Microsoft Word - Seven Nights of Sin (21 page)

Damon dealt with each person differently, she noticed, playing into his or her personality and particular issues, until each seemed adequately appeased—although with Barstow,  “appeased” was probably too optimistic a term.

After pushing the disconnect button the final time, he looked up from the sofa where he lounged in his usual jeans and tee to face Brenna, who rested on a satin-upholstered chaise. “There you have it,” he said. “The dark side of A&R. Think you can handle it?”

Not on my best day, she was tempted to say.

She knew how to deal with Jenkins when he was overworked and stressed out. And she knew that when Kelly was having a rotten day, the best thing to do was just agree with everything she said and it would all work out in the end. She knew how to fix copy machines and finesse Microsoft Word and efficiently run a small office with one hand tied behind her back. Yet despite Jenkins’ and Damon’s belief in her, she had no idea how to take care of people who probably had good reasons to be upset about problems that likely couldn’t be solved.

And sure, she’d talked to most of these people on the phone before herself, but only to patch them through to Jenkins or assure them their check was in the mail—and this was different. Old Brenna was a hand-holder, but not to angry, hysterical rock stars.

“I’ll admit I’m intimidated by everything I just heard,” she replied, trying not to sound as

freaked out as she was.

“And I’ll admit that I usually don’t have to make three phone calls like that in a row. But  being on the road allows things to stack up a little, and part of why they were all so mad is  because I didn’t get back to them five minutes after they called. Artists are  temperamental—that’s a fact of this business. You just have to address their needs the

best you can.”

She nodded and hoped she didn’t look too worried. As she’d acknowledged to herself when he’d been networking with club personnel, Damon was a natural people person—and she just wasn’t sure she could see herself being that skilled at initiating relationships, or dealing with ones that were difficult, as Damon had just done.

“You know what you need to cheer you up?” he asked.

Okay, so clearly her fears were still written all over her face. “What?”

“Some new panties.”

She cast a flirtatious smile, having grown much more comfortable with her current social life than her professional one. “That’s right—you owe me a pair, don’t you? Or two,” she added, thinking back to their encounter at Fetish.

“Lucky for you, the Fashion Show Mall is close enough to walk.”

“Lucky for me, I happen to be sleeping with a guy who actually knows things like this,” she

replied on a laugh.

“Well, I hope this won’t shock you too much, little miss Brenna,” he said with a wink, “but it

won’t be my first time in a lingerie store.”

She let out a mock gasp, splaying her hand across her chest.

“And not only that—I’m not the kind of guy who stands at the door with his arms crossed,

looking at his feet. I’ll be helping you pick these panties out.”

She laughed softly. “I can’t wait to see your choices. And just so you know, I’m not into crotchless. I require both practicality and sexiness in my undies.”

In reply, he snapped his fingers and muttered, “Damn.”

Two hours later, they’d crossed Las Vegas Boulevard and made the short trek to the stylish, upscale mall. In addition to replacing the red thong they’d ruined last night, Damon had picked out a black thong, a leopard-print thong with a black lace inlay on front, and an embroidered demi-bra and panty set of lavender silk and lace.

They’d held hands, kissed as they’d walked and shopped, and kissed some more as they’d stopped to grab a couple of sandwiches in the food court for lunch. Then they made their way back to the Venetian, Damon toting the little pink shopping bag with a natural confidence that made Brenna see how truly masculine he was.

“Not all guys would be happy about carrying a pink bag,” she pointed out, impressed.

He simply replied, “I’m not all guys.”

You can say that again. He was easily the sexiest, most confident, most seductive man she’d ever met.

And he’d been giving her kisses over top of panty displays and around turkey clubs and—oh God—it was getting really easy to start thinking of him like…a boyfriend.

Which was emotional suicide—she knew that still.

He’d told her this was a temporary thing.

And she was lying to him anyway, so it was good it was only a temporary thing.

So quit thinking of him like a boyfriend, like someone you’re getting attached to.

If only it were that easy.

The fact was—she’d never been that kind of woman, the kind like Kelly, who could get physical with someone without starting to care. And she’d deluded herself there for a few days, thinking that maybe new Brenna was that kind of woman. But now that new Brenna was the real her…well, she was getting attached to Damon. And she was going to be hurt and lonely and empty when this ended, no doubt about it.

The only answer for now was the same she’d relied upon all week.

Push it aside. Don’t think. Just feel.

He kissed her at the door to her room—since he had more phone calls to make and some e-mails to send, and she’d decided she could use a nap—and when his tongue twined around hers and made her body tingle from head to toe, just like everything she did with him, she definitely felt . She felt it all. The pleasure. The emotion. The need to be with him.

The sad truth was that she didn’t even really like parting ways with him for the afternoon.  She’d grown so used to being with him almost around the clock these past few days, and that’ s what had made her into the real new Brenna. Damon’s presence, his influence—the things he made her think, feel.

“Dress up tonight,” he said, still holding her hand.

“Dress up…how?”

He shrugged. “A sexy dress, if you have one.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

Ah, her surprise. She’d almost forgotten. And she couldn’t imagine exactly where Damon

planned to fuck her tonight that required her being dressed up, but she also couldn’t wait

to find out.

Two

“Whoa,” Damon said when she answered the door that night at six sharp. His long onceover made her breasts tingle and her cunt pulse.

She bit her lip, feeling both sexy and sophisticated. “You like?”

“Babe,” he said, as if it were a ridiculous question. “That dress is…amazing. The way you

look, I’ll be damn lucky if I can do our business before our pleasure.”

The black satin dress hugged her curves perfectly and revealed more of her body than anything she’d ever worn, with molded underwire cups that held her breasts in place of a bra, leaving much of them exposed. The hem dropped to mid-thigh, but a slit on one side made the short length even racier.

Kelly had insisted Brenna buy the dress, but she’d left the tags on, thinking she might

return it—until Damon’s wardrobe instructions earlier, after which she’d known it was

perfect for a night out in Vegas on the arm of the hottest guy alive.

She’d completed the outfit with strappy black heels featuring a bit of rhinestone bling across the toes and the dangly diamond earrings she’d worn at her wedding. In retrospect, this seemed like a better use for them.

Damon had dressed up, too—more than she’d ever seen him before—wearing a crisp white shirt, untucked, under a carmel-colored leather jacket, with his usual jeans below. As always, his grandma’s cross rested near his throat, visible between open buttons. “You look good, too,” she told him, offering the same bold perusal he’d used on her and not hesitating to let her gaze linger on his crotch, where—even without an erection—a very pleasant bulge appeared.

An enormous gilt-framed mirror hung on the wall next to the elevator and as they waited,  Brenna couldn’t help checking them both out and thinking that tonight, more than ever before, she looked like she belonged with him, like she was someone fabulous heading out for a night of glamorous fun—and the best part was, at the moment, it was all true.

Damon took her to Bouchon, a French restaurant at the Venetian, where they were seated on a beautiful tiled patio near the pool. After dinner, they shared a chocolate mousse in an atmosphere of soft music, clinking glasses, and elegant stone columns and archways. And  Brenna tried very hard not to feel the romance of it all, but it was difficult to ignore.

On one hand, she knew Damon was a man of the world, and a lover of women, so that, for him, taking someone to a terribly romantic restaurant was surely no more than a respectful measure of affection, a good meal with someone whose company he enjoyed.

But when she looked into his eyes…did she see more?

Or was she just imagining that?

At times, she could have sworn Damon was falling for her, too. But then…a guy like  Damon was just so naturally personable, so skilled at making someone feel special, that she knew it probably meant nothing.

And that’s okay, she reminded herself. This is only an affair, and that’s exactly what you wanted it to be. No-strings-attached sex.

From dinner, it was out for an evening on the Strip. Tonight, Damon explained, they were going to see performers who all happened to work in the mega-resorts that lined Las  Vegas Boulevard.

And it hit her—oh, that’s why he told me to dress up. This promised to be more of a real  “night on the town” than any they’d shared thus far, and it made her don’t-get-too-attached-to-the-bed surprise all the more a mystery.

Their first stop: one of the few traditional Vegas shows still remaining, complete with topless showgirls sporting tons of feathers and sequins. It was a variety mix of entertainment, and Damon pointed out the singer they’d come to see, recommended by a bartender he’d spoken to earlier in the week. But Damon quickly declared that the guy had  “more of a Broadway sound,” with which Brenna agreed, and after that, she simply sat back and enjoyed the gaudy spectacle of it all, marveling at the number of bared breasts on the stage.

Afterward, as they were filing out with other theater-goers, Damon said, “Sorry if that was

kind of cheesy, but the guy I talked to made that vocalist sound spectacular, so I thought it

was worth checking out.”

Brenna let her eyes go wide. “Are you kidding? I loved it! It’s so totally classic Vegas. I had a great time.” And she had. Given that most of the “showgirl shows” were dead and gone now, it pleased her to have seen a little slice of the old Sin City.

Damon just smiled, then wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her to him for a kiss.

“Do you know how cute you are?”

She lowered her chin and cast a playful grin. “I thought I was hot .”

“You’re cute and hot,” he assured her. “And if you haven’t noticed, every guy we’ve passed

tonight has had his eyes all over you.”

Actually, she had noticed. And she’d been caught between feeling sexy and exciting and carefree…and wondering if they sized her up as a slut, wearing a dress so revealing.  Surely, if all those men could see the things she’d done the past few days, they’d believe the latter, but only she knew that she could only have indulged in such behavior with  Damon—nobody else.

And as he led her by the hand back out through the casino and onto the street, the hot night air filling her senses, she knew, undeniably, that she was falling in love with him.

But also, of course, that the whole situation remained impossible, no matter how she viewed it.

And that meant she had to get as much of him as she could now, tonight, and in the nights to come. She had to soak him up, absorb him, his body, his mind, those beautiful, beautiful eyes—all of him.

So as they climbed into a cab and Damon instructed the driver to take them to Caesars  Palace, she lifted her hand to his face and kissed him, bold, passionate, and unapologetic, without a care if the driver watched in his rearview mirror. Now that it was accompanied with love, her lust for him took on a fresh new urgency that she feared knew no bounds or limits.

“Nice,” he said when the kiss ended.

In reply, she boldly lowered her hand to his thigh, then inward, onto his cock, which grew stiff for her within mere seconds.

His gaze was half amused, half aroused. “You must be looking forward to your surprise.”

“Very much,” she admitted.

At Caesars Palace, they made their way through the casino to a stylish theme bar called  Cleopatra’s Barge, crossing a small wooden bridge to step into the floating, boat-shaped club. Darkness had fallen, and it was prime dance time—lights swirled across the floor where twenty- and thirty-somethings moved to a band playing Top 40 hits.

“This is who we’re here to see,” Damon told her as they squeezed through the crowd to

reach the bar. “They’re called Razor’s Edge.”

The band was fronted by a pretty blonde, the only female in the group. Over glasses of wine, they watched and listened, and Brenna stayed aware of all the male attention she garnered—and if she wasn’t mistaken, even a few females cast admiring glances. She