He climbed out of bed and tugged on his jeans, exercising great caution as he zipped them. He’d go to Riley’s office, find out she’d lost her phone or forgotten it somewhere, and stop looking like a complete fool to whoever was on the other end of this conversation.

He grabbed the first t-shirt he saw in his suitcase. He pulled it over his head as he strode out of his suite. He was at the elevator when his phone beeped.

I’m kidding, of course.

That confused him even more. If Lacey was screwing with him, why would she pull back like that? If it was Lacey, she was trying really damn hard to be convincing.

Grand Escape was set up with two towers. The casino sprawled across the first floor, and there was a tower for the guest rooms and a tower for Carter Hotels and Entertainment executive offices. He had to go down to the first floor to get to the business offices, and by the time he was on the second elevator his phone was beeping again.

Okay, I feel really stupid now.

Damn. He let out a breath. But what if it was her? If Riley was coming out of her shell, he didn’t want to throw up walls. He wanted to throw down the red carpet.

The elevator opened to her floor and he typed a message as he walked toward her office.

Don’t. He sent the single word reply.

There.

He didn’t knock on her door when he reached her office. Instead, he barged in and was greeted with the image of her sitting behind her desk. Her hair was pinned back at her neck, but one little strand had escaped and was beginning to curl. Her cheeks were flushed, and she chewed on her bottom lip as she stared at her cell phone.

“Riley?”

Her head snapped up and her eyes grew wide. “Charlie? What are you doing here?”

He wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but the pink in her cheeks deepened. “I—” Hell. What could he say? He wanted to see her let loose a little. Calling her out as soon as she started to let go was hardly going to help. He smiled. “Can I take you to breakfast?”

She laughed. “It’s almost four in the afternoon.”

Shit. Right. Suits like her had been up for hours now. “Right. Lunch then?”

“I already ate. Four hours ago.” She wrinkled her nose, and he thought, So damn sweet. “What’s this about?”

“It’s—” He looked at her phone. Okay, so she didn’t want to talk about it. “I just want to take you to lunch...or dinner, or whatever.”

Her eyes drifted down his body and to his crotch where his jeans were fitting a little tighter than they should, thanks to their texts.

He grinned. “Let me take you out, Riley. I need to get away from the usual suspects.”

She stood in a fluid motion of grace and long limbs. “I have dance in half an hour.” She slung her purse over one shoulder and clutched her phone in her hand.

“Let me walk you out,” he said.

She nodded, smiling at him as he held the door for her. “Are you enjoying your stay at Grand Escape?”

He watched her h*ps sway as she led the way down the hall. She had one of those bodies with a tiny waist and splayed hips. The kind that made a man want to run his hands from waist to hip and test the breadth.

He was imagining those bare h*ps flaring under the leather corset when she tossed a glance over her shoulder. “Has there been a problem?”

“No.” He caught up with her in three long strides. “Your hotel is lovely, as always.”

He slowed when they got to the elevators, but she kept walking. “Ry?”

“What?” She stopped and he motioned to the elevator. “Oh, no. No. I’m...” She shook her head. “I take the stairs. It’s good exercise.”

He narrowed his gaze. “You walk down twenty-two flights of stairs every day? For the exercise?”

“And up,” she said softly. “It’s not a big deal.”

That did a lot to explain her fantastic ass. “Treat yourself today,” he said. “Come on. Live dangerously.”

She turned, but he saw her swallow hard before her face was out of his line of sight. “I’ll pass,” she said before slipping into the stairwell.

Charlie smelled bullshit and followed her. “Why don’t you just put your office on the first floor?” he asked when he’d caught up with her.

“Because my father likes the office with the best view, so I’d have to walk up for meetings all day long anyway.”

Charlie smirked. Right. She did it for exercise. “Are you afraid of elevators, Riley?”

She stopped on the landing and looked at her feet. “Not afraid, exactly. I choose not to use them.”

He tipped her chin up and ran his thumb along her jaw. “Why?”

Her eyes dropped to his lips. “Why what?”

What had he been saying? He had no idea. Because those green eyes were on his mouth and all his blood had left his brain and headed south.

She shook her head, breaking the thick tension between them, and looked at her phone again. What? Did she think he was going to send her a text when he was standing right here? He wasn’t above it if that’s what it took.

“Come out with me tonight. I’ll pick you up after your dance class. I want to talk to you about—” He scrambled for a good excuse. “—an idea I had for Lacey’s birthday.”

She frowned. Maybe she was afraid he was going to hold her to her little suggestion about the handcuffs.

He held up both hands. “Completely platonic. I promise I won’t come onto you.” Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he added, “Unless you want me to.”

A small smile curved her pink lips and he bit back a groan thinking of how badly he wanted to put that smile in a whole new context. “Okay,” she said softly, turning to continue their long journey down the stairs. “For Lacey. But you have to be on your best behavior.”

“You have my word,” he said. And he meant it. Mostly.

Chapter Four

Riley grabbed her water bottle and tried to catch her breath. Dance class had been brutal tonight. Around her the other dancers were bent at the waist, trying to pull precious oxygen into their lungs.

This was what Riley loved about dance. Jazz. Modern. Ballet. Ballroom. She loved it all. It was hard. Pounding. Demanding. A brutal reminder of what her body could do when she pushed it to its limits. It made her feel alive.

Alysse, her instructor, crossed the room and threw a towel to Riley. “You were on tonight, girl.”

Riley grabbed her towel and wiped the sweat from her forehead. Alysse taught what was quickly becoming Riley’s favorite class: a mashup of jazz, hip-hop, and ballet that tested limits. “Thanks. I found my groove, I think.”

Alysse grinned and flashed a glance over her shoulder before lowering her voice. “Listen, my dance company is having auditions next week. I’d like to see you there.”

Riley waved away the suggestion. “Whatever, we both know I’m not the caliber dancer to go pro.” The invitation made her smile, though. Sometimes, as she danced, she imagined she could one day be the kind of dancer her mother had been…before the drugs.

Alysse raised her brow. “Yes, you are. You’re the real thing, Riley.”

Riley frowned. “You’re serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

“I’m almost twenty-six,” she said, because that was middle-aged in dancer years.

“All the more reason not to wait.” She gave a small shrug. “Listen, I’m not about the hard sell. There are plenty of beautiful dancers out there who would be great fit. It’s an opportunity I wanted you to know about. A week from Saturday, five p.m., here in the studio. What you do with that information is up to you.”

Riley nodded. “Okay. Thanks,” she said, but she knew she wouldn’t audition. She did, though, for a moment, indulge in the fantasy of being just another girl in her twenties being given the opportunity to dance. She envied them.

Her phone beeped, and she dug in her bag to get it. Message from Charles Spencer. She smiled. She wasn’t sure what had changed, but Chaz was thinking about her a lot right now. Good. Maybe this was just the change they needed.

She opened her phone and read the message. Don’t be mad, but I came by the studio and watched you dance.

Her breath caught in her throat. He’d watched her? He’d never expressed an interest in her dancing before, and she’d thought he didn’t care. In fact, it always seemed like he was trying to get her to skip dance class to do something with him, and she’d wondered if her father hadn’t told him how much he disapproved of the activity.

The phone beeped again.

I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as the way you move. Or as sexy.

She pulled her lower lip into her mouth. He couldn’t possibly know what that meant to her. Thank you.

You should be on stage. Your dance is an art, meant to be shared.

Something in the pit of her stomach warmed, and the sensation radiated through her. Maybe there was more to Chaz than she’d realized. We both know how my father would feel about that, she typed. Besides, a career in dance isn’t very profitable but for the select few. She added the last because she knew Chaz was practical, and she didn’t want him thinking she was hung up on her father’s approval.

Who cares what your father thinks? You’re amazing, and if he’s got half a brain he’ll support you in whatever you do.

Riley blinked. Who was this man, and what had he done with the guy she’d been dating for two years?

And why did the change make her so happy?

***

Charlie winked at the hostess as he strode into the Black Diamond. He’d decided to check out the club and see what he could learn about its manager. Whether he was this invested in digging up dirt on Chaz or it was a convenient excuse to escape the images turning through his mind, he wasn’t sure. Riley in black lycra dance clothes. Riley moving and bending her beautiful body to music he couldn’t hear but could practically feel just by watching her slide through the room. Riley looking like the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

He wasn’t sure what had inspired him to swing by her dance studio, but it had left him questioning what the hell he thought he was doing by taking her to dinner. Like it or not, she was another man’s woman.

His phone buzzed at his side, and he snatched it, hoping it was Riley.

Good thing he knew how to handle disappointment.

“Rick, how you doing man?”

“Singleton, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day.”

“Yeah, well, there was a girl. I figured you’d catch me later. Turns out I was right.”

“With you, there’s always a girl.” His agent chuckled. “Listen, I wish I had better news.”

Charlie winced. This was why he’d been avoiding his agent’s call. “Out with it.” His eyes wandered to a dark-haired man at the stage. The dick grabbed a dancer by her long blond hair and pulled her to him, his face fierce. Where the hell was the bouncer?

Rick rambled on about endorsement deals and sponsorships, money and payouts—all the shit Charlie hated about being in professional poker and all the reasons he gave Rick fifteen percent of his money.

Watching the man stick his finger in the dancer’s face, Charlie clenched his fist. He didn’t care if a woman was a stripper or the queen of England, she deserved to be treated with respect.

“The fact of the matter is,” Rick was saying, “if you want a poker website to sponsor you for this tournament, you’re gonna have to shake up your image. UltimatePokerPowerhouse.net is interested, but they’ve hinted that they’re worried about the amount of camera time you’re going to get. They said unless you can guarantee a win—”

“Rick, you know this game changed when all the internet poker amateurs started buying in to the big tourneys. With guys playing fast and loose, it’s anyone’s game.” A fact that frustrated the old timers. Charlie hadn’t cared…until sponsors started dropping him.

Professional players made most of their money through sponsorships, and sponsors wanted the camera on their logo as often as possible. Players could get that screen time by being a consistent winner or by bringing outside interests to the table—scandal, sensation—anything the viewers would eat up.

“You know, what you need,” Rick went on, “is another Nicole Abucee. Then we’d land any sponsorship we wanted.”

Nicole was the Hollywood starlet who had left her producer/director husband and come to Charlie’s house the same night. At the time, Charlie had wanted to strangle the pap member who had snuck into his backyard and taken pictures of them in Charlie’s hot tub. In retrospect, he was pretty sure Nicole had tipped them off.

“Seems cheap, Rick.”

As Charlie let Rick drone on about other long-shot deals, a waitress wearing pasties and a smile approached Charlie. “A drink?”

Charlie covered his phone with his hand and nodded to the stage where the man had been manhandling the stripper. “Where’s your bouncer? That asshat needs thrown out of here.”

Her frown creased her heavy makeup. “That’s Chaz Spencer. He runs this place, or—let me tell you—I’d kick his ass out myself.” She sighed. “Anyway, that’s his girl. She brings it on herself by messing around with him.”

Charlie narrowed his eyes at the man who was now sitting back and enjoying a lap dance from the blonde. Riley could do a f**k of a lot better than that. “Thanks for the info,” he muttered. “I don’t need a drink.” He slid the waitress a twenty and she grinned.

Charlie returned his attention to the phone as Rick asked, “Do you want to keep playing poker or not, Singleton?”