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by Alexa Riley
My daddy was the one who named me. He said he and my mama fell in love in Georgia, and there wasn’t a prettier place on earth. Mary-Grace, being the true southern belle that she was, agreed.
After he died, my mama waited for the next man like a snake in the grass. She wanted her next marriage to give her the things she thought she deserved, and she’d keep love out of the equation. Oh, don’t get it wrong, the men who chased her all fell head over heels, but Mary-Grace never felt the same.
Husband number two was a nice man from a wealthy family. Mary-Grace didn’t realize it to begin with, thinking that his money was his own. When she got tired of him tightening the purse strings, she made her plans to move on.
The next husband—the Senator—she worked over like a ball of dough. She caught his eye, and he nearly swallowed his tongue to get at her. He laid down a gold path of what he could give her, and she strung him along until the right moment. Mary-Grace doesn’t do anything fast or without due calculation, and she made sure I paid attention.
“It’s only when the wolf is hungry will he hunt,” she used to tell me. “Don’t feed a stray, Georgia. If he’s worthy, he’ll bring the kill to you.” She would brush my hair every night before bed and tell me all the ways to protect myself and my heart. “Don’t ever rely on a man to give you what you need. Find one and take it from him.”
I can still hear her words ringing in my ears every night when I brush my hair.
In true Mary-Grace fashion, she died at home in her bed, exactly how she wanted to. She was eaten up with ovarian cancer, and doctors gave her only weeks to live. The Senator was grief stricken, and the whole state sent an outpouring of love to the two of them.
I sat by her side nearly every hour until she passed, holding her hand and telling her I loved her. She would just smile at me and give me more of her words of wisdom.
“I’ve made sure you’re taken care of. There’s a trust set up, and Walker will make sure you have everything you need. I took care of everything for you, Georgia, just like your daddy would have wanted. I did all this for you.”
Squeezing her hand, I nodded in understanding. She’d lived her life so that I would never do without and never wonder who was going to take care of me. She may have gone about it the wrong way, but I knew she died having done all she could to help me.
Little did Mary-Grace know that six months after she died, good old Walker Keaton would have his team of lawyers revoke the trust and kick me out on the street with just the clothes on my back.
It’s a hard life lesson, but one we must learn. Never trust a southern senator.
I learned how to play poker when I was ten. Husband number two had a small gambling problem, so he thought keeping his card addiction at home helped him control it. After poker, he taught me how to play everything. Blackjack was his go-to, and we would play all the time. After a while I realized that I was better than him. He wasn’t letting me win, I was actually beating him.
One day he was sitting with his elbows on the table and watching me like a hawk. Suddenly, he flung his hand on the table and said, “I can’t beat a cheater.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. I was just playing my hand like I normally did. I remember being so angry that he accused me of something like that. I felt like I was finally good at something, and there he was, trying to take it away from me.
“I’m not cheating!”
“You’re counting cards, Georgia.”
“I’m what?” I looked down at my hand, thinking that I was holding two aces, and I knew one was about to land on the flop. How was that counting? That was just paying attention.
He got up from the table and left the room. We never played cards again, and his gambling problem only got worse. By the time it got really bad, we were already out the door and moving into the senator’s mansion. Mary-Grace was always ten steps ahead.
It wasn’t until I started playing with the security at the senator's mansion that they told me what I was doing. I guess I won too many times, and they started to see a pattern. They were nicer about it, though, telling me it wasn’t necessarily illegal, but it would get your ass kicked out of every casino in Vegas.
Here I was with a natural ability to do something people would give anything for. Being good at something like that appealed to me. It was sneaky, and I liked the idea of thinking I could get away with it. And maybe if I was good enough, I could get away with it in Vegas.
Those were all just silly thoughts I had when we lived with the senator. It wasn’t until my mama got sick and passed away did I start to think that idea had some legs. I could set things in motion after she died, and it only took six months for me to be out of a home, and making my way to Vegas.
I remember the bus ride and feeling sorry for myself. But then I closed my eyes and heard Mary-Grace’s voice in my head. “Never let them see your mascara run.”
When I got to Vegas, the first thing I did was hit a casino. It was either walk out a winner, or walk out the same way I walked in. I didn’t have anything to lose, and that’s what makes the most dangerous criminals.
I turned twenty dollars into twelve thousand that night and was offered a room at the casino. I knew enough to know that I’d raised some flags, so I stopped and took my winnings up to my room. I had enough to last me a while, and at that moment I just needed a little peace.
When I went to bed that night, I cried until I couldn’t shed another tear. I never let anyone see.
“Missus…?”
“Oh, honey, I’m far too young to be called a missus. You can call me Peaches.”
The older man across the table from me blushes, and I give him a wink. He seems harmless, but I’m not taking any chances. I stick to my rules. Be polite, be charming, be their fantasy, but don’t let them touch you.
I sit back in my chair, waiting for the dealer, and it’s then I feel it. His eyes are on me.
I know before I turn around, those Sinatra-like baby blues are going to be waiting on me. And yet I can’t stop myself from doing it.
When I lock eyes with his, everything inside me is set on fire. On the outside, I’m calm and cool. But on the inside, there’s a raging inferno that wrecks my body with need.
My eyes roam down his suit and back up to his eyes again. He looks like George Clooney standing there with his salt and pepper hair, hands in his pockets, and that half smile of his. He’s old enough to be my father, but nothing about him strikes me as paternal.
Biting my lips is the only way to keep the moan from leaving my lips. This is bad. This is very, very bad.
3
Don
The dealer says something to her, drawing her eyes away from mine and back to him. I clench my jaw at the loss, at the thought of someone else pulling her attention away from me. When she looked at me, I didn’t see surprise in her eyes. I thought I’d always been good at fading into the background and not getting too close to her. But the look in her eyes felt like she’d seen me before. Maybe she actually had seen me that day she walked right past me without giving me a second look.
Or maybe she’s done her research on the hotel she’s staying in. Probably the latter.
I don’t wait to see if she turns to look at me again. I don’t want to see her give me one of those fake smiles she so easily gives out. It’s strange not having someone’s undivided attention. I’ve been in Vegas my whole life, worked my way to the top. Everyone who is anybody here knows who I am. There isn’t anyone in this city with a little power who doesn’t owe me a favor for one reason or another.
Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to her. She’s not someone who would give in so easily. I’ll have to chase her. She’ll make me work to have her. I know it’s going to be a fight, and I’m going to enjoy every bit of it. It’s been years since I’ve had to fight for anything, really work for something. Now everything just seems to drop into my lap.
Placing my hands on the back of the vacant chair behind her, I watch as the dealer’s eyes
go big before he stumbles over my name. I don’t play on the casino floor like I used to. I’d spend hours on the casino floor when I was younger, wanting my hands in everything, but I’ve learned to delegate now. It also doesn’t hold the same appeal anymore. It all started to taste the same. The excitement was gone. Empty. I had no one to share it with.
“Look at you. Making the poor man stumble right over his words. Normally that’s the effect I have on men.” Her southern twang rolls over me. I’ve heard it before, but being this close to her while hearing it is more intoxicating than I thought it would be. I wonder what it would sound like filled with desire. The things I could get her to moan and say for me…
I look down at her, forgetting about the dealer’s greeting. She does that to me a lot. Makes me forget about everything and everyone. She has a half smirk on her face, revealing the slightest trace of a dimple in her creamy porcelain skin. I have the urge to reach out and run my finger across it to see if she’s as soft as she looks. But I have the feeling she doesn’t like to be touched unless she invites it, and if there’s one thing I know about her, it’s that she’d be the first to let me know if she wanted me to touch her.
“Cat got your tongue?” she says, raising one of her perfect eyebrows and reminding me I’ve yet to say a word. I’m lost in my thoughts of her once again. Her smile grows even bigger, and I can see she likes that she thinks she’s got the best of me. Maybe she has, but I don’t care.
“Doesn’t seem to be the only thing that’s gotten me.” She has this wholesome look to her in her sundress with a little jacket on. One might think my blunt comment would make her blush, but I know it won’t.
“You like what you see?” She turns in her chair and looks up at me, never breaking eye contact.
“Like isn’t the word I’d use to describe what I see.” I lean in just a little, still not making a move to touch her but wanting to be closer to her. I have a strong need to know what she smells like. I’d bet my casinos it would be sweet.
“Hmm.” She runs her eyes up and down my body. “You’re not so bad yourself. If you’re into the whole daddy thing.”
A bark of laughter shoots from me, making her smile even larger. Her perfect white teeth are on full display, and her dimple deepens. Most women try to be all sweet and sexy; she went straight for my balls. Hitting the nail on the fucking head. I’m old enough to be her father. It was the reason I’d tried to stay away from her from the beginning. I didn’t have a daddy kink, but she could call me anything she fucking wanted if it made her mine.
“I’d prefer if you call me Antonio.” Even more so when I get my tongue inside your sweet little cunt. “But if you want to call me daddy, by all means go ahead.”
I move one of my hands off the chair next to her and place it on the back of hers, caging her in a little. Her long blonde curls brush against my knuckle, and I can’t stop myself from wrapping my finger around one of them lightly, unbeknownst to her.
“I’m Peaches,” she says, reaching out and placing one of her hands on the inside of my suit, running her hand up and down my chest. Her fingers wrap around my tie, and she licks her lips. “And I’m hungry. You can take me to that fancy steakhouse you’ve got. I could use a nice piece of meat.”
“Hold her chips for her at the cage, Mr. Roberts,” I say to the dealer, my eyes still trained on her. “After you, Sweet Cream.” I make no move to step back, still crowding her.
She slides from the chair, her body rubbing against mine. Her eyebrows rise when she comes into contact with my painfully hard cock. It’s been that way since she strolled her sweet round ass into my life.
No amount of cold showers or taking myself in hand lessens the need. I’m not sure anything would. I don’t even think getting her beneath me will do it, no matter how many times I take her. I’d even thought if I made her mine and got my ring on her finger, that could cool my lust, but that thought only made me harder. Thinking of her in nothing but the ring I put on her, laid out in a bed that smelled of sex and her every night… Fuck. I’ve come to the realization this will probably just be my natural state for the rest of my life. I’ll just make sure it’ll be a sweet kind of pain. One I can try and sate with her.
“Was it that daddy comment that got you all worked up?” she teases, pushing into me a little more. I hadn’t noticed how much shorter she was, even in her ridiculous high heels.
“You could recite the pledge of allegiance and it would make me hard. It’s you.”
For the first time, I get a reaction out of her. I hear a little catch in her breath.
“Well don’t just stand there. I got these curves for a reason. Are you going to feed them?”
I finally take a step back as she slides past me, grabbing my arm as she does and locking hers around it. I can’t imagine what we look like together. I don’t mean our age either. Rich men walk around with young women on their arms everywhere in Vegas. I mean she looks like this sweet little southern belle who wouldn’t be seen wrapping herself around someone like me. My businesses might be clean, but there’s a whole lot of dirt on the way to the top, and everyone knows it.
It’s then I look around and see a good chunk of people on the casino floor staring at us. Most likely because I don’t walk around with a woman hanging onto me. Maybe when I was younger, but most definitely not in a place I owned or worked at.
They were probably thinking the same thing I am. Who is Miss Peaches? The closer I get to her, the deeper and deeper she seems. I will find my way to the bottom of her and latch on so hard she’ll never be free of me. I know while she might be wrapped round me now, she could easily drop me and be out the door.
When we make it to the steakhouse not far from the blackjack table, I hold up two fingers to the hostess, who quickly grabs some menus and leads us to a booth in the back of the restaurant.
“Don’t sit anyone at these tables.” I motion to the tables that might be within hearing distance of us. She hesitates for a moment, probably wanting to tell me about a list of reservations a mile long but stops herself.
“Of course, sir,” she finally says, handing us both a menu. “Wine menu.” She holds up the extra menu for us, and I go to grab it.
“No, thank you, sweetheart. Champagne for me. Your best bottle.” I bite back a smile as the hostess looks at me, eyes widening. She wants me to okay the purchase, knowing the best bottle of champagne is a bottle that’s been sitting in the steakhouse for years, far too expensive for anyone to have ever ordered it. I don’t even think she knows what she ordered. She probably thinks it costs something around $2000.
“Whatever the lady wants, she can have,” I confirm, looking at Peaches as she studies the menu. I see her lip twitch at my remark, and I wonder what her lips will do when she finds out she just ordered a two-million-dollar bottle of champagne.
4
Peaches
“If you’ll excuse me.”
I start to stand up, and Antonio is in front of me, holding his hands up. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to the ladies’ room. Do you mind?” I raise my eyebrow at him and give him a smile. He slowly relaxes and lowers his hands, smoothing down his tie.
“Of course. Just down that hall.” He points to the back of the restaurant.
I give him a wink as I gently brush against him, walking towards the restroom. I just need a minute to get myself together. I feel like I’m falling to pieces in front of him. As I walk down the long hallway, I hear some of the noise coming from the kitchen. One of the doors I pass is open just a little, and I can hear people talking as I approach.
“You’re joking! He wants us to pop open a two-million-dollar bottle of champagne for a nobody?” I hear a man say.
“He owns the place. I’m guessing he can do what he wants,” I hear the hostess who seated us say.
I stop dead in my tracks. Two million. Did that guy just say the champagne I ordered cost two million dollars?
Swallowing the lump in my throat,
I nearly run to the bathroom. When I get inside, I go to the far stall and lock myself in.
What am I doing? I’m in way over my head, something I'm not used to when it comes to men. They think I’m sweet and sassy and find it endearing, for a while at least. Closing my eyes tightly, I take a deep breath and try to think. He’s got to know I’m counting cards. Why is he playing it so cool? God, the pull to him is unreal. I’ve never felt anything like it before. Does he feel it like I do when he looks at me?
My mama’s words fill my heart, and I feel myself relax. I remember so many things she told me, but some stick out more than others. I step out of the stall and go over to the sink, wash my hands, and touch up my make-up.
I look at myself in the mirror and smile. “Make him treat you like a princess. For all he knows, you are one.”
I walk back to the table with a bit more confidence. If he wants to drop some of his cold hard cash on me, I’ll certainly let him. Whatever hidden agenda he may have, I’m sure I’ll figure it out. But until then, I’m keeping this fun. I’m going to have a good time and enjoy my dinner.
Antonio stands as I approach the table and waits until I’ve taken my seat before he sits down.
“I took the liberty of ordering for you. I hope you don’t mind,” he says as a waiter approaches.
“From what I hear there’s not a bad thing on the menu, so I’ll take the surprise. Thank you.”
The waiter approaches, wheeling over a table with the champagne on it. I can’t help but snort at the presentation. This thing ought to come out served on the feathers of angels’ wings and washed off with unicorn tears.
“Something wrong?” Antonio asks as the waiter opens the champagne dramatically.