Page 4 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

“Something like that.”

“And the Texan accent? Is that real?”

Rising, I spin around and sit on his lap, leaning back against him. I take his hands and place them on my stomach, gently encouraging him to roam my body at his leisure.

“No.”

“So where are you from then?” he asks.

“I can be from anywhere you like. Texas?” I ask in the accent I use 90 percent of the time. “Georgia?” I offer, adding a singsong lilt to my voice. “England?” I attempt a terrible English accent.

“Do you find it tiring? Never being yourself?”

My eyes fly open and I stare at the ceiling.Why does he care?I angle my face toward his. “This version of me is much more fun.”

His lips touch my ear. “I doubt that.” He cups my breast with one hand, and heat pools in my belly. I don’t normally get turned on at work, but something about this guy . . .Careful now, Dusty.

“How’d you end up in Vegas?”

He softly pinches my nipple, and my eyes flutter closed as my head drops back onto his shoulder. “How most people end up here. I was down on my luck and wanted to change that.”

“Hmm, and did you?”

Okay, what is with all the personal questions? This guy pays for my time then wants to grill me? Why can’t he just accept the part I’m playing for him? Time to put him on the spot.

“What brings you to Sin City?” I ask.

His warm breath tickles my neck as whispers, “A wedding,” in my ear.

I stiffen. Did this guy seriously come here to get married?

As though sensing the direction of my thoughts, he raises his left hand, showing off his ring-free finger. “Don’t worry, not mine.”

Exhaling, I soften back into his touch. Why do I care? He wouldn’t be the first asshole to ditch his wife to be here. I strip for married guys all the time, but I have to admit it bothers me to think this guy might be just like the others. “So, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a famous rockstar, princess.” I can hear the smile in his voice, and I can’t help but smile too.There it is. This isn’t as deep as he made it seem. He wants to pretend too. I don’t know why all the pretense . . . I’m happy to play into his fantasy. It’s why I’m here.

“Your life must be so glamorous,” I say, winding my hips again.

“It has its moments,” he says, his fingers trailing down my stomach toward the top of my panties.

“So why come here when you have girls lining up backstage for a chance to be near you?”

He pauses, then retracts his hand. “Stand up.”

Shit, did I insult him?Hesitating for just a moment, I do as instructed.

“Turn around.”

His face is serious now. The semi-permanent smile that seems carved in his skin is gone. I shiver, goose bumps scattering across my collarbone in the absence of his warmth. His eyes travel all the way down my body before slowly rising to meet mine. And while the jokester appears to have gone, his gaze isn’t menacing. Just . . . intense.

“I’m here,” he says slowly, “because I love looking at beautiful things. And since being in Vegas, you are by far the most beautiful thing I’ve seen.”

My heart races. Careful.Careful.

I drop my hip and smile nervously, trying to break the tension. “You don’t have to woo me, Joel,” I say, leaning forward. “Just say the word, and you can see everything. Touchalmosteverything.”

He leans forward on his thighs so our noses are almost touching. “This version of me is much more fun.”

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