My heart picks up speed at his words. I’ve never willingly spent the night with a man, let alone all weekend. My thoughts go to my mom, all the weekends she spent with men in our home. The way they would drug her and then hurt her, and once she was passed out, they would come after me… into my room… under my sheets…
“Natalie,” Liam says, cutting through the fog of my horrible flashback. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”
I search his eyes for the darkness I would see in the men’s eyes my mom would bring around, in the eyes of Weston and many other men I was with at the club. But all I can find is warmth with a hint of lust. Can I do this? Can I go up to his room and spend the night with him? I think about what Dr. Simone and I have talked about over the years—finding a healthy relationship. People my age do this all the time. They meet and hook up, no strings attached. I’m not prostituting myself out. We’re not so drunk we can’t make decisions. We’re two consenting adults, and even though Liam isn’t my prince, maybe he can be my practice.
“I want to,” I tell him. “I want to spend the night with you.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” I want this. I want him. I want to explore my feelings for a normal guy I’m attracted to.
A soft smile tugs on the corners of his lips. “Okay, then let’s get out of here.”
Chapter Four
Natalie
After I let Edgardo know I’m going to spend the night, and he tells me he’ll be here until Johnny, another bouncer at the bordello, arrives to take his place, Liam and I take the private elevator up to the Presidential suite. There are three at his hotel and he tells me he, Nate, and Jack all booked them, so nobody will be taking the elevator or be on the floor.
When we step into his room, I expect him to attack me—not in a bad way but in a sexual way—but Liam doesn’t seem to do anything I expect of him. Instead, he hands me a shirt and a pair of sweats of his.
“Do you mind if I rinse off?” I ask, trying to tamper down my nerves.
“Make yourself at home,” he says before disappearing to change.
Once I’ve showered—the warm water effectively soothing my nerves—and changed into his clothes, which smell like him, I head out of his massive room to find him. The suite is more like an apartment than a hotel room. It has a full kitchen, living room, and dining room—and that’s just from what I’ve seen as I walk through the place to find Liam.
When I get to the back of the suite, I find him sitting on the balcony, with an identical bottle of wine from earlier next to him. He also has a tray of chocolate covered strawberries and a piece of cheesecake on a plate. He must’ve requested for it all to be brought up.
“Keep it up and I’m going to think I’m in the movie Pretty Woman,” I joke, pointing to the wine and desserts. When I was little, it was my mom’s favorite movie. She would tell me that one day a man like Richard Gere would save her. I didn’t understand it at the time, but once I grew up, I did. My mom was a prostitute, and the men in her room were paying clients. And I followed in her footsteps…
Liam doesn’t laugh. “You’re not a prostitute and I’m not paying you to be here.”
“I was just joking,” I tell him, having a seat in the lounge chair across from him. “Besides, you were willing to pay.” I shrug and take a strawberry off the tray, biting into the fresh, juicy sweetness. I glance out at the twinkling lights that make up Las Vegas. From up here, it all looks so beautiful. Too bad it’s an illusion.
“I was,” he admits. “But that’s only because it’s the only way to have fun and have discretion. Everywhere we go where we live, people know us. Anyone I’m seen with, everyone assumes is the next Mrs.—” He cuts himself off before he reveals his last name. “We thought being in the States would make it easier to have a good time, but all week we’ve had to be careful. We haven’t been able to really do anything fun because we might be seen and photographed. We just wanted one weekend to let loose, be ourselves.”
My heart breaks for Liam, and in a weird yet completely different way, I understand him. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to completely be myself. Hell, I don’t even think I know who my real self is.
I climb over the chair and into his lap. I straddle his thighs and place the other half of the strawberry up to his lips. He opens slightly and takes a bite. When a bit of the juice drips down the corner of his mouth, I lean in to lick it up.