Military Romance Collection: Contemporary Soldier Alpha Male Romance (45 page)

Chapter 5

Dalton clenched his jaw as Billie walked away, the curve or her hips and swell of her ass tying him up in knots. So, she wasn’t the demanding diva he’d expected, but she was still a fireball, and he was having difficulty concentrating on the task at hand. He was too busy trying not to imagine her with her clothes off, writhing beneath him, those dark eyes of hers hot with pleasure.

He growled and turned back toward his office. He needed some time alone to get his head on straight. He still had a lot to do today, most of it with Billie Roderick at his side, and he was going to lose his mind if he didn’t stop mooning over the woman.

He didn’t know why he was so taken by her. He’d glutted himself on women for the past few nights, thinking he was going to be in the middle of a whirlwind of bitching and whining. He shouldn’t have an overactive libido, even when he started seeing the models milling around. And yet, at this point, he would have traded five models for a taste of Billie Roderick.

She’d surprised him with her easygoing manner, compliments, and teasing. Brock had warned Dalton to be on his best behavior. It was imperative that no one offend the fashion headliner so they would get a good report and become the home of the annual event. Dalton grumbled about it, but he had agreed, and even when he’d discovered that their guest was a goddess that made his groin ache with every glance and every movement, he’d kept it under control.

He knew he had gotten a little surly a couple of times, but he’d recovered quickly and continued to be a gentleman. But if she made another sexual comment like the one earlier, there were no guarantees he could control his reaction.

To make matters worse, he had to take her to lunch with Brock and Tanya, which meant he had to work even harder to put up the front. He couldn’t let his attraction to Billie show, even for a second, and he couldn’t slip into a funk and use his anger to cover up for anything else. He had to be himself at the same time, which meant interacting and even smiling now and then.

He hadn’t lied about Brock being one of his oldest friends. If Dalton wasn’t careful, Brock would read him like an open book. But if he shut down, it would be just as obvious. Damn Brock! Sure, this was going to be good for the hotel, but what about Dalton? He wasn’t cut out for this.

There was only one way to make sure he didn’t step out of line through this whole ordeal. First, he had to avoid Billie unless it was for business purposes. There should be no social interaction with her. Second, tonight would be the last chance he had to hit the clubhouse before the event started. Tomorrow, there would be a day full of dress rehearsals and tweaking anything that wasn’t working, followed by the opening night show with several less well known designers. The following night was a formal dinner and award ceremony, and the last night was the main event, Billie’s night.

Tonight, Dalton was going to the clubhouse in full leathers, and he was going to drink lots of whiskey. And hopefully, he could find a good woman that would take his mind off Billie Roderick.

***

Lunch hadn’t gone as bad as Dalton thought it would. Tanya was apparently a fan of Billie’s, and the two of them did the majority of the talking. Dalton and Brock mostly sat there, looking good and commenting when necessary. It gave Dalton a chance to admire Billie in silence and to keep from sticking his foot in his mouth.

Afterward, Dalton was left with Billie to help coordinate the arrival of her staff and models. She had a small crew, compared to the other designers who were arriving today, and they were all polite and easy to deal with. The models were a little more difficult, some tired, others frantic, and more exasperated at being bothered. Still, they managed to get the agenda to everyone and have them directed to the ninth floor, which had been designated specifically for Billie’s cast and crew.

They had a meeting in the ninth floor conference room at six, which Dalton had planned to be catered with a light buffet. He would see to it that the food was set up appropriately and that the slide show for Billie’s presentation worked. Then, he would be out and on his way to the clubhouse, where he could relax and be himself for a while.

But as he prepared to say goodnight, Billie asked, “You’re leaving?”

He hesitated. He had to get out of here or he was going to lose his cool. But if she needed something, it was his responsibility to take care of it. “I can stay, if there’s something you need from me.”

Her eyes sparked for an instant. Or maybe Dalton just imagined it because she frowned. “Not exactly,” she hedged. “I just thought that, since I’ll be here for the next three days, you might be willing to take me out somewhere on the town tonight. I’d like to see some other part of Las Vegas while I’m here. I don’t think I’ll get a chance to come back for a while.”

Dalton didn’t know what she wanted to do, but he didn’t want to go out to some ritzy place with a bunch of rich people and celebrities. The clubhouse was dark, quiet, rundown, and full of his Cobra biker brothers. He wanted to be in a seedy dive with the people he trusted like family, where the whiskey didn’t cost ten dollars a shot and the women who came around expected lewd comments and come ons.

But he couldn’t straight up deny Billie’s request. After all, he was pretty much sworn to cater to her every desire. Skeptical, he asked, “What did you have in mind?”

She shrugged. “You tell me.” She stepped closer, and Dalton could smell her perfume. It was sweet but not sugary, and it carried hints of some sort of spice that was intoxicating. “Come on, Mr. Winslow, I don’t believe you walk around the streets of Vegas in a three piece suit or dine in the finest restaurants on your own time. It doesn’t fit you very well.”

He scowled. “Are you saying I don’t meet your standards?” Was she really going to insult him and think he’d still take her out tonight? This woman had some balls.

“On the contrary, Mr. Winslow. You were the suit quite naturally, and you have all the mannerisms of someone with good breeding. But I think you’re deeper than this. I think there are many facets to your personality. I’m good at reading people, Mr. Winslow, and I don’t think you could ever be satisfied with this pretentious lifestyle all the time. There’s a dangerous man underneath the suit, and I want to know what he likes to do when he’s not entertaining and planning entertainment for others.”

Dalton didn’t know what to say. Was he supposed to throw her on the back of his bike and ride around with her all evening? Would that be enough danger for her? Maybe he could shock her out of this whole idea. Against his better judgment and damning the consequences when it got back to Brock that he’d done it, Dalton told her, “Honestly, I’m part of a motorcycle club. When I’m not here, I’m in my vest and leathers, usually at our clubhouse, which is everything this place isn’t. Dark, dingy, rundown, and full of smoke and whiskey.”

She quirked one perfectly manicured brow at him. “Are you serious?”

He held up a hand like he was testifying in court. “My bike’s parked in the employee lot out back, if you want to see it. And I can take you back to my office and show you the vest. It’s tucked into one of my desk drawers.”

She smirked. “Let me guess. You keep it around for those moments when being the clean cut guy with the smile gets to be too much.”

He blinked in surprise. This woman could read him much too easily, and he found her more and more intriguing with each passing minute. “How did you guess?”

She crossed her arms, which accented her perky, round breasts. Dalton had to force himself to keep his eyes on her face as she said, “I’ll make you a deal, Mr. Winslow. You show me this clubhouse of yours, and I’ll explain to you how I grasp the concept so easily.”

He was ready to give her an instant negative reply, but she pointed at him. “I promise you, there is nothing you can show me that will frighten me or disgust me. And I’ll be more upset if you refuse than if you just graciously agree to, shall we say, extend the tour of your hotel and casino to your motorcycle club hangout.”

There was a light in her dark eyes that danced, and Dalton could see the promise of a good time in them. He knew he was going to catch hell for this, but he couldn’t resist the request. Besides, if Brock came down on him, he’d turn the boss’s words right back on him. In the same calm demeanor Brock used, Dalton would tell him that he was charged with giving Billie anything she asked for, and there was no stipulation that it had to be within reason.

Taking a deep breath, he said, “I’ll do it. But only if you have some jeans or something a little less…” He trailed off.

“High class?” she finished for him. Dalton just nodded. He couldn’t believe they were even having this conversation. He’d never crossed this line before. It was too much like bringing a date to the clubhouse, which several limited his options. He wouldn’t be able to play cards, drink till he couldn’t hold any more liquor, or flirt with any of the other girls. He’d have to watch his mouth and pay attention to Billie without falling into another conversation and completely ignoring her.

But it was too late to turn back now, and he hoped maybe she’d back out at the last minute. Now, though, she beamed. “Trust me, I know how to dress down, Mr. Winslow.”

He grimaced. “And one last favor. Don’t call me ‘Mr. Winslow’. It’s Dalton. Okay? Just Dalton from now on.”

She shrugged. “Whatever you say, Dalton.”

Chapter 6

Billie put on her most professional face as she detailed the expectations for the fashion show during the meeting. She went over the order of the show, the photos of the setup, the makeup process and how quickly changes needed to occur, and what to expect in the audience. She told them she would have the model lineup and the clothing that each model would wear by rehearsal tomorrow.

She had 78 pieces to show and six models, so each model would take the runway in 13 different outfits. It was ambitious, and most designers would have wanted 13 models with seven changes of clothes. But Billie had certain ideas about her models, and she tried to work from a very select group whenever possible. She also hadn’t wanted an enormous entourage traveling with her everywhere she went.

Her methods were controversial, but so was her line of clothing, and it kept people talking. Event coordinators often expected disaster with such swift changes in costume, but the seven women with her now were the fastest professionals she knew. It also kept her crew smaller, which meant they were a tighter knit group and worked together like a well oiled machine. For this event, she’d insisted her entire team come. Normally, she had four assistants for every model – one for makeup, one for hair, and two for dressing.

But this was her first major showcase, and it was huge. She couldn’t risk anything going wrong. So, she was doubling up on hair stylists, adding a third costume assistant, and had three extra makeup artists to help with touchups and running supplies or anything else that was needed backstage.

When everyone was clear, she dismissed them to eat from the buffet and talk amongst themselves. She demanded they arrive in the ballroom no later than eight in the morning, and she turned to Dalton, who stood looking uneasy at the far end of the room next to the door. She smiled at him, amused. “Is something wrong?”

He shook his head. “You’re pretty assertive. I saw these people when they came into the hotel, and none of them seemed very organized or serious. But the minute you started talking, you had everyone’s rapt attention. Including mine. I think I even saw a couple of models taking notes.”

She laughed. “Are you impressed or stunned?” she asked. Billie always enjoyed shocking men with her confidence, poise, and demand for respect. But getting Dalton’s attention was even more fulfilling.

“A little of both,” he admitted. “I see why you’ve made such a success of yourself. You don’t let anyone walk over you, and you don’t tolerate laziness.”

“No, I don’t. And neither do you. I can tell.” He frowned, as if he couldn’t figure out how she knew that. “I told you, Dalton, I read people, and it’s in your nature to be exacting. You’re the guy who refuses to fail at anything. It makes you cautious about what you attempt to do, but anything you set your mind to, you finish with a successful outcome.”

He shook his head. “You’re something else.”

“Thank you. I take that as a compliment.” She motioned to the buffet. “I think we should probably grab a quick bite before the ravenous beasts of my crew leave nothing behind. Then, I’ll need about ten minutes to change, and we can be on our way.”

Billie thought she saw disappointment in his expression. Had he thought she would back out? Why on earth was he so reluctant to take her to the clubhouse? Of course, Dalton didn’t know anything about where she came from. When she’d walked into the café for breakfast this morning, she’d been Billie Roderick, fashion icon.

Imagine his surprise when, tonight, he met Belinda Rodriguez, the girl from Spanish Harlem who’d probably been to places a lot less glamorous than this clubhouse of his. “Sure thing,” he told her. “I might need fifteen myself, though. I got new laces for my boots, and I need to lace them up before I take off.”

She gave him a mock look of disapproval. “The additional five minutes is absolutely unacceptable.” He grimaced at her, and Billie laughed. She could already tell it was going to be a very interesting evening.

In her room – it was still hard to think of the penthouse as a room rather than a palace – Billie dug into her luggage and found the perfect ensemble for an evening with a biker. She still liked her ‘rags’ as she called them, and she carried more traditional street clothes with her everywhere she went. She could have packed much lighter if she just left these things at home, but as it turned out, she needed them now and again.

In an old navy hoodie with worn print on the front over a plain white baby doll t-shirt and a pair of tight fitted distressed jeans with rips in the knees and along her right thigh, Billie felt more at home than she did in the clothes she designed. It wasn’t that her clothes were uncomfortable – but she came from a place where everyone dressed like this.

She took out a thick pair of socks and her laced boots with the short heel, adding them to her feet. She stared at her reflection and knew she couldn’t just leave her hair down. It would fly everywhere on the bike, and it would be an impossible tangle when they arrived. So, she quickly braided it into two pigtails and smiled into the mirror. This was the woman who had put together the plan for the life Billie Roderick lived. This was the girl she’d been back in the ghetto, before she could afford the apartment in Manhattan.

And she had a feeling Dalton would like this version better than he liked the classy woman who was a late blooming ‘America’s Sweetheart’. She grabbed a long wool jacket, knowing she would need it on the bike now that the sun was setting, and she stuffed her wallet into the inner pocket. Satisfied, she took the elevator down to wait for Dalton in the casino, by the door to the corridor.

She blinked when she saw him. She’d moved a little away from the door to see if he would recognize her, and she stood near the bar. But Billie forgot about that as her mouth went dry. He was an even more enticing specimen in the rugged jeans, faded black Henley, motorcycle boots, and leather vest. And when she caught sight of the fingerless leather gloves he wore, she shivered with delight.

She rolled her eyes at her reaction to the image of the bad boy. It was really childish to have such a fetish. At the same time, she knew what she liked. Dalton was a respectable man with a good job and a pleasant if sometimes surly disposition. He had done something with his life, and he chose to run with a wilder crowd on his own time. He didn’t bring that to work with him, and Billie had a sneaking suspicion Brock Carson belonged to this same club.

Recovering slightly, Billie realized Dalton had looked right past her once, and then his eyes landed on her. She could feel the heat in them burning her skin. She’d been right. He was incredibly attracted to this particular look.

With her most seductive smile, Billie walked over to him, and a crooked grin spread slowly across his face. “This is not what I expected.”

She copped an attitude, hands on her hips. “What’s wrong, Dalton? Did I take it too far?” She knew very well she hadn’t, but the Latina in her tended to get feisty when she went back to her roots.

He chuckled softly. “Definitely not. I hope you don’t mind me saying it, but you’re damn sexy.”

“I don’t mind in the least. Thank you,” she told him. Gesturing to his duds, she said, “I like what I see here, too. You look pretty yummy in a suit, but you’re delectable in those jeans.” She purposely let her eyes linger on his groin, and he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. She enjoyed the sense of control it gave her. “Are we ready to go?”

He nodded. “Follow me.” They went through the hallway again, and this time, he turned right down a shorter corridor and went out the door at the end. The parking lot was dark with one bright overhead light in the center, and the only reason Billie didn’t shiver uncontrollably in the desert night air was that the buildings blocked most of the wind. As they walked, she quickly pulled the coat on, buttoning it in the middle to assure it would stay wrapped around her.

She found it intriguing that he had a leather jacket chained to the bike, and he tossed it on over the vest, showing how oversized it was. He also pulled a bandana from his pocket and wrapped it around his head and over his ears, probably against the wind. He added a pair of sunglasses, and Billie worried he wouldn’t be able to see until she remembered how bright the Strip was.

She threw her leg over the back behind him, and she sighed as the bike rumbled to life. She hadn’t been on a motorcycle since she was seventeen, when she’d briefly dated a guy who was 21 and in a gang. She’d quickly tossed that lifestyle aside, not wanting to get wrapped up in legal trouble and gang wars, but she missed the excitement of something as simple as the feel of a powerful machine beneath her.

And a sexy man in front of her.

She wrapped her arms tightly around Dalton’s waist, the scent of his musky cologne that had a hint of citrus to it wafting at her as he pulled out of the parking space. The thrill swept through her veins with the wind in her face, and she quickly pulled the hood of her sweater up, tight around her head.

A chill went down her spine as they rounded to the front of the club, where the flashing lights dominated her visual space and hundreds of visitors walking past filled her peripherals. It had nothing to do with the cold surrounding her, though. It was all the anxiousness and anticipation of seeing exactly what sort of bad boy Dalton was.