Seven Nights of Sin - Lacey Alexander [19]
“I decided to do…a little leather,” she explained.
“I like.” Then his look reconnected with hers. “Ready?”
“Very.” Oh crap, had she just said that? “I’m really anxious to do some official scouting,” she added, trying to cover her lust.
“You mentioned liking Mexican food, so I made reservations at Taqueria Cañonita downstairs along the Grand Canal. Good people watching,” he added with a wink.
But as they headed up the hall, Brenna couldn’t help thinking they might be the people who would be watched. She’d kept herself feeling Vegas cool and confident while getting dressed, but the fact was—she’d never worn such a racy outfit in her life. And she couldn’t deny that something about the raciness made her feel a bit more in keeping with the man at her side—like maybe, just maybe, little Brenna Cayton from Ohio might actually be a worthy companion for him.
Ten minutes later, they were seated at a table for two at the edge of the canal where it ran through the Venetian’s indoor shopping area. But the lighting and the blue-sky-and-white-cloud ceiling above had the effect of making Brenna feel as if they sat at another outdoor café. “This is wild,” she said, leaning back to look at the “sky.”
“This is Vegas,” he said, taking a sip of the wine that had just been poured.
Just then, they both heard a snap and flinched at the bright flash of a camera. Brenna turned her head to look.
“Don’t,” Damon warned before she was even able to spot the photographer, reaching to touch her hand where it rested on the table. She shivered inside at the contact. “If you ignore them, they’ll go away.”
Which is when she realized—dear God, some member of the Vegas paparazzi had just taken a picture of her because she was with him. How utterly strange.
“Don’t be surprised if you turn up on the Internet tomorrow above some caption like ‘Damon Andros’ mystery woman.’ Sorry about that.”
The truth was, she didn’t mind. In fact, she found the notion sort of exciting. But she didn’t say so; she just shook her head. “It’s all right. No big deal.” Then she lowered her chin. “But is that weird for you? To have strangers taking pictures of you all the time? Or are you used to it by now?”
“Honestly, it’s still pretty fucking strange,” he replied, his expression wry. “And I still don’t get it. This shit doesn’t happen to other A&R guys—how did I get so lucky?”
Because you’re beautiful. It all came back to that. Surely he knew how enjoyable he was to look at. But thank God she hadn’t blurted it out, and she certainly wasn’t going to bring it up. “You hang with a lot of rock stars and starlets,” she reminded him with a smile. “Maybe that makes you a celebrity by association.”
He shrugged. “Still, it’s bizarre when people you don’t know think they know stuff about you.” Then he tilted his head, his brown eyes intense upon her. “I assume you’ve heard the rumors.”
“About womanizing? And sex for a contract?” She pursed her lips and answered succinctly. “Yeah.” She saw no reason to lie about it.
He nodded, then gave her an easy smile. “The upside is I’m saving a hell of a lot of money on clothes. People I don’t know keep sending me T-shirts with band logos on them. Saw me wearing them in pictures, I guess. Now I get a new one in the mail every few days.”
She grinned. “From admiring fans? Or bands wanting you to walk around wearing their T-shirt?”
“Some of both—they come from everywhere. Hell, Hugh Hefner’s people sent me a Playboy tee last week with a note thanking me for stopping by the mansion.”
Brenna blinked and sat up straighter. “You’ve been to the Playboy Mansion?”
He shrugged again. “Yeah.”
“What was that like?”
He took another sip of his wine, and Brenna decided she could use a little alcohol in her system, as well, so she reached for her own stemmed glass. Because cool new Brenna shouldn’t be intimidated or freaked out by the idea of what probably went on behind those particular doors, but old Brenna was and she