Play Me (6 page)

“I don't want to date you,” I tell him baldly.

He shrugs easily. “This isn't a date.”

Now he's got my curiosity working double time. It's the only reason I follow him over to the table, allow him to hold my chair for me. Or at least that's my story and I'm sticking to it. “What is it, then?”

“Let's call it a meeting of like-minded individuals.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I'm not so sure we're actually like-minded.”

“You might be surprised.” He reaches over and pulls the lid off my dinner plate and it's all I can do not to show my surprise. Instead of the fancy steak or fish I was expecting, he's ordered pizza for me. And not just any pizza but the pizza with pineapple and fresh mozzarella that I absolutely adore.

“How did you know?” I demand.

He shrugs, then lifts the cover off his own meal to reveal a pizza loaded with everything but the kitchen sink. “Just lucky, I guess.”

Yeah, right, lucky.

My stomach growls again and he nods to my plate. “Eat.”

The clock is ticking down, my favorite pizza is in front of me and it's becoming increasingly more obvious that Sebastian isn't going to let me wiggle my way out of this. Knowing that, I might as well enjoy it. After all, one pizza does not a date make.

He carries the conversation for a while as I stuff my face. But after the second piece, I'm finally nourished enough to say what's been on my mind ever since he rescued me from the lascivious clutches of Mr. Sheenan.

“You know you can't keep doing that, right?”

“Doing what?” he asks, taking a long sip of his drink

“Getting in customers' faces like that because you're concerned about the state of my ass.”

Instantly, his eyes darken from the color of lush summer grass to a darker, deeper forest green. “I'm concerned about the state of my casino. I'm not sure what the hell kind of policies my father has in place, but I'm not okay with my employees being sexually harassed on the job. Any of my employees,” he stresses. “Not just you. I've already had a meeting with senior staff about it.”

The outrage in his voice relaxes me like nothing else could have. Oh, I'm not naïve enough to think that he's treating all of his employees to pizza dinners in his office—I know I'm getting special treatment because he wants to fuck me—but at the same time, I like that this isn't just about me. That he's got a sense of fair play that goes beyond what his dick wants.

Still, I feel obliged to warn him. “You're going to lose customers that way.”

“Those aren't the kind of customers I want.”

“That's not actually a decision you get to make.”

His eyes narrow at that and for the first time since I met him, Sebastian looks arrogant. And not just a little arrogant. No, this is all rich man, power broker, bend people to my will arrogance. It should turn me off—God knows it does with anyone else. Instead it turns me on, curls my toes. Which is a problem. A really serious problem.

“Who does get to make that decision, if not me?” he demands. “This is my place.”

I refrain from saying what we both already know. That the Atlantis is his father's place and while he might be the prodigal son at the moment, this will always be the hotel that Richard Caine built.

“I'm not saying you can't run the place by whatever rules you want. I mean, they're good rules. But men with money are notorious assholes. It comes with the job description.”

He cocks a brow at me. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. Present company perhaps excluded.”

“Only perhaps?”

“I'm reserving judgment until I have a few more factors.”

He nods like I'm making perfect sense when really, I'm not even sure what it is I'm saying. I'm trying to be tough here, trying to stay in control. After all, falling for a rich guy—a casino owner, for God's sake—is so outside the boundaries of my ten year plan that I can barely begin to fathom that I'm here, in his office, eating pizza and verbally sparring with him when I should be grabbing a bag of chips in the employee break room.

“All I'm saying is you can set the boundaries for what kind of behavior you expect. You can even enforce it. But if they don't like the rules, they'll find another casino to drop their twenty million dollars at and you'll lose your whales—and a big fat portion of your bottom line.”

“I appreciate your concern,” he tells me. “I do. But I've got a pretty good handle on the Atlantis's bottom line. And if it needs to take a hit for a while in order to protect my employees, then I'm perfectly okay with that.”

“Are you even for real?” I demand. “Nobody actually says things like that.”

“I do. And more, I mean them.” He reaches over and pours me some more of the sparkling lemonade I like to drink when I can't imbibe.

“What have you been doing in the ten years you've been gone? Living in fantasy land? Real life doesn't work that way.”

“I was chief financial officer of one of the largest charitable foundations in the world. And real life works however you want it to work.”

“Yeah, right. If that was the case—” I break off before I say too much. But no wonder he's so naïve. He's spent years working for a charity while I've…I've lived my life doing pretty much the complete opposite.

But Sebastian's not about to let me get away with leaving my thought unfinished. I can see it in the predatory gleam in his eyes and the rigid set of his shoulders long before he prompts, “If that was the case…?”

I scramble for an answer that will satisfy him but will still let me keep my secrets. “If that was the case, I wouldn't spend my nights in four inch heels, fending off men with more money than manners.”

“You know, you don't have to do that.”

Warning bells go off all over the place and I find myself watching him warily. “What does that mean?”

“It means this is a casino. There are other jobs you can do.”

“Not that pay me a few hundred dollars a night in tips. And, for the record, I don't need you to swoop in on some white charger and fix my life for me. I'm doing fine on my own.”

“You absolutely are.”

He sounds perfectly sincere when he says it, but I still search his face for any sign of ridicule or sarcasm. I can't find any, but that doesn't mean I trust him. He might be all pro-employee rights, but he's still a rich guy with an Ivy League education. I went to school with a bunch of them—I know the type. And none of them would believe that working as a cocktail waitress in a casino is a job worth fighting for.

Sebastian takes another sip of his beer, watching me over the rim of his glass. “You don't believe me.”

“I don't
not
believe you. I'm just trying to figure out how much of the bullshit you spout you actually believe.”

“Most of it,” he tells me with a grin.

“Well, that's honest.”

“I'm always honest. Lying is for the weak.”

“Or the desperate,” I feel honor bound to tell him.

“Perhaps.”

There's no perhaps about it. Never has been. I wouldn't be here, living the life that I am, if I had any other reasonable alternative.

“Look, can we cut to the chase here? I only have a few minutes before I have to get back to work.”

“Absolutely. Let's cut to the chase.”

I wait for him to say something more, for him to tell me why I'm really here, but he just leans back in his chair, ankle crossed over the opposite knee, and watches me with eyes that see far too much.

I recognize what he's doing, try to wait him out, to prove that I have as much self-control as he does. But the clock is ticking and with every minute that passes, my stomach grows tighter, my palms damper. I hate the feeling, hate the loss of control that he's forcing on me. But I hate even more the fact that I might have to leave here without the answers I so desperately want.

“I already told you I'm not going to sleep with you,” I tell him after the silence stretches longer than I can handle.

“You did.”

“So why am I here? Why are you even bothering with me?”

“Does everything have to be about sex?”

I laugh then. I can't help it. The question is ridiculous, especially considering the sexual tension between us burns hot enough to light up half the hotels on the Strip.

“It doesn't have to be, but in my experience it usually is.”

Displeasure flickers in his eyes, on his face, but it's gone almost as soon as I register that it's there. And then we're back to waiting and watching each other silently.

“You like your job,” he finally says. I'd congratulate myself for making him break the silence, except I'm learning that Sebastian never does anything he doesn't want to do.

“I like the money it brings in.”

“Is that all you like about it?”

I've never really thought about that before, about whether or not I like the job I'm doing. I like not being under my father's thumb. I like being away from the violence and the darkness that is a way of life for my family. I like making my own way in the world, even if it is precarious. But the job itself? Do I really like it?

“It's not bad,” I hedge. “It pays the bills and I'm good at it.”

“You are good at it,” he agrees. “But you could be better.”

“Oh, really?” Now I'm insulted. Maybe it's the overachiever in me, the girl who always made top of her class—even at one of the most competitive universities in the world. “And how is that?”

“You lack control.”

“Excuse me? I've worked here for over a year and last night was the first time I ever lost my temper.”

“I didn't say you lacked self-control.” He inclines his head, narrows his eyes at me until I feel like I'm being toyed with. “I said you lacked control.”

He drains his beer, sets it aside. Then he stands up and reaches a hand out for me. I start to refuse—I'm annoyed and the last thing I want to do is touch him right now. But there's something in his face, something in the way he looks at me that makes my stomach flip and my breath catch in my throat. That makes me think it would be a very bad idea to refuse the hand he extends to me.

So I take it, allow him to pull me to my feet. Then I let him walk me over to the huge picture window that makes up the entire back wall of his office. It's nine o'clock and darkness has finally come to the desert. Not that you would ever know that if you were thirty flights below us on the Strip, where the lights burn so brightly that most days it feels like you're at the top of the world where the sun shines twenty-four/seven.

Sebastian is behind me again, his long, powerful body pressed to mine from shoulder to knee. He's warm and solid and—despite everything I'm thinking—it feels so right to lean against him. To bask in the warmth and command that roll off him in waves.

“I've spent too many hours today looking at the video of you from the other night,” he whispers in my ear as his fingers gently stroke my hip, my stomach, the outsides of my thighs. “Too many hours today watching you work.”

“You've been
spying
on me?” I try to sound offended, but it's hard to pull off when I'd felt his eyes on me all evening. It's even harder to pull off when my body is literally melting into his.

“I've been
observing
you.” He bends his head until his lips are only an inch or so from my ear, his breath hot against the nape of my neck. “And do you know what I saw?”

“What?” I can't stop myself from asking any more than I can stop my body from responding to his. Nipples peaking, blood pounding, sex aching. I don't know what it is about him that revs me up so much, but it's like my body recognizes his. Like it knows something that I don't.

“Someone who craves control as much as I do. Someone who wants control over herself, her life, her world.”

“That's—that's not true.”

“Isn't it?” he whispers.

“No. I just—I don't want to be at anyone else's mercy. I want to live my life the way I want to live it and answer to no one.” Why is my breathing so erratic? My heart beating so fast?

“Control,” he tells me again. “Discipline. Restraint.”

The words frighten me even as they turn me on. Or maybe that's just the way he's holding me, touching me. The way his lips skim up my neck and across my jaw.

“I don't—” My voice breaks. “I don't know what you want from me.”

“It's not what I want from you,” he says even as he presses hot kisses against my cheek, the corner of my mouth. “It's what I want to give you.”

“And what's that?” I force the words out of my too-dry throat.

“Tell me, Aria. How much does control mean to you? How far will you go to get it?”