Lust (Vegas Nights 2)

“That sounds stereotypical of the mob.”

“You’d be surprised,” I said dryly. “I don’t know who you should avoid, but…” Glancing around, I picked a relatively obvious target. “That woman there, by the slot machines. Wearing the purple scarf.”

He craned his neck, leaning into me a little. “Oh, yeah. I see her.”

“She’s what we call a lurker. Most of the machines are rigged to pay out every, say, twenty coins,” I said in a lower voice, “so, she hovers, figures out the pattern, and as soon as you give up, jumps on your machine.”

He snapped his fingers. “And steals what should be your winnings.”

“Exactly. There are a few in every casino. They amble from machine to machine, just waiting for the big win. Actually, wait. That lady in the blue dress? She sat down real quick. Watch her.”

“All right.” He kept leaning over until his fingers brushed the top of my back.

A shiver tickled down my spine, but I ignored it.

We both drank and watched her in silence as she played the machine four times before she got the jackpot. The lights and celebratory sounds went crazy.

“Well, hell,” Hot Guy said. “That’s impressive.”

“Yep. And very time-consuming.”

“Isn’t it illegal?”

“Probably not. Morally wrong, possibly.” I turned my face and he was right there.

Too close.

“Oh, sorry.” He sat back, withdrawing his feather-light touch from my back. “Who else?”

Dear god, if this guy ever took me to his room, he better pay me a ton of money or be a damn good fuck for the amount of time I have to put into this.

“That guy in the black and gold shirt. Which should be a crime,” I added as an afterthought. “He’s here with what I think is his mistress. Or a hooker.”

“Unless he’s paying her to be his mistress.”

“Hence the hooker comment.” I’d been there. “He’s wearing a ring and she’s not, simply.”

“How the hell can you see that?” His eyes widened.

I shrugged a shoulder. Because I was good at putting men into boxes? That probably wasn’t a good answer.

“The way she’s dressed, she’d have a rock the size of a cliff on her finger if they were married,” I said instead. “Look—she’s going over there.”

The woman in red sauntered across to the table he was sitting at. Slowly, she slid her arm across his shoulders and bent forward, giving him a full view of his chest. She kissed his cheek before perching next to him, still with her hand on his back.

When she flicked her hair over her shoulder, my stomach clenched with recognition.

She was no mistress. She was a bought and paid for whore pretending to be his mistress.

“What do you reckon?” Hot Guy asked me. “Mistress or whore?”

“Paid to be a mistress,” I answered. “She’s quite obvious. A real mistress wouldn’t be so in his face.”

“You seem to know a lot about this.”

“I grew up in the…hospitality…business.” Strip clubs counted as hospitality, right? “So, I’m used to the different people. I’ve seen all kinds.”

“Hmm.” He finished his beer and put the bottle down. “Do you think he picked her up here tonight?”

I shrugged. Probably, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. “She could be an escort from an agency. That’s pretty common.”

“How many prostitutes do you reckon are in this casino right now?”

Boy, that was a loaded question.

One that made me slightly uncomfortable.

“You know…We’ve been talking this whole time and we didn’t actually introduce ourselves.” I spun on my seat to face him.

A slow smile spread across his face. “You’re right, we didn’t. Shall we start over?”

“Let’s cut to the chase.” I put my glass down. “You don’t really care how many prostitutes are in this place, because you know exactly who you’re talking to. If not, surprise.”

“I did know.”

Thank god for that. “So, kindly, if you’re not going to make my night useful, it was fun chatting with you, but, you know. No hard feelings.” I stood up.

Once again, he scratched his jaw, lips still curved. “Maybe I am going to make your night useful. You still didn’t tell me your name.”

“Liane Carter,” I lied smoothly, holding my hand out to him.

He took it in a firm grip, standing in one quick movement. He pulled me close to him, dipping his head to my ear.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Carter. My name is Detective Adrian Potter, and I’d like you to come with me, please.”

Oh. Fuck.

“Now, we can do this one of two ways.” He released my hand and touched my waist, making it look to anyone else that we were a couple. “You can put your arm through mine and we can leave quietly into my unmarked car.”

“I presume the second option includes handcuffs,” I muttered.

“You presume correctly. For the record,” he said, bringing his mouth closer to my ear, “you are under arrest for solicitation of sexual services. You have the right to remain silent, but anything you say may or may not be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand?”