Then my hand around him pumps once more, and I watch his face tighten. He gives a low grunt, brown eyes closing, body slackening, and…
Oh my God! He’s going to need another pair of slacks.
His eyes flutter open, and he laughs, low and quiet, almost like he’s embarrassed.
I gawk at him. “Who are you?”
He grins, totally lazy, dominant male. “A guy with a penthouse. We can get to know each other better there.”
I look down at myself, at my unbuttoned jeans, my still-trembling legs, my frisky hands—and I feel like Cinderella must have when the clock struck midnight. I meet his eyes—hypnotic eyes. “I- I can’t go with you. I’ve got to find my friends.” And my purse, I realize. Holy crap, I lost my bag! That must be why I was getting chased! My purse is so enormous…maybe they thought I was trying to leave a bomb or something. I probably looked even sketchier after I asked for Hunter. He’s kind of a high-profile guy.
I slide off the sink, and my mystery man is there to catch me when my legs wobble. Looking at my face, into my eyes. Buttoning my jeans. I’m astonished when he sinks down to his knees and kisses me again, through my blue jeans.
“Beautiful woman.” He grins up at me, then gets back to his feet. “Can I walk you somewhere?”
I look down at where he’s laced his hand through mine. It feels…good. Too good, considering. I pull my fingers out of his and shake my head. “No. No—thank you.”
I step toward the door, unable to tear my eyes away from him as he turns the sink on, splashing himself on his torso and lower on his pants legs to disguise the stain near his...
My face burns. I’m not some girl who messes around with strangers in casinos. I’ve never even had an orgasm from anyone else’s hand but Adam’s. Well, except my own.
Something about that thought brings tears to my eyes. The stranger is washing his hands again, drying them roughly with a monogrammed towel, and I realize I’ve missed so much in my time with Adam. We lost any semblance of spontaneity—any shred of lust or adoration—before we finished high school, and since then…since then we’ve just been drifting. I’m drifting.
The stranger’s eyes find mine, and twin tears fall down my cheeks. I don’t even know this guy, but I know I need someone like him. Someone who will make me feel. Someone who can’t keep his hands off me.
This man, as his eyes hold mine…he seems to understand. He steps slowly to me, strokes my cheek. His eyes are so raw and real, I’m sure he sees right through me, down into the pitiful depths of my self-doubt. “There’s nothing to feel bad about, okay?”
I nod—except I’m remembering what happened with Cross. The humiliating rebound attempt that probably wrecked our friendship.
Shameful tears fill my eyes as I turn and push through the bathroom door. Do I need affection so badly that I’ll let myself get intimate in a casino bathroom?
I wipe my hand over my eyes, looking down at the glossy hallway floor and moving as quickly as I can when I hear someone say, “Suri!”
I jump as I slam into something, and there is Lizzy, dressed in skinny jeans, a giant beige sweater, and charcoal Chucks. She looks pink-cheeked and beautiful.
“Oh my God, Suri! Are you okay?”
I wipe my eyes and nod. “I lost my purse and security acted bizarre, and I didn’t believe the guy was really security; I thought he was a kidnapper, so I ended up running off.” I roll my eyes at myself. “It’s a sad, pathetic story—” and that’s not even telling half of it. I sigh softly. “Where were you when I called?”
“I’m so sorry, I fell asleep!”
Lizzy looks nervous, but before I can ask why, Hunter appears behind her, and he has my purse.
“Hunter. Thank you.”
“The casino’s director of resident operations said to tell you he’s sorry about the misunderstanding. Whatever that means.”
“I understand.” I squeeze my eyes shut. I guess that’s what I get for name-dropping.
I take the purse and Hunter frowns at Lizzy, then me.
Lizzy’s face goes serious—that plastic, frozen kind of serious that always makes my blood run cold.
“Is something wrong?” I frown at Hunter, who’s wearing a Lakers cap and a t-shirt. “I thought you had a fundraiser tonight…”
Lizzy turns to me and takes my hands, and my stomach clenches. “Suri, Cross is in the hospital—in El Paso.”
“What?”
“You know how he was down in Mexico for that motorcycle convention? Well, apparently he got into another accident. But don’t worry, it’s not—”
“Oh my God. Is he okay?” My voice cracks, and tears fill my eyes so rapidly I can’t see Lizzy’s face.
“It’s okay, Suri. A nurse called Love Inc. looking for Marchant, who isn’t there, and when Rachelle didn’t get Marchant, she tried Hunter.”
Liz nods at Hunter, who expounds. “The nurse said that he was fine, but being prepped for surgery.”
“Another surgery?” My stomach clenches. “Then we need to go.” I look around the hall as my mind shifts from nimble hands and warm lips to white hospital halls. “Let’s go to El Paso now. I have my plane.”
“Hunter’s is already on the runway,” Lizzy says. “I wanted us to be there when he woke up.”
“Good idea.”
She nods. “Your bags should already be on it.”
Lizzy lightens the mood by telling ridiculous knock-knock jokes as we ride a shuttle from the back of the casino, past the palm-shaded golf course, toward the Wynn’s VIP airport. I glimpse hangars as our path takes us over a small hill, and I’m amazed at how little I remember from when I landed…two hours ago?
“Suri.”
“Hmm?”
“You’re supposed to say, ‘Boo who?’”
“Oh. Right.” I shift my gaze from a W-shaped shrub to Lizzy’s face. “Boo who?”
“Open the f**king door.”
“What?”
Lizzy laughs. “’Who’s there?’ ‘Boo.’ You said, ‘Boo who?’ and I say, ‘Open the f**king door.’ It’s funny. Remember humor?”
“I’m just so worried.”
“Suri, he’s okay. A nurse told Hunter he’s okay. Nurses don’t lie.”
“I thought nurses couldn’t reveal a person’s medical condition.”