I had giggled, confused by the sincerity on his stubbly face. Of course now, in the painfully bright light of morning I understood. He would not sign the endorsement deal until after he won the title fight. That way, he would get more money.
I groaned and pried my eyes open. I could not laze around in bed waiting to feel better. I had to find Fenton and convince him to sign with me right away. The white sheets tangled around me were softer than any I had ever slept on. I savored one more stretch over their softness before my body went rigid with terror.
These were not the same sheets on my hotel bed. I was in someone else's room.
Suite, I corrected myself as I glanced around in a panic. The penthouse suite was enormous, all clean lines and jaw-dropping views. The Vegas Strip was far below me, already baking in the sun. Hazy swirls of heat reflected off the buildings, and I spotted my hotel, The Tropicana, across the way. The answer nagged at me, but I wondered where I had ended up.
I lifted my head off the pillow only far enough to read the stationary pad on the bedside table. The MGM Grand. I hadn’t gone far from the nightclub. I dropped my head back on the soft pillow and squeezed my eyes shut. Another wave of memories burst in my head like fireworks.
Champagne, more dancing, and Fenton's hands on my body. The remembered heat flared over my skin again. The sureness of his strength, the precise movement of his muscles, and the magnetic pull between our bodies had been more intoxicating than the bubbly wine.
And, somehow, he felt the same about me. Even in conversations with fans, trash talking with rival fighters, and flirty exchanges with other women, his hands had reached for me. His arm was around my waist, I slipped my hands around his bicep, and we pressed closed together, whether the crowd was around us or not.
Safe in the privacy behind my closed eyes, I admitted I was attracted to Fenton Morris more than any other man I had ever met. His thick black hair, piercing blue eyes, smirking lips, and even the rough rub of his stubbly chin and cheeks ignited my body. He made me hot, buoyant, electric, and liquid all at the same time.
It was no wonder I remembered riding the elevator up to his penthouse suite – his lips plunging over mine, the taste of him deep in my mouth.
A cold blast of panic shocked my eyes open again. I could just make out my crumpled dress, dangling over the open bedroom door. Outside, in the middle of the suite's living room, one red heel leaned against my spilled purse. Casino coins were scattered around the carpet.
"You make me want to believe in luck," Fenton said.
The slot machine had spat out coins, as I had tried unsuccessfully to catch them in the small hem of my dress. He had knelt in front of me and scooped the coins into my purse.
"You don't?" I had asked him.
"No. I want to earn what I get. That way I know it’s mine," Fenton said.
"Then, why do I make you want to believe in it?"
"Because if I can't say I feel lucky to have met you, then I don't know how to explain this." Fenton had wrapped me up in a searing kiss, the coins spilling out of my hands and open purse.
He was close behind me in the king-sized bed. I could feel his heat. I peeled back the covers and cringed when I realized I was wearing nothing but my black lace underwear and bra.
Could be worse, I thought, I could be naked.
Not wanting to know how far I had let things go last night, I slipped out of bed and tiptoed across the large master bedroom. I thanked hotel maintenance for a bedroom door that did not squeak. Even though my exit was silent, I glanced back to make sure Fenton was still asleep.
The square cut of his jaw was relaxed in sleep and I noticed the dark crescent his eyelashes made against his cheeks. He was stunningly handsome, even without his laser blue eyes open. My eyes wandered over the stark muscles of his arm and my cheeks warmed again. Fenton Morris was a dangerously attractive man – asleep or awake.
A small sigh escaped me as I tried to remember what had happened with him in that wide bed. My brain was still fogged over, some patches thicker than others, and I could not remember anything past the elevator. It was a shame I was in no shape to enjoy him properly.
What are you saying, Kya? I asked myself.
There was no way I regretted not savoring every second of wild sex with Fenton Morris. He was business, nothing else. I would have room for fun when I had reached my goals. I grabbed my other stray red heel off the bedroom floor and straightened my shoulders. It was time to get dressed and get back my professional dignity.
My phone had skittered a few inches away from my purse and, before I took one step out of the bedroom, it rang. I had turned the volume all the way up before entering the nightclub, where it still had not been loud enough. Now, the ringer was deafening.
Fenton woke up and stretched, his long legs tugging down the sheet as he straightened them. I could have stepped out and shut the door behind me, but I was caught staring at the trail of dark hair that tapered from his belly button down below the thin border of the sheet.
"Good morning, beautiful," he said.
"You're naked." I snatched my dress from the top of the bedroom door.
"I always sleep naked. You should try it some time." Fenton stretched again, then sat up, his washboard abs standing out in sharp relief. "How about now? It’s too early to be going anywhere."
He held out one wide hand. His thick black hair was rumpled and his smile fuzzy and sleepy. I felt a tug low in my belly and pressed my dress against my body to ward off the temptation.
"Don't you have training to be doing?" I asked. "I've got to go. I've got to go to work."