OUR FIRST DATE
I WAS A BALL OF nerves as we stepped into the elevator. His hand hadn’t left mine, and we were headed on a date. My first outing alone with a man.
“What room are you in?” he asked, his other hand hovering over the elevator buttons.
“21030. You?”
He pressed the button for the twenty-first floor, then pulled his room key from his pocket and inserted it into the slot before punching twenty-eight.
“28014.”
“Let me guess—you’re on the suite level?”
He smirked at me. “Yes.”
“So, why didn’t you stay at one of the more expensive hotels on the strip? Why the Mirage?”
He shrugged. “I’ve always liked it here, and the added bonus was that many of my meetings this week were in the hotel’s conference rooms.”
The elevator slowed, then doors spread open. My gaze moved to him as I stepped forward, our hands still locked.
“See you in an hour?”
For a split second, he stared at me, but then his body was right up against me. His hand cupped my cheek and his lips pressed lightly against mine.
Shock and heat flared through me from the spark of his kiss. Then he stepped back. Our eyes were locked as he made space between us, his intense gaze fanning some internal fire inside me. Holding the door with the hand that had been on my cheek, he released my fingers, allowing me to leave.
But I didn’t want to.
I wanted to be with him. To have his lips on mine for more than the brief second. A hunger for him started to grow inside me, begging me to pull him down for another.
“One hour. 21030, right?” he confirmed.
I managed to nod, my foot catching slightly as I backed up. “21030.” I turned, and tried to remember which way my room was.
It wasn’t my first kiss, but I was sure to remember it over all the kisses that had come before.
“Wren.” I glanced back to find a smiling Weston. “I’ll see you soon.”
The doors closed, and it took me a few beats too long to turn down the hall.
Somehow, in my Weston-induced haze, I found my room and immediately stripped out of my clothes to jump in the shower. Once out, I blew my hair dry and attempted to style it with little success. Mascara and eyeshadow were all the makeup I had on me, along with a tube of lip gloss.
Opening the closet, I pulled out the dress and swatted it with my hand, attempting to pull out any of the leftover wrinkles from the suitcase. The peep-toe heels my mom bought me to go with the dress sat on the tile floor. They weren’t really my style, but I was very happy to have them at that moment.
As I was putting on my bra, I heard the door click and open.
“Wren, I’m back!” Mom called, stopping in her tracks when she saw me. “Are you going out to dinner?” She wasn’t upset, just curious, and then a grin spread on her face. “Is it with the man you spent all day with?”
“Yes, Mom. I’m going to dinner with Weston. He’ll be here in about five minutes, so I need to finish getting ready.”
I pulled the dress over my head, and she walked over to help me straighten it out.
“Aren’t you glad I bought you those fancy shoes now?” she asked, her smile reflecting in the mirror as she zipped me up. “I’m so happy you met someone! Tell me about him.”
“Well, he’s older than I am. I’m not quite sure what he does for a living, but I can tell he makes a lot of money. Not that it matters. Just stating a fact.” A smile grew on my face as the memories of our day together ran through my mind again. “I had a lot of fun with him today. The most fun I’ve ever had with anyone.”
“Wow.” There was more than a twinge of awe in her voice as she sat down on the edge of the bed.
“What?” I blinked at her.
“I’ve just never seen you smile like that. He must be special.”
I let out a nervous laugh and brushed my hair behind my ears just in time to hear a knock on the door.
“That must be him!” She clapped her hands as she jumped up and ran to open the door despite my protests.
After opening the door, I noticed there was silence from her.
“You must be Wren’s mother,” Weston said from the other side of the door.
“Uh-huh,” was all that my mother managed to squeak out at first. “Hi, I’m Karen.” She held out her hand.
“Weston.”
“Oh, I know.” I rolled my eyes at my mother’s fawning. I’d only said his name once. “You’re really taking my daughter out?”
“If it’s all right with you? I have flowers here to bribe you, if need be.”
Slipping on my shoes, I grabbed my clutch and headed to the door to free him from the awkwardness of my mother ogling him. Weston handed the flowers to Mom and held his hand out to me.
“You look beautiful,” he said as his gaze slowly slid down my body and back up again.
“Thank you.” I ogled him just the same. “You look very handsome.”
He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “This is everyday wear for me, but thank you.”
Mom grabbed on to my arm and held a finger up to Weston. “Give us a quick sec.” She pulled me into the bathroom and shut the door. “Do you have your mace on you?”
“Mom.”
“I’m just saying, be careful.”
“He can hear you, you know. This room echoes.”
She shook her hand in my face. “Just check in, okay?”
I nodded and reached for the door, pulling it open and smiling up at a Weston, who was wearing the sexiest amused grin.
“I’ll see you later, Mom,” I said, crossing the threshold and taking his arm.
“Have a great time! I’ll see you later!” She waved.
We walked arm in arm. The elevator ride was silent, but I was just happy to be with him. The day had definitely sealed in his status as a crush.
“Where are we going?” I asked when we reached the lobby.
He gave me that sexy smirk again, and I couldn’t help but think of our kiss from earlier. “Off the strip.”
“Off the strip?” Did people go off the strip?
He smiled devilishly and took my hand as we crossed the lobby and exited out the front doors. I thought we were headed toward the taxi stand, but he pulled me toward a limo that was sitting in front of the door. The driver was standing there, holding the door for us.
“Good evening, Mr. Lockwood,” he greeted, and then looked at me curiously.
“Good evening, Dan.” Weston shook his hand and we climbed in.
His eyes were on me, studying something, but I couldn’t figure out what.
“This is slightly overkill, don’t you think?” It wasn’t like we were going to prom or something.
Weston laughed and relaxed back onto the seat, leaving me once again wondering what he did for a living. “I like to do things with a bit of flare. That, and do you know how many germs are in those cabs?”
“Are you a germaphobe, Weston?” I teased.
“Hardly, but I wouldn’t want to sully your pretty dress with that grimy cab.”
“Flattery will . . . yeah, flattery will get you somewhere.” We both laughed, mine with a bit of a nervous edge.
He reached out and ran the back of his fingers down my cheek. Our eyes locked again, intensifying the want to be closer to him. “I’m not sure where I’m trying to get with you, but I’ll let you know, okay?”
“Okay,” I said in little more than a whisper.
Why did we just have one night? And why did we have to live so far apart?
His “off the strip” wasn’t far, just off the main drag to the Rio Las Vegas Hotel and Casino. We rode the elevator almost to the top, up to the Voodoo Lounge.
The waiting area was packed, being that it was Saturday night, but it was almost like the seas parted when Weston entered the room. The hostess showed us right to a private, reserved table that was hidden from prying eyes. No waiting for . . . what did the driver call him? Mr. Lockwood?
“Just who are you?” I asked with squinted eyes as we sat down.
Weston laughed, smiling as he remained silent. I remembered seeing people staring and practically bending over backward for him all throughout the day, but I just thought it was because of his good looks. I was beginning to suspect it was something more than that.
“I don’t want to say. It’s very refreshing to be with someone who hasn’t heard of me. I’m liking this way too much to ruin it,” he said, taking my hand in his and kissing it. “Right now we are two strangers getting to know each other.”
Heat flooded my cheeks, which I hoped he didn’t notice in the low lighting.
We were looking over the menu when the waitress came in to get our drink order. Before I could speak, Weston ordered a bottle of champagne.
After she left, I leaned forward and whispered, “You do remember how old I am, right?”
He chuckled. “I thought we could just enjoy the evening. Celebrate a little.”
“What are we celebrating?”
His fingers linked with mine, that warm vibration spreading up my arm again. “The end of a fantastic day.”
The smile dropped from my face. “That makes me sad, though.” I didn’t want to leave him. But come morning, I would have to and our time together would be just a memory.
His smile faltered as well, nodding in agreement. Our champagne arrived and was poured before the waitress took our order and left.
“To a wonderful day, with a wonderful woman,” Weston said, raising his glass.
“To a wonderful day that I hate to see end.”
We toasted and I had my first taste of champagne. The bubbles tickled my throat as I took a sip before setting the glass down. Weston’s fingers entwined with mine again, and then he put his lips to my fingers. I stared at him, watching intently, while his gaze moved over to me. He leaned forward, and gently pressed his lips against mine.
It was an epiphany-type moment when I reacted and kissed him back. I could almost hear the “click,” like we belonged together. It was perfect. Or maybe just perfect in my teenage, hormone-ridden mind.
Whatever it was, I didn’t care. I just knew I wanted it and more.
It was more intense than in the elevator. There was what I could only describe as desire taking over as our lips parted, his tongue brushing against mine before his lips closed again.
He retreated, and I was left staring at him, my lips tingling, and crying out for more. Fire burned, searing me to the core, heat pooling between my legs.
“Don’t tell me that was your first kiss?” His eyes were wide in amused shock as he pulled back.
I shook my head. “No, you kissed me in the elevator.” His eyes went wide, and my lip twitched. “And there were a few fumbling guys at my school. It was also just . . . so much better than I imagined a kiss could be.”
“I’m glad I’m not the only one,” he said and took another sip of champagne.
I followed his example, my mind wondering so many things. I didn’t know a lot about him—I hadn’t learned much through the day—I just knew that we had a lot of fun together. That we had an attraction.
“All right, Mr. Mysterious, tell me something about yourself.”
“Hmm.” His lips twitched up and he tapped his fingers on the table. “Well, I had an unconventional childhood.”
“Okay . . .” Something about the way he started made me think getting anything out of him was going to be difficult. Then again, he seemed to like that I didn’t know who he was.
He chuckled. “It’s not something I talk about, really, but it led me to where I am today.” He took another sip. “Oh, I’m a USC graduate.”
“Maybe you can give me a tour when I come back out in the summer.” A hint that I’d be returning soon and that I’d like to see him again. Even though it was far away, just the possibility of being near him again gave me hope.
He smiled at me, his thumb caressing my fingers. “I’d love to.”
The intensity in his eyes combined with his words left me a little mesmerized. He wasn’t just blowing me off with a “sure” or “that sounds like fun.” He sounded genuinely excited about seeing me again.
I broke away from his stare, taking another sip of champagne to calm myself down. “Okay, your teens or before was somehow messed up. What about brothers or sisters?”
He cleared his throat and leaned back into his chair. “I have an older brother. He’s my best friend, and even with our hectic lives, we make sure to get together at least every other week, if not more.”
“Sounds like you work a lot.”
He nodded. “Days like this don’t happen very often.” He let out a sigh and brushed the back of his fingers across my cheek. “I would love more days like today.”
His blue eyes were dark and looking at me with so much intensity, there was hardly any volume to my response. “Me too.”
“What about you? Any siblings?”
I shook my head, using my “no” to clear my head a little and loosen his hypnotizing grip on me. “I’m an only child, but I do have a stepsister. She lives with her mom in Georgia, so I don’t see her very often.”
“Your parents are divorced?”
I nodded. “Mom’s been remarried for about five years. What about yours?”
“They’re still married.” The tone of his voice dropped.
It seemed that his parents were not his favorite topic.
“How old are you?” I asked as I raised my glass to take a sip.
His gaze locked on mine. “Thirty-one.”
The little champagne that had slipped into my mouth shot back out into the glass.
Thirty-one? Seriously. What was a hot guy like him doing hanging out with a girl thirteen years younger than him?
I chugged the rest of my glass, tipping the bottom up until every last drop was warming my veins.
“How old did you think I was?” he asked as he took the bottle out of the ice bucket and refilled my glass.
I shook my head and took another long sip. “No clue. It didn’t really matter.”
Leaning forward, he tangled our fingers together. “Then I kissed you.”
I couldn’t help but lean forward until we were only a few inches apart. “And I wondered, why?”
“Because you’re beautiful, and I had the best day that I’ve probably had in a decade with you. Because it felt right.” He pressed his lips against mine. Soft and light, and it made my brain foggy. “Have I scared you off?”
If anything, he was drawing me closer with his allure. Never had I ever been so physically affected by a boy, but Weston was no boy; he was a man.
I shook my head. “No, but I really do feel like I’m in some strange fairy tale.”
“Fairy tales are good,” he said as he leaned back again.
I stayed leaning forward. “But they’re usually just tales.”
He quirked his brow. “Won’t this be a tale when you go home?”
“True.” He was right. When I returned home, it would just be a fantastical story of a night that I spent with a prince.
“Tell me about your home.” The change of subject made me wonder if he was trying to cool it down between us.
“Well, you met my Mom.”
He nodded. “She’s a character.”
“She’s married to Mike. My dad lives in Chicago, and I get to see him about once a month and for a couple weeks in the summer.”
“How far is that from where you live?” he asked.
“It’s just over three hours.”
I lost track of how many glasses of champagne I’d consumed, but before our meal had even come, the bottle was empty. Another bottle quickly took its place, and Weston refilled our glasses.
The second bottle was half gone by the time our dinner arrived, and I was feeling a bit loopy. Weston ordered yet another bottle, and we dove in to our food—and even more champagne.
“You know,” I started, waving my fork loosely in the air. “My mom and dad got married when they were my age. My age! They made it last waaaay longer than it should’ve, but I can’t even imagine it!”
“Yeah? My parents have been married for thirty-seven years.”
“My mom has all these warped ideas on marriage, especially about getting married at a young age. She has just beaten them into my head,” I said, my hand making the hammering motion I was trying to describe.
“How long were they married?” he asked curiously, stealing the bite of food from my fork.
My mouth dropped open, unable to believe he stole my bite. He was grinning and looking like a sexy little demon. Grabbing his hand, I pulled his fork to my mouth and stole his bite, my eyes daring him to object. Turnabout was fair play.
He didn’t object, but he did wet his lips and bite his lower lip when my mouth wrapped around his fork.
“So, how long?”
I knew I was getting drunk when all I could think of with his question was how long he was.
“Mmm, eight years, I think,” I replied, taking another sip and giggling.
Weston leaned forward and placed a kiss on my neck, sending chills down my body, and I took in a shuddering breath.
“I think we could beat that,” he whispered in my ear.
“Yeah?” Excitement coursed through me.
“Yeah. Come on,” he said, standing and throwing a string of hundred dollar bills down, then taking my hand.
I stumbled a bit, but he caught me, drawing me in.
“Where are we going?” I asked as he wrapped his arm around my waist, holding me to him as we made our way to the elevator.
It arrived in less than a minute, and as we entered, he pressed his lips to mine. He kissed me, hard, pushing me into the elevator wall as it descended. I was buzzing, high from his lips, and probably all the champagne I had consumed.
“Let’s get married,” he said, grinning like a kid on Christmas, his eyes sparkling.
“Okay,” I replied, and pulled his lips back down to mine. I’d do whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t stop kissing me. Maybe getting married was how I could stay with him. Maybe forever.
I was giggling when the elevator reached the lobby. We climbed back into the limo and Weston directed the driver to head to the mall at Caesar’s Palace.
“Why there? They have a chapel? Are we going to the Little White Chapel? That would be so cliché!” I giggled, loving the idea.
His lips found my neck, his arms pulling me onto his lap. “We need rings, baby girl.”
“Oh . . . yeah,” I said, distracted by his hand caressing my thigh under the hem of my dress and his mouth on my skin.
Things seemed to blur, and time moved faster after that. I remembered sparkling diamonds, heavenly kisses, and a very excited “I do.”
