I rolled my eyes. "In Vegas, I've been a half-inch away from a disaster the entire time."
He slipped a perfect omelet onto a plate and slid it towards me. "Only if you count getting blackout drunk at a nightclub party, waking up in a strange man's bed, upgrading yourself to a high-roller's suite, and then following a pair of gangsters that turn around and kidnap you."
I took a bite of the omelet and almost forgave Fenton for the twinkle of amusement in his blue eyes. "Don't forget, I also picked up your duffel bag for you."
"After you crashed a bare-knuckles underground fight."
"I think you mean 'thank you,'" I tipped my head and gave him a pointed look.
He laughed again, an eruption of sound that made my stomach flutter. "You're right. Thank you."
He finished his breakfast in big bites and went to the door to retrieve the black duffel bag. I tried not to watch as he fished out his phone and scrolled through the messages. One he read made him pause and then he quickly texted a response.
I swiveled on my stool, uncrossing and crossing my legs in his eye line. "Don't tell me those other agents contacted you. I'm fine if you and I are not doing business, but I am very competitive woman."
Fenton crooked a black eyebrow at me. "How competitive?"
"Very," I said. I slipped off the stool and walked barefoot to him. When I drew near, he looked down and noticed my nipples pushing hard against the thin fabric of my dress. I nodded and raised myself on my tiptoes so we were on eye level. "What if I want you all to myself?"
"Yes, please," he said.
His hands slipped around my waist, but I pulled my lips back from his hot mouth. "Just you and just me," I said.
He did not answer. Instead, he gave me a wolfish grin and tightened his arms around my waist. I could not resist and our lips met, the kiss melting away my resistance. I ran my hands up the washboard ridges of his bare stomach, my fingers flexing over his hard male body. Once I reached his shoulders, it was a sweet relief to press my breasts against him.
This time, his lips were soft, his tongue leisurely exploring mine. We tangled and tasted, retreated and smiled. I kneaded the taut stretch of his shoulders and let my fingers slowly work upwards to his thick black hair. Fenton let his hands rove up and down the curve of my back, then along the sides of my body. Slowly, his warm hands brushed against the sides of my breasts.
He smiled against my lips again and dropped his hands to tug at the hem of my dress. It slipped up slowly, tickling and tantalizing me as he drew it up my body and finally over my head. I raised my arms, gasping as my breasts bounced against the heat of his bare skin. Fenton stopped to admire where we pressed against each other then dropped his lips to mine for a deep thirsty kiss.
I stepped back, fully intending to break the spell. It was nearly morning and being with Fenton was an insane thing to do. He followed me, our lips never parting. We kept going until the stool bumped into my back. Then, he lifted me onto it, pressing himself between my legs. I felt the hardness of his desire and melted. He pulled aside the thin barrier of my lace panties and slipped inside, both of us sighing into a kiss as he pushed deeply.
Fenton moved slowly, the press and pull driving me wild, even as our kisses stayed long and languid. He lifted both his hands to my face, brushing back my hair as our bodies surged together. When the climax spilled over me, he drank up my shuddering moans, then buried his face in my hair and held me gently as he drove himself to finish.
A sweet moan escaped my lips when he finally slipped himself out and we parted. Still, he held my face with both hands and kissed me again. "If it’s alright with you, I'd like to stay here," he said.
"I suppose," I said. I reached my feet to the ground but hung on to the counter, my knees still quaking.
"I'm going to shower. You should draw yourself a nice bubble bath." He smiled and picked up his black duffel bag. He headed to the smaller bedroom and left me the master suite with the marbled bathtub.
I stood for a moment longer, unable to find my balance. My mind, all my senses, felt like a soaring flight. Was I floating or falling? I shook my head and let myself consider the wild changes that would take over my life if I fell in love with Fenton Morris.
A knock on the door saved me from stretching into unknown thoughts. I adjusted my dress and answered the door.
"Is Fenton here? He told me I could come and stay." The woman at the door was hardly wearing a dress. The silver straps criss-crossed her body, between glittered lotion.
I looked at her from her crystal platform heels to the wild, streaked extensions in her hair. "I'm sorry, who are you?" I asked.
"Dana Maria," the stripper said. "Fenton asked me to come over."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Kya
The stripper stepped around me in her impossibly high heels and walked straight across the suite to Fenton's room. She left the door open and I could hear her call out to him.
"You came! I'm so glad. Just give me a minute," Fenton replied. The shower turned off and their voices dropped lower.
I stood in the doorway and could not hear what they said. Did it matter? There was only one real reason he had invited such a woman to join him in his room. I heard him come out of the bathroom. I turned on shaky knees and disappeared into the master bedroom, before he could see me through his open door.
My hands shook as I dug through my suitcase. Stuffed far in the corner was the black bikini I had packed at the last second. Lounging by the pool had been the one luxury I was going to allow myself on this business trip. I fumbled with the ties, but got the bikini on. I tugged a wispy sundress over the top, found my sunglasses, and raked my fingers through my loose hair.
In the living room, I rushed to find the pair of sandals I had left by the patio door. Just as I slipped them on, I heard the other bedroom door handle rattle. I darted across the suite and made it out the door before Fenton could say anything. I fled down the hallway and into the stairwell, unwilling to be caught by the elevator and forced to hear whatever flimsy excuse he had.
There was nothing he could say. I read the whole situation wrong. The swirl of emotions had been entirely on my part. I wanted to blame the adrenaline, the slow ebb of excitement after my dangerous encounter with the fight fixers, but that was a lie. I had wanted Fenton from the first moment I saw him in that Vegas nightclub. It had all meant something to me. To Fenton, though, I was just another conquest.
I found a lounge chair in the already blazing sun and lay down. I hoped to bake the chill out of my heart, but there were tears welling behind my sunglasses. It was ridiculous to cry over Fenton Morris. He was not worth tears, no matter what he had made me feel. He was the type of man to invite another woman into the suite minutes after we had been together.
"Would you like me to bring you something from the bar?" a waiter asked.
"A mimosa," I said. "Wait, no, skip the orange juice and just bring me champagne."
I gave the waiter my suite number. I was already in debt to my boss for the room, so I might as well enjoy it. And, I hoped the bubbly burst of alcohol would offset the eroding sadness I knew too well. The last time I felt so alone was after my parents had passed away. Strangely, that thought gave me some comfort. The way I had pulled myself out of that grief was to set my feet firmly on a practical path. I was the only one that was going to look out for me and it was better to focus on that than Fenton.