He didn’t deny or confirm my accusation. “You can let me out here. He needs to return to the airport,” Cope told the driver, and he tossed a wad of bills into the front seat. One glance at that, and the driver pulled over at the end of the Strip. Cope climbed out without another word to me.
When the door slammed behind him, I let out a frustrated growl. “Take me to old Vegas,” I told the driver, leaning back in the seat. I’d get some food and head back to the Bellagio. I wasn’t leaving Nan unprotected.
I would try to text her again. Maybe she’d answer if she knew I was here. That I’d come after her.
I’m in Vegas. I’ve come to see you.
I hit Send. I could only hope that Cope was lying and she wasn’t letting him into her bed. At least I enjoyed the things I’d done with her. He was straight up using her for a job. She was better than that. Motherfucker didn’t deserve to touch her.
“Will that be your last stop, sir?” the driver asked, probably beyond confused at this point.
“For now,” I replied, and watched my screen, waiting for a response.
Nan
The smell of pizza broke into my dreams, and I opened my eyes and inhaled deeply. I never ate pizza, but I was so hungry, and it smelled delicious. Looking around my dark room, I could only see the light from the cracked door leading to the living area of my suite. The pizza was in there. With Gannon. I’d given him the second key to my suite before he’d left me to take my nap. A smile pulled at my lips, and I stretched my body, feeling pleased and sated.
It was his turn next, and I was looking forward to it. I wanted to touch his body and watch him as he came. The idea was exciting. He was everything a man should be. Strong, fierce, sturdy, and ruggedly handsome. Nothing like the guys I normally dated. I rarely came into contact with men like Gannon. I realized now what I had been missing.
I pulled back the covers and climbed out of bed. My hair was probably a mess, and I wanted to change into something more comfortable, since we were apparently staying in for the evening. Not that I had a problem with that. I liked the idea very much.
I took the brush from my Louis Vuitton toiletry bag, brushed through my hair, and quickly changed into a pair of pale blue pajama shorts that had a flirty ruffle on the hem and a matching camisole. I decided against a bra. The whole ensemble was sexy yet comfortable. I wanted him to get the fact that I wasn’t done just because I’d gotten off.
When my reflection in the mirror was good enough, I headed to the door and slowly pulled it open to peek into the room.
Gannon was lounging on the sofa with his feet propped up on the ottoman and a book in his hands. His eyes immediately swung to me as I stepped into the room as quietly as I could. He either had amazing hearing or great peripheral vision.
“Hey,” I said in greeting, feeling a little shy now that I was barely dressed and he was in his jeans, T-shirt, and boots.
“I ordered pizza. Not sure what kind you liked, so I ordered a few. Waited for you to join me before I dove in.”
He continued to take me in as I walked over to sit on the sofa a few inches away from him. The glint in his eyes said he liked my choice in clothing. I knew I looked good in it. Heck, I knew I looked good naked. I used that as a superpower with men regularly. I found that my looks and my body only drew them in, though. I had nothing deeper to keep them. I was a hot fuck, but the next morning, they were usually done.
The idea that this was all I’d be to Gannon stung some. But I had to get over it. Men didn’t keep me. I was a toy.
“You must not like pizza.” Gannon’s voice broke into my thoughts, and I lifted my gaze to meet his. He had a concerned frown.
“Oh, no, I actually love pizza. The smell lured me from my dreams. I’m just not awake yet, I guess. What kind did you get?”
He closed the book he had been reading and placed it on the armrest of the sofa. I glanced down at it as he stood up and walked over to the dining-room table. A worn copy of As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner. I hadn’t expected something like that, but then, maybe I had. Gannon wasn’t a man of many words, but from the way he spoke and handled things, it was obvious he was intelligent. I looked at him standing where room service had left the pizzas covered with silver-domed lids. He picked up the first lid. “Pepperoni.” Then he lifted the next one. “Greek.” That was my favorite. I loved feta cheese and olives on my pizza. Then he unveiled the last one. “Buffalo chicken.” I had a feeling that one was for him. It was a guy’s type of pizza.
“Greek is my favorite,” I replied.
He reached for one of the plates, put a large slice of the Greek pizza on it, and walked over to me. “Vodka cranberry?” he asked, as I took it from him.