KING: Las Vegas Bad Boys (12 page)

* * *

W
hen we get
downstairs for breakfast everyone is sitting at the massive oak table. Fiona and Geoffrey have crossed arms and pursed lips. Mum and Dad look confused and upset. All I want is some tea and toast.

“What is it?” I ask, pulling out a chair for Claire, remembering to be the perfect gentleman. I look at my mum for approval, but her head is now buried in her hands.

“So, Claire … tell us, what kind of life do you live in Las Vegas?” Fiona asks, picking up her teacup, emphasizing
Las Vegas
with disdain.

We’ve just been seated and haven’t even taken a bite of food.

“Um, well. What would you like to know?” Claire maneuvers her answer expertly as she takes a seat.

“What do you do for a living?”

“I told you last night. I work in the hospitality sector.”

Fiona snorts. “See,” she says flippantly to my mum. “Told you.”

“Told what?” I ask.

“Hospitality sector is a quaint way of saying cocktail waitress,” Geoffrey scoffs. “Admit it, Landon, this girl is no different than the other birds you’ve brought here on holiday. The only difference is this girl has a rock on her finger. On loan, I might add.”

“How do you know that?” I ask, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. I don’t know why him mentioning that I didn’t buy the ring outright embarrasses me, but for some reason I don’t want Claire to know that.

“I called around,” Geoffrey says, picking up a piece of toast as if this conversation is—as if Claire and I are—beneath him. “It’s not that difficult to look up an address, search a few databases. Ask a few tech friends to run a few things on your fiancée, a few things on you.”

“Oh, don’t ruin a perfectly nice family holiday,” Mum says, setting down her napkin. “All I want is my family all together, under one roof.”

“Well, first of all, it’s not a holiday, Mum. We’ve gathered for a family business meeting. One we must have sooner or later. Besides,
our
family is all together,” Geoffrey digs. “But not Claire’s. Tell them, Claire, what family did you leave at home?”

Claire’s face goes white, as if she’s seen a ghost.

Geoffrey and Fiona seem to have crossed a line ... I just don’t know what line that this.

“What?” I ask her, confused. Claire’s eyes are already brimming with tears.

“I ... can’t....” Then she’s up, running from the room.

And then she’s gone.

I
don’t want
to be a drama queen. I swear to God I don’t. I came downstairs today wanting an English family breakfast where everyone eats clotted cream and scones and drinks Earl Grey tea.

Running out makes me look like a basket case ... but I can’t help it.

Fiona’s look of hatred and Geoffrey’s apparent disdain for me solidified everything I fear. Being judged for being the person I am.

I love my daughter; I love the fact that I live with my mom and that the family I have is close to me.

What I hate is holier-than-thou people. Especially ones who are only that way because they happen to be living a life of estates and diamond tycoons and passports filled with stamps from the entire world.

What I hate is that I feel less-than because I live in the desert in my mother’s house. Because my baby-daddy left before our daughter was born. Because I don’t have a college degree or a retirement plan—or anything, really, besides my girl.

And shouldn’t that be enough?

Landon follows me from the house, calling my name, but I want to keep running. I’ve run down a stone pathway, and I don’t know where it leads, but what’s new? I don’t know much of anything.

Right now, all I know is that I hate Landon finding out about Sophia this way. I shouldn’t have held my cards so close. And I know this is just a job ... but when Landon looks at me, kisses me, says he loves me? I swear it is something more.

Last night we played pretend, and I know that it was just a game —a way to numb and a way to hide and a way to get lost. I know there is nothing more between us … but,
God
, a not-so-small part of me wishes there were.

But as Landon catches up to me, grabs my arm, forces me to stop and look in his eyes, I see that my wishes mean nothing. This is a job to him ... and I think I may have royally fucked it up.

“What the bloody hell are you doing, woman?” he asks, panting for breath.

“You never use the word
bloody
back in Vegas. One day in England and you’ve returned to the slang of your childhood?”

“This isn’t a joke. And we aren’t making this about me right now.”

“Can we? Can we please?” I ask him, turning from him, my chest pounding and my ears pounding as I look around the gorgeous garden we’ve run into. Oak trees and ivy and massive hedges in the shape of diamonds surround us.

“No, Claire.” Landon places his hands on my arms, forcing me to stop and turn back to him. “We
are
talking about you. What was Geoffrey referring to? What made you run?”

“You didn’t stay and listen?” I ask.

“Dammit, Claire. Stop it. My parents think we’re bloody engaged. You think I’d just let my fiancée run from the house without coming after her?”

“So you came because I’m your employee?”

“Stop being difficult.” His eyes search mine, but I’ve already turned off the emotions ... the feeling that could reveal how I really feel. Because what I really feel is something passing between Landon and I every time our hands touch. Every time he whispers my name. Every time we make love.

“You said Fiona and Geoffrey were beasts, but you never mentioned the fact that they were completely determined to ruin your life.”

“I’m pretty sure I did, Claire. I said if you had any dirt at all that they might dig up, they would.”

“I haven’t even been in the country twenty-four hours. I thought I’d have time to win them over before they attacked.”

“That isn’t my fault. God, Claire, what are you hiding?
Who
are you hiding?”

“I can’t do this.” I pull away again and sit on the cold stone bench, resting my face in my hands, brushing away the tears. Suddenly I miss Sophia madly. With all of my heart.

This was so stupid, to travel here for a scam. There was no chance in hell we could pull it off. Fake fiancées are only a thing people write about in books, or that you see in romantic comedies starring Reese Witherspoon. Not real life. Not
my
life.

“Don’t do this. Don’t be a brat about it. I’ve brought you all this way, Claire. The least you could do is be honest now.”

“Don’t be mean to me,” I say, my voice cracking. Hating him for looking at me like I’m a bitch. Just wait until he hears that I’ve been hiding a daughter from him. I swore I had no dusty cobwebs, no skeletons in my closet.

And sure, Sophia is one of the things I’ve kept from him ... but she isn’t everything.

How deep did Geoffrey get when he started digging?

“Just tell me what Geoffrey meant when he said you have family back in Vegas.”

Landon sits next to me, and his softness with me—the tender way he’s been taking my hand, threading our fingers together—isn’t here. This is a hands-in-his-lap, no-room-for-emotion sort of conversation.

“You won’t see me the same way once I tell you.”

“And how do you think I see you now?” he asks plainly. Which I hate. I hate him putting it back on me, right where it belongs. I don’t want to own anything at the moment. I just want to curl up in a ball like a cat, find a sunny spot to sleep, and pretend this isn’t happening.

I’m so freaking tired of wishing for a life I don’t have. It isn’t fair to the life I
do
have.

I let out a small
hmph
, ashamed of myself for the millionth time today. Why the hell can’t what I have be enough?

Landon deserves more than I’ve given him. Sure, I’ve given him my body, but friendships can’t be built on orgasms alone.

“I think you see me as a smart woman who’s put together, but prone to panic,” I say quietly.

I look away from him, focusing on the diamond-shaped greenery, because that is emotionless. That is what I can handle in this confession. Landon’s eyes are filled with an expanse of feelings that are too much for me to take.

I keep talking, “You think I’m pretty and fun to be around, and you like the way I make you feel, even if the feelings aren’t forever feelings. In the moments that we’re together, I think I make you feel better. And I think there are moments where this doesn’t feel fake. Where you forget you’re a bachelor in Vegas with famous friends and a different woman every night of the week. I think when you forget that ... you like what you have.”

The garden is so quiet; the only noise is Landon clearing his throat, and I wonder why I said all those things. Because maybe he doesn’t think that about me at all. Maybe I am presumptuous and a fool. And maybe I’m just putting on him the emotions that are my own. Maybe it’s me who’s falling for this boy, and not the other way around.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. Either way it ends in a good-bye. He thinks I am single woman who likes sex and has no strings attached to anyone or anything ... but the reality is so different. Right now, Landon doesn’t even know surface-level Claire. He doesn’t really know me at all.

“Fuck, Claire. That was a speech.”

“Too much?”

“Never too much.”

“That’s not true,” I tell him. “I haven’t told you the secret.”

“Which is?”

“That’s not fair. I laid out for you what I think you see in me. Shouldn’t you be required to say what I see in you?”

“Is this game really about what’s fair?” Our eyes meet. The air is still. My heart catches. “I think you’re trying to hold out on the inevitable.”

He’s right. I give in.

“Landon, I have a daughter.”

* * *

I’d say I am a level-headed man. Sure, I like pussy; I’m not denying that. But it doesn’t get me all whacked out, because it’s just a fact of life.

If I want to have sex, I take a woman to my room. And I also like to gamble. There’s something about cards on the table, where you can’t hide. You can only bluff for so long before you have to show your hand.

Claire has the best poker face I’ve ever seen.

A daughter? I literally would have never guessed that’s her dirty little secret.

“A daughter?” I ask, incredulous. “No fucking way.”

“This is so stupid,” she says, tears streaking her gorgeous cheekbones. “I should go. I have to go. I can call myself a cab.”

“Shut up and sit down,” I instruct, grabbing her hand before she can run off again.

“I told you I had no skeletons ... but I lied. About a lot of things.”

“She’s a daughter, not a fucking basement filled with rats.”

“People don’t put rats in the basement.”

“Crazy people do. And that isn’t you. You are a mother, not a psychopath.”

“I said I’d go, because I understand this compromises the entire deal.”

“Maybe we can find another angle. You are obviously not leaving.”

“They want Fiona, not me, Landon. A perfect English woman, with nothing wrong with her besides a resting bitch face. Not a single mom living with her mom.”

I ignore her assessments. “Do Tess and Emmy know?” I ask.

“No.” She swallows and looks away.

“That’s pretty fucked up.”

“I know, God.” She hits me then, against my arm, and I don’t want any more answers or to ask any more questions. I just want to fuck her.

Maybe my desire for pussy does get me all whacked out.

All I want is her. Again.

“Claire, you are a really hot mum,” I say, pushing her hair from her face and leaning closer. I know her having a daughter is a big thing … but it’s not the only thing. I still want her in ways that overwhelm me.

“Don’t brush this off like it’s a joke,” she says. “I feel awful enough already. I’ve lied to basically everyone and now you want to have sex with me because it’s another thing to check off on your sex-list.”

“I don’t have a sex-list. Is that even a thing?” I ask her, smiling. “Do you have one? Do all the mums have them?”

“This is serious, Landon. Like, either I go back and tell your parents I’m an imposter, or ... I don’t even know option two.”

“Option two is I spank you for being so naughty.”

“Ohmigod, me being a mom is, like, turning you on, isn’t it?” She shakes her head, giving a soft laugh, like she can’t believe this is happening.

“I don’t think it’s the mum part. I think it’s you, Claire. You get me so fucking hard.”

I kiss her then; my mouth can’t help but taste her sweet lips, feel her warm skin. When she doesn’t hesitate—when she leans deeper into the kiss, when her hands take hold of my face and she moans her perfect little moan into my mouth—I just want to pull down her jeans and fuck her then and there.

I know we can’t have sex on the pathway to the garden, but I do pull her into my lap so she straddles me, and my hands reach under her sweater, holding her narrow waist. Her soft skin is warm and willing, molding under my hands as if made for me.

“Landon, you want me, now?” Her voice is low and broken.

“Unquestionably.” I stand, holding her as she wraps her legs around me tighter, and carry her down the path, her mouth on my neck, licking the skin leading to my ear. She nibbles my earlobe, and my cock grows hard as her tongue slides across my skin.

I take her to a small wooden shed near the pond, kicking open the door and setting her down on a potting bench.

Her hands reach for my sweater, pulling it off, and I tug off hers, too. We’re panting for breath; all I want is her hands to touch my cock, to feel the stiffness that’s grown for her.

She sits before me, her legs spread apart, and I pull down the white lace of her bra, filling my mouth with her perfect tit, sucking at her hard nipple. Wanting to devour her.

“I want to touch you,” she says.

“Not yet,” I tell her, shaking my head, in mock seriousness. “I’m going to spank you first, for lying to me.”

“Are you going to spank me hard?” She pants, her hands reaching into the waistband of my trousers, reaching for the only thing that can get her off like a fountain. I know she wants to get soaked, but not yet.

I pull her off the counter, and spin her around so her ass is in my face, right where it belongs. I undo her pants buttons, her zipper—and in one fell swoop I pull them and her white thong to her ankles.

Her forearms rest against the wooden bench, and I kneel down on the tile floor and press my face against her gorgeous ass cheeks. They are the roundest part of her body, and I want to slip my tongue into the space between her legs, where she is already dripping with desire.

My hand spreads her legs slightly apart and I press against her opening quickly, teasingly, knowing she likes my fingers deep inside her, knowing that is when she really lights up, but knowing first I need to spank her, play with her. I like sex that isn’t wrapped up in a nice little bow, and so far I’ve given her pretty tidy packages.

I want things to get dirtier now, want to take it to the next level.

I know she wants it too, because she kicks off her shoes and her pants that are around her ankles. Now, fully naked, her hand reaches to her opening, her fingers rubbing against her throbbing clit. I kiss her neck, massaging her tits from behind as she touches herself.

But then she pauses, and turns ever so slightly, to whisper in my ear.

“I know we’re playing, Landon, but you don’t think I’m really bad, do you? For lying? ... You aren’t actually punishing me?”