Seven Nights of Sin - Lacey Alexander [97]
He gazed down into her eyes, widened in wonder, in the dark. And recalled her being up on that platform, being so fucking dirty for all the world to see, such a contrast to the sweet girl next to him now. A contrast that made his heart feel like it was bending in his chest. “You are what’s amazing.”
She smiled over at him, cuddling a little closer. “’Night, baby.”
“Good night, my dirty girl.”
THE SEVENTH NIGHT
“By that sin fell the angels.”
—William Shakespeare
One
They slept until noon the next day. Although more than once Damon had woken up, found her soft body curled next to his, and ended up inside her, moving slow and deep, until finally he would come, then drift back into slumber.
“What’s on our agenda for today?” Brenna asked over a late lunch at the California Pizza Kitchen at the Mirage.
“Not much,” he replied across the table. “Just one club to hit tonight and that’s it.”
“Good, ’cause I’m pooped,” she said on a laugh.
And he agreed. As much as he’d enjoyed their wild week together, little miss Brenna had worn him out.
Of course, even as exhausted as he was, he still wanted more of her. Couldn’t seem to quit wanting more. Even now, just sitting across from him in a plain, fitted turquoise T-shirt and jeans, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, she looked as delectable as the pizza he ate.
Would he have thought that a week ago? If they’d been eating pizza, if she’d been dressed like this, plain and casual?
The truth was—no, he wouldn’t have.
Of course, he’d known from early on that none of this was just about the way she looked. It was about all of her. And now that the week was drawing to a close and they were going home tomorrow…he just wasn’t sure he was ready to say good-bye to having Brenna in his bed.
And maybe, just maybe, the idea of not saying good-bye was slowly becoming a little less scary to him—and a little more viable, real. Just like Brenna herself. Real.
Two
Brenna dressed down even more than last night—Damon had told her the club they were going to wasn’t much more than a hole in the wall on the south side of town, so she took advantage of the situation, given that she’d already pretty much worn everything in her stylish new A&R rep wardrobe. Damon also asked if they could take her car tonight instead of a cab, which she didn’t mind—but she let him drive, not particularly wanting to navigate the traffic on Las Vegas Boulevard.
When they walked into a small, dark building called Lefty’s just after nine, she felt right at home in her simple black tank and jeans. Of course, Damon’s usual jeans and vintage tee—tonight’s featured the Doors—seemed to fit in anywhere. A few people at the club recognized him, but the beer-and-peanuts crowd was friendly and thrilled to have someone they considered a celebrity in their midst.
Over two Coors, they watched and listened to a band called the Outsiders, which featured a pink-haired girl with nose piercings, backed up by four garden-variety headbangers in their late thirties. The tip on the band, she learned, had actually come from Anthony, last night, while she’d been changing clothes, yet she and Damon quickly agreed that while the Outsiders were a decent bar band, they’d likely never find fame and fortune.
As they departed the bar only an hour after arriving, Brenna found herself reflecting on the previous night. Until Anthony’s name had come up, the memory of Caligula’s had seemed more like a dream than something that had really happened. The pleasure had been unsurpassed—and not just physical pleasure but the intense joy of feeling so bold and brave, so much like a free sexual creature, set free by Damon.
And as they drove through the darkness—the car soon leaving the retail and residential area for a landscape more sparse and empty—she thought about the fact that had she done something so spontaneous, so extreme, with any other man she’d ever met, she’d be swimming in doubt now, worried sick that he would see her differently than he did before, that he would no longer respect her. But with Damon,