“Time for roulette?” I ask, the word alone sending a few tingles running through me.
He trails his fingers down my arm. “Roulette,” he confirms.
The casino opens off the lobby, and we can hear the noise and bluster as we head down the set of staircases to the wide, slot-machine lined entrance. It’s like entering a different world. Noise and lights. The chatter of patrons, the calls of the staff. And beneath it all, the clink and clank of coins.
“This way,” he says, leading me down a tiled path that is cut through the carpeted areas that hold the banks of slot machines, tables for blackjack and other card games, craps, and the like. We find the roulette tables on the far side, and by the time we arrive, I feel as though I have walked a thousand miles.
“Pick your table,” he says, and since they all seem the same to me, I choose the closest one. He pulls a fifty dollar casino chip out of his jacket pocket, which strikes me as a bit odd since I never saw him exchange any money for chips. I don’t have time to think about it, though, because he places the chip in my hand and tells me to bet.
Immediately, I put the chip on red.
Ryan laughs, then lifts my hand and kisses my fingertips, the touch as gentle as a butterfly’s wing and at least as sensual.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“You’re giving away your secrets, kitten,” he says, nodding to the table where I’d placed my bet. “You know what red means.”
“I do,” I say, and then, because I’m feeling bold and I really do want it, I move to his side and lift myself up on my toes so that I can whisper in his ear. “It means that I’m at your mercy,” I say, and then slowly—very slowly—I run my tongue over the curve of his ear.
I’m holding on to him as I do it, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his back. I feel the way his body tightens beneath my touch. I hear the low groan that he tries to stifle, and, yes, I smile.
“Naughty,” he whispers as I lower myself. But I just gaze innocently at the table and the wheel that has started to spin.
I hold my breath as the ball bounces, around and around, and then—yes—it lands on red. I glance sideways and see that Ryan is watching me. I smile triumphantly. “I had to want red,” I tease. “There was no way I could come up with enough cash to pay you.”
He laughs. “Fair enough, kitten. I promise, though, that I’ll make sure that landing on red was very much worth it. For both of us.” He nods at the table as the croupier pays out our winnings. “Care to stay in the casino and gamble a bit longer? I’m feeling lucky.”
“I’m feeling lucky, too,” I say. “And I absolutely do not want to stay.”
He makes a noise I interpret as satisfaction, then pockets our winnings. He takes my arm and leads me out of the casino. I’m completely turned around, but I’m pretty sure we’ve been moving away from the lobby. My instinct is confirmed when I realize that we are in a wide-open, bright shopping area. The ceiling is a mural of the sky, arching across the space above our heads from sunrise on one side to sunset on the other, with day and night between.
In the area in which we are standing, the night sky is spread above us, and thousands of small electric lights wink down at us. It’s cheesy, but it’s also romantic, and when Ryan takes my hand to lead me through the mall, I cannot stifle my little sigh of contentment.
For right now, anyway, all is well in my world.
Like most of the shops on the pricier section of the Strip, the ones that fill this mall are high-end, full of designer goods and hefty price tags. Those extravagant items are balanced with markdowns so that the overall result is a store full of products for both the lucky and not-so-lucky gambler.
We pass by a window display overflowing with diamonds and emeralds, along with price tags that make clear that this is not the store for part-time gamblers and two-bit winners. This is where the high rollers come to shop.
Ryan takes my hand and leads me inside.
“That would look lovely on your wrist,” he says, pointing to a diamond and platinum bracelet that costs more than my condo.
“You’re insane,” I say.
He grins at me. “Not your style?”
“No,” I admit because my taste tends toward funkier.
He eyes me critically, his gaze skimming up and down. “No,” he murmurs, “you’re right. You need something more...” His voice drifts off as he walks the length of the glass counter. A clerk comes by, apparently sniffing a sale, but Ryan waves him away with a flick of his hand. “Like this,” he says, pointing to a circle of lovely pounded silver. It is a choker-style necklace made so that it catches the light at a variety of angles. There is a hinge on the back with a pin that fits through a corresponding cylinder to keep the thing in place. At the center there is a single loop upon which one could hang a charm.
“It’s lovely,” I say.
“It’s practical,” he says.
I raise a brow in question.
“The loop,” he says. “So simple to attach a leash.”
Oh. I swallow. “It’s like a slave collar,” I say, then lick my lips. “Is that why you think it suits me?” I say in a voice full of challenge. “Because right now, I belong to you?”
He looks straight at me. “Yes.” The word is simple and direct and so full of meaning it makes me tremble. I think of the way he bound me back in Malibu. The pleasure of surrendering to his mercy.
I remember, and it makes me wet.
I turn, then leave the store, going back out into the mall, my breath now shallow.
He follows me, and when I look up to meet his eyes, I find I cannot read his expression.
“Did you leave because the idea makes you uncomfortable?”
I consider lying. It would be so easy to just say the words and walk away.
But I don’t want to. I want the truth between us. I want to see where we go. “No,” I say. “I left because I like it.”
His expression doesn’t change. Only the slight increase in the tension of his jaw lets me know that my answer has gotten to him. “All right,” he says, and then continues to walk down the wide, store-lined corridor.
I follow, a little on edge. I’m not sure he understands my confession. Or, if he does, what that means for me.
As far as I can tell, though, the subject is dropped.