“No matter how much we love them, we all grow up surrounded by our parents’ shit. You’ll either be buried in it and suffocate, or use it for fertilizer and thrive.”
I stare at him for a moment, then laugh. “You’re right,” I say. “That’s probably the most profound—and disgusting—thing that I’ve heard in a long time.” I laugh again, then lean against him when he pulls me close. “Thank you,” I whisper, then sigh when he dips his head and presses a soft kiss to my hair.
The elevator lets us off on the forty-seventh floor, just three floors shy of the top level. As far as I can tell, there are only three doors on this floor, and I frown a bit as he stops in front of one with a gold plaque on the door that reads, ES-2.
He pulls a keycard from his wallet, then opens the door and stands aside as I enter what can only be described as paradise.
The room has a huge living area, complete with a wet bar and a grand piano. But the furnishings are nothing compared to the view—an entire wall of windows that look out on all of Las Vegas, and if I turn my head to take it all in, I can see from the Stratosphere to the Luxor and beyond.
The sun has begun to dip low in the horizon, and the light has an orange quality now, as if it is painting the town. The view is stunning, vibrant, and I turn to Ryan in wonder.
“This isn’t the room that the station booked for me, is it?”
“No.”
“This is a Stark International hotel.”
It’s not a question, but he answers anyway. “Yes.”
I think back since our arrival. The way the woman welcomed him. The casino chip he had in his pocket. The fact that we didn’t have to check in to get a key. Honestly, I should have realized.
“Do you live here?”
He laughs. “No, I live in LA, not far from Damien, only in a much smaller house. But I spend about four weeks out of every year here going over procedure with the staff and auditing all of our security systems and operations. This is one of the executive suites. We all have use of it.”
“You always carry casino chips in your pocket?”
“No, but I do tend to keep some in the car. Once we arrived, I grabbed a few.”
“Oh.” That made sense. “And you have a closet or something here, which is why I’m the only one who had to buy clothes.”
“Or something,” he confirms. “I keep a suitcase on site. By now, housekeeping should have unpacked and pressed my clothes.”
I lift a brow. “Must be nice.”
“I promise you, it is.”
“So how did you land such a cush job?” I ask as I stroll around the room. “I mean, heading up an entire division for Damien’s umbrella company—I know the guy, and that’s a pretty plum job.”
“It is,” Ryan says. “But I’m exceptionally good at what I do.”
I pull out a bottle of wine from the fridge behind the wet bar. There is a corkscrew already sitting out, and I study Ryan as I open the wine. “I believe you. How did you get that way?”
He takes a seat, his eyes never leaving me. “Law enforcement runs in my family. My great-grandfather was in Scotland Yard, and my grandfather was MI6.”
“Wow. And your dad?”
“He disappointed them by moving to Boston. Became a cop. Married a secretary at the district attorney’s office.”
I laugh as I cross to him, a glass of wine in each hand. “It really is all in the family.”
“Which is why I was such a disappointment.” He takes the wine, and I plunk myself down on the table in front of him. He sips, then smiles. “I could get used to this.”
“What?”
“You, waiting on me.”
I raise a brow. “I’m yours to command—at least for a few more days.” I lick my lips provocatively, then very deliberately drop my gaze to his crotch. And then, because I’m feeling bold, I lean forward and cup his erection. He is already hard, and knowing that gives me a feminine thrill. “Any time you want,” I whisper. “You just tell me how you want me to service you.”