sounded pretty accurate. It sounded like an awfully entertaining place to visit, too... .
Chapter 6
Present day
Las Vegas, Nevada
Sin City had definitely earned its nickname—and Damon treasured that quality about it. In Las Vegas, whatever you wanted, you could have. Whatever you needed could be arranged. Whatever kinky, surreal, or extraordinary activity you felt like experimenting with ... you could. Openly and without recrimination.
What happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas. The end.
At least that’s the way Damon’s imagined version of Las Vegas operated. In reality, people barged into your hotel suite at ungodly hours—before it was even dark outside!—pestering you to do things you didn’t want to do, like conduct business, stand upright, or get dressed. He really didn’t want to get dressed.
Across his suite, a muted whir sounded. The luxurious, extra-thick draperies that hid his view of The Strip began to part. A sudden and ruthless shaft of sunlight seared its way in.
“Argh! Argh!” Flinging his naked arm over his face, Damon rolled over in bed. A ladies’ high-heeled sandal stabbed him in the back. He pitched it out. He felt for the empty liquor bottle that poked at him next, then threw away that annoyance, too. He burrowed beneath the covers. “For God’s sake, shut the curtains! Are you trying to kill me? I only went to bed an hour ago.”
“That’s why coffee was invented,” his tormentor said.
Grouchily, Damon peeked out from under the covers. His pal Jason Huerta stood far across the penthouse suite’s expansive square footage with the room’s remote control in hand, clearly prepared to push more buttons. There were more draperies to be drawn back. State-of-the-art sound systems to be engaged. Enormous 3-D TVs to be turned on. Knowing Jason’s diabolical nature, he’d activate all three at once, just because he could.
“You know I don’t drink coffee anymore,” Damon reminded his so-called friend. “I never touch the stuff. Not since—”
Not since Giada . He should have known that impulsively getting married was the king of bad ideas. So what if she’d been smart, vivacious, and intriguingly open-minded? She hadn’t been right for him. He hadn’t been right for her. They’d ended things amicably—and relatively quickly—but still Damon regretted it.
Marriage, it turned out, had not come easily to him. Everything else had, for as long as he could remember. That’s how Damon had known that marriage wasn’t meant for him.
“Since Giada?” Jason asked, echoing his thoughts. “That ended years ago. Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on her.”
“I’m not still hung up on her.” Damon slapped the nightstand, looking for a bottle that wasn’t empty. He found one. He took a swig. Vodka. Ugh. “I’m just saying I no longer enjoy waking up to a tasty cup of espresso.” Illustratively, he took another, more vigorous drink. “See? I’ve moved on.”
“You might not have noticed, but that’s vodka.”
“Hey, it’s made from potatoes or something, right?” Damon raised the bottle in a wiseass salute. “I’m practically having a plate of hash browns.” He frowned. “Why are you here, anyway?”
“Natasha called me.” Jason stabbed at the remote. The rest of the draperies cruelly parted, allowing more desert sunshine inside the room. “She said you needed a shower, a wake-up call, and maybe a babysitter—and today it wasn’t going to be her.”
Petulantly, Damon scowled. “Why not?”
Silence. That was the thing about expensive penthouse hotel suites, Damon thought as he hugged the vodka to his chest. They could shut out the whole world ... whether you wanted them to or not. This morning, that silence made him feel impossibly alone.
“She couldn’t wrestle you into the shower. You were too drunk to cooperate.” Jason came nearer. In his collared shirt and dark denim jeans, he looked every inch the responsible number cruncher and
Chapter 6
Present day
Las Vegas, Nevada
Sin City had definitely earned its nickname—and Damon treasured that quality about it. In Las Vegas, whatever you wanted, you could have. Whatever you needed could be arranged. Whatever kinky, surreal, or extraordinary activity you felt like experimenting with ... you could. Openly and without recrimination.
What happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas. The end.
At least that’s the way Damon’s imagined version of Las Vegas operated. In reality, people barged into your hotel suite at ungodly hours—before it was even dark outside!—pestering you to do things you didn’t want to do, like conduct business, stand upright, or get dressed. He really didn’t want to get dressed.
Across his suite, a muted whir sounded. The luxurious, extra-thick draperies that hid his view of The Strip began to part. A sudden and ruthless shaft of sunlight seared its way in.
“Argh! Argh!” Flinging his naked arm over his face, Damon rolled over in bed. A ladies’ high-heeled sandal stabbed him in the back. He pitched it out. He felt for the empty liquor bottle that poked at him next, then threw away that annoyance, too. He burrowed beneath the covers. “For God’s sake, shut the curtains! Are you trying to kill me? I only went to bed an hour ago.”
“That’s why coffee was invented,” his tormentor said.
Grouchily, Damon peeked out from under the covers. His pal Jason Huerta stood far across the penthouse suite’s expansive square footage with the room’s remote control in hand, clearly prepared to push more buttons. There were more draperies to be drawn back. State-of-the-art sound systems to be engaged. Enormous 3-D TVs to be turned on. Knowing Jason’s diabolical nature, he’d activate all three at once, just because he could.
“You know I don’t drink coffee anymore,” Damon reminded his so-called friend. “I never touch the stuff. Not since—”
Not since Giada . He should have known that impulsively getting married was the king of bad ideas. So what if she’d been smart, vivacious, and intriguingly open-minded? She hadn’t been right for him. He hadn’t been right for her. They’d ended things amicably—and relatively quickly—but still Damon regretted it.
Marriage, it turned out, had not come easily to him. Everything else had, for as long as he could remember. That’s how Damon had known that marriage wasn’t meant for him.
“Since Giada?” Jason asked, echoing his thoughts. “That ended years ago. Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on her.”
“I’m not still hung up on her.” Damon slapped the nightstand, looking for a bottle that wasn’t empty. He found one. He took a swig. Vodka. Ugh. “I’m just saying I no longer enjoy waking up to a tasty cup of espresso.” Illustratively, he took another, more vigorous drink. “See? I’ve moved on.”
“You might not have noticed, but that’s vodka.”
“Hey, it’s made from potatoes or something, right?” Damon raised the bottle in a wiseass salute. “I’m practically having a plate of hash browns.” He frowned. “Why are you here, anyway?”
“Natasha called me.” Jason stabbed at the remote. The rest of the draperies cruelly parted, allowing more desert sunshine inside the room. “She said you needed a shower, a wake-up call, and maybe a babysitter—and today it wasn’t going to be her.”
Petulantly, Damon scowled. “Why not?”
Silence. That was the thing about expensive penthouse hotel suites, Damon thought as he hugged the vodka to his chest. They could shut out the whole world ... whether you wanted them to or not. This morning, that silence made him feel impossibly alone.
“She couldn’t wrestle you into the shower. You were too drunk to cooperate.” Jason came nearer. In his collared shirt and dark denim jeans, he looked every inch the responsible number cruncher and
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