Behind Closed Doors (Behind Closed Doors #1)(38)

I walk through the entryway, and I’m in shock at what greets me. Shiny wood floors are parted by a long table that splits the room into not one but two different living areas, and beyond that are massive floor-to-ceiling windows leading to some sort of huge patio area.

I face Jason, his hands settling on my shoulders. “Wrong direction,” he says. “I want to show you the entire apartment.”

“Apartment?”

“Yes. I have a yearlong rental here. I’m giving it to you for the night.”

“No way. I just need a basic room.”

“I’m not putting you in a basic room while I stay in a place like this. And due to the tournament, all the luxury suites were taken.”

“Meaning you’re taking the basic room?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll stay here with you.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Are there two bedrooms here?”

“Yes,” he says again.

“Then we’ll both stay here.”

“I promised you—”

I step to him, my hands flattening on his chest. “I want to stay with you.”

Seconds tick by, and much like in his office in San Francisco, he doesn’t move. Self-doubt finds a place inside me—okay, it kind of lives there, but I hide it—and I worry that maybe this separate rooms thing is his way of backing away. Maybe something turned him off and he doesn’t want me anymore. I pull my hands back.

A moment later, my back is against the wall, his legs in a V around mine, his hands cupping my face. “The thing about anyone who plays high-stakes poker is that they don’t like limits,” he warns. “If you stay here, it won’t be in the spare bedroom. It will be in mine, with me.”

“Good. My life is all about limits, and they’ll still be waiting for me when I get home.”

He inches back, his gaze searching my face, weighing my words—I think, I’m not sure—but finally he says. “All right, then. No limits.” He seals the words with a toe-curling kiss that leaves me panting. When a knock sounds on the door, he tears his mouth from mine to promise, “After the poker game comes our games.”





CHAPTER TEN


“I DON’T LIKE GAMES,” I whisper, my hand on the hard wall of Jason’s really amazing chest. His heart is racing like mine is, as if I affect him—even though there are scantily clad, big-breasted, gorgeous women waiting for him downstairs. As if he feels what I do. As if something I don’t intend to happen between us, which I know he doesn’t either, is happening anyway.

“Our private games are not just games,” he promises, and that mouth of his, that sexy, delicious mouth I now know is damn good at kissing me, is close again, lingering, teasing us with the touch he doesn’t yet give us. “I’ll make you like them.”

“You can’t.”

“I’m a poker player, baby. I’ll take that bet and double down.”

“There is no bet.”

“I just made one.”

“It takes two to bet—at least in this case.”

“You placed yours when you got on that plane with me.” He leans in, his cheek pressed to mine, lips brushing my ear, sending a chill down my spine. “Did I mention how damn glad I am that you did?”

I shiver with those words, but more so with the sense that something is happening between us that I’ve never experienced. My mind fights that fantastical idea. He’s a Vegas weekend kind of guy, and that’s exactly what I want him to be. Aside from the storage unit debacle, we’re attracted to each other and we both want sex. That’s it. There—logic firmly back in place.

And yet, logic doesn’t change the fact that I’m so affected by him that I’m still using the wall for support when he opens the apartment door. And I’m still breathing a little heavier than normal when a tall, distinguished-looking black man with graying hair, in a doorman’s uniform, enters the apartment, holding my bag and Jason’s in his hands. “Where would you like these, sir?” he asks Jason.

“Call me Red Bull or Jason, man,” Jason orders firmly. “You know I hate ‘sir.’?”

“And you know that I am all about being appropriate,” the man replies, but there’s a smile in his voice, as if this is a game they play.

“Because appropriate is what we do in Vegas?” Jason challenges.

“This is my job,” the man assures him.

“I get you to slip on occasion,” Jason reminds him.

“And isn’t that challenge why you like me?”

Jason laughs. “Indeed, Ben,” he agrees, giving me a pointed look that clearly references our conversation about games, as he adds, “I do like a challenge,” no longer talking to our visitor but to me.

And while yes, I am warmer than moments before, I find myself smiling inside not at his flirtation but at Jason and Ben’s relationship, and how clear it’s becoming that Jason simply doesn’t know a stranger.

“The bags, sir?” Ben inquires.

Jason doesn’t immediately respond, the question sparking a hot charge of anticipation of where I will end up tonight, and I feel it straight to my toes. With obvious reluctance, Jason says, “Just leave them here in the hallway. We need to get downstairs.” Ben complies and Jason closes the space between himself and the other man, shaking Ben’s hand and palming him a bill. “Thank you, sir,” Jason says, circling back to the other man’s taunting joke. “Now do you feel as old as you make me feel?”