Becky was enjoying herself with Jacob and Caleb. They were becoming the brothers she never had. Damon, though, he was the dark horse in the group. He didn’t seem happy and sat brooding all the time. Becky felt his gaze on her all the time, as though criticizing her. She didn’t care, Damon was an arrogant arse. She’d noticed he didn’t spend his evenings with her and his friends, and when he did women hung off him in droves like he was the big celebrity he claimed to be. Damon always left with one or more women, and for some reason every time he did she felt sick to her core. Becky wanted to be the woman he was with—she hated the other women. It felt strange, because Becky had never felt that for anyone before.
Becky rolled her eyes heavenward as she told herself that Damon wasn’t anything to her, and that she didn’t care if every time the dirty blonde fringe fell over his eyes she wanted to brush it over so she could see his dark green eyes. Or that when he took his shirt off she didn’t want to rub her hands up and down his tight, toned abs, and trace every one of his tats with her tongue. Becky groaned as her body heated at just the thought of doing all that. Crap. She needed to get some courage and sleep with him. Surely he’d be willing, since he seemed to sleep with anything in a skirt. Although she had noticed he liked skinny blondes, she wasn’t blonde and she wasn’t skinny. Becky sighed. She couldn’t go on like this if Damon wasn’t willing. She needed to find someone else to help get him out of her system.
Becky had agreed to stay with the guys until she left Vegas to start her job. Well, she had a while before she started her job in Chicago, but she needed to find a place to live and she wanted to get settled.
They were off to New Orleans now. Becky had always wanted to go there. She loved the idea of staying in the French Quarter, going on ghost tours, the restaurants, and the amazing jazz music. The men booked their flights but they all couldn’t get on the same flight as she’d booked her months ago. Becky had told them she was staying in the French Quarter at the Sheraton. They had her mobile number and could contact her when they were ready to join her.
Becky was glad she had time to herself. She’d booked five nights in New Orleans, then she was moving on to Dallas before spending a full five nights in amazing Las Vegas.
After showering, she got dressed and went down to the main desk and asked where the best jazz club was. Tonight she was going to dance. The jazz club was only a couple of streets down from her hotel. As soon as Becky walked in the atmosphere surrounded her and the music flowed through her bones.
****
Damon closed his eyes and rested his head back against the hotel room wall. He was in fucking hell. No matter how many women he had sex with, he couldn’t stop his raging hard-on for Becky. When he thought he had it sedated Damon would see Becky in a bloody bikini, showing her large breasts and wide curvy body, or she’d be dressed to go out for dinner and he became rock hard. Fuck, he got a hard-on anytime he saw her—she could probably wear a paper bag and Damon wouldn’t care.
He wished she was a money-grabbing whore or a just another woman eager to sleep with Daman Chet the hockey star, but Becky had no idea who he or his friends were, and she didn’t seem keen to find out. They had dropped hints, and last night Jacob had told her what they did was pretty big in America.
Becky had smiled and shrugged. “I’ll have to come and watch you at some stage.”
His agent called him, yelling about being photographed with three women hanging off him at a night club he Jacob, Caleb, and Becky had gone to. The photos had been of him fucking them in a corner while Becky laughed and danced with his friends. Jealousy was eating at him and driving him to become bolder in his needs to get her out of his system and focus on someone else. The owner of the club had loved the publicity. Damon told his agent that the owner was the one who probably leaked the photos.
Damon opened his eyes and looked up as Jacob knocked, opened the door, and came in. “What did he say about the photos?”
Damon shrugged. “I have to rein it all in. The NHL is trying to have a family image. They want to get the next generation hooked.”
Jacob ran his fingers through his brown hair. “I’m sorry. This was supposed to be a guys’ trip to keep you out of trouble. Look, we’ll do our own thing from now on. I can see you have a problem with Becky. I can see her when we finish our trip.” He grinned. “You’ll never believe where she is going to live.”
“I don’t fucking care.” He did, but Damon knew it wouldn’t be good if he knew where Becky would be living. Shit, he had it bad. He glared at Jacob. Damon didn’t want him being with her alone. Damon at least knew now that with him and Caleb, Jacob couldn’t really do anything—well, not with a sweet girl like Becky. And he was right, she was sweet. She was nice to everyone. They’d been places where she’d given up her seat to the elderly, and she was patient when children became loud or ran around while they’d toured paces. He sighed. She was a saint and nothing fazed her. “No, we will stay with Becky until she leaves us in Vegas. Just promise me you won’t pick up any more strays?”