Chapter 3-2
777 Words
Nico
I head down to the main floor.
There are about a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t f**k around with the hot little art historian housekeeper, but none of them make it easy for me to walk out the door when she’s still in my suite.
I’m going to have to make sure I’m not there when she cleans. Hell, if I had any decency in me whatsoever, I’d call her boss and have her transferred back to the main floors right now. I wait a few moments to see if my moral compass takes over enough to follow through on that thought.
Sadly, it doesn’t.
Sondra, Sondra, Sondra. I’ll have to hope her good sense kicks in.
It’s funny; the only other time I had it so bad for a girl was when I was twelve and became obsessed with my brother’s girlfriend, Trinidad Winters. But that was just my pubescent l**t kicking into high gear. Trini was always around, riding along in the car when Gio picked me up, watching movies on our couch in miniskirts that rode up her long legs.
Sondra is nothing like Trini. She’s nothing like Jenna, the mafia princess I’m supposed to marry. I don’t date, but she’s definitely not like any of the girls I f**k—paid or volunteer.
I want more of her. I love the way she got breathless and excited back there. It wouldn’t have taken much for me to pry those knees apart and show her just how bad her taste in men really runs.
Oh, I’d have her screaming. Pleasuring Sondra would be easy—the girl looks ready to go off like a firecracker. Hell, I’d keep her up all night moaning my name and I wouldn’t even miss the sleep.
I walk around the tables, scanning for Sondra’s cousin, Corey. Just to get a look at her. Not because I’m totally obsessed with this girl and need to know everything about her. Researching her full background was necessary. I had to make completely sure she’s not working some angle.
The Tacones have a lot of enemies. Hell, I probably have enemies within the Tacone family. I run my Vegas branch of the business on the up and up, but there’s a long history of violence and crime going back at least three generations to the Chicago underground. And then there are the enemies from the legitimate business world. Anyone might send in a femme fatale to get close to me, learn my secrets and set me up to fall.
And Sondra Simonson is exactly the kind of girl they’d send.
No, that’s bullshit.
She’s not. She’s nothing like a professional. But if my enemies were really smart, if they could somehow intuit what’s taken me by surprise, they’d send Sondra Simonson to take me down.
Because it’s for certain.
I’m not going to be able to stop myself from going after her.
I find Corey working a blackjack table. I see the resemblance. She’s as lovely as Sondra, but totally not my type. Tall, red-haired. Leggy. She looks sophisticated and sharp. Deals fast and clean. Appears to be a good asset to my casino.
She’s focused on her customers and yet her gaze flicks around the room, taking in everything. Including me. Next time she glances up, she skips the room-sweep and looks straight at me. I saunter over to her table.
Nothing shows on her face, but I know she’s aware of who I am. Wonders what I’m doing at her table. My presence must make the customers nervous, because after a few hands, the table clears out.
“Mr. Tacone,” she murmurs without quite meeting my eye. She’s properly deferential. Plays it just right.
I shove my hands in my pockets. I’m not even sure what I want from her. Some more information about Sondra, I suppose.
When I don’t say anything, she offers, “You scared my cousin yesterday.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You don’t still think you need to worry about her, do you?”
“No.” I scrub a hand across my face. “Scale of one to ten—how traumatized was she?”
Corey has an excellent poker face. Nothing shows—not surprise, not anger. Nothing. “Eight. But the flowers and money helped.” Corey moves in for the kill. “A dealer job would help her even more.”
I shake my head. “Not gonna happen.”
She lowers her gaze to her cards without comment, spreading them out on the table and flipping them over back and forth in a perfect ripple, showing off her tricks. After a long moment, she says, “If you weren’t my boss, I’d tell you to stay away from her.”
I like her pluck.
I pull a fifty-dollar chip from my pocket and drop it on the table for her as a tip. “I can’t.”
- Writer
