Page 2 of Chasing Kings

Damn if this place wasn’t going to make him a cynic.

It wasn’t like he’d never been to an orgy before.

The only difference was he wasn’t getting paid for this one. And there were no cameras rolling anywhere.

He wrinkled his nose at the scene and made a beeline for the patio. Outside, the warm L.A. air made sweat bead over his skin, and he wiped his brow. The city was lit up like the inside of a nightclub, and behind him the rolling Hollywood Hills wore Julian’s modern glass mansion like a bright tiara.

Leaving his shirt off, he hung it over the balcony railing and rummaged through his pockets for his cell phone. He scrolled through the numbers until he found Samantha Hart, and dialed.

Her voicemail greeted him with the faux sensuality of a sex-line operator.

“Kelly,” he said, using her real name to impress upon her how serious he was. “I’m starting to get the feeling you’re avoiding me. Can you call me back? We really need to talk.”

He hung up the phone and jammed it into his back pocket.

Women. Who knew they could be so much trouble even when they weren’t around?

Chapter Two

Las Vegas left its Christmas lights on all year round.

Wedged between a middle-aged man in high-waisted pants and a girl doused with Britney Spears perfume, Samantha Hart was wondering what mistakes she’d made in her life to lead her here.

The driver had the heat in the shuttle van cranked up in spite of the temperature outside hovering over the sixty mark. Spanish guitar music was blasting on the radio, and a tiny bobbling hula girl was stuck on the dash.

Sam closed her eyes and tried to ignore the rocking motions of the van and the trashy sweetness of the girl’s perfume. Between the bumps, the stink and the bright Nevada light, she was pretty sure she might throw up before the shuttle dropped her off.

As far as she was concerned the trip was already an unmitigated disaster, and she hadn’t even gotten to her hotel yet. Adding carsickness to the mix would turn it into a living nightmare.

“Yo,” grumbled the driver, making Sam lift her head. “Hard Rock?”

“Oh. Yes, thanks.” She collected her carry-on bag off the floor and hugged it to her chest, climbing over the portly gentleman blocking her path to the sliding door.

The shuttle driver met her at the back of the van and after some confusion managed to pull her wheeled pink suitcase out from the Tetris-style tower of luggage.

The minute she got inside the hotel, the temperature shifted and the smell of stale smoke bombarded her, causing her stomach to churn worse than before. She’d forgotten smoking was legal indoors in Las Vegas, and made a mental note to ensure she asked for a smoke-free room. Oregon was looking better and better every minute.

Inside the front door, the lights were low and several glass cases greeted her, exhibiting outfits from Slash, Prince, Tupac and a few others. More memorabilia hung from ever

y flat surface, including polished guitars, leather jackets and a full wall of drum kits.

Adding to the sensory overload was the central gaming pit, a circle in the middle of the lobby with poker and blackjack tables and an assortment of brightly lit, obnoxious-sounding slot machines. The whole lobby buzzed with the alarms from the machines and the humming voice of dealers catering to the patrons willing to throw their money away. The girls running the blackjack tables wore pleated skirts no wider than a belt and low-cut tanks with the words Hell’s Belles written across them, their enhanced breasts spilling out the tops.

Sam found herself transfixed by the flagrant display of tits and ass. Back home these girls would be a spectacle, but here this was the norm. She didn’t think she’d be able to adjust to the Vegas culture if she was here for a month, let alone a week.

Sam dragged her suitcase up to the front desk, where a huge series of flat screens displayed information on the various restaurants and clubs the hotel had on site. All she wanted was a shower and a soft bed. She’d deal with figuring out what she was going to do in Vegas once she could think straight.

If Muriel wasn’t seventy-five and family, she would get her butt kicked for this.

“Good afternoon, welcome to the Hard Rock.” A cheerful young woman with a sleek blonde bob smiled at Sam as if this should be a happy trip.

“I have a reservation.” Sam hiked her purse up on her shoulder, snagging her long auburn hair, adding further injury to the insult of this so-called vacation.

“Absolutely. What was the name?”

“Samantha Hart.”

The young woman’s eyes widened, and she gave Sam a once-over. “I’m sorry, you said Samantha Hart?”

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