Page 2 of Sin City Lights

“No kidding,” she’d murmured.

No condoms. And close to no info on the guy. Not even his name.

And now, taking the last few steps down the carpeted hallway to the door at the end of it, she couldn’t help thinking this was unusual enough to make her slightly nervous about who and what waited for her tonight in that Royal Diamond suite.

•

The lock whirred open. Tucking the gold key card into her bag, Eve pushed the heavy door, heels clicking on the polished marble entryway as she stepped inside.

Darkness. The lights were off.

Behind her, the metal door slammed shut.

She blinked.“Hello?”

Her gaze swept to the huge expanse of windows that looked outupon the dazzling riot of multicolored lights on the strip. It was the only illumination, save for one pine-scented candle that burned, flame waving softly on the foyer table. Beneath it was a sheet of paper with something written on it.

She frowned. Easing the paper from under the glass candleholder, she read the single word, scrawled in bold black Sharpie:Bedroom.

For the first time since the early days, Eve felt butterflies stir. Her fingers itched to flip the light switch on the wall, but years of experience stopped her. He’d done this for a reason. This was his time that he had paid for and paid for handsomely, so play his game, she would.

She reached for the candle, then changed her mind and left it where it was.

Hand tightening around the tote handles, she navigated around furniture, her eyes now accustomed to the only light, emanating from the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.

Way down below, Las Vegas pulsed with life, light, and sin, a stark contrast to the moody vibe inside this suite.

As she neared the bedroom door, every sense now heightened, she picked up the scent of masculine cologne, a fresh, green scent that made her nostrils flare. She recognized that scent: Hermès, Eau d’Orange Verte. At least she knew he smelled good and had excellent taste in expensive cologne.

As good a start as any, she supposed. She eyed the door, listening for a TV or radio, any sound, but all was silent. Should she knock?No, she thought,unnecessary. He was expecting her. She squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and turned the doorknob.

Darkness. Light-blocking curtains firmly drawn.

That citrus scent was much stronger in here, and now she picked up other things too: soap, shaving cream, and something she could only describe as man.

“You’re late.”

His low, low whisper wrapped around her like black velvet. A shudder rippled through her, and she knew, just knew, that his speaking voice had to be very deep.

“I know,” she said.“Traffic was—”

“Shh.”

Her mouth closed. Silence descended thick, and he said nothing more. Her breath quickened, the tension between them stretching like a steel cable just about to snap.

Sheets rustled; the mattress creaked. She sensed him coming closer, and it became clear that this was the way the entire encounter would take place tonight.

With whispers, in the dark.

Three strides, two, and suddenly, he was one step from her. For once, Eve had no idea what to do. Instinct had always been her guide, and she had always directed these encounters, even if the playbook had been predetermined. Always, she’d been in control.

This…this was uncharted territory. She dropped her tote, the leather hitting the floor with a muted thump.

She half expected him to grab her, to be stark naked, ready and eager, rough and quick. So many had been like that, unable to contain themselves, excited to do this, their arousal enhanced by the illicit, secret, sordid nature of what they were up to for the evening.

But not this man. If anything, he’d done the opposite, moving toward her with the stark stealth of a panther in the night.

He was so close now. She could smell him, could hear him breathing deep, measured breaths. Eve’s lips curved. Ah. This breathing pattern, she knew well. She could work with this. Emboldened, she reached out to touch him.

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