I ignore it and toss my napkin on my chair. “I’m going to use the restroom. Be right back.”

Both Micah and Jorie smile at me. Micah totally nonplussed, but I can see the worry for me in Jorie’s eyes. She knows that conversation just bothered me, but I can never tell her how much or why.

I make my way through the restaurant to where the restrooms are located. I do nothing more than splash chilly water on my face and stare at myself in the mirror, telling me to get my shit together. This shouldn’t be this hard.

But I once told Jorie she was complicated, and it appears that is the understatement of the fucking millennium.

With a sigh, I take a towel from the attendant, dry my face and hands, and put a five-dollar bill in the tip jar. He bobs his head and says, “Thank you, sir. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Yeah, that’s not going to fucking happen, but I smile back at him as I leave.

I come to a dead halt as I find Jorie there waiting for me in the alcove that separates the restrooms from the open restaurant layout.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her as I take her arm and step toward the wall, further shielding us from the patrons.

“Checking on you,” she says quietly. “I know this is hard—”

“It’s fine,” I assure her. “It’s fine, and Micah doesn’t suspect anything.”

“I want to tell him,” Jorie says suddenly.

I look left and right; the coast is clear, and I lean into her. “We agreed not to, Jorie. Don’t do this to me.”

“He’d understand,” she promises.

“He wouldn’t,” I return.


“Jorie,” I snap. “You know that dildo machine in The Wicked Horse?”

She nods back at me, lips pressed tight.

“Your brother designed it,” I tell her in a low voice. “I took a picture of your fine ass as that dildo hammered into you, and I texted it to Micah so he could see his machine in action.”

Jorie’s mouth falls open in stunned surprise.

“You think he’s going to appreciate the fact that was his sister I was exploiting? Fuck… I sent that picture to him knowing he’d probably jack off to it. How do you think that’s going to make him feel?”

“Oh, God,” she says as her eyes practically glaze over from the implications and she stumbles back to rest against the wall.

“Leave it be, Jorie,” I beg. “Please let’s just get through this weekend.”

She nods at me, her eyes still a little blank. It shreds me up seeing her look so lost.

I press into her. For a moment, I don’t give a fuck about Micah. I brush my lips over hers and whisper, “It will be fine. I promise.”

“Okay,” she whispers back.

But we both know that’s a lie, no matter how this turns out.



I look at myself in the full-length mirror that’s attached to the back of the bathroom door and appraise myself. Sexy lingerie, high heels, and beach-blown hair. My lips painted cherry red because I know Walsh gets off on that if he wants me to suck his dick.

I turn and grab my phone from the vanity, turn back and take a selfie of myself. I then walk into the bedroom. Perching on the end of the bed, I cross my legs and send the photo to Walsh. It’s just past one in the morning. I’m not sure if he’ll see it or not, but I hope he’s awake.

I type in a few words to follow the photo. I’m in room 4309.

You see, I didn’t get in my car and drive back to Henderson like I told Micah and Walsh I was going to do. We didn’t get in until close to midnight, and they both wanted me to stay at Walsh’s so I didn’t have to drive back to Henderson. I purposely didn’t drink tonight, so they couldn’t worry about my ability to make it.

But I’d had this planned.

I was going to be with Walsh tonight come hell or high water.

Pushing up from the bed, I walk over to the windows that look out at the twinkling lights of the strip. I used to hate Vegas, but not so much anymore.

How could I when Walsh is here? When his life’s work is located right in the heart of Sin City?

The longer I look out the window, and the longer I wait for his response, the more I dwell on the things that he said to me at the restaurant.

I can’t believe Micah made that machine. He’s a fucking highly sought-after engineer who is making mechanical fuck machines. The idea repulses me as much as remembrance of riding that thing with Walsh watching excites me. I want to do it again, and we haven’t in the times we’ve been back to The Wicked Horse, because there’s been too much other stuff to explore.

Tags: Sawyer Bennett The Wicked Horse Vegas Billionaire Romance
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