to.”
“He sounds like a thrall.”
I slapped the gear shift. “Bingo. Everything about him—his voice, face, body, scent, intensity—makes me lose my ever-loving mind. In the same situation with another guy, I wouldn’t have reacted as I did. I felt completely out of control.”
“I understand why that would be so scary. Especially for your first time.”
I exhaled. “I trusted him to take care of me when I was drunk, and instead he pushed me to do things I wouldn’t ordinarily do.”
“Maybe he sensed your fetish. What if he was trying to please you?”
He’d told me, I need to give you pleasure so much I ache. I cleared my throat. “Then I would say I might have possibly overreacted and blamed him unfairly.” The look in his eyes . . . I’d hurt him. That damn sense of protectiveness rose up yet again.
“What if you ended up with him outside of a con?”
Of all the women he could have, Sevastyan was pursuing me. At least for now. “He lives on a different continent. And we have nothing in common.” I refused to believe I could fall for Sevastyan, with his sinful voice and talented fingers. With his lifeline glances, the ones that both lured me closer and scared the hell out of me. “Plus, I could never trust him. I don’t think another man will ever convince me I’d be enough for him. It’s like in the movies, when the lead guy makes a grand gesture, sacrificing everything to prove his love. Stupid, huh?”
“Not stupid at all,” Karin said.
“Catching Brett made me doubt myself in a way I never did before.” Wasn’t I desirable enough for him? Wasn’t I enough woman? “Besides, if I were ever going to settle down, it’d be with another grifter. Which means a tech billionaire is out of the running.”
“You must’ve considered a Peggy Sue by this point.” A wedding con. “I’m sure we all did after that call.”
The thought had tickled at the back of my mind, but I’d mentally scratched it away. “Dmitri’s way too clever. He’d lawyer up with a prenup so ironclad it’d clang when it hit a desk. Plus he’s got those two bodyguards.”
“Hate bodyguards. Still, it’s Vegas, baby. Make him crazy for an hour, and you could seal the deal.”
“Crazy, huh?” He’s got that covered all on his own.
“I could run a badger on him.” That multi-purpose con could be used for more than just blackmail. “I’d mick him, and you’d find us ‘together.’ You’d scream and cry, telling him there’s only one way you could ever trust him again: the bonds of holy matrimony. Give him the ultimatum, and he’d be toast.”
I could cry on cue, but the idea of Karin even “fake” getting together with him made my fingers clench the steering wheel. “I’ll stick with the milk-cow.”
“Then wear the man-eater.”
I’d cut that sleeveless gown from scarlet body-hugging silk. The overall look was simple yet sultry. Illusion straps and a plunging neckline bared plenty of skin in the front, while the back cutout dipped almost to my ass. The hourglass silhouette gave way to a thigh-high slit.
When a woman wore a dress like that, it told men: I’m getting laid tonight. And when I do, some lucky bastard’s balls will scream for mercy. “You don’t think it’s too soon?”
“No, but he’s going to be all over you.”
At the idea, my body purred like the Porsche’s engine.
Whatever she saw in my expression made her lips thin. “You cannot sleep with him, Vice.”
“Listen to me.” I met her gaze as we made the Strip. “There’s no way in hell I’m going to sleep with the Russian.”
CHAPTER 14
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Okay, I might sleep with the Russian.
When I opened the door for him, lyrics from the incomparable Madonna sprang into my thoughts:
I’m in trouble deep.
He was just so . . . so unimaginably beautiful. His tailored dark gray suit emphasized his height, the wide set of his shoulders, the narrowness of his hips. His understated tie had a thread of amber through it, highlighting his eyes. My fingers itched to touch his clean-shaven jaw and chin.
He stared at me as if he’d forgotten how to blink. I guessed he liked the man-eater.
Pete had already called to tell me when Dmitri left the casino and what my date was wearing (my cuz had warned me Dmitri looked “excruciatingly hot”). Thanks to intel from Giovanni, the concierge, I also knew our destination: Murano’s, a romantic—and extravagant—Italian restaurant.
“Am I dressed appropriately?” I asked as I turned in a