You Don't Know Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (41 page)

I
t is eleven o’clock on Saturday night, the lights are flashy, the rock ephemera is hip, and the gamblers are rocking, when we make our way through the casino toward the high limit gaming area called the Peacock Lounge, where once Jimi Hendrix’s peacock vest was hung. 

The high limit gaming area is a circular elevated platform off the main floor. It has its own cage and bar. It has obviously been arranged beforehand, so a roulette table has been wheeled in especially for Jake.

I look at Jake. ‘Albert Einstein once said, “No one can win at roulette unless he steals money from the table while no one is looking.”’

‘If you look at roulette through the language of physics, then it is the universe in miniature, a whirling, glittering mix of forces all playing out their elegant tiny dances.’

‘Very poetic.’

The croupier is an Asian girl. She smiles and nods. A man in a suit brings a tray of really cool psychedelic-colored chips and leaves them on the table in front of Jake.

Jake looks at them and smiles his thanks. He pushes five chips toward me. The chips have purple orange, yellow and green in them. Each one says five grand on it.

‘I can’t gamble this much money. I’ll be devastated if I lose,’ I say pushing the money back toward him.

He laughs and pushes it back to me. ‘Keep it for now. Give it back to me later if you don’t use it.’

He places a chip on Red and a chip on Even. The croupier starts rolling the wheel. The ivory ball spins on the outer ring. It leaves the outer track. No more bets.

‘Thirty-three black,’ she calls.

She places a marker on the 33 Black square and sweeps away his money. I swallow. Wow! That was ten thousand dollars gone in just seconds. When I look at him, his face is impassive.

This time he puts two chips on Red and two on Odd. The ball stops on 23 Red. I take a deep breath. He has won twenty thousand. People have begun to gather behind us to watch.

Jake repeats the same sequence and wins again.

A large suited man walks toward our table and stands unobtrusively at the side of it. His eyes are alert and watchful. Now more people come to watch. This time Jake puts five chips on Black and five on Even. A man puts his two chips next to Jake’s.

The wheel turns—8 Black.

He has won a hundred thousand. I place my hand on his. I know how casinos work. The smart player never stays. The longer you stay, the more unlikely you will walk away with anything. ‘Shouldn’t you stop now? You’ve won so much.’

He looks at me, a strange expression on his face. ‘Remember what I told you, Lil? I’m lucky. I’m always lucky.’

He puts the entire winnings, a hundred thousand dollars, on 34 Red. The crowd behind us gasps. It’s straight up betting. Pays thirty-five to one but the chances of winning are so small.

I touch his sleeve, my eyes confused. I can’t understand what he is up to. Why abandon his earlier winning and more careful strategy? ‘Why?’

‘Lucky at games and unlucky in love. If I win then I am unlucky in love and if I lose it means I am lucky in love. What do you say, Lily? Is a hundred thousand dollars worth it?’

The woman spins the wheel. I stare at the wheel in bewilderment. Then I put my chips behind his.

‘No more bets,’ the woman says.

I look at his face and he is staring at me, totally unperturbed. He has no interest in the outcome of his bet. There is a disappointed hush. Hazily, I hear the words, ‘Fourteen Red.’ All the chips are swept away.

‘They don’t call it The Strip for nothing,’ he murmurs. He is strangely calm.

He slips his hand into his pocket and comes up with a small velvet box. I stare at it in shock. He opens the box.

A huge, glittering diamond solitaire stares back at me. I am shaken out of my daze by a commotion at my side. I lift my head and see the award-winning  Blue Man Group! Their shiny blue painted heads bob and they widen their eyes and start to turn placards around that read:

Will

You

Marry

Me,

Lily

Hart?

My mouth drops open. The people around us ‘Oh,’ and ‘Ah.’ What the hell is going on? The whole thing is so unreal I almost can’t believe my eyes. I glance at Jake and he is grinning at me. The men start pantomiming beating hearts in their own inimitable way. They then produce a bottle of Cristal champagne and pop that open. Two flutes appear from somewhere and get filled. One is handed to me. Utterly bemused I take it and turn toward Jake. My mind is a total blank.

‘Will you?’ Jake asks softly.

‘Was this your high roller request?’ I whisper.

‘Part of it. It’s not finished yet.’

My brain can’t get into gear. The cocktails have made it sluggish. It has all happened so fast. I don’t know what I would have done in different circumstances, but with no time for thought or reflection, this moment seems like the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me. It is the most romantic and certainly the most dramatic. And all these people are waiting for me to say yes.

Caught in the moment my voice is a whisper. ‘Yes. Yes, I will.’

With a triumphant smile he slips the ring onto my finger. It is a perfect fit and the crowd starts clapping and congratulating us.

‘Come,’ he says, and we go out to the pool area. It has been turned into a magical wonderland full of flowers, balloons and lights. There is an altar and a priest is waiting for us.

‘What the hell?’ People are clapping, laughing, and cheering us on.

‘Feel like becoming my wife tonight?’

‘Tonight?’ I squeak. ‘It’s nearly midnight.’

‘Why not? This is Las Vegas—the land of dreams and twenty-four hour marriage ceremonies.’

I suddenly remember Mills and what he would say. Shit. What the fuck am I doing? This is not part of the plan. A feeling of uneasiness slithers down my spine, cold and restless. I want to say, ‘We should wait. This is all too fast,’ but I am unable to. He has gone to so much trouble and everyone is looking at me with a mixture of envy and awe. I look up at him.

A warm gust of wind ripples through his hair, as if it is teasing fingers. He looks down at me, reckless and intense. I stare at him, mesmerized. He is as gorgeous as a technicolor dream. I am the luckiest girl here.

I open my mouth and words tumble out. ‘Yes, I’ll marry you.’

With a smile the priest announces, ‘You may kiss your bride.’

As if in a dream I watch Jake drift closer, his eyes flashing, triumphant. Daring me? Daring me to what? Then I feel his mouth come down on me and drown out every thought in my head. My legs go weak. I’m married. I’m married to Jake Eden. Without my parents or grandmother. A sharp guilt pierces me.

What the hell have I done?

But everybody is shouting. There is glitter and noise.
A photographer and videographer appear.
Hotel staff are congratulating us. And there is a pink cake to cut. A small piece is put into my mouth. It feels soft, but I don’t taste it. It must have been sweet.

Then Jake is pulling me by the hand. He pulls me into the elevator. I look up at him, still dazed, unable to believe: I’m married. We just got married. In the confines of the lift I can’t look into his eyes. I look down at my ring. Wow! I’m married. I’m
really
married. A tendril of happiness touches my heart.

We start kissing in the lift. He pulls me out and we stumble through the doors, our lips glued. Suddenly he breaks away and, putting his hand under my knees, lifts me up.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Carrying you over the threshold.’

I laugh. Who would ever have thought I could be so carefree and happy again? He carries me past that dim foyer and puts me down in the living room with its scarlet walls.

‘Show me what’s underneath the dress, Mrs. Eden.’

I am suddenly shy. I bite my lip. He propels me to the middle of the room and drops himself onto the black couch. He leans back, his legs wide open, relaxed, wanting a show.

I undo the clasp on the high neck and pull down the zip. The dress shimmers all the way down to the floor, leaving me standing in my underwear, suspenders, stockings and high heels. I step away from my dress and slowly sway up to him. Once in front of him I stand with my legs apart. He lets his gaze travel slowly over my body.

‘Turn around and show me your bum,’ he says.

Intoxicated by the hunger in his eyes, I turn around and jut my bottom out provocatively. I look back and see his eyes rush to my crotch where the pale blue string of my thong is caught between my sex lips. Without removing his eyes from me, he takes his jacket off and pulls his shirt out of his trousers.

I turn back around and, with my hands behind my back, fiddle with my bra strap, while I slide my tongue over my bottom lip. I know that always drives him crazy.

‘Go on,’ he mutters, unbuttoning his shirt.

I take the bra off.

‘Jesus, you’re so fucking sexy.’ The pupils of his eyes are dilated and huge.

‘What do you want off next?’ I sound all breathy and bimbo-ish.

‘That bit of string stuck to your pussy.’

I laugh giddily.

His expression doesn’t change. He stares as if bewitched. I used to wonder what it would be like to be with someone who made me feel so desired, so wanted, so special. Now I know. I don’t know what the future holds. But it can never take this moment away from me.

I take it off and holding it in my hand, scandalize myself by bringing it to my nose and smelling the string.

He catches his breath and standing up steps out of his trousers and boxers. He runs his hand along the curve of my buttocks. My skin burns faintly at his touch.

‘So slender,’ he murmurs, the sound warm and intimate. Then he bends down and swipes his velvety tongue slowly and tantalizingly along the crack. ‘And as sweet as sin,’ he whispers. He moves upwards, flicks his tongue on the rim of my ear, catches the lobe between his teeth, and suddenly nips me. My stomach curls and I moan.

He catches my waist and spins me around, his gaze adoring. I slide my wrists around his neck and press my body invitingly against his hardness. I am desperate to feel my breasts crushed against the dark hair on his chest and his hot, wet mouth on them. I want his hands to spread my open thighs and gorge himself on the swollen whorls of flesh there.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he pulls me toward the ceiling-to-floor windows. My palms connect with the cold surface and I see the panoramic view of the city glittering with neon lights surrounded by miles of dark desert. I feel him tilt my hips up toward him, and enter me in a fierce thrust. And I see my shining reflection open its mouth in a startled gasp.

‘You like it rough?’

‘Yes.’

He thrusts again, harder. ‘Like this?’

‘Yes,’ I gasp.

I feel him pull apart my buttocks and the next thrust is so hard and so deep that my body jerks like a puppet. My eyes swivel upwards, dimly noticing the stars like jewels in the soft blackness of the night sky. A thought hits me: All that I need is to be his. Like this. Forever.

‘Nobody has taken you so hard before, have they?’

‘No.’

‘Nobody ever will again, will they?’

‘No,’ I moan.

‘Because this is all mine. I own all of this now, don’t I?’

‘Yes, yes, yes.’

His finger drums relentlessly at the side of my clit. The sensation causes a rush of aching warmth to start flooding my body. He keeps up the thrusts and the drumming until I explode and splinter into a thousand pieces. I am slumped against the glass when I feel him climax. He comes with a fierce bark of humorless laughter. 

I rest against the glass panting, slowly returning.

‘Do you know,’ he whispers close to my ear, his voice sensation soaked, lazy. ‘I dreamed about you.’

‘Really,’ I murmur. I am pleasantly satiated. I want to keep him inside me forever. 

‘Don’t you want to know what I dreamed?’

‘What did you dream?’ My voice is lazy, playful.