Sin (Vegas Nights 1)

My lips tugged to the side. “All you’ve gotta do is ask, sweetheart.”

She clicked her tongue. Her gaze darkened ever so slightly as she held my eyes. “Try it, and you’ll never be able to stick it anywhere ever again.”

I chuckled and stepped past her. She wasn’t going to move from this hallway by choice, so I forced her hand. I knew she’d follow me, even if it were only to tell me to get the hell out of the bar.

The bar that would be mine soon. One way or another—it would be.

“Take a seat,” Dahlia said dryly as I dropped myself onto the soft, comfy sofa.

“Thanks. Fancy staff room.” I cast my gaze around. Top of the line coffee machine, plush chairs, even a computer in the corner.

She swung the door shut and put her hands on her hips. “I take care of my staff.”

The accusatory note darkened her tone.

I held up my hands. “Hey, I don’t force anyone to do anything they don’t want to. I take care of my girls just fine.”

She side-eyed me as she walked to the coffee machine, her hips swaying in her tight, black dress.

Fuck, she had an ass that was made for slapping.

“Is that another innuendo?” She pulled a glass coffee mug down from the shelf and flicked on the coffee machine.

“I don’t sleep with my staff.” My jaw twitched. “People rarely strip for fun. They do it for money, and I have that in abundance, which makes me attractive to an awful lot of people.”

“Well, look at that. We finally have something in common.”

Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on me, but I laughed anyway. She was right—I’d done my due diligence on this place. The Scarlet Letter turned a wild profit, and the woman standing in front of me was worth millions.

Not quite as many millions as I was, but enough.

“I’d love a coffee if you’re making one.” I smirked, even though her back was to me.

“Sorry, I was going to offer, but then I’d be worried that would make it look like I want you here.”

I hadn’t just underestimated Dahlia Lloyd—I’d really fucking underestimated her. Most people, men or women, would be giving me what I wanted by now, but she wasn’t even close to stepping off the perch of resistance she was on.

She was strong. The kind of person you stood up and took notice of. Whose tenacity you admired, if you could watch it from a distance.

“I take my coffee black,” I said, resting one arm along the back of the sofa. “No sugar.”

She clicked her tongue again but pulled a second glass from the cupboard.

“Skip the fancy glass and use a real mug, would you?”

She slid a black coffee to the side, set the second mug to fill, then brought the first over to me. Her smile was saccharine. Too innocent. Too bright. Totally opposite to the dark glint of amusement that flashed in her eyes when she met my gaze.

I wasn’t going to fool myself into thinking this was anything less than what it was: a power struggle.

She’d just made her move by giving in…defiantly.

Dahlia shut off the coffee machine, finished her coffee, and sat on the high-back chair. The glass clinked against the side table as she set the drink down. I didn’t take my eyes off her as she smoothed out her dress, sitting down, and crossed one leg over the other. Slowly, she raised her attention to my face and met my eyes with a raise of her sleek brows.

“It looks like you’re staying, so start talking,” was all she said.

“You gave me the coffee and invited me to stay.” I sipped it to make my point.

Her eyebrows went up even higher. “In my personal experience, you tend to beat the hell out of one line of conversation until you get what you want, so I figured it was easier to just give you the coffee. Sorry I couldn’t accommodate the mug request.”

Her politeness hid the bite of her words. Well, almost. I could hear the snark. Or maybe that was just the hint of laughter that made her eyes glitter.

I put my mug down and leaned back again. She was still staring at me, so I looked right back her. No denying, she was a beautiful woman. Her dark hair tumbled in loose waves to just below her breasts, and her bangs swept across her forehead, just long enough to brush the top of one of her eyebrows. Her dark-blue eyes were calculating yet warm, framed by thick eyelashes that only added to the drama of her expressions.

But it was her lips that made me linger. Full, pouty lips that were glossy and red parted so that she could flick her tongue against the corner of her mouth.

“If all you want to do is stare at me, Mr. Fox, can I suggest my Facebook page instead?”