Chapter 33: Chapter 33

“How is it possible to have two back to back worst days of your

life,” Yolanda moaned as she stared in horror at the clothes in her suitcase. She was going to kill her best friend, Jasmine Michaels. She wanted to cry as she held up a crimson red top that dipped to an obscenely low V in both the back and the front.

She had half a nerve to pick up the phone and curse Jasmine out for swapping out her conservative attire, for this trashy crap that her best friend called clothing. Jasmine was lucky that she was exhausted from the long flight and too tired for a squabble with her or else she would have picked up her cell phone and woken her ass up at one o’clock in the morning back in New York. She should have known Jasmine would pull something like this when her best friend spent far too much time complaining about her casual outfits as she sat on her bed while she packed.

It all made sense now. She’d naively believed Jasmine had dropped by to comfort her after the run in she’d had with Lucas Gordon. But apparently not. Apparently, the suitcase Jasmine had brought to ‘spend the night’ with was all part of her friend’s grand plan to get her to “spice it up and cut loose while she was in Vegas.”

“I’m going to kill you, Jazz,” she vowed as she frantically searched through her suitcase only to discover more halter tops, ripped jeans, skimpy dresses, and stiletto heels. Luckily for her, she’d brought a dress bag to carry her suits in to keep them from getting wrinkled, so she didn’t have to worry about walking into her nine o’clock meeting tomorrow morning looking like some tacky tramp.

But tonight’s dinner with Lucas was another story. If she hadn’t agreed to meet with him tonight to go over tomorrow’s agenda she would have just ordered room service. Tomorrow evening she would head out to one of the malls on The Strip and buy some appropriate clothing, but since she couldn’t wear what she’d worn on the five hour plane ride out there, for now she was stuck with the slut gear.

Rummaging through her suitcase, she tried to find the least revealing outfit possible. It took her several minutes, but finally she settled on a pair of skin tight holey jeans, a cream blouse, that was indeed see through but at least it had a built in tank top beneath it. She then pulled out a pair of cream and copper stiletto sandals with sequins across the toes to complete the outfit.

Dragging a hand across her face, she flopped down on the bed as she stared at the outfit she’d laid out. “This is a nightmare.”

After the incident in her office yesterday, the last thing she wanted was for Lucas Gordon to see her dressed like a seductress. With his ginormous ego, he would automatically assume her transformation was all

for the purpose of enticing him, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

Despite his words, and her body’s traitorous reaction to him and his

damned heated words, she wasn’t looking to become the next notch on Lucas’ belt. Men like him were a heartbreak waiting to happen, and she considered herself far too intelligent to be swayed by a hot body and a pretty face.

Standing to her feet, she resigned herself to her fate as she reached for the clothes on the bed. It was just one dinner, for no more than a couple of hours. She could handle that, but just in case she was wrong, she’d hit the bar before she headed into the restaurant and purchase herself some courage in a bottle.

*

Lucas passed by Yolanda’s hotel room, as he sauntered down the hall of the Bellagio Hotel toward the elevators. When he got out of the shower, he’d gotten her message that she wanted to play the slots for a few minutes and that she would meet him for dinner at their scheduled time. He’d never figured Yolanda for much of a gambler, but hell, Vegas was the place to indulge all of your vices and fantasies if you wanted to.

At the thought of her, a slow grin spread across his face as he stepped onto the elevator. His normally acid tongue viper had been eerily silent on the plane ride over as she huddled in her seat, keeping their bodies as far apart as she could without flying through the window.

She was so transparent that it had been a struggle not to burst out laughing every time he glanced her way. The events that transpired in her office yesterday had left her rattled and he figured the only way she knew how to handle everything was to just keep her distance. But her little ploys wouldn’t work.

He’d spoken the truth yesterday; he wasn’t some male slut chasing after one thing. Yes, he dated, but that was it. He hadn’t taken a woman to his bed in over a year. Not that there weren’t plenty that were eager to trip and fall on his dick. Surrounded by models and fashion icons on a daily basis, he got his share of offers. But at thirty-eight, he was far too old to be bed hopping from one meaningless, faceless partner to the next. Never mind, that had never been his thing even when he was younger.

Yes, he was a charmer. Maybe that was the Italian blood in him from his maternal grandfather. He enjoyed complimenting women just to see them smile, but there was a line between charming compliments and obvious flirting, and he didn’t cross it. If Yolanda would just open her eyes she would see that he flirted with her, and no one else, because he

wanted only her. But after yesterday, he was sure there were no more doubts about that.

Still, even with his cards on the table, he knew she was going to be a tough nut to crack. But he was up to the challenge.

As the doors to the elevator slid open and he stepped out, he kept that thought firmly fixed in his head, giving him just an extra pep in his step, as he strolled through the lobby on his way to Café Bellagio in search of the lovely Yolanda.

He passed by the casino area, the multicolored lights of the slot machines flashing before his eyes as the peal of endless ringing echoed all around him. He could easily see how someone could come to Vegas and lose it all. The energy all around him was infectious and addictive, and if you weren’t careful you could quickly wind up bewitched by the magic of the city.

He maneuvered his way through the throng of people, the twinkling glow of the machines blurring his vision. He was almost past

the casino area when he glanced over at the bar nestled in the corner. He

quickly scanned the chic upscale décor of the Yellow-Tail. A rueful smiled

curled his lips then. Named after an Australian wine, the bar’s name took on a whole other meaning if one just stopped to look at its patrons. From the scantily clad women, to the undoubtedly married and taken men with their tongues hanging out and nothing but lust in their eyes, it apparently was the place to be if you were looking to get some “tail” for the night.

He wouldn’t have given the place a second glance, had his gaze not zeroed in on a mocha hued woman with shoulder length caramel brown hair who was showing more skin than he’d ever seen her show in the entire time he’d known her.