The Best Bet Read Free

way to my room?”
    “Yes, of course.” She moved in front of him, feeling uncommonly flustered, her professional demeanor undermined by the way he affected her. She went into the hallway and directed him, “Turn left outside and go to the first bank of elevators on your right. Your room is on the twenty-first floor.”
    “Thank you again.” He nodded and smiled that devastating smile of his, white teeth contrasting against the golden brown of his skin.
    Her gaze tracked after him, watching him saunter down the corridor, she couldn’t help but notice the way his taut butt moved beneath his tailored khakis. Heat scalded her face, and she dropped her eyes.
    #
    Rafael’s room on the twenty-first floor wasn’t just a room. It was a suite with two bedrooms, a living room, and two bathrooms. The Jacuzzi tubs in the bathrooms were big enough to take scuba lessons in, and the suite was a high-tech marvel: equipped with several phones, a computer, scanner, fax machine, and copier. So much for all play and no work. But there were plenty of play toys as well: plasma TV’s in every corner, a control panel for surround sound, choice of PS3 or Xbox 360, a Wii player, and Blu-ray players.
    He’d never seen such luxury before except maybe in a movie. His brother had been right—this was definitely the royal treatment. High tech items aside, the suite bloomed with enough bouquets of fresh flowers to put a florist shop to shame, along with bowls of fruit and boxes of Godiva chocolates. And there was a bar stocked with enough liquor to make any party a merry one.
    He snorted. Hell, he could hold his own sequel to the Hangover here.
    Actually, it was a bit overwhelming, if not a bit wasteful for just one person—especially when that person was a fraud and had done nothing to deserve such opulence.
    He moved to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and pulled aside three layers of drapes to gaze outside. The Strip of Las Vegas lay before him: a glut of glittering palaces of pleasure, some executed in whimsical designs such as a castle or pyramid or the skyline of New York. He’d seen lots of movies filmed in Vegas, but they couldn’t compare with being here.
    Suspended twenty-one stories in the sky, he could still sense the raw vibrancy of the place, the pulsing heartbeat that never stopped, day or night, 24/7.
    What would it be like to live here?
    Thinking about living here reminded him of his interview tomorrow. Where was his luggage? He didn’t care about his clothes or toiletries, but he needed his laptop with notes and articles for the interview. He wanted to go over what he was going to say, as well as his responses to the standard interview questions.
    Sliding his hand into his pocket, he withdrew her card. Adriana de Los Santos, Guest Relations, it read. He was tempted to call her and ask about his luggage—way too tempted. Adriana de Los Santos was a babe, a “hottie,” as his brother would say.
    He closed his eyes and conjured her image: petite but well-rounded in all the right places. Her severe business suit hadn’t even started to hide the lush promise of her body. Not only did she have a great figure, but she was gorgeous to look at with long russet hair framing a perfect heart-shaped face and wide-set, velvety-blue eyes. And remembering her full mouth was driving him wild, especially when he fantasized about the intimate ways she might use it.
    Exercising iron self-control, he placed her card on the coffee table, wanting to rid himself of temptation. The less contact he had with Miss de Los Santos, the better. He’d even noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding band, and he usually didn’t notice such things. He shook his head and drew a deep breath, hoping to cool down.
    He was afraid that she might be “on to him.” He’d already made several blunders about the limo and checking in. And she was quick because she hadn’t missed his confusion. He’d seen the surprise and suspicion on her face. At this very