Chapter 2

Despite Jamie’s desire to hit the road immediately, it took us a few hours to actually get under way. For one thing, I had to shower and get dressed, which I did once I’d thoroughly kissed my husband goodbye and watched the helicopter whisk him off toward San Diego.

After that, I had to pack, which didn’t take too much time since we’re staying only two nights. But the calls I had to make to reschedule an entire Friday’s worth of appointments were another matter altogether. And while I sat at a shaded table by the pool with my phone and my laptop, trying to juggle my schedule with the schedule of everyone else involved, Jamie stripped down to bra and panties, then splayed out on a chaise lounge to work on her tan.

Honestly, it just didn’t seem fair.

It was lunchtime when I finally got everything squared away, and we were able to pile into the limo. Damien had insisted that Edward drive us, and since the ride from Los Angeles to Vegas is infinitely more interesting in the back of a limo with alcohol, we hadn’t been hard to convince.

Right as we got under way, we had Edward pull into Upper Crust, a charming local bakery and sandwich shop, where Jamie and I bought paninis for ourselves and Edward, then she and I settled in the back with our sandwiches, chips, and the well-stocked Stark International limo bar.

All of which goes a long way to explaining why, when we roll into Las Vegas at just shy of six in the evening, Jamie and I are just a teensy bit drunk. Not to mention very easily amused.

Which is why I burst into giggles when Jamie pulls out her phone, stares at the screen, and very plaintively asks me why there isn’t even a smidgeon of sex in her inbox.

“Knowing you,” I retort, “I find that very hard to believe.”

“Okay, that’s fair. If I scroll back I’m sure I can find some truly stellar sexts. But Ryan promised he’d send me something to keep him on my mind, and so far pffft. Nothing.”

She flops back in the seat and pouts—or at least pretends to. I’m feeling a bit pouty myself, because I was certain that once Jamie planted the sexting seed in Damien’s head he would jump all over that but my inbox is likewise sexless. Of course, sexting is like sloppy seconds compared to Damien’s truly incredible phone sex skills. But that’s not something I want to experience with Jamie in the limo with me. We’re close. But we’re not that close.

Truthfully, I’m not surprised that Damien hasn’t checked in. His schedule was jam-packed today, what with zipping all over the West Coast. And right about now, I know he has a meeting with his assistant Sylvia. They have a conference call with a friend of Damien’s at the Pentagon about buying Santa Cortez, a military-owned island off the California coast.

Most likely he’s on that call right now, immersed in details and negotiations. It’s really not the time for me to be bothering him.

Of course, I do anyway.

Just arrived in Sin City. Feeling deliciously sinful. Who knows where that will lead…

I hesitate only a second and then press send.

A moment later, my phone buzzes with a reply.

I’m intrigued. Take pictures.

I text back: ???

I don’t have to wait too long for his explanation.

If you’re naughty without me, I want to know exactly what I’ll be punishing you for later.

Oh.

I think of some of the very delicious ways that Damien might punish me and decide that a few selfies during this weekend jaunt will be well worth the trouble.

And no underwear. When I think of you, I want to think of you bare.

I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. My soon-to-be-abandoned panties, however, are damp. I tap out a quick, Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.

Good girl. Meeting starting. Soon, Mrs. Stark. Until then, imagine me, touching you.

I smile, then tap my final reply: I always do.

When I look up, Jamie has her chin propped on her palm and is watching me.

“What?” I demand.

She just shakes her head. “You guys are so good together.”

“Aren’t you and Ryan?”

A wide grin lights her face. I’m girl-next-door pretty, with my blond hair and curves, but Jamie is movie star gorgeous. And when she smiles, it’s a wonder that Hollywood producers don’t drop from the skies and sign her to projects.

The smile she flashes now with Ryan on her mind is one of the most radiant I’ve ever seen. “Yeah,” she says. “We are. Isn’t that just the coolest thing?”

Considering Jamie’s crappy track record with men, I have to agree that it is. And I am truly, genuinely happy for both of them.

“This is where we really got together,” Jamie says, nodding out the window at the Starfire Resort and Casino, which we are approaching. “I mean, we fooled around in Malibu after your wedding, but it wasn’t until Vegas that things really heated up.” Her grin is wide and a little sappy. “So I really, really love this hotel.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.”

Although the Starfire is a Stark International property, I’ve only been a couple of times, and then on very short stays. The fact is, Damien owns so many properties in so many places that I could visit one every day for the rest of my life and still probably not hit all of them.

It’s a little daunting when I think about it. Which is why I usually don’t think about it.

Edward turns off the Strip and into the drive, which circles a magnificent fountain that shoots jets of colored water into the sky to the delight of a crowd of people gathered around its edge.

We roll to a stop under the portico, and it’s clear that although this limo has no identifying marks, the staff knows who we are. I’m treated like a queen, Jamie like a princess, and we are whisked through the lobby and down one of the long, tiled hallways to a set of elevators that access the penthouse suites.

Jamie and I are chatting as we walk, debating whether we want to go out for dinner or just have drinks in the bar and then go back up for room service. I pause, reaching out for Jamie’s elbow.

“Did you see—?”

“What?”

But I shake my head, feeling silly. “Nothing. Just thought I saw someone I knew.”

“Who?”

I shrug. “Probably no one.” I hook my arm through Jamie’s. “I say we go with shopping, then drinks, then grab some sushi.” I point to a placard advertising a new Japanese restaurant that has just opened inside the hotel. “After that we can either crash in the room with a pay-per-view movie or go try our luck at the tables.”

“Or we could find a club and go dancing?”

“You have to work tomorrow.”

She makes a face. “True. Maybe tomorrow night.”

I nod, though I’m secretly planning to veto that come tomorrow. I love to dance. But I love it most when I’m dancing with Damien.

We’re in the owner’s suite on the thirty-fifth floor, and the first thing we see when the bellman opens the double doors is the amazing view down the Strip through the wall of floor to ceiling windows. It’s early March, so the sun has already set, and the lights of the city beyond the glass fill the room.

There is a huge kitchen, four bathrooms complete with Jacuzzi and steam shower, a living room, a media room, an exercise room, and two master bedrooms, each with their own private entrance.

The entire suite is more than twice the size of Jamie’s condo, and despite having experienced the power of Damien’s money many times over now, I have to admit I’m at least as wowed as my best friend.

I tip the bellman, who tells us to pick up the phone if we need anything at all, and when I turn back, I find Jamie in the middle of the huge living room, her arms out wide as she turns in a slow circle. She comes to a stop, meets my eyes, and then grins. “Can I just say how fucking awesome it is to have a best friend who’s married to a bazillionaire?”