Bad Apple Read online Elle Kennedy

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
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“I think you look fabulous,” she corrects. She gives one last appraising look, and then gestures for me to follow her. “Mr. Barrett asked for you to meet him in the lobby at midnight. You don’t want to be late.”

I glance down at my bare feet. “But I don’t have shoes.”

Denise points to the shoebox the hairdresser left behind. “Sure you do.”

Feeling like a kid on Christmas morning, I make a beeline for the narrow box. Unlike the hand-me-down gifts I received from my foster families over the years, this box contains something new and shiny. Silver, high-heeled sandals that match the silver eye shadow Mimi dabbed on my eyelids. Ben obviously planned everything to a T.

I slip on the shoes and follow Denise out the door, oddly self-conscious as we leave the spa. My heels click against the marble floor beneath them, and my heartbeat drums in my throat as we near the majestic lobby of the resort.

“I feel like a princess,” I whisper, shooting a nervous glance at the woman next to me.

She stops in front of the arch leading into the lobby. “And there’s your prince,” she whispers back.

I shift my gaze and see him. Leaning casually against one of the stone pillars in the middle of the large room, his hawk-like gaze drilling into me.

My surroundings fade as our eyes lock, and I don’t break eye contact as I walk across the room toward Ben.

“You look…fuck, Maggie,” he mumbles. “You look beautiful.”

Heat spills through me. I have to admit, as out of my depth as I feel in the elegant dress he bought for me, I like the effect it has. The neckline dips so low that my breasts practically spill out of the silk bodice, and the slit up the side shows a hell of a lot of thigh. It’s the kind of dress meant to tease a man into submission, and though I’ll never be a hundred percent comfortable dressing like a vixen, I like the delight I see in Ben’s blue eyes.

I also like the tuxedo currently hugging his lean body, the way the black jacket stretches over his broad shoulders and emphasizes his rock-hard chest. With that classy tux and his clean-shaven face, he looks every inch the movie star he is, and again I feel like Cinderella as I accept his proffered arm and curl my fingers around his biceps.

“Did you have fun at the spa?” he asks as we fall into step together.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He leads me across the lobby toward a set of heavy oak doors flanked by two large men in dark suits. At our approach, the men pull the doors open with a graceful swoop and gesture for us to enter. Seeing as how we’re dressed like we’re going to the prom, I expect to walk into a grand ballroom. To my surprise, it’s a casino.

And not the kind of casino you see in Las Vegas, with flashing neon lights and ear-piercing chimes and bells of slot machines. This one is small and sophisticated, with an array of game tables, waiters with trays of champagne, and a black-tie clientele. Aside from the occasional jubilant cry coming from the roulette section, the atmosphere is serious yet relaxed, and it practically oozes money.

“Do you like to gamble?” Ben asks. We cross the plush carpeted floor toward one of the blackjack tables.

“I don’t know. I’ve never gambled before.”

What would I have to gamble with? I almost add, but stop myself just in time. A man as wealthy as Ben wouldn’t understand anyway.

“Trust me. You’ll like it.”

We stop in front of a table. A suit-clad man approaches and exchanges a few words with Ben. They speak in murmured tones, but I catch the word “markers” and then raise my brows at the number “two thousand.”

As a bow-tied card dealer doles out a stack of chips and places them in front of Ben, I lean over and whisper, “Did you just ask for two thousand dollars’ worth of chips?”

“Yep.” He splits the stack in half and pushes one pile toward me. “This one’s yours.”

I gulp. “I can’t take your money. What if I lose?”

“Then you lose.”

My throat tightens with irritation. “I won’t be in debt to you, Ben.”

“Call it a gift.”

“A thousand-dollar stack of chips is not a gift.” Setting my jaw, I push the red circles back toward Ben’s pile. “I can’t accept it.”

He pauses for a moment, and then sighs. “Fine, be difficult. We’ll play as a team.”

“And I won’t keep a dime of the winnings,” I say firmly.

“And you won’t keep a dime of the winnings,” he echoes, albeit grudgingly.

The dealer’s lips twitch, and I suspect he finds the entire exchange amusing. He’s probably never encountered a chick so willing to kiss a thousand bucks goodbye.

“Ready to play some cards?” he asks politely, glancing from me to Ben.



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