Beautiful Bombshell (Beautiful Bastard 2.5)

Will glanced down to Henry’s waiting palm and laughed. “We’ve only been out of that club for two minutes and you’ve just thrown away a hundred-dollar poker chip and offered another hundred-dollar bet. I can’t wait to see what you do in an actual casino.”

“I win money,” Henry said, pounding his chest with drunken machismo, before wincing.

I groaned, scrubbing my face with my hand. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“You just got a lap dance, Benny,” Henry said, shoving my shoulder. “How are you crabby? You should be smiling like a fool.”

I turned in the direction of Max’s laughter. “Ignore him,” he told the others while motioning to me. “Our Ben’s just feeling a bit frustrated is all.”

Fucking Max. With his hands in his pockets and that dopey smile on his face, he was a portrait of nonchalance, and the exact opposite of everything I felt.

I could strangle Chloe right now—a feeling I’d grown increasingly familiar with since the day we met. All this time and she could still push my buttons like no other. To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure which of us was more f**ked up: her for getting off on teasing me like this, or me for enjoying it so damn much.

“So . . . plans?” Will repeated, pushing away from the building. “Are we standing here all night watching Bennett throw a fit or. . . ?”

Max checked his watch. “Dinner,” he said. “Mum made us reservations for the Steakhouse over at the Wynn. Supposed to be top-notch.”

Looking for our driver, I turned to look down the street, and a flash of green caught my eye at the opposite corner. Chloe. I’d last seen her with Sara, all bright eyes and teasing smiles as she’d left me inside the club. Now they waited on the sidewalk, arms outstretched as they attempted to hail a cab.

I blinked quickly to Max, who was busy arguing with Will and Henry about whether it was physically possible to eat a twenty-four-ounce porterhouse in less than fifteen minutes. Perfect.

I spotted our car as it rounded the corner and began its way up the drive toward us, and realized I’d have to act quickly. With only the vaguest threads of a plan in place, I grimaced, hunching over and pressing a hand to my stomach.

“You okay over there, Ben?” Will asked, eyebrows raised.

“Fine, fine,” I said, waving him off. “My stomach’s just a little . . . I think my ulcer’s acting up.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “You have an ulcer?”

“Yes,” I said, nodding, and sucking in breath for added effect.

“You,” he repeated. “An ulcer.”

I straightened a little. “Is there a problem?”

He scratched his eyebrow and looked at me skeptically. “Suppose I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that the great and powerful Bennett, the one whose blood-pressure barely blinks even in the most stressful meetings and has zero f**ks to give about anyone’s opinion”—he motioned between all three of them—“including ours,” he added, “has an ulcer.”

Our car pulled up to the curb in front of us just as a taxi stopped in front of Sara and Chloe.

“Well, I do,” I said, meeting his stare again. Our driver opened the door and waited. Everyone waited, eyes moving from Max to me and back again.

“Why is this the first I’m hearing of this ulcer business?” Henry asked.

“Because you’re not my doctor or my mommy,” I said. They all stared at me in silence, looking various degrees of concerned or, in Max’s case, doubtful. “Look, why don’t you all take the car while I run to the pharmacy. I saw one just down the street.”

Max continued to watch me over the car door. “Why don’t you just come with us and we’ll stop on the way?”

“Not necessary,” I said, waving him off. “I’ll have to call it in and I don’t want anyone waiting on me. You guys go on ahead; I’ll pick up my prescription and meet you at the restaurant.”

“Fine by me,” Henry said, and climbed into the car.

“We can wait,” Will offered, though halfheartedly. It was clear everyone but Max was willing to let a man get some medicine for his damn ulcer.

“No, let him run along,” Max said with a smirk. “I’m guessing poor Ben actually has a case of the trots and is afraid he’s going to shit himself.” He turned back at me. “We’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

I glared. He was lucky I didn’t have time to argue. He was also lucky I didn’t have time to walk over there and punch his smug face. “I’ll meet you there.”

I waited just long enough for the car to pull away before I turned, searching for a cab. The one Chloe and Sara were in had just reached the streetlight, and if I hurried, I could still catch up. When a car pulled over, I climbed in, promising the cabbie a small fortune if he could get me wherever they were going, and fast. I hadn’t exactly worked out what I would do or how’d I’d get her alone, but I was operating on autopilot: get to Chloe, get her alone, get myself off.

My fiancée surprised me with a lap dance in a sex club and then I hopped in a cab for a car chase. My bachelor party in Vegas had officially begun.

Their cab stopped just down the Strip and I watched as they both climbed out. I paid my driver and stayed back, watching for a moment as they talked, each of them pointing in a different direction—Sara at Planet Hollywood and Chloe at the Cosmopolitan. When they appeared to reach a decision, they nodded, kissing each other’s cheek before heading in opposite directions.

Fucking perfect.

Climbing out, I followed Chloe through the late-night crowds and into the building. The Cosmopolitan casino was dark and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. Pinpoint colors, flashing lights, and the sound of electronic dings filled the air as I scanned the large room. I found her near the front of the casino, turning to climb a set of stairs.

Beads of sparkling crystals hung from the ceiling several stories up and curved around the giant staircase. From where I stood, it looked like Chloe was disappearing into a giant chandelier.

I followed, staying just far enough away to admire her ass as she moved, and wondering what exactly she was doing here. Was she meeting someone? Although she’d never mentioned any, maybe she had friends in Las Vegas. Or, perhaps she was simply waiting here for Sara to finish whatever she was doing across the street. My blood heated over the sheer mystery of Chloe; we lived together, worked together, and for all intents and purposes our lives were completely intertwined. But I relished knowing that she would always keep me guessing. Because of her wild independence, I would never know absolutely everything in her mind. Even when she was entirely mine, she would always be a challenge.

As we neared the third floor of the spiraling club, her destination grew no clearer to me, and the wickedness of her little game started to bloom into an ache in my abdomen. I gave in, hungry to fall into the familiar routine of chastising her, and then having my way with her body. In only a few long strides I was there, wrapping my hand around her upper arm.

“You are in so much trouble,” I growled into her hair.

I felt her stiffen for a moment before going lax, the tension slipping from her body as she leaned back against my chest.

“I wondered how long it would take you to find me.”

“You,” I said as we continued climbing the spiraling staircase, “have done enough talking for tonight.” We were fully inside the glimmering, beaded curtains now, and they seemed to wrap all around us, twinkling in the soft light. “It’s time for you to keep that pretty little mouth closed . . . unless I have need for it.”

We reached the third story, where a rather impressive bar was situated, the shelves lined in jewel-colored bottles and draped in even more of the sparkling gems. Continuing on, I led us to a darkened corner. Smiling, I noticed the sign above a door tucked into the corner: I needed to be alone with Chloe on my terms and, quite frankly, we’d always been pretty great in restrooms.

An older gentleman with dyed black hair looked up in surprise as we entered the men’s room. I reached out to shake his hand, and pressed a folded bill into his palm.

“It’s so noisy out there,” I said, nodding in the direction of the casino and bar on the other side of the door. “Perhaps you’d be good enough to give us a few minutes to talk?”