KING: Las Vegas Bad Boys(38)
The garden is so quiet; the only noise is Landon clearing his throat, and I wonder why I said all those things. Because maybe he doesn’t think that about me at all. Maybe I am presumptuous and a fool. And maybe I’m just putting on him the emotions that are my own. Maybe it’s me who’s falling for this boy, and not the other way around.
Either way, it doesn’t matter. Either way it ends in a good-bye. He thinks I am single woman who likes sex and has no strings attached to anyone or anything ... but the reality is so different. Right now, Landon doesn’t even know surface-level Claire. He doesn’t really know me at all.
“Fuck, Claire. That was a speech.”
“Too much?”
“Never too much.”
“That’s not true,” I tell him. “I haven’t told you the secret.”
“Which is?”
“That’s not fair. I laid out for you what I think you see in me. Shouldn’t you be required to say what I see in you?”
“Is this game really about what’s fair?” Our eyes meet. The air is still. My heart catches. “I think you’re trying to hold out on the inevitable.”
He’s right. I give in.
“Landon, I have a daughter.”
Landon
I’d say I am a level-headed man. Sure, I like pussy; I’m not denying that. But it doesn’t get me all whacked out, because it’s just a fact of life.
If I want to have sex, I take a woman to my room. And I also like to gamble. There’s something about cards on the table, where you can’t hide. You can only bluff for so long before you have to show your hand.
Claire has the best poker face I’ve ever seen.
A daughter? I literally would have never guessed that’s her dirty little secret.
“A daughter?” I ask, incredulous. “No fucking way.”
“This is so stupid,” she says, tears streaking her gorgeous cheekbones. “I should go. I have to go. I can call myself a cab.”
“Shut up and sit down,” I instruct, grabbing her hand before she can run off again.
“I told you I had no skeletons ... but I lied. About a lot of things.”
“She’s a daughter, not a fucking basement filled with rats.”
“People don’t put rats in the basement.”
“Crazy people do. And that isn’t you. You are a mother, not a psychopath.”
“I said I’d go, because I understand this compromises the entire deal.”
“Maybe we can find another angle. You are obviously not leaving.”
“They want Fiona, not me, Landon. A perfect English woman, with nothing wrong with her besides a resting bitch face. Not a single mom living with her mom.”
I ignore her assessments. “Do Tess and Emmy know?” I ask.
“No.” She swallows and looks away.
“That’s pretty fucked up.”
“I know, God.” She hits me then, against my arm, and I don’t want any more answers or to ask any more questions. I just want to fuck her.
Maybe my desire for pussy does get me all whacked out.
All I want is her. Again.
“Claire, you are a really hot mum,” I say, pushing her hair from her face and leaning closer. I know her having a daughter is a big thing … but it’s not the only thing. I still want her in ways that overwhelm me.
“Don’t brush this off like it’s a joke,” she says. “I feel awful enough already. I’ve lied to basically everyone and now you want to have sex with me because it’s another thing to check off on your sex-list.”
“I don’t have a sex-list. Is that even a thing?” I ask her, smiling. “Do you have one? Do all the mums have them?”
“This is serious, Landon. Like, either I go back and tell your parents I’m an imposter, or ... I don’t even know option two.”
“Option two is I spank you for being so naughty.”
“Ohmigod, me being a mom is, like, turning you on, isn’t it?” She shakes her head, giving a soft laugh, like she can’t believe this is happening.
“I don’t think it’s the mum part. I think it’s you, Claire. You get me so fucking hard.”
I kiss her then; my mouth can’t help but taste her sweet lips, feel her warm skin. When she doesn’t hesitate—when she leans deeper into the kiss, when her hands take hold of my face and she moans her perfect little moan into my mouth—I just want to pull down her jeans and fuck her then and there.
I know we can’t have sex on the pathway to the garden, but I do pull her into my lap so she straddles me, and my hands reach under her sweater, holding her narrow waist. Her soft skin is warm and willing, molding under my hands as if made for me.