Chasing Kings (2 page)

She was about to ask him if he was sure this was the right room when he turned heel and exited, leaving her alone and completely bewildered.

In the front hallway of the suite were glass windows with silhouettes of skinny, Bond-girl-type women dancing in suggestive ways. The whole room was painted red with accents of black in the furniture. Sam left her suitcase in the hallway and moved past the writhing women, who followed along the glass behind her as she went.

Inside, things got twisted.

The room was
enormous
. Easily the size of six standard hotel rooms put together. The sitting area contained several black leather couches and an assortment of fancy, modern accessories, but something about the whole setup felt
off
to her. The suite had a bordello quality but without any of the warmth, and the space made Sam feel dirty.

She found the bedroom with a lush queen bed, and the sight of its poofy white duvet almost made her forget her mounting concerns with the rest of the space. All she wanted to do was collapse face-first into the mattress and sleep for the rest of the afternoon.

Instead of yielding to her first instinct, she left the bedroom and walked to the opposite side. She passed a slate-gray shower, but another item caught her eye, making her double back.

Was that a…flogging post?

Sam gaped at the wooden x-shaped structure in the bathroom sitting next to what looked like a wrought-iron cage. Her eyes must be playing tricks on her. There was no way she was
actually
seeing torture devices in a hotel bathroom.

Backing out of the room, she couldn’t decide what she ought to do. Her logical mind was telling her to grab her bags and march right back down to the front desk, but another part of her was curious. She still had another big room she hadn’t seen, and she wanted to know if things got any weirder.

They did.

The biggest room was a second bedroom, but it was unlike any hotel bedroom she’d ever seen. The entire back wall of the suite was a giant bed. An
orgy
-sized giant bed, covered in rich black satin sheets, with the curtains open to a view of Vegas. At night the skyline was probably stunning, but right then all Sam could see was the
massive
bed.

Fifteen people could have slept in it, but she doubted people slept much in a bed like that.

Was this a practical joke?

Muriel had a weird sense of humor for a seventy-five-year-old, but this was a little out of her scope.

Sam whipped out her cell phone and dialed from memory.

“Happy Trails Travel, this is Muriel.”

“Do you have any idea what I’m looking at right now?” Sam whispered into the phone, like someone might be hiding behind the walls watching her every move.

“Sam-wich, is that you?” Sam’s great-aunt hadn’t stopped thinking of her as a seven-year-old, which made this room an even more implausible choice. “Did you get in okay?”

“I am standing in a sex dungeon, Muriel.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“This suite you got me at the Hard Rock, it’s perverted.”

“I booked you a standard king with a view.”

“This is
not
a standard king. Though the view
would
be impressive if I could stop staring at the
massive orgy bed
.” Her voice hitched up, edging on hysterical as she tried not to start giggling nervously.

“Young lady, that’s inappropriate.”

“This
room
is inappropriate. And now I’m guessing it wasn’t your idea of a joke?”

“Why would I book you a joke room? You know I already feel terrible about the date mix-up.”

The door beeped. Security must have figured out the mistake and was coming to wrestle her out of the room.

“I need to go, someone’s here. I’ll call you back.”

A male voice called, “Hey, you naughty girl, I’m here. Front desk said you already checked in, so I hope you’re ready for a spanking since you’ve been very bad—”

The words stopped short when a man walked into the room and saw Sam standing in front of the bed. He didn’t look like a security guard, and she sure as hell hoped the hotel staff didn’t greet guests in such a suggestive manner.

He was tall and solidly built, muscular in a way that looked damn good in a tight shirt, but not ridiculous. Curly dark brown hair and twinkling blue eyes paired well with the dimples in his cheeks that managed not to falter when he saw her.

“You’re not Samantha,” he announced, giving her a once-over that felt oddly intimate, like he was somehow able to touch her curves with his eyes.

“I am so Samantha,” she countered, weary of her identity being questioned, especially by strangers who had wandered into her personal space. “And who are
you
?”

“I’m Ethan Silver. And you’re in my room.”

Chapter Three

She wasn’t the kind of woman Ethan was used to.

For starters, judging by the cute little shirt she wore that was tight enough to give him an eyeful of her curvy figure, those sweater puppies were the real deal. They were small, but not too small, definitely a generous handful.

And boy would he like to get a handful.

But first things first, he needed to figure out why a pale, tall, auburn-haired woman with a striped polo shirt was standing in his room, when he’d been expecting a bleached-blonde, DDD-chested sex machine wearing nothing but an apologetic smile.

This woman wasn’t smiling
at all
, a reaction Ethan wasn’t used to. He could charm the panties off a Republican senator, so why was this chick looking at him like he’d jerked off in her Corn Flakes?

“So what’s your name?” he asked, trying to get a handle on her.

“Samantha Hart.”

“Cute, but no. What’s your
real
name, sweetie?”

She sighed and muttered something under her breath, then reached into the purse slung over one shoulder. After locating her wallet, she cleared the distance between them and held her driver’s license in his general direction.

Taking it between two fingers, Ethan reviewed the information. A 1986 birthday made her a bit old for his tastes, but it was time he branched out from the barely legals. Besides, twenty-six wasn’t
old
. In theory. In his business she’d have been applying for her pension, but in the real world she was still considered young.

And she looked good, so what did it matter?

Organ donor. Nice.

Samantha Elizabeth Hart.

Too bad her name didn’t start with an
M
because with a moniker that boring her initials might as well have been
MEH
.

But she wasn’t lying, her real name
was
Samantha Hart, which was more than he could say for the Samantha he’d been expecting. Ethan handed back the card, and she shoved her wallet back into her purse.

“Happy now?” she asked, a haughty, defensive tone in her voice.

Ohhh, he liked it when they acted like bitches. This one didn’t
seem
like the bitchy type, more the high-strung, type-A type, but she was putting on a good show for him.

The more flustered she got, the more her skin pinked up with a healthy, rage-induced glow.

“You have the same name as a porn star,” he informed her, and much to his delight her cheeks went from shell pink to post-O red in under two seconds. A new record.

“Come again?”

He could if she asked nicely. “Your name, Samantha Hart? There’s a porn star with the same name.”

“You just happen to know that offhand?” She gave him another look, probably taking in the motorcycle jacket and battered boots and pigeonholing him as a pervert.

That was fine.

He was a pervert.

“Sure I would. It’s my job.”

“It’s your job to watch porn?”

Ethan snorted. Oh this poor girl had no idea. “Not watch, no.”

“Sell?” The red in her cheeks had extended to her ears, and the red in her hair was making it all the more apparent.

“Nope, try again.” He grinned, having far more fun with this than he ought to be.

“You…act?” She didn’t seem to think the word was right, but he couldn’t blame her.
Acting
wasn’t the best phrase for it.

“You betcha.”

“You’re a porn star?”

“I take it you’ve never heard of me.”

“I’m more of a rom-com girl.” She glanced past him as if trying to suss out the shortest escape route. Like being alone in a room with a porn actor meant he would whip out his cock at any moment and a ’70s groove would start playing over the speakers.

“I did a porno spoof of
27 Dresses
called
27 Cock—
”

“Oh, yeah, no. Don’t finish that sentence.”

“
—suckers
.”

She grimaced.

“What about
You’ve Got Male
? Or
P.S. I Fucked You
?”

She lifted her hand to her mouth to hide her smile. “You made that one up.”

Ethan shook his head. “Nope.”

“That’s
awful
.”

He shrugged and let his duffle bag drop to the floor, getting tired of holding it up. “I don’t name them, I just show up.”

“And…there’s really a girl named Samantha Hart?”

“Yup. She’s the reigning Anal Queen for Wet Video.”

Samantha made a face that resembled one someone might make if they’d eaten rotten seafood. “There are so many things wrong with that sentence. I’m sorry, clearly there was a mix-up at the front desk. I didn’t mean to intrude.” She pulled the keycard to the room from her pocket and held it out. When he didn’t take it, she placed it on the bed. “I’ll go back downstairs and get my
real
room. You and Samantha have…fun. Sorry.”

She moved to go past him, but he was quick, sidestepping to block her path. “Hey now, what’s the hurry?”

“This isn’t my room.”

“No, but it’s
my
room.”

“Ethan, you seem very…” she stared at him, looking him up and down like another glance might help her find the right word, “…friendly. But I’ve had a long day, and this has been incredibly embarrassing, and I’d like to have a shower and get some sleep.”

“I have a shower.”

Her entire neck turned red. She was quickly running out of places she could blush. “Your shower has a
cage
in it.”

“I didn’t suggest you had to use the cage.” He grinned.

Samantha rolled her eyes, regaining some of her composure. “Does this routine often work for you?”

“What routine?”

“The charming, bad-boy, Lothario thing you have going on? Do you tell girls you’re a porn star and expect them to say
show me your dick
?” Her eyes widened when she was finished, evidently surprised by her own phrasing.

“I don’t
expect
it, but if history is any indication…”

“Ugh.”

“I think you have the wrong idea.” Unless she
wanted
him to take his cock out. He could. “Let me make you a drink, and we’ll call the front desk and have them sort out your room for you. No sense in you going all the way back downstairs.”

“Well…” She was considering it, which meant he’d already won.

He held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll play nice.”

“What about
your
Samantha Hart?”

“Oh Christ, she doesn’t get out of bed before two in the afternoon. I was shocked when they said she’d already checked in since I wasn’t expecting her until later tonight. She has to get in from L.A. still.”
If
she showed up. His heart had leapt when the desk girl said Sam was here because he thought there was a chance Kelly had gotten his message and taken his words seriously. The room had been rented for them on behalf of Wet Video, and it wasn’t like Kelly to turn down an all-expense-paid suite. Especially not the Hard Rock’s Provocateur Suite.

“And you guys are on what, some sort of…romantic getaway?” The
real
Samantha assessed the room, her gaze landing on the giant bed.

“Nope. The AVAs are later this week. This suite was a thanks from one of the vendors. I like a free room as much as the next guy.”

“The AVAs?”

Ethan guided her towards the sitting room, trying his best to move her without actually touching her. “The Adult Video Awards.”

“You guys have an awards ceremony the same week as Valentine’s Day?”

“Sure, why not? Don’t people still watch porn on romantic holidays?”

“That’s perverse.” She laughed when she said it.

“Have you already forgotten what industry I’m in?”

Sam plopped down on the couch, sliding to the far end and keeping her arms crossed over her chest, blocking a perfectly good view of her boobs. When she sat, her polo stretched, showing a little belly. Nothing crazy, but a sign she didn’t spend her days in transit between the gym and a rental house filming location.

Ethan liked his women with some meat on them. Industry girls tended to be too bony, and it felt like fucking an IKEA end table. Sam looked healthy, and he was betting she could withstand a good, hard—