Play with Me (Novella) (7 page)

His hand stills on one of the two containers, eyes narrowing on mine. “Damion?”

I swallow the cotton in my throat. “What do you want me to call you? Mr. Ward? I don’t work for you anymore.”

“Damion. I want you to call me Damion.” And the way he says it, all deep and sandpaper-rough, sends my temperature soaring. I do not want my temperature to soar.

“What are we doing?” I ask. “
What
are we doing?”

“Eating dinner.” He balls the plastic bag and tosses it at my trash, as nonchalant as an afternoon at the ballpark. “And since you ordered enough for an army, I won’t feel guilty for joining you. I haven’t eaten since early this morning.”

“I tend to get carried away with Chinese food,” I explain, as if I need a reason for ordering what I ordered. I don’t.

“Works for me,” he approves, loosening his tie. “I’m famished.”

There is no missing the sensual undertone, and I quickly turn away to open the fridge, trying to hide the rush of blood to my cheeks. I grab two sodas to calm my nerves. What is happening? I inhale a discreet breath and turn and set the cans on the counter. “All I have is diet.”

His lips quirk. “I like that you blush easily,” he says, not so discreetly letting me know
that I did not hide my reaction to his flirtatious remark. He pats the seat next to him. “Come sit.”

How am I going to sit next to him and not combust?

That brow of his arches. “Intimidated?”

“Yes,” I say, deciding that hiding anything from this man is impossible. So why try? “Now you intimidate me.”

He reaches over the counter and takes my hand, pulling me around to stand beside him. “Well, news flash, sweetheart. I feel the same.”

I laugh in disbelief, trying to suppress a memory of his mouth on my nipple. “I don’t intimidate you. You’re a powerful CEO, with money, success, and so many women chasing you that your door staff thought I was one of them.”

He turns toward me, hitting me with the full force of his pale-green eyes. “If only they knew that you are the one running away.”

He might as well have taken a hammer to the raw nerves he’s hit. “I’m not running from anything.”

His hands go to my waist as they had earlier, and he lifts me and sets me on the stool. “Yes. You are. But you can’t run fast enough. That’s a lesson you still have to learn.”

I blink at him, not sure if he’s talking about me running from him or about something else. I want to ask, but his hands fall away and I am left cold and confused while he loosens his tie and then opens both of the take-out containers. “One noodle and chicken. One beef and rice.” He glances over at me. “I approve.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because you’re here.” He hands me a plastic fork and softens his voice. “Let’s eat, Kali.”

I wet my lips, and his eyes follow the action. I am suddenly hot and bothered and ready to reach over and yank his tie the rest of the way off. Flushing again, I turn away quickly, his soft laughter telling me once more that I am busted.

I jab the fork into the center of a piece of chicken, then reach for my drink and open it, searching my mind for a topic that will not make me overheat. He pops his can and changes the subject. “I saw your full résumé today. You’ve been at the reporting thing since college.”

I nod, picking at the food. “It’s been a passion for as long as I can remember.”

“Then why come to Vegas?”

“I was stuck doing fluff stories. I wanted to do grittier, darker stuff. I felt I’d paid my dues, and so did the folks who hired me here. Coming to Vegas was supposed to be my ticket into the mainstream.”

He reaches over and takes a bite from the container in front of me, then shoves his closer to me. “Try it. It’s good.”

I take a bite and he watches me. I watch him. And I think … I think he wants to kiss me. I know I want to kiss him. I thought this was a fast little fling, but he’s here and it feels like more. Like sharing this meal is somehow more intimate than what happened earlier.

“What else did you leave in Texas, Kali?”

The question is like a splash of ice water. “Nothing.”

“What about family and friends?”

“My best friend just moved out of state.” I scoot food around with my fork. “My father is still in Texas.”

“And what did he think about you leaving?”

I cut him a sideways look. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“He’s pretty busy running his law firm.”

“What kind of law?”

“Mostly corporate takeover kind of stuff.”

He lifts his drink. “Dirty business,” he says, taking a swig and setting the can down. “Takes a certain kind of person to stomach that.”

“My father stomachs it just fine.” But it makes me curious about how Damion landed his job. “Didn’t you do some kind of consulting before you took this job?”

“Reading up on me, are you?”

“I wanted to be prepared for my first day at work.”

“Another reason why hiring you was a good decision. I worked as a business consultant, and I have a knack for finding snakes in the grass.”

“Meaning what?”

“Inappropriate use of funds, among other things. It goes beyond experience and education for me both now and then. It’s like how asking questions is inbred in you. I go into an operation, and a gut feeling leads me to the places and problems I need to discover. And, let me tell you, the
many ways this operation was being abused was mind-blowing. Another year and the mob would have owned it.”

“But the media—”

“Painted me as cutthroat. I know and I don’t care. I did what I had to in order to get the mob out of our operation, and that meant taking the public blows myself.”

“What made you stay in the job?”

“Stay? Who says I’m staying? I just never felt that the operation was ready for me to leave, and the board thought it was better to bring me on full time.”

“So you plan to leave.”

“When the time is right.”

“Which is when?”

“I’ll know when.” He sets his fork down and leans an elbow on the bar, facing me fully again. “What about your mother?” he asks, changing the subject again. “Or siblings? What does everyone else think about your move?”

“No siblings, and …” I hesitate, fighting the clawing sensation in my chest as I go on, “And my mother died in a car accident three years ago. What about your family?”

“And some days that three years feels like an eternity and others like yesterday. I get it. My mom died of an aneurysm when I was seventeen. It’s not easy, but it gets easier. I know you don’t believe me, but it does.”

“I do. I know. And it is.” I cut my gaze and, damn it, my eyes are prickling again. I need this day to be over.

Now Damion is standing, turning my stool toward him, his hands on the arms, trapping me between him and the chair. “Today wasn’t normal procedure. It’s our third breach in ninety days, and we’ve been looking into potential internal problems. Not at you. You weren’t with us long enough to be a part of this. Two things you need to know: Everyone was locked down in some way, shape, or form today, and not just to be investigated. For safety reasons. I personally told security that you were on lockdown against your wishes, for your protection. I would never make you look bad. Never. How can I expect you to have my back if I don’t have yours?”

Have my back? No one has my back. Suddenly I feel shallow and wrong for my reaction. “I’m sorry. It just … it made me feel … bad. It made me feel bad.”

“I know.” He repeats what is becoming welcome and familiar, stroking my hair behind
my ear as he adds, “And I wanted to call you, but silence is part of the process I would have prepared you for had you been with me longer than a day.” He lifts me off the chair and puts me down, stepping behind me, his hands on my waist, his mouth lowering to my ear. “Pack your things. You aren’t staying here.”

I turn in his arms.” What?”

“You aren’t staying in this rattrap.”

I push away from him. “I’m not a charity case who needs your money, Damion. I’m staying here.”

“You’re staying at Vantage as part of your employment package.”

“I quit.”

“I didn’t accept your resignation.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t. Every reason I hired you still exists. Nothing has changed.”

“Yes, it has.” My lips tighten, and so does my voice. “We changed. We crossed lines. And you might be okay with that, but I’m not.”

He scrubs a hand through his hair, leaving it a dark, rumpled, sexy mess. “You think what happened between us was just how I operate?” He makes a frustrated sound and looks at the ceiling, then at me. “It’s not. I don’t fuck my staff, literally or otherwise. I damn sure don’t fuck my secretary. But we happened, and I have no intention of you leaving because of it, and if that means I have to drag you back to the casino or pay this dump a fortune to kick you out, I will.”

I gape. “What? That would be such an asshole thing to do.”

“No. The asshole thing I did was making you feel like this. I let myself touch you. I let myself go there. And now you think you have no job. Or that you have to please me to work at the casino. That is what makes me an asshole.” He moves toward me but steps around me and actually starts to gather my things and put them in my suitcase.

I rush toward where he’s leaning over the suitcase and grab his arm. “Stop. Stop now.”

He straightens and stares down at me. “One way or another, you’re coming with me.”

I ignore his sudden caveman mentality. “I’ll come to work, but I’m staying here.”

“No, you’re not. And you’re smarter than that. You’re clearly tight on money. Every day the hotel pays for your housing is a day you keep money in your pocket.”

He’s right, but I am not fully swayed. “What will the staff think? I’m not going to be
looked at like some bimbo.”

“We have sixty staff members living on site, including me, and all their stays are included in their compensation packages. You’ll be in the same room you were in today, on the executive floor. On that level the camera feed is seen by only Terrance and me. Your life is completely private. Your bills are paid. This is a smart thing to do.”

“What about …”

“I made a mistake. I know that. I’m man enough to fix it.”

Man enough to fix “it.” I’m not fully sure what he means. I’m not even sure I want him to fix “it.” But he’s right. What he’s offering is a smart move for me. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Approval washes over his handsome face. “What can I do to help you pack?”

“The stuff in the fridge. I want to take it. The food, that is. The plates and things belong to the hotel.”

“Where are the rest of your belongings?”

“The moving company will hold all of it for a month with no extra fees. That gives me time to figure some things out.”

He studies me for a long moment, and I have a sense he wants to tell me he will figure it out for me but knows I won’t be pleased. “I’ll get the kitchen stuff,” he finally says, and turns away.

A few minutes later, he loads my car with my items and then glances from his BMW to my compact rental, grimacing as he holds the driver’s side open for me. “This car—”

“Is all I need.” And somehow I have rested my hand on his chest. I start to pull it back when his hand comes over mine and holds it over his thundering heart.

“You aren’t alone in a strange city anymore.”

I should remind him we barely know each other. Tell him I am not his responsibility. But I don’t. I let myself live in the fairy-tale moment. “Thank you.”

His eyes narrow slightly, and for some reason I think he does not approve of my reply. His hand releases mine and he backs away, almost as if he’s just pulled down a curtain. “We should go.”

I slide into the vehicle and, without hesitation, he shuts me inside, with him on the outside.

* * *

There is a subtle band of tension humming around us as we exit our vehicles in the private tenants’ area and head to the elevator. Once we are inside the lift, Damion gives me an awkward tour-guide recounting of the amenities I have at my disposal, and I want to scream at him to stop halfway through his speech.

Nerves flutter in my stomach the instant we arrive on my floor, and once we are at my door, he hands me a key, and I do not miss the way he avoids touching me. I wonder if he sees the irony of telling me I am not alone and now acting as if I am the plague.

I swipe the card in the door and hold it open as he maneuvers my bags inside. He’s back in the hall before I can blink, leaning a hand on the doorjamb by my head, shadows swimming in his eyes. “I’m not going to roll your bags inside or I won’t leave.”

The tormented confession punches me in the gut and I reach for his face, only to have him capture my wrist. “I’ve spent hours on end, it feels like, wanting you today,” he confesses. “I almost had you, too. I’m on the edge, and if you touch me, I will not do what’s right tonight and walk away.” He motions to his left. “I’m in the suite at the very end of the hall if you need anything—30011 by phone.”

We crossed lines
, I’d told him.
I’m man enough to fix it
, he’d said. He’s giving me what I asked for. Why does that bother me?

He drops my wrist, setting me free. “Good night, Kali.” And then he turns and walks down the hall. Holding my breath, my nails curled into my palms, I watch him go. I don’t move. When he’s at his door, he pauses, and I will him to turn and come back. He doesn’t. We both go into our rooms alone.

I lie in bed, aching to be with Damion and thinking of every instant before and after our being here in this room. I replay every touch, every comment, every look. But of all the things my mind could fixate on, it does not go to those delicious and wonderful erotic moments but to his generic claim that I’m running from something. I am not running. I am choosing to be happy. I have decided that moving away from a veil casting unhappiness is smart.

Unable to stop myself, I grab my cell from the nightstand and type:
I am not running from anything
.

And obviously you aren’t sleeping, either
.

I glance at the time on the digital clock by the bed—1:00
A.M.
Sorry. Did I wake you?