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King: Las Vegas Bad Boys

By:Frankie Love

I’ve never been this close to her before, and as she places one hand on my shoulder and takes my hand in other, I can’t help but think that I like the way she fits against me.

I’m rather tall and lean, whereas Claire is average height and her body is quite slight—narrow shoulders, not curvy or voluptuous.

Rather, Claire is a classic beauty, save for her bright blonde hair. Still, even with her loud hair, she isn’t gaudy and excessive. And besides her signature red lips, there’s little make up on her face. Her skin is naturally bronzed from plenty of time in the Vegas heat, and her eyes are bright, alive. A gorgeous green.

And, being this close to her, I’m actually quite taken by the way she hums along with this old jazzy tune. The way her body seems to rest into mine as we glide over the dance floor. And she actually appears to know how to waltz. I haven’t waltzed in years—not since they forced us to learn at the boarding school mum and dad sent Geoffrey and me to—yet we’ve unconsciously found a rhythm.

“Are we waltzing?” I ask Claire, leaning close. My lips graze her ear as I speak, and a smile finds its way across my usually sharp and sarcastic face. Fuck, this woman smells amazing, too—honeysuckle and vanilla—and I would inhale her if that weren’t a very creepy thing to do in public.

Claire lets out a sigh, and I swear she’s just breathed me in, too. “I was obsessed with learning these stuffy dances when I was a girl. Forced my mother to get me lessons at a dance hall where a very old woman named Mrs. Macarthur taught me. No one else knows how to waltz. But you do,” she says, crinkling her eyes in surprise as we continue to float across the room.

“I do. I know quite a lot of things, actually.”

“What else do you know, Landon, blackjack player extraordinaire and self-proclaimed asshole?”

“Fucking bullocks. You already know all there is to know about me. I’m just a washed-up Englishman far from home.”

“You’re all talk, Landon,” Claire says, smirking. Her lip curls in such a teasing way that I’m sure when she’s in a bedroom she knows exactly how to play. “I heard you’ve taken the lead with the property investment that Ace was wrapped up with. That isn’t something a washed-up Englishman would do.”

“I suppose.” I shouldn’t be surprised Claire knows about the property, I’m sure Emmy tells her everything. “But I don’t even know what I’ll do with that half-burned down space.”

“I’m sure someone as smart as you will figure it out.” Claire squeezes my hand as the song comes to an end, and suddenly I don’t want to let her go.

I want to take off her dress, if I’m being honest.

We stand on the dance floor, arms still holding one another, and the MC calls everyone to watch as Ace and Emmy cut their cake.

I swallow, all of a sudden wanting Claire so badly. I want to see her glowing skin bare, her blonde tresses pulled down, my hands running over all of her.

Fuck. My cock twitches in desire.

Claire turns her head, and I follow her gaze. We watch as Ace and Emmy cut their cake, shoving it in one another’s faces. It’s sugary sweet, the entire thing.

“Do you want to go somewhere with me?” I ask Claire.

“Is it somewhere less ... I don’t know ... perfect?” She looks around the ballroom filled with bouquets of red roses—Emmy’s signature flower. There are piles of decadent food and glossy people and flawless ambience. “It’s an awful lot to take.”

I see then that the reason Claire doesn’t have eyes all starry like Tess and Ashley is because she’s jaded, bruised. Not like Emmy—not because of a sordid past full of drugs and whatnot. No, Claire has had her heart broken and she can only take so much love-at-first-sight nonsense.

Good. She’s even better to take to my suite than I thought. She won’t get clingy after tonight. She isn’t looking for forever, because she doesn’t believe in it.

“I’m taking you to my room, and we’re going to fuck ourselves silly. It won’t be rose petals and love notes. It will be hot sex, just one night.”

“I can’t do one night,” she says, and for a moment I wonder if I’ve read her all wrong. But then she licks her lips, smiles. “I can only do one hour.”


I don’t do hook-ups, mostly because the guys who offer them are creeps at the casino. And Landon is a casino junky, and an absolute no-go as far as boyfriend material is concerned. To be honest, what I’m really looking for is father material.

But I can’t help but feel myself get hot at the idea of his hands on my skin, his body pressed tight to mine ... oh, God, I’ve never been with anyone as sexy as Landon.

Those regular shmoes I’ve been dating don’t have ripped muscles and strong jawlines and absolutely panty-wetting accents. Beer bellies are kind of a guarantee.

Landon does not have a beer belly. He has a rock-hard chest, at least from what I could tell as he led me around the dance floor.

“Well,” Landon says. “If you can only spare one singular hour, we’d best be getting on.”

“We should wait until they’re off, shouldn’t we?”

“Look,” Landon says, pointing at the happy couple. “They’re ready for their wedding night to begin as much as we are. Watch.”

The MC directs everyone to wish the bride and groom a happy life, as Emmy tosses her bouquet into the crowd. Tess dives for it. Bless her heart, of course she does.

Then Ace sweeps his bride up in his arms and they’re off, toward the helicopter on the top of the casino, to the airport and Tahiti and most likely ridiculously amazing beach sex.

I’m not jealous, I’m just really, really horny all of a sudden. Standing so close to Landon is getting me all bothered.

Reaching for a flute of champagne that a waiter carries on a tray, I take a swig of liquid courage. I need it. Before today’s spa with Tess and Emmy, I hadn’t been properly trimmed down there in well, years.

To say I’m a bit rusty in the sex department is an understatement. Sex with hotties is never on my priority l