StingerPaperback

PART 1

CHAPTER 1

Grace

Las Vegas, Nevada

As I walked into the luxurious Bellagio Resort and Casino, tired and rumpled from my flight, I saw two signs directing guests to the conferences being held that weekend. There was the one I was in town to attend, the International Law Students Association Conference, and then there was another one, the Adult Entertainment Expo. Well. I guess that’s Vegas for you, I thought. Where you can see everything from law students and tourists, to porn stars, and perhaps even aliens from distant planets. It hadn’t taken me long to realize—just walking through the airport actually—that when it came to the City of Sin, shock value was practically nonexistent.

If I didn’t figure that out from the pantless man the cops were chasing through the airport upon my arrival, then I definitely got it from the G-stringed Elvis impersonator who flew by me on roller skates as I stepped from my shuttle in front of the hotel. “You’re not in Kansas anymore, honey,” the driver had said, laughing as my head swiveled to watch the rolling, half-dressed Elvis glide away.

Apparently not.

As I walked farther into the lobby, my mouth dropped open and I halted as my head fell back. The ceiling was filled with the most stunning glass blossoms—hundreds of them in every color imaginable. I moved in a circle, my breath halted, unable to look away from the gorgeous, overhead art. Wow.

When I finally tore my eyes away from the ceiling, I realized there was beauty everywhere. I was so completely awestruck by the stone pillars and gallery of fresh flowers and floating hot-air balloons behind the check-in that I almost didn’t hear the woman desk clerk call out to me. I wheeled my small suitcase up to the counter and smiled brightly at her. “Grace Hamilton. I have a reservation.”

The desk clerk smiled back. “Okay, let me just look you up… Okay, here we go. You’re here for the law student conference starting tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“What school do you go to?” she asked as she took my credit card and swiped it quickly.

“Georgetown,” I said, returning the card to my wallet.

“Great school! Well, have a good time. You’re on the twenty-sixth floor, checked in until Monday. Checkout time is noon. Here’s a folder for those attending the law student conference. You’ll find a schedule, a name tag, and some other information you might find handy for this weekend.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking the folder and then grabbing my suitcase handle before turning to walk toward the elevators. As I rounded the corner, I ran smack-dab into a hard, male chest. “Oh, gosh! I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed.

“No, I’m sorry—” he started to say at the same time. Our eyes met and we both fell silent, me blinking as he steadied me with both hands on my upper arms.

He was about my age, twenty-three or so, with sandy-colored hair that was just a little too long and curling up at the ends, and one of those handsome faces that manages to be both manly and boyish at the same time. Simultaneously rugged and pretty. Double wow. His hazel eyes were fringed with thick, dark lashes, and his full lips were curved into a half-smile.

I cleared my throat, pulling myself together as I managed to quickly take in his frame. He was lean but muscled, clad in dark jeans and a conservative, button-down, white shirt, sleeves rolled up.

He stared at me for a couple beats and something in his expression seemed to soften as my eyes moved back to his and his smile grew bigger, revealing a small dimple to the left of his bottom lip. He bent to pick up the key card I had dropped when we collided.

As I watched him scoop up my card, the strangest feeling washed over me, almost like déjà vu, like we had met before. I frowned, confused by the odd sensation, wondering if he was a law student that I had seen in passing at school, here for the same conference. Yes, that had to be it.

He straightened, holding the key card out to me, and I caught sight of the name tag clipped to his shirt. “Oh, you are here for the conference,” I exclaimed. “I thought I might—” And that’s when I read it: Carson Stinger, Straight Male Performer, Adult Entertainment Expo.

I stared at the words for a couple beats, re-arranging them, digesting them, and then meeting his eyes once more. He was smirking now and his eyes no longer held that softness I had seen just a minute before.

I pulled my shoulders back. “Well, then, I’m sorry again for the…uh, not watching where I was…” I let out a small, uncomfortable laugh, beginning again. “Well, have a good time…er, a nice time, um, enjoy”—I gestured toward his name tag—“the show. Or rather, not the show, but the…well, enjoy the weekend.”

What the hell was wrong with me? I was never flustered like this! I was going into law because I was good at finding the right words under pressure. And here a good-looking, straight-male, porn star rattled me so much, I could barely form a coherent sentence?

And that’s when he burst out laughing, deepening that tiny dimple by his mouth. “I will, buttercup. And you enjoy your weekend too. Let me make a wild guess, law student conference?”

I had started to walk around him but stopped when I heard the clearly condescending nickname and the amusement in his voice. “Yes, actually. Is there something wrong with that?”

“No, not at all. Looks like we’re both here to hone our skills when it comes to getting people off.”

My brows snapped down. Ah, a double entendre. How clever. “Well that’s…that’s a disgusting way to put it.”

He moved closer to me until I was forced to step back. “Why? Getting people off is such a rush, buttercup. Don’t be ashamed of wanting to do it well.”

I coughed and narrowed my eyes. Eww.

I tapped his nametag with my index finger. “I do a lot of things well, Carson, none of which I’m ashamed of,” I said, leaning into him so that he knew I wasn’t going to be intimidated by his blatant, juvenile, sexual innuendos.

He stared at me for a beat, that amused glint still in his eyes, and then grinned, slow and sexy as his eyes dipped to my cleavage. “I bet.” He took that full bottom lip between his teeth and looked back up at me.

I gawked at him for a second because I felt my nipples get hard under my white blouse and I did not appreciate that. Not one bit. I was going to have a talk with my body later and lay down the law. There was absolutely no getting turned on by porn stars purposefully trying to shock and intimidate for no apparent reason. Porn stars! People who had all kinds of sex in front of cameras! It was indecent. The fact that any small part of him turned me on pissed me the hell off. I saw his eyes travel downward again, this time to my puckered nipples showing easily through the thin material of my blouse, and his smirk got bigger. I flushed in irate humiliation.

I made a frustrated, angry sound in my throat and marched away from Carson Stinger, Straight Male Performer.

---

A cool shower helped me calm down from my lobby run-in. When I felt levelheaded again, I toweled off and then changed into my brand-new black bikini and white crochet cover-up, before heading out to the pool. My conference didn’t officially start until the next morning, so I planned on spending several hours lying in the sun, reading and relaxing. The life of a law student didn’t leave a lot of room for R & R and so I was going to take advantage of it while I could.

It took me about twenty minutes to simply walk through the pool area and decide where I wanted to sit. There were five pool courtyards, luxurious cabanas, umbrellas over plush seating, and rows of lounges, all with the same Mediterranean design. It was breathtaking and I tried my best not to walk through with my mouth hanging open at all the opulence.

My dad was a police officer and a single parent, who raised me and my two sisters on his own after he and my mom divorced. We never wanted for anything, but we certainly didn’t have the money to vacation. In fact, until I left for college, I had never been out of Dayton, Ohio, where I grew up.

After stopping at the bar for an oversized virgin daquiri, I parked myself on a lounger with some shade and started lathering my pale skin with sunscreen. I had been holed up in libraries and classrooms for months, not to mention the desert sun was no joke.

I had just read a couple pages of my book when my phone rang. Abby came up on my screen.

“If you saw where I was right now, you’d be so jealous,” I said in greeting.

She laughed. “Well, hello. If you saw where I was, you so wouldn’t be jealous. I won’t make you guess—I’m still an itchy, calamine-spotted vision of loveliness, splayed out on the couch.” I groaned on her behalf. Poor Abby had gotten poison ivy while hiking with her boyfriend, Brian. “But back to you,” she went on. “Let me see… I swear I smell coconut and hear the gentle lapping of water—poolside with a drink in hand?”

I laughed. “Bingo.”

“But wait, what is that? What is that I see? A textbook in your hands instead of a steamy romance? The horror. Please tell me I’m wrong.”

I looked down at the large textbook sitting open in my lap, Concepts & Insights Series: Administrative Law. “Oh stop, you know that I have to study this weekend if I’m going to ace this summer course. Anyway, this place, Abs, it’s outrageous. Truly. We have to come back here and stay for longer than a weekend. And I’ll promise not to bring my textbooks, okay?”

“Hmmm. The reality of getting you away for a weekend that doesn’t involve textbooks? I’m skeptical. But a girl can dream. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right? The debauchery sky’s the limit—I’m in.”

I laughed again. Abby and I had met on a roommate search site when I had first moved to DC and not only hit it off as roommates but had become best friends as well. She was funny and sweet and just slightly outrageous when she wanted to be. She was good for me. I considered her my third sister.

“I’m sure you are,” I said. “Speaking of which, there’s another conference at this hotel. You’ll never guess what it’s for.”

“What? Do tell.”

I looked around quickly to make sure no one was listening in on my call and then mentally shook my head at myself. This was Vegas; no one was going to blink when I said the word porn. Still, I whispered, “A porn convention.”

Abby let out a loud guffaw. “Oh my God, Grace, you’ve gotta get me some autographs. Please!”

“What? Whose autograph do you want exactly?”

“No one in particular. I just want to be able to say a porn star wrote a note to me.”

I let out a short laugh. “Actually, I ran into one in the hotel lobby. Literally. He was a total ass.”

“Why? What’d he say to you?”

“Ugh. Just made some disgusting suggestive comments and then gave me a look that made me want to take a shower.” A cold shower. But she didn’t need to know that, and I was trying to forget.

Abby laughed. “Was he a greasy-looking Ron Jeremy type?”

I paused. “Actually, no, he was a jerk, for sure, but, well”—I lowered my voice to a whisper—“he was hot. I actually didn’t know porn stars were hot. I guess I figured if you were doing a job like that… I don’t even know what I thought. But he is not what I pictured a porn star to look like.”

“Why, Grace, I do believe you’re blushing.”

“Oh, shut up, you can’t even see me.”

“I know you, girl, you’re blushing. Now get off this phone and go find you some hot porn star. I bet he could teach you some new tricks up in your hotel room tonight.”

I groaned. “Oh God, no, Abby. I wouldn’t touch a porn star with a borrowed body. Especially one as cocky as him.”

“You’re no fun.”

“When it comes to porn stars, no, I’m not.” I laughed. “Seriously, you doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Brian’s coming over in a little bit and we’re gonna see how sexy we can get using nothing except our privates and our feet—the only places I’m not covered in rash.”

I laughed out loud. “Oh God, did I need that visual? Okay, have fun. I’ll see you Sunday, okay?”

I heard the grin in her voice as she said, “Okay, babe, talk tomorrow.”

“Bye, Abs,” I said, still smiling as I hung up the phone.

---

I spent a couple hours at the pool, finishing my studying and taking notes so that I could review them on the plane home. Even though I was doing schoolwork, just sitting out in this gorgeous location, sipping a frozen cocktail, felt decadent. I never did things like this. I had been pushing myself like crazy for the last five years and I barely had time to breathe, much less sit by a pool for an afternoon. First, I had had my head in a book for four years through college, pushing myself to graduate magna cum laude and earn a scholarship to one of the top law schools on my list. Once that was accomplished and I had started at Georgetown, I began pushing myself yet again—only this time it was because my goal was to graduate in two years, take and pass the bar on my first try, and be recruited into a top law firm in Washington, DC. It was The Plan. I’d always had a plan, and I never strayed from it. Never. And once I achieved one, I moved on to the next.

As I lounged, my damn mind drifted to Carson Stinger, Straight Male Performer, several times. It still irked and confused me that he had frazzled me so much. And in only about two minutes! What was that about anyway? No one frazzled me. I was un-frazzle-able. I was frazzle-less. I prided myself on being cool, calm, and collected. And suddenly, a porn star who looked at me lasciviously had me stuttering and stammering and running for safety? It was beyond irritating. And the further fact that he had turned me on was completely maddening. Seriously, Grace, is that how desperate you are? That a good-looking porn star whispers a few allusive sentences to you and your panties are wet? God! I lay back on my lounge chair, crossing my arms, frowning and squinting up into the blue Nevada sky. After minute, I shoved my sunglasses on my face, and closed my eyes, forcing my mind to go over the material I’d studied.

After a little bit, I got up and started to gather my things, and pulled my sundress on over my suit. My shoulders had a definite pink tinge and I needed to get inside and start thinking about dinner plans.

As I walked past the entrance to the lounge, the cool quiet called to me. I hesitated. A visit to the bar hadn’t been on my personal itinerary, but the air conditioning inside felt wonderful, and now that my studying was done, a margarita with an actual shot of tequila sounded like just the thing.

I took a seat at the elegant bar and glanced around. It wasn’t very crowded for a late Friday afternoon, but presumably, people were probably still out by the pool or getting ready for dinner. “What can I get for you?” The bartender asked with a smile, placing a napkin down in front of me.

“A margarita, please. On the rocks. No salt.” The bartender turned away with a nod and I took a deep breath and joined my hands in front of me on the bar, smiling a contented smile. This was definitely more my speed than the whizzing, dinging, atmosphere in the casino just beyond.

“No salt?” a voice from my left said. “Who orders a margarita with no salt?”

My smile evaporated and I swiveled my head, leaning around the gentleman a couple stools down and staring at the one just past him. Seriously? “Why, if it isn’t Carson Stinger, Straight Male Performer,” I said. I groaned inwardly. No, no, this is good, Grace. You’ve been given another chance to heal your wounded pride. Come out of this exchange on top—so to speak. Gah. Everything was a porn pun now.

He was staring at me strangely, waiting for me to say something, a look on his face that was amused yet watchful.

I raised an eyebrow. “If you’re considering telling me you’ve got something for me that’s nice and salty, please restrain yourself. Predictability bores me.” I turned as the bartender placed my drink in front of me and I took a long sip.

Carson chuckled. “I doubt it.”

He doubted it? He doubted what? That predictability bored me? I opened my mouth to say something but snapped it shut. He was right. I loved predictability. I lived for it, actually. Before I’d come up with a response, he was moving down the bar with his beer in hand to take the stool right next to me. I turned to glare at him.

“What I was actually going to say, buttercup, was that you’re really missing out ordering a margarita without the salt. It’s all about licking the salt off the rim and then sucking the sweet liquid through the straw. The contrast of sweet and salty on your tongue is so, so good.” He leaned closer to me as he lowered his voice. “Try it once, just once. You’ll never want it any other way.”

Okay, now he was just trying to get a rise out of me. And why? What exactly had I done to this man? I seethed, even angrier at the fact that his words were turning me on—again. My traitorous body liked his damn, deep, sugary voice and purposefully titillating words. And the way he smelled, that was nice too. Stupid body!

“Let me buy you one,” he offered, his lips curving. “Seriously. Just one drink my way. You can do a taste test and see who’s right. We can get to know each other a little better.”

I rotated my body, facing him fully and taking a deep breath before smiling sweetly. What I was going to give him was the plain, unadulterated truth. And it was going to work beautifully. “I’m going to lay it out straight for you here, Carson. And the reason I’m going to do that is because I have every confidence it will scare you off badly enough that I can then finish my drink in peace, and we can part as mere acquaintances who simply have nothing in common.”

He looked at me dubiously as I joined my hands in my lap, tilting my head as I continued. “I’m the kind of girl who wants to get married in a big, white dress, wearing my grandma’s pearls. I want a husband who loves me faithfully. I want him to come home to me every night, and I don’t want to have to worry about whether he has his secretary bent over a desk because he’s the kind of man who has too much honor for that kind of disloyalty. I want to wait a year and then start trying for the two kids that we’ll eventually have, a girl and a boy. And when we have those kids, I do not want, one day, to have to look in their little faces and explain why their daddy is on the internet having relations with everyone from college honeys to cougars gone wild for cash. I want to throw a cartoon-themed birthday party at a jump house for my six-year-old, not mark the occasion by explaining what a ‘money shot’ is. I have a feeling your life goals are somewhat different than mine. And by ‘somewhat,’ I mean utterly and completely. Does that explain why it would be a waste of time for both of us to continue being in each other’s company?”

He appeared thoughtful for a minute, turning back to the bar and taking a drink of his beer. Finally, he faced me again. “How did we make those two kids?”

I pulled my head back. “Uh, you might want to rethink your career choice if you don’t know—”

“What I mean is, what position did we make our two kids in? Doggy-style? Reverse cowgirl? The Garfield? Flying circus? Butterfly? Table lotus? Bended knee—”

“Stop!” I put my hand up and then dropped it just as quickly, giving myself a shake. “Okay, first of all, I have no idea what some of those are, nor do I want to know. But secondly, what does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh, believe me, you want to know. Why it matters is because someday when Princess is screaming at three in the morning with a loaded diaper, or Junior gets expelled from preschool for punching his classmate, I want to be able to think back to the moment that we created them, and I want to smile and remember why it was the best fuck of my life and why whatever shit—literal and figurative—I have to deal with later on is worth it.”

My mouth dropped open against my will. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re the one who had my baby. Twice.”

“I did not, nor will I ever have your baby. That was my point.”

“So you’re just going to abandon Princess and Junior? Nice mom.”

I stood up, throwing a twenty-dollar bill on the bar. “Done. You enjoy your drink, Carson Stinger. I look forward to seeing you again, um, never.” And with that, I grabbed my purse, turned tail, and started walking away as Carson called out, “Also, babe, you play hot secretary for me when I get home at the end of the day, and I’ll have no need to do my real one.”

I raised my arm and flipped him off. His throaty chuckle followed me out the door.