at this bartending stuff, which made him wonder why she’d been using his room. It was obvious someone at the hotel had let her in because he’d found the key to the suite and the private elevators. Had she lost her apartment? He had no problem allowing her to stay with him as long as he was in town.
When she came back to his side of the bar, he eased in a question. “So how’s bartending?”
“It’s good, but temporary. I’m doing a friend a favor while between gigs.”
“What kind of gigs?”
“The kind I can’t tell you about or I’d have to kill you.”
“Permanently or la petite mort?” he asked, showing her he could play her game.
Her laughter rung out, and several clients stopped watching the TV screens and the gambling slots conveniently imbedded on the bar counter and stared at her.
“Do you have a preference?” She didn’t wait for his answer. Instead, she sashayed away to serve others while he nursed his beer and fantasized about her.
His eyes caressed her hips, his imagination taking over. The dress might be plain black, but it hugged her curves. Not only wasn’t she wearing panties, she didn’t wear a bra either. It took a lot of confidence for a woman to do both.
His thoughts returned to her question. He most certainly had a preference. La petite mort, a term that meant little death, was used to describe the sensations accompanying orgasm. He knew what he wanted tonight—endless little deaths with this fascinating woman.
He wasn’t sure whether she was just flirting because it was part of her job or because she wanted him. Whatever the case, he wasn’t letting her go without a fight. She needed her suitcase, which was in his room. Her bellhop uniform and shoes were also in his room. Her panties… He removed them from his pocket and grinned.
He could be charming and persuasive when he wanted something and right now, he wanted her. He’d had his share of women, and he’d yet to meet one he couldn’t seduce. Some let their inner insecurities stop them from going after what they wanted, but he always knew how to make them feel comfortable with their sexuality. Terri didn’t seem to have such a hang-up. She was confident and feisty, completely comfortable in her skin.
Others just didn’t want a man hanging around cramping their style, no matter how amazing the sex was or the perks that came with it. Those often appealed to him because he had no interest in a long-term relationship, either. So he lived for the moment, acquiring new companies because he hated losing, and bedding different women because he got bored easily. He didn’t do casino scenes, unless there was a private party and the stakes were interesting.
He was on his fourth beer when the crowd in the bar grew thin. Terri served the clients, but kept coming back to him. She flirted and flitted away only to return to his side. She wanted to know what he did for a living, so he asked her to change the channel on one of the TV screens to XSN Station.
“I run that,” he said.
“Xtreme Sports Network,” she said, grinning. “Is that what you’re into?”
“I like all kinds of sports.” Preferably those that included wrapping her legs around him in every position imaginable. He decided it was time to lay his cards on the table. He pulled out the card she’d used to access his room and passed it to her.
“Use it if you decide to join me.” Then he handed her enough money to cover his tab with extra for tip. She’d earned it.
“Can I have those?” She pointed at the red piece of lace he’d planned to return to her, but decided against it.
“No. Come get them or I’m keeping them as a souvenir.”
“Bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Girls don’t interest me. Women do.” He shoved her lace panties in his pocket and walked out, aware of her eyes following him across the bar. At the door, he glanced back and their eyes met. She waved. She’d come, even if just to pick up her things, and he’d be waiting.
His driver brought the car around.
“Where to, Mr. Thorne?” he asked.
“Back to the hotel, Delaney. Then take the night off. I think I’m going to stay in tonight.”
~*~
“What are you doing?” Lucille asked. “The next shift’s taken over and you don’t need to be here. Go after him instead of staring that keycard to death.”
“Uh-mm.” Maybe just one night.
“What do you mean uh-mm? He didn’t call the police and he brought your phone back. I’ve also never seen you flirt so much with a guy like that. Not for hours. A few times, I swore you were going jump over the counter and maul him. Go do it in private. He has the Barrel’s Stamp of Approval.”
Terri glared at Lucille. Lucille’s six brothers had come up with the Clancy’s Stamp of Approval to discourage their only sister from dating. Not that it had stopped her. Her brothers might be built like pit bulls, but Lucille knew how to control them.
“Fine,” Lucille said. “Go online and research him.”
“You’ve already done it for me, or you wouldn’t be pushing me in his direction,” Terri said.
She grinned. “Damn right. The moment he said he had your phone and wanted our address, my Paul alarm went off.” She winced. “Let’s not talk about Paul. Go. You deserve to have a little fun—or, from the looks of him, a lot of fun.”
Paul Warwick was Terri’s stepbrother, a sore subject as far as she was concerned. Lucille was the only one who knew the sordid details of the nightmare Paul had put Terri through, and still continued to put her through, despite being behind bars.
Terry didn’t need to research Roderick “Rod” Thorne because she already remembered where she’d heard his name, and he was no gigolo. He was one of the students who’d testified against Paul twenty years ago. She’d been eleven at the time and even though her mother never allowed her to attend the court hearing, she’d read the papers and overheard her aunt and uncle discuss the case. The reporters had hailed Rod and his friends as heroes for coming forward, and for a long time, Terri had wanted to thank them personally for putting that bastard behind bars. Man, the shit her stepbrother had put her through…