The Hotel 3 (The Billionaire Seduction)(15)

Tyler shrugs. "It's been gradual. Losses on a couple fights, loans to  cover him," he says. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news. But I double  checked the ledger, and it adds up."         

     



 

"Fuck me," I say, and a blond woman in high heels and a dress so tight  she must not have exhaled all night turns toward us. She raises an  eyebrow at me, smiles like she might take me up on the offer.

And with the way she wraps her mouth around the neck of that beer  bottle, keeping her eyes locked on mine as she takes a drink, I might  just let her.

Tyler's voice yanks me back to the problem at hand. "So what do you want  to do?" he says. "He's offered his house as collateral."

I shake my head. "This isn't a swap meet." Sometimes people think that  just because I run an illegal fighting circuit and betting ring, I must  be dishonest or inattentive to keeping the books, or maybe just dumb. So  they try to take advantage of me occasionally. They think I won't  notice or care if they siphon a little cash or don't pay in full or  don't pay at all, that I'm just a guy who made his money beating the  shit out of strangers while debutantes and their dates made their bets.  All brawn and no brains. But they're wrong.

In the ring, I didn't mind being underestimated. It helped me win. Some  spectators think when you look like me, tall, muscular,  broad-shouldered, you won't be agile enough to dodge a right hook. So  they bet against you. They don't realize those muscles aren't just for  showing off to the female members of the crowd-not that I minded when  they noticed. Those hard biceps mean you're strong, and those washboard  abs make you quick, and it all adds up to making my bank account big.

But as the boss outside the ring, I can't have people not take me  seriously. The Armani suits I wear on fight nights look damn good on me  but they don't come cheap, so when I loan money I expect to get it back  when the handshake said I would. It's only fair. I've got a reputation  to protect, not to mention a legitimate business career to support,  owning two of Atlanta's most popular nightclubs, a cocktail lounge, and  Altitude, a bar some buddies and I run together. I got to the top flying  like a butterfly in the ring, but I stay there because I sting like a  bee outside it.

And Jamie McEntire's about to feel what I mean.

"You know where this kid's house is?" I say, clapping Tyler on the  shoulder. He nods. "Good," I say. "You're driving then. Grab Valero and  let him know that as soon as this crowd clears, we're making a visit."

Tyler leaves, and the woman in the tight dress with the lucky beer  bottle approaches. The dip of her neckline is as low as her skirt is  short. "Someone should wash your mouth out," she says.

"Sorry if I offended your delicate sensibilities," I say, smiling. We're  at an underground bare-knuckles fight. Fuck is hardly the most  offensive thing she's been exposed to tonight.

"Not at all," she says. "I like a man who talks dirty." She takes a sip from the bottle, tipping it toward me. "Want some?"

I don't think she just means the beer.

Over her shoulder, behind her in the crowd, I see a guy in a  decent-looking grey suit. He's standing with a few other people but his  attention is clearly fixed on her, watching. I tilt the bottle back  toward her with my index finger. "Who are you here with?"

"No one special," she says, taking a step toward me. "Unless you want some company."

Women. They smell good, they look good, they taste good, but they can be so bad for you.

I've been Grey Suit back there. Even in the shadows of the warehouse I  can read the look on his face, the narrowed eyes, slightly turned down  mouth. He's a guy who knows that just because he's the one who's taking  this girl out tonight it doesn't mean he's going home with her. Back  when I was fighting, my girlfriend at the time used the hours I was  knocking guys' blocks off to get her rocks off. She even slept with some  of my opponents, who I beat anyway, but still-I don't know if she was  just bored or mean, didn't love me or herself or both, but when we broke  up two years ago, I swore off relationships. My motto is get in and get  out, in all ways possible.

So Tight Dress standing in front of me, just the right size to straddle  my lap in the front seat of my Audi, would usually be the perfect ending  to a night.

But I can't abide dishonesty, not even from a one-night stand. Like I said: there are standards.

"Your date's not doing it for you?" I say, nodding at Grey Suit who's  now standing by the door where people are starting to exit. It must be  after two a.m. by now and a weeknight, which means most of these people  are six hours away from clocking in at the office tomorrow. Thrill  seekers by night, executive decision makers by day, that's a lot of our  audience, and even though I've never been able to tolerate living that  kind of rigid, conventional lifestyle for myself, their money's just as  good as anyone else's. They may even have a greater appreciation for the  brawls, since bare-knuckles fighting is a far cry from whatever uptight  Fortune 500 company or corporate law firm they work at.         

     



 

She glances at Grey Suit, then turns back to me. "He's okay," she says.  That pretty mouth of hers widens. Despite the darkness of the warehouse,  her teeth gleam like white stones. "But you're Ryder Cole." She runs  her hand lightly over my arm. "And I'm willing."

My bicep belies my intention to be behave, contracting instinctively as her fingers linger on my suit sleeve. "To do what?"

"Anything you want."

I lean close to her. "I want you to go home with the guy that brought  you and fuck his brains out like a good girl," I say. "But you can think  about me while you're doing it."

I cross to where Tyler waits by the door. Security will close up. We've got business to attend to.



Discover Ryder and Cassie's story. HARD is available now!





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS




There are so many amazing people I want to thank for helping me along in  this fun, filthy publishing journey. To the readers who took a chance  on a brand new author and series, I hope you loved Dom and Juliet's  story as much as I loved writing it. Thank you for your messages, your  collages, emails and telling the world far and wide that Hotel Sex is  the Best Sex. I love each and every one of you.

There have been some incredible bloggers support this series as well and  I cannot thank you enough. To Kylie McDermott and Beth Cranford at Give  Me Books, you two ladies ROCK, the rumors are all true. Candi Kane and  the dirty girls at Dirty Laundry Review, one day I will get to hug your  necks for all the love you've shown me and my Dirty Dom. I LOVE YOU. Jen  McCoy and Irene Oust at The Literary Gossip, thank you for your posts,  teasers and Irene's hot-as-hell gifs. I am blown away by your generosity  and creativity. To the incredible ladies at Bookalicious Babes Blog,  your love for indie authors is why we write. Thank you for bringing us  new readers and spreading the love every single day. Heather Lynne,  where do I begin? My sister-in-smut, my Sassenach, thank you for your  peenspirational pictures, for your love of all things filthy, and of  course, your love for the one and only Hot Scot, Jamie Freakin' Fraser. I  adore you and can't wait for you to move to the great state of Texas.

A special thank you to my best friend in all the world. E.H., thank you  for your love and support. Thank you for filling my inbox with ‘big  boys' when I need a smile, for always thinking I'm right *wink*, and for  being the strongest, most kick ass person I know. LOVE YOU LOTS.