Banking the Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys, #2)(31)

I nodded. "Two baths, actually."

He smirked and ran a finger along the swells of my breasts. "Did you fire your assistant?"

I nodded and breathed a little faster.

"Are you ready to have some fun with me in Vegas?"

I shrugged as my fingers found the nape of his neck and played with the edges of his hair. "Depends on what you have in mind."         

     



 

My eyes followed his as he glanced down at his T-shirt.

It's Britney, bitch.

He winked. "Rule number forty-seven."

Fuck, I haven't had time to enter all of these into my phone. I struggled to remember for two seconds before it clicked.

"You're taking me to see Britney?" I shouted and hopped off his lap.  "Don't fuck with me, Thatcher. Don't you dare fuck with me right now." I  pointed an accusing finger in his direction.

He laughed and slid his hand into his back pocket to pull out two tickets. He held them up for my excited eyes.

I snatched them out of his hand and made sure they were real. "Holy  shit! These are like front-row seats!" I exclaimed as I danced around  the suite. "How in the hell did you manage these?"

"I've got friends in high places," he said with a boyish grin. "Good surprise?"

"Fantastic surprise!" I threw myself at him, forcing us to fall back onto the bed in a tumble. "You're so getting laid tonight!"

His playful eyes met mine as his hands slid into my hair and pulled my  mouth in for a soft kiss. The kiss turned heated, and it was Thatch who  pulled away with a groan.

"I hate what I'm about to say, but we'll have to take a rain check on  the sex," he said as he lifted me to a standing position. "You've got  thirty minutes to get dressed." He turned my body toward the bathroom  and spanked my ass into motion. "So get that sexy ass moving, Crazy. We  can't miss Britney."




Planet Hollywood was unreal. So many shops filled the  glitter-floor-lined hallways that led to the actual theater within the  hotel. After buying me a matching It's Britney, bitch T-shirt, Thatch  carried me into the venue on his giant shoulders, shouting random things  like, "I hope she plays Hit Me Baby One More Time," until we reached  our seats.

Women stared. I laughed. And the giant ogre never faltered in his ability to not give a single fuck what anyone thought of us.

We were a pair. A loud, outrageous-as-fuck pair.

It was awesome.

Fans screamed around me, and I joined in relentlessly. I was in my  element with all the other diehards, watching Britney Spears shake her  little ass and hypnotize the audience on stage with her sexy dance moves  and catchy lyrics. As she finished up a hot rendition of "I Wanna Go," I  glanced up at Thatch, who appeared to be enjoying himself as much as I  was.

He looked outrageous, sticking out like a sore thumb. His large  frame-still clad in a Britney tee-towered over everyone in the audience.  He was one of the few male attendants for the night, but in true Thatch  fashion, he didn't care. He sang when he knew the lyrics, and he danced  like a lunatic during each song, often grabbing my hips and grinding  against me playfully.

God, he made things fun. So much fun.

The neon lights glittered and gleamed across the stage as Britney  seductively sang the opening lyrics to "I'm a Slave 4 U." She moved down  the stage, rotating her hips in hypnotic motions, and I watched on in  amazement.

Thatch wrapped his arms around my shoulders and tugged me back against  his chest. And as Brit sang, he sang directly into my ear, swaying us  back and forth to the addictive beat.

"I'm having fun with you," he whispered in my ear between lyrics.

I leaned my head against his chest and looked up at him. His eyes met  mine, smirking down at me as he continued to serenade me with the help  of Britney herself.

I smiled. "I'm having fun with you too."

"Good." My heart jumped as he leaned down and pressed his mouth to mine  for a sweet kiss. "It doesn't sit well with me when you're sad."

I turned in his arms and stood on tiptoes to kiss the corner of his  mouth. "Thanks for cheering me up, Thatcher." It felt completely natural  to admit how much he meant to me. "You're starting to become one of my  favorite people."

He smirked. "Likewise, honey."

"Vegas! Let me hear you!" Britney's voice filled the venue, and I turned  back toward the stage and hooted and hollered with the rest of the  crowd. "I need a volunteer. Who's willing to help me get a little  freaky?" She smiled at the audience and started to search through the  numerous hands waving frantically.

Thatch watched on with amusement until I abruptly grabbed his hand and  threw it roughly into the air. "This guy!" I called toward the pop  goddess at an ear-splitting decibel. "He loves to get freaky!"

He chuckled in response, but then his eyes went wide as Britney pointed  directly at him and started to walk across the stage until she was  standing in front of us.         

     



 

"Oh, fuck," he muttered.

"Don't be shy." She giggled into the mic. "Come up here, big guy. I need your help," Britney instructed him.

Thatch started to shake his head, but it was too late; two security guys  were already beside him. "You owe me, Crazy," he growled into my ear  before he let them lead him stage right and up the steps.

And there he was, standing tall and proud in his It's Britney, bitch  T-shirt, in front of an entire audience of Britney Army. Women catcalled  and screamed for him to look in their direction. I couldn't blame them.  Hell, I even joined in, wolf-whistling and shouting, "Take off your  pants!" as loud as my voice could manage.

"Whoa, you're big," Britney said once he was standing beside her and her entourage of talented dancers. "What's your name?"

"Thatch, and I hear that a lot," he responded without missing a beat.

She laughed. "Well, Thatch, who are you here with tonight, baby?"

"That crazy woman right there." He pointed directly at me and smirked like the devil as he added, "My girlfriend, Cassie."

Girlfriend? If I hadn't been so fucking mesmerized that Britney Spears  was within touching distance, I probably would have had the foresight to  flip him off.

Sure, that's exactly why your not contesting that sentiment. Keep telling yourself that.

But seriously, was that him trying to one-up me?

Or was it him trying to tell me something?

I didn't know what I was to him. Fuck, I didn't even know what he was to  me. But I was certain of two things: the lines of our relationship were  starting to become more blurred and confusing by the second, and I  didn't want anything to change. I wanted him all up in my space.

I wanted his jokes and surprises and uncanny ability to raise the stakes.

Britney's gaze met mine and she grinned. "Damn, girl, you're gorgeous  too! What's with all of the beautiful people in Vegas tonight?"

The crowd shouted their approval.

"So, Thatch," she said as her dancers moved around him and started  sliding something over his neck. "Would Cassie say you're a naughty  boy?"

Where most guys would have been dying from embarrassment, standing up on  stage while wearing a shirt with Britney's face, Thatch did the  complete opposite. He just chuckled and answered, "She sure as hell  wouldn't say I'm nice."

I bit my lip as the crowd lost their fucking minds, shouting proposals  and innuendos so loud I had to cover my ears to dull the roar.

Britney laughed as Thatch met my eyes and shrugged at the attention.

"Let's get freaky, Vegas!" Britney shouted as the beat of "Freakshow" pounded from the speakers.

My gaze followed the dancers as they crowded around the sexy ogre in the  center of the stage. They rocked it out, dancing in sync with one  another with gyrations and short flicks of their arms and hair to the  sexy beat.

I slid my phone out of my back pocket and started to record every second of this perfect, blackmail-worthy moment.

A giant grin consumed my face as Thatcher Kelly became a prop at a  Britney Spears concert. I wolf-whistled as the dancers led him by a  harness-leash across the stage and he followed on his motherfucking  hands and knees, crawling across the stage until his leash was handed  off to the pop diva herself. Britney led him down the center platform,  and he followed without an ounce of shame or embarrassment on his face.

He was urged to his feet by the dancers and moved toward the center of their freestyle circle.

And that's when Thatch got freaky as fuck. My cheeks threatened to cover  my eyes as I watched him grind and move with seriously impressive  moves.

Goddamn. Channing who?

For a guy his size, he could get down, and I decided I'd need to test  his reaction to "Pony" at some point in the future. His body moved in  sync with the seductive beat, and every woman in attendance was  screaming her excitement. He even obliged the woman stage left who  screamed for him to "Take it off, hot stuff!"