High Stakes (Vegas Vampires #1)(15)
Author: Erin McCarthy

"I bet vampires have great stamina."

"I’m sure they do." But Ethan wasn’t a vampire, because vam-pires didn’t exist, and she wasn’t going to sleep with him anyway. And if you really think he’s a vampire, you shouldn’t be encour -aging me to have dinner with him."

"Why not?He’s a great guy.Very charming, with loads of manners. You could do worse."

"What if he sucks my blood?" Alexis asked.

"He hasn’t sucked my blood yet." Brittany carried her suitcase toward the open garage door. "Besides, vampires puta glamour on you when they do it. You don’t feel anything but pleasure."

"That sounds like kinky shit to me, and I don’t do kinky. Nobody’s puttinga glamour on me if they value their life." Not that they could, because they weren’t really vampires. It. Was. A. Game.

"If they want to puta glamour on you, they can. But don’tworry, I don’t think he would do that to you. If Ethan invited you to eat dinner, he’s much too well mannered tomake youdinner, you know what I mean, sweetie?"

Jesus. Brittany was making her head spin. And the wordseat andEthan in the same sentence weren’t a good direction to be sending her libido in.

Alexis opened the interior door in the garage and walked into her white-on-white kitchen. "All I know is that someday you’re going to settle down and marry an accountant and have cute, black-hairedbabies, and a little house inBoulderCity , and I am going to breathe a huge sigh of relief." She tossed her keys on the counter and wondered what was appropriate to pack for a week with a bunch of psychos playing an adult version of Dungeons and Dragons. Her wardrobe was sadly lacking in velvet capes.

Vampires.Please.

Brittany startled her by throwing her arms around her from behind and giving her a big hug. "Alex, you know I love you. You’re the best sister in the universe, and I don’t mean to make you worry."

She patted Brittany ‘s arms and felt the sudden embarrassing rush of hot tears to her eyes. "I love you, too, Brit. And I mean it about the accountant."

"Yeah, right." Brittany let her go and laughed. "The day I marry an accountant is the day you marry Ethan Carrick."

Alexis winced. Damn, she really hated to let go of the Brittany-accountant fantasy.

From his vantage point at the blackjack table, Ringo watched Ethan Carrick emerge from the private elevator with his right-hand man at 10 p.m. just as he did every night. Carrick was a creature of habit, and Ringo appreciated that.

Made his job easier, that Carrick took his so seriously.

Ringotook his job seriously, too, and could be considered a workaholic by some. But he didn’t do anything stupid, and what Donatelli wanted was stupid. Nodding to the dealer, he kept an eye on Carrick as he moved around the casino floor, chatting to an employee here and there. Ringo inhaled from his cigarette before resting it in the glass ashtray.

Another reason he loved Vegas. He could smoke wherever the tuck he wanted. None of that huddling around a garbage can with twelve other people outside a crowded restaurant freezing his balls off- Here he could blow his secondhand smoke in anybody’s face he felt like, and he appreciated that.

You look like you’re doing prettygood ," a perky voice said next to him.

Glancing to his left, he noticed that a skinny brunette had taken the vacant seat, previously occupied by an ancient oil refinery owner. This woman was easier on the eyes than old Arthur had been, he’d admit that, but he didn’t like to chitchat when he was working.

"Not bad," he said in a cool tone.

"Enough to buy me a drink," she said with a giggle.

Ringostifled his irritation. He hated women who giggled. It was like air escaping from a tire, a signal that, once expelled, nothing but an empty shell would remain.

This girl definitely didn’t look too heavy in the IQ department, even if she had a pretty face, shiny black hair, and br**sts that were too large to be natural on her thin frame. Yet he didn’t think she was a hooker. There was too much genuine mischief in her eyes, a lusty sort of hunger hovering around her face.

Probably one of the girls who were dead broke, and enjoyed milking men out of meals and drinks, then leaving them panting and desperate. Ringo wasn’t desperate for anything.Hadn’t been since he’d left the Marines and half of his humanity behind.

With a flick of his wrist, he flipped a twenty-dollar chip toward her. "Go buy yourself a drink, gorgeous. And leave me alone to concentrate before I lose this whole pile because I’m staring at you instead of the wheel."

She took the chip, wrapping her fist around it and caressing it with her thumb. "Thanks. I’ll be back with your change, cutie."

Yeah, right.Giggles was going to pocket that change, no doubt in his mind. But he didn’t care, because she was blocking his view of Carrick. As he picked up his cigarette and took a hit, she blew him a kiss with moist, cherry red lips, and sashayed off.

Damn. He couldn’t see Carrick anymore. He’d left the floor.

Not that it mattered, really. Carrick did the same thing every night, and he never left his casino.Ever. He was a rich, young, reclusive nut-job. And contrary to Donatelli’s crazy decapitation request, Ringo was going to plug the casino owner with a bullet, right to the heart. Dead was dead, and a bullet was cleaner than that mess Donatelli wanted.

The Italian was an eccentric client—he supposed they all were—and demanding, but Ringo knew his job, and he’d do it the right way.The low-risk way.

"I’m back. Did you miss me?" Giggles reappeared a minute later, a martini in one hand and a five-dollar bill in the other, which she set in front of him.

"Not at all," he told her truthfully, taking a hit from the dealer on his hand.

She giggled. "I’m Kelsey. I work here." If she started singing for him, he was going to shoot himself."Yeah?" He might as well have said, "I don’t give a shit," but that didn’t stop Kelsey.

"I’m a receptionist. Bet you thought I was a dancer or something, didn’t you?" She winked at him. "I know how men are. But seriously, I’m a receptionist.For Mr. Carrick, the casino owner. I answer the phones," she added helpfully, like he lived under a rock and might not know what a receptionist was.

Stabbing his butt out in the ashtray, he turned a little and gave her half of his attention instead of a tenth. "You like your job, Kelsey? Mr. Carrick a good boss?"

He had no intention of involving Kelsey in his plans, but maybe she could tell him the layout of the private floors, and where Car- rickwent for dinner every night, since he didn’t seem to eat in any of the hotel restaurants.

And if she was his receptionist/lover, why was she trolling his casino for sugar daddies? Carrick was a big-ass sugar daddy in his own right with his two-thousand-room hotel and ten-million-a-day casino.