CHAPTER 1: VELVET TRAP

"Sol! Table four needs a server," the manager barked. "And don't look him in the eye."

Solange nodded and quickly hurried down the corridor to the VIP lounge of the Sapphire Heights, wrinkling her nose at the smell of expensive cigars and the heavy, humid scent of a desert storm rolling over the Vegas Strip.

She was here to help her best friend cover his shift so he could go see his father when they’d shoved her into a uniform three sizes too small that made her feel like a piece of meat.

Solange ducked into the staff restroom, her fingers trembling as she pulled the small vial from her apron pocket. It was a habit born of grief and a survival instinct she didn't quite understand.

“Spray it every six hours, Sol,” her godmother’s voice echoed in her mind. “In the brothel, in the orphanage, it doesn’t matter. It keeps the bad men away.”

Her godmother was dead, but the lifetime supply of the pungent, herbal mist kept arriving like clockwork, funded by a lawyer Solange had never met. It was her only link to the only woman who had ever shown her love. She gave her throat and wrists a double spray and rushed back to the grounds.

As she approached table four, the air in her lungs... vanished as she caught sight of the man sitting there.

He was wearing a bespoke charcoal suit that screamed power. He looked to be in his late thirties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a jawline that looked like it had been carved from granite. When he looked up, her heart stuttered as his piercing blue eyes locked onto hers.

Solange stumbled, the glasses on her tray rattling. Why did her heart feel like it was trying to kick its way out of her ribs?

"Easy there," the man said, his voice was a deep rumble that vibrated right through her.

"I... I’m sorry, sir," she stammered, her face flushing. She reached for the bottle, but her hand was shaking so violently she nearly tipped it.

Why on earth was she reacting like this?

His hand suddenly clamped over hers, steadying the glass and a jolt of pure, unadulterated electricity shot up her arm, settling deep in her belly.

"Just covering a shift, sir," she whispered.

"You're trembling," he noted, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle over her knuckles, the scent of expensive sandalwood and something raw and masculine filling her senses. "What’s your name?"

"Sol… Solange," she whispered, her common sense screaming at her to run.

She’d worked in hospitality long enough to know the drill.

Men like him didn't look at girls who smelled like dish soap unless they wanted a dirty little secret for the night.

"Solange," he repeated, like he was savouring the name. "A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. I’m Alistair Vance."

Surprise shot through her. She knew that name. Hell, anyone who has ever watched or heard the news knew the richest man in the state and one of the top 3 richest on the continent.

She quickly tried to pull her hand away from his; if anyone saw them now, they would say she was pushing herself on him, hoping to catch a sugar daddy.

Instead of letting go, he leaned in till his face was a few inches from hers. "You smell like...soap and rain. It’s intoxicatingly clean in a city this filthy.” He whispered, his voice a raspy growl. “But there’s something about you…"

She jumped when the manager suddenly called her name, breaking the spell.

“I would be borrowing her for a while,” Alistair replied before she could, his voice calm and commanding.

The manager paled, then quickly retreated.

Alistair turned back to her, giving her a charming smile. “Please sit. I would love your company.”

He didn't treat her like a waitress, flirting with a devastating charm that turned her brain to mush. He asked about her dreams, his eyes never leaving her face, making her feel like the most important person in the room.

"Pardon my manners, but I’m waiting for an important message," he said as he tapped a sleek phone on the table. "Before I came, my dying best friend dropped a bomb on my life that could really disrupt my empire’s very foundation, and I'm waiting for a confirmation from him." He paused, his gaze darkening with a sudden, fierce intensity. "But looking at you... I find I don't care about empires right now."

"I... I have to get back to work," she lied, not liking the way her body felt like jelly.

"I would wait for you till you are done."

She froze. What on earth was going on?? Did she accidentally transmigrate into a Disney fantasy, and she didn’t know about it??

Was the richest man in the state really looking at her like she was the only girl in the world?"

“I’m not asking,” Alistair cut her off when she wanted to refuse; his tone was gentle, but it left no room for argument. “I was telling.”

She stood there stunned, unable to say anything. She was used to flirty, audacious men like him. Dealt with them every day of her life, wherever she went.

Even though she was humble, she knew how she looked. These same looks she’d inherited from her mother were what had ruined her mom’s life.

Refusing men was second nature to her but for some weird reason she couldn’t bring herself to tell this particular man that smelled of trouble no.

"When your shift ends,” Alistair continued, taking her silence for acceptance. “I’ll be at the fountain. Don't make me hunt you down." He picked up her hand and kissed the knuckles, his captivating eyes locked on hers, his voice a deep, raspy growl that sent shivers down her spine. “And I will if you want to test me, I love a good chase.”

She should have gone home… should have taken the bus back to her cramped apartment and locked the door. But an hour later, she found herself standing by the marble fountain, her heart pounding.

Alistair was there, leaning against a black SUV. Without saying a word, he just stepped into her space, his hand cupping the back of her neck. "Thank you," he murmured.

"I shouldn't be here," she breathed.

"Neither should I."

Then he kissed her.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was dominant, hungry, and so thoroughly possessive that the remaining logical parts of her brain went offline.

She let out a broken whimper as his tongue swept her mouth, her hands tangling in his expensive hair.

"Upstairs," he growled against her lips, panting. "Now."