Only Pretend (2 page)

I didn't want to be so shy any longer.

Shivering in the cool air, I hurried to finish undressing.

I didn't own much in the way of fancy clothes. The short, tight little black number I slid into view was perfect Vegas camouflage. Jones had bought it for me last year, an attempt to add 'spice' he had said. I'd shied away from ever putting it on.

Steeling my nerves, I yanked the skin-tight dress over my head. It was silk come to life, hugging my curves and reminding me I had on no bra. I couldn't see
how
to wear one, though, with a strapless dress like that.
Everyone would see it. The girls who wear outfits like this never have bra straps showing. It's just not done.

The ensemble was complete when I pushed my toes into a pair of silver heels. They weren't too high, but I knew my hips would still swing. Stepping from the stall, I caught the sight of myself in the mirror and gasped.

If Jones saw me like this. Wow.
I kicked him from my mind. I was supposed to be angry with the asshole! He'd broken up with me, said awful things about me.

Why even waste time remembering him?

The finishing touches came next. Some concealer for my tired eyes, blush to remove my pallid color. I went so far as to stroke on cobalt eye liner, highlighting the color of my irises. Puckering my glossy pink lips, my grin went sideways.

I actually look kind of good.

It didn't fix my problem when it came to getting a room, but it did cheer me up. My confidence grew the more I played with my newly flaxen hair, studying how the dress swelled around my hips and ass.
Worst case,
I thought to myself, heels clicking out into the hotel,
I can just drive off the strip and find a cheap motel later.

Emboldened by my logic, by how I caught the clerk eating me with his eyes as I passed, I strolled out into the main casino. The place was bustling, people flocking to Vegas for the weekend. If a busy, loud night was my goal, I'd picked the right time to come.

My attention wandered, caught up in the noise and energy. I'd never been one to gamble, but seeing the people screaming at a table as I passed had me intrigued. Slowing, I pulled my case towards the commotion.

It was a group, three people thick. I had to crane my neck to see the game being played, thankful I should go ignored in the action. The green felt was covered in chips.
Roulette,
I realized, spotting the red and black markings.

"No more bets." The dealer, an older woman in a black vest, waved her hand over the table. The people were murmuring, eyes shooting to the spinning wheel. Leaning in closer, I copied them, trying to make sense.

The ball dropped onto twenty-five. Instantly, everyone cheered, arms flying up. I found myself caught in the energy. It was amazingly easy, the voices chorusing over me like clouds.
This is fun! I don't even get the game, but the mood is intoxicating!

Out of no where, tiny hairs became needles of warning on my neck. Lifting my eyes, I caught something—someone—across the way.

Black, darker than shadows inside a cave. That gaze was fixed on me, belonging to a man on the other side of the busy table. There was an olive tone to his color, face hard on the edges and made harder by a trimmed beard along his jaw. He reminded me of the guys you'd see in a GQ magazine, selling whiskey or watches or something plain expensive.

He didn't move. Somehow, I felt like he was
touching
me.

In my chest, my heart fluttered. I couldn't explain it, how someone could just look at me and cause my
skin
to itch, to writhe, yet it was happening. Swallowing, I forced myself to avert my eyes.
Why is he staring at me?
Hooking my fingers on my suitcase, I tried to decide where to go.
Pick a direction. Stop being so weird!
Except it was weird. Extremely weird.

Too aware of how my dress was fitting me, I tugged the hem lower on my thighs. Instantly, the man quirked a small smile. That motion was fingers down my spine. Warmth boiled in my lower belly, made me breathe fast.

Shit, he was looking at me like he wanted to chew me up.

Why was that so exciting?

Brushing my hair nervously, spotting the blonde ends, I was reminded of my whole goal in coming to Vegas.
I am not boring. I can fix who I am.

However, I still wasn't brave. A man like that, even if he was broadcasting his hunger across the room, could still want nothing to do with me. My case rolled, feet taking me further into the casino and away from the stranger. I felt his gaze long after I was out of view.

Among the array of slot machines, I walked until I could put him from my mind. My feet, not used to the heels, ached for a break. Dropping into the chair of a machine, I sighed.
What am I even doing here?
Glancing down at my polished nails, I scowled.
All dolled up, too scared to flirt. I'm not so great at the whole breakup recovery process.
My lashes tickled my cheeks.
How do I get through this mess? No job, no family, no boyfriend, I just...

"Excuse me."

Sitting up, I twisted around. A waitress stood beside me, perfect teeth shining. "Um, yes?" I asked, eyeing her low-cut top.

"This is for you," she said, offering me a tall glass of something cranberry-red.

Shocked, I took the container, the condensation cold on my fingers. "Sorry, I didn't order anything."

Giggling, the waitress nodded her head to the side. Following the motion, I spotted
him
. Her words were muffled in my ringing ears. "That gentleman sent it. It's paid for. You know him?"

Dazed, I shook my head. My eyes were stuck on his, those black centers made from magnetic tar.

She flipped her hair and shrugged. "Guess you caught his attention. Have fun, honey." I heard her walk off; didn't look to confirm.

Who the hell is this man?

I couldn't help it, I was blushing. Water dripped from the glass, making me jump as it splattered on my bare knee. I broke the stare, sniffing the drink curiously. Taking a sip, the tartness exploded on my tongue.
Maybe this is what I needed,
I mused, swallowing a healthy mouthful.
Liquid courage, they say.

It took downing half the glass, my head buzzing with a welcome softness, before I got myself out of the chair. Even then, the ice clinked before I made my heels carry me towards the stranger. He watched me come; not blinking, always with his tiny smile.

Setting the bag against the table, I swirled my empty glass. "I'm guessing I should thank you."

Shifting on his chair, the man smoothed the front of his charcoal jacket. My eyes ran down with his motion, caught up in how the shirt beneath stretched over his broad chest. "It's only natural to send a beautiful woman a gift." His accent was thick, rippling through my ears like syrup mixed with gin.

Beautiful.
That was it, I couldn't meet his intensity. Turning away, I placed the glass loudly on the table. We were alone—as alone as you could be in Vegas. "You're pretty bold, huh?"

His chuckle pulled me back; his eyes kept me. "Let me be even bolder. Tell me your name."

"Cel—" I cleared my throat. "Celeste. I'm Celeste."

"Celeste," he repeated. I saw him roll my name around in his mouth. He tasted every edge of it, of me, and the way he smirked said he found it fitting. "A lovely name for such a lovely woman."

It was a wonder I was still standing. "And you?" I asked, tracing the rim of my empty glass. Alcohol was fueling me, rumbling through my veins and making me braver. "What should I call the man who sends me an unsolicited drink?"

"In private, you may call me anything." Reaching across, he touched the side of my wrist casually. His flesh was electricity without anything to ground it, jolting my heart and sending waves down to my inner thighs. Could he feel how my pulse was pounding? "But in here, Leonide will do just fine."

Leonide.
With his accent I couldn't place, like he was rolling diamonds under his tongue, his unique name added to the mystery. "Where are you from?" I blurted.

Arching a dark eyebrow, his lips curled down at the edges. "Now, who is the bold one?"

Every inch of my face burned red. Yanking my arm away, I rubbed it nervously at my waist.
Fuck, what was I thinking?
"Sorry! Uh, I was just—your name is so interesting, and..."

His laugh surprised me. It was an earthy sound, low in his gut. "No, it's nothing." His black irises twinkled, moving to my suitcase. "Let me ask where you're from."

Peeking at my bag, I wished I hadn't been dragging it around. It made me feel clumsy, ruined my whole 'confidence' aura. "Not far. I live—well. I guess I
was
living in LA."

Leonide tilted his head. Carefully, so that I almost missed it, he waved a waitress over. "That sounds like a story. Bring us two more drinks—scotch, for me." Considering my flushed cheeks, he pursed his lips. "A rum and coke for my friend."

"Oh, but I really shouldn't impose."
Or mix alcohols, talk about walking the edge.

The girl wandered off, ignoring me entirely. Leonide reached out and took my hand. Patiently, but with unyielding force, he guided me to sit across from him. Unable to make my brain work around the mush it was becoming, I just... I went along. His fingers linked under his angular chin, attention fixed on me solely. "Now, Celeste. Tell me more about why you're no longer living in LA."

"It's not a very good story." The waitress swayed up, handing our drinks over. I didn't see how much he handed her, but I knew he had to be tipping her well to make her move so fast. The drink was cool, the burn slow when it worked up to my skull. "Why don't you tell me about you? I bet you're way more interesting."

Under the table, something touched my ankle. Straightening stiffly, I watched the man across from me smile slyly. "You seem very interesting to me, Celeste."

Chewing the inside of my cheek didn't help me. "My ex said the opposite." Blinking, I realized what I had just said. Smoothing my hair behind my ears, I squinted into my drink like there was a prize inside. "Sorry! You don't want to hear about my ex. How stupid of me."

Leonide leaned close, his fingers spreading on the table. They were a mere breath from mine. I thought the magnetic tension would pull them the rest of the way. "Ah, on the contrary." In the low lights, his eyes were coffee and satin. "Learning that you're single is
exactly
the sort of thing I like to hear."

Squeezing my knees together, I struggled to speak. "Oh—uh. Well."

"You're not living in LA anymore, is what I gathered from your words."

"That—I'm just not sure where I'll go now, is all."

"No family, no one to take up with while you figure this stuff with your ex out?"

On the table, my hands twitched. I was itching for him to close the distance. Every cell of mine was struggling to understand what parts of me were sweltering due to alcohol, or due to the handsome, intense man before me. "I... no."
Why am I telling him this?
"My parents were my only family, really. And they're..."
Dead. Just say dead.
"Not around anymore."

The way he looked at me said it all. It wasn't quite pity; the neutral line of his mouth spoke more of simple understanding. That was enough. I didn't want to talk about dead parents or ex-boyfriends, or anything like that.

I don't want to be boring.

Gingerly, I slid the toe of my shoe against his ankle. Amazingly, he gave no hint of reaction. "Forgive me," he said. "I pried too much. The loss of a loved one never settles in the heart." Gripping his glass, he sipped the amber colored liquid. I, in that second, made note that he wore no rings of any kind.

How was such a handsome man, someone who dripped power and money, not married? I was tempted to pry. I never got a word out; his hand dipped under the table, touching my bare knee. "Celeste. I admit, I noticed your bag for a reason. Are you staying in this hotel?"

My tongue was swollen. Speaking was so much work. "Um, I—I was planning to, but the rates were just—I mean—"

"I'm here on business." His thumb glided over my calf. I closed my eyes, lost in the sensation. I was losing myself to a stranger... shouldn't I have put up more of a fight? Made him work? Was I so eager to make music for anyone, so long as they plucked the right strings? "Celeste, drop your bag in my room. I have plenty of space for it, then you won't need to drag it around the casino."

"I..." He brushed the hem of my dress. "That's..." In my shoes, my toes were curling. I was a single heart beat from top to bottom. "You're very kind, Leonide."

He chuckled. "Ah. My dear, you'll find I can be
very
kind."

Two drinks in, I was such a lightweight. Struggling to stand, I didn't fight when he took my bag from me. I didn't even fight when he slid his arm through mine, taking me by the elbow to lead the way.

I was feeling
drunk
. Not to mention... well. I was turned on as fuck. Horny, dizzy, guided by a mysterious—but hot as hell—man through Vegas.

And I kind of loved it.

Call me boring now,
I thought, stepping into the elevator.
Dare to call me anything like that again, Jones.

Jones.

I didn't want to think about him or his stupid, greasy face again.

In the reflective walls of the elevator, I saw myself. Pressed against Leonide, my head was below his shoulder. He towered over me, suit contrasting beside my newly bottle-blonde hair.

We went up many floors. I lost count, wasn't paying attention. I was busy smelling
him
, letting his musk take over my nose and slide into place. If I could just smell Leonide, I would have been happy for hours.

As it was, I followed him on shaky legs towards his room. Each step was a chore; my core was tugging at me, aching with my growing attraction. Maybe I was going crazy. Maybe this was how people handled breakups.

I didn't dwell once he opened the door.