Sinful Desires Vol. 3 Read Online Free Page B

stepped into a casino half a dozen times, and only ever to apply for a job. I didn't have a problem with gambling, but it had never really appealed to me. Probably because I'd never had extra money at any point in my life.
    “Come be my good luck charm,” Brock said as he sat at one of the tables. He yanked me onto his lap and then pushed out the chair next to him. “There you go, Julien.”
    “I'd rather not,” Julien said mildly.
    “Don't be a spoilsport, man. I know you got the cash. Get some chips and play.” Brock's voice had taken on an edge that made it hard to tell if he was just messing around or if he was serious.
    Julien sighed and sat down. “All right, I'll play. But I'm not drinking.”
    Brock rolled his eyes and gestured to a cute blonde who was hovering nearby. “Scotch on the rocks for me and a glass of champagne for my girl.”
    “I'm fine, Brock,” I mumbled. My face was heating up as the other men at the table looked at me. I was fine with a little PDA, but sitting on Brock's lap like some sort of trophy was a bit beyond my comfort zone. I just didn't know how to tell Brock without embarrassing him, so I didn't say anything.
    I quickly discovered that I was pretty much decoration. Julien occasionally spoke to me as he waited for the others to play their hands, asking about things like how Vegas compared to Philadelphia and what had prompted me to move, but no one else did. Brock talked at me, calling me his good luck charm and saying how he was winning because of me, but he never asked if I was enjoying myself or even if I wanted to play. If it wasn't for the way his thumb was tracing patterns on my stomach, I'd almost have thought he'd be just as content with a blow-up doll on his lap.
    He was four drinks in when he started to lose. It was just a little here and there, not even close to cutting in to his winnings, but I could see the annoyance on his face. I wondered if he didn't want to lose in front of me or if it was because Julien was the one who kept beating him. By the sixth drink, he was past angry-drunk and into goofy-drunk, which actually was a mixed blessing. While I preferred funny to mean any day, I didn't like the fact that he was starting to get handsy.
    “We should get him back to the room,” Julien finally said after watching me stop Brock from trying to put his hand up my skirt for what seemed the hundredth time.
    I nodded, agreeing completely as I pulled Brock’s hand away from my breast. At least, thanks to my job, I knew how to handle drunken advances. “Hey, baby.” I put my mouth against his ear. “Why don't we head back to your room?”
    He turned his head and blinked at me, his eyes blood-shot and his gaze unfocused. “My room?”
    I kept my voice low. “You're still ahead, so why don't you cash out those chips and we can take the party back to the hotel?”
    “You've already kicked my ass,” Julien lied. “Time to call it a night.”
    “Course I kicked your ass,” Brock slurred. “You suck at cards.”
    The other men at the table laughed, but Brock didn't seem to notice. He pressed the side of his face against my neck.
    “You smell good.”
    I sighed as I disentangled myself from his arms and stood. Julien collected the chips and went to cash out while I worked to get Brock on his feet. He could stand, but apparently didn't want to. All of my attempts to get him up were met with laughter, both his and the rest of the men at the table.
    “Crazy drunk,” Julien muttered as he returned. He handed me a bag that I assumed carried the combined winnings and then leaned over to haul Brock out of the chair.
    “Would you like me to call Mr. Michaels a cab?” Johnson was back, completely professional, obviously used to practically carrying drunks out the door.
    I glanced at Julien and he nodded. “Thank you; that would helpful.” I sighed; deeply grateful Julien was choosing not to walk. He seemed a bit more equipped to handle – or rather, manhandle – Brock