ACE:Las Vegas Bad Boys(25)

I did that.

And it feels like shit.





9





EMMY


I stop in the bathroom, douse my face with water. My hands tremble. My face is on fire.

I know I was the one who just walked away, but I have never felt so terrible about walking away from someone.

I hadn’t felt terrible about walking away when I was getting dressed in the elevator. It was when I looked in Ace’s eyes and saw that he didn’t want me to go. There was a sliver of desire in his eyes that was about more than just sex.

Ace's words, all intense and heated and demanding, rubbed me the wrong way. Brought up too many memories of asshole boyfriends who treated me like shit. Growing up, I lost my virginity at fifteen. Dated older guys, basically anyone who was bad news. After Mom and Dad died, and I left for college—which was a fucking miracle in and of itself—I could never shake the drunks, the jobless losers, the men who saw me as a thing they could use for their own benefit.

Not as a person.

And yeah, being in that elevator was electrifying. No doubt about it—Ace and his dark green eyes and strong arms and rough voice make me forget everything I know.

But then he made that comment about me making promises in exchange for sex … and the words sliced through the fog that was him and me. His words reminded me of all the guys before him.

I am tired of being used. I'm working way too hard at making life work to be a doormat at the end of the day.

I want to be special. And not for the entire world, or even all of Las Vegas … but if I am going to give myself to a guy more than once, I want it to be for something real. Something mine.

I use a paper towel and blot my face dry, feeling like a fucking roller coaster that’s gone off the tracks. I was okay with him screwing me every which way last night … but that was before the designer clothes and the demands.

That was before I looked at him and saw myself.

There’s no denying the truth: the way my body responds to Ace scares me. I know that eventually he’ll hurt me, like all the guys before him.

Nothing about him is safe, and right now, that is what I need, what I crave. I just want someone to take care of me.





ACE


My knuckles are bleeding, and as I exit the elevator to my penthouse I walk straight to the kitchen for ice. Wrapping my hand, I scream, so fucking pissed.

One look at Emmy Rose and all I want is her. I want to take her hand, run the fuck away. Or run up here—pull her into bed. Get room service for the rest of our goddamned life and stay in some fucking cocoon where it’s just her and me, and my cock and her pussy.

She has issues—ain't that the fucking truth—but I know I have plenty of issues of my own. But when I was with her in the elevator it felt like all my problems were gone. When we were alone, everything felt right.

And then she fucking walked away.

What the hell?

I know she wanted it. Wanted me. She groaned and I hadn't even pressed myself inside her.

She moaned and I hadn't even made her come. Her nipples were hard at the mere thought of fucking me.

And then she left.

She says she doesn't want to be my property? My piece of ass? She's wrong and she knows it.

She wants to be mine. She's just fucking scared.

In my bathroom I turn the water to cold, step inside and wash off the sweat and blood, and get my cock to calm the fuck down.

She wants to walk away like a child? Play a game of hide and seek? She wants to play pin the tail on the fucking donkey? Well, I can play games too.

X marks the spot and I'm no monkey in the middle.

She wants to play chase?

Fine.

I don't own this casino because I like to lose.

I win. Every fucking time.





EMMY


“Everything okay?” Claire asks, eyes wide, as I sit at the table.

Tess and Claire have gone to town on the buffet. Plates are everywhere—pasta, meatloaf, crab cakes. Suddenly all I want is some serious chow.

“I'm fine. I'm just hungry. I don't think I've eaten all day.”

I grab a tray and head to the buffet line.

I fill my plates with lasagna and lobster tail and the spicy tuna rolls I've been dying to eat. The breadsticks have my name on them, and I bypass the salad bar altogether—because, really, who would I be kidding?—and instead add a slice of key lime pie with several dollops of whipped cream to my tray.

Sitting down with my friends, I can see them give me raised eyebrows. I'm always a cautious eater, concerned with not being able to squeeze into my uniform. But right now? Screw calorie counting.

Davey is my personal super hero at the moment for getting us these coupons.

Dipping my lobster in melted butter, I shrug as if it’s no big thing to be eating this way–because I don’t want to explain the reason behind this sudden onset of eating-my-emotions.