Madeline smiles, an I told you so look aimed at me as Lee gathers her in his arms.
“Hmm.” I tug on Brock’s tie, my brow playfully drawn up. “Although it’s been a while—ahem—I do recall you having a healthy fetish for me in this material. Is this going to pose a problem for your gambling prowess, birthday boy?”
“My birthday isn’t until tomorrow, wiseass. Don’t make me older than I am.” He kisses my lips, the tantalizing swirl of his tongue tasting of whiskey. “And no. It won’t pose a problem. Once I get you back to the room, I’m destroying your dress. I dig you in leather, but I love you out of it. Especially when it’s on the floor, next to your naked body, while your legs bug out around my head.” He releases me from his hold, his grin turning the best kind of sinister. “But, as usual, I’ll require that the heels stay on.”
Heat liquefies my muscles at the thought of fucking him. It feels as though an eternity has passed since he last nourished my body with what it requires. For some, a month without sex is a piece of cake. For me, it’s akin to drinking rat poison, each deadly swallow bringing me closer to my coffin.
“You sure did paint her a vivid picture, bro,” Ryder points out, his gaze passing between mine and Brock’s. “She no longer looks like a hot, confused mess. Well done.” He tosses back what remains of his shot, sets down his empty glass, and motions over a passing waitress. “Very well done.”
Bloodred lips spread into an eager smile, and making sure the sway of her hips holds Ryder’s attention, the waitress nods and skirts toward us. “Ryder,” she drawls, her voice thick with sex as she brushes up against him, shoving her double Ds in his face. Batting what I’m positive are fake lashes, she taps his nose. “What can I do for you, cutie?”
“What can’t you do for me, Leslie?” He toys with a strand of her dyed blonde hair, his eyes jumping from her rack to her lips. “That’s the real question.”
Her giggle makes me want to hurl. “Well, I did give you my number earlier, and you know what time I get off, so I’d say it’s up to you to find out exactly what I can or can’t do for you.”
He chuckles and leans into her ear, whispering some shit I can’t hear over the din of the casino.
Another giggle, this one on the heels of a playful gasp. I roll my eyes, positive I’m seconds from losing my dinner. She taps his nose again, squeaking out in nauseating delight as Ryder slaps her ass. Relieving me of the vomit-inducing scene, she slips around a corner, craning her neck in his direction until she’s completely out of sight.
Ryder unfastens his attention from the waitress, bringing it back to me and Brock. “What was I saying? I got a little . . . sidetracked.”
“You gotta be as shit-faced as I am.” Brock polishes off his whiskey, then swings his arm over my shoulder. “How the hell that wrinkled piece of leather does a thing for you is beyond my understanding.”
“Sorry, dude, but I’m with Brock,” Lee says, cringing. “She looked old enough to be your mother.”
Points scored for Lee and Brock.
“I’m not sure which one of you assholes is more smoked out.” Ryder sparks up a cigarette, taking a cool, long pull from it as a lazy smirk strokes his mouth. “I might be hammered a little something, but I know a fine-looking piece of ass when I see it. Besides, she’s thirty-four. That’s not old. That’s experienced.”
Chuckling, both Lee and Brock shake their heads.
Unaffected by their taunting, Ryder blows a ring of smoke into Brock’s face. “Now, again, what was I saying?”
“Brock’s picture of Amber in leather,” Madeline answers, wiggling her brows.
“Ah, that’s right.” Grinning, Ryder looks at Brock. “Well done on the picture you painted for our girl here. Amber Moretti in leather. How the fuck could you go wrong?”
“You can’t.” Brock cups my cheeks, his gaze roving over my face before he kisses me as though it’s the last time he’ll ever get to. I sink, realizing this is how he’s kissed me since he got back from West Virginia. We may not have had sex, but we’ve kissed—a lot—and when we have, there’s been underlying torment attached to each one.
My pulse takes off, shards of unease slicing my heart. As I fall in step with his sensual rhythm, it hits me that the voice inside my head’s not a voice, nor me overreacting—but instead—my intuition firing off warning shots.
Something happened to my man while he was down there.
“I love you,” Brock whispers, something parallel to paranoia surfacing across his expression. “You’ll never understand how much I cherish you, baby girl. I’d do anything for you. Anything.”
Soul aching in question, I clutch his lapels, everything in me needing to understand what’s happening to him.
“I’ll be right back.” He tosses a hand through his hair, a smile on his face. “I have to hit the ATM. I got killed on the blackjack tables before you girls came down.”
“I’ll take a walk with you,” I blurt, aware his smile’s an act, hiding something I fear he’ll never tell me about. “I could use the exercise anyway. Dinner did me in. I’m positive I look like a pregnant elephant. God knows I feel like one.”
“You’re crazy. But you’re a beautiful psycho, so it’s all good.” Brock drops a kiss onto my forehead and checks his Rolex. “Just hang here. I have a few phone calls to make, so I might be a while. Besides, Ryder’s gonna teach ya how to play craps. Isn’t that right, Ashcroft?”