Traded by Lisa Suzanne
CHAPTER 1
“What if Jack Dalton actually shows up?” I squeal to Shannon as we both stare out the window at the flashing lights that pass by us in a blur. “You know he’s number one on my hot list.”
She laughs. “If he does show up and spots you in that cat burglar costume, you will definitely catch his attention. Or any one of the other dozen celebrities rumored to be making an appearance tonight.”
I laugh. “Yeah, the hot quarterback of the Broncos will pick me out of every other woman in the club. There’s not a chance in hell he’s choosing the cat burglar over the richer, more famous, probably sluttier kittens dancing Halloween night away.”
“You never know. Did you ever think you’d be attending a party like this?”
I shake my head.
“See? So you never know what could happen.”
Shannon won tickets on the radio to this Halloween party at some fancy club at some fancy hotel on the Las Vegas Strip. It’s a party neither of us would ever have be able to afford on our own, but tonight, our entire tab is paid for. All we have to do is show up and have a good time with the rich and famous.
I slip my mask off as we walk through the casino, and then I put it firmly back into place once we get in line to enter the club. She gives her last name to the bouncer, and voila. We’re in.
We beeline for the bar, and she hands over the confirmation for our tab. She settles into some rum special, and I pull out the big guns with Fireball on the rocks.
If I’m going to let go and have a good time tonight and even think of the possibility of getting a hot stud up in this kitty, then I’m going to arm myself with the most potent of all my favorite drinks. I’ve been working nonstop lately, and I haven’t had a night off in a long, long time. So I’m partying it up old school style tonight.
With liquor in hand, we head to the dance floor. I glance around, and just like every club I’ve ever danced in, there’s a mix of couples grinding and singles looking around—but tonight, everybody’s in a costume. It’s sort of hard to tell who’s just a regular Joe and who might be a celebrity.
I like having the cat mask on as I look around in the dark room with flashing lights as we all move to the familiar songs. It makes me feel like I can be somebody I’m not, and as I empty my first drink, I’m starting to feel the familiar fuel of liquid confidence.
Shannon and I each grab a second drink, and the crush of people that’ve shown up since we first got here makes it a little harder to find an open spot on the dance floor.
It’s as I’m nearing the bottom of my second drink, already hot and starting to sweat in my costume from the heat of bodies moving all around me, that it seems as though everyone in our vicinity swings their heads toward the door at the same time.
I look in that direction, too, but I can’t see over the people in front of me. “What’s going on?” I ask Shannon, and she glances at me and shrugs. She gets up onto her tiptoes but can’t see over the crowd, either.
“That’s Jack Dalton!” someone beside me yells over the music.
“Jack Dalton?” someone else yells back. “Jack Dalton!”
I was raised in a household where we spent Sundays watching football. I know who Jack Dalton is. Who doesn’t? Who hasn’t stared with dreamy eyes at the television on Sunday afternoons as they watch him catch the ball the center hikes before he drops back into the pocket with discipline and confidence as he looks down the field for an open receiver?
Hot.
Like...super hot.
And we’re at the same nightclub. At least I think we are. That’s what some-drunk-body said beside me a second ago.
Can you even imagine being at the same place as someone like Jack Dalton? What if we bump into each other at the bar and he’s super into cat burglars and he sweeps me up into his arms to take me away?
Yeah, because that’s my luck.
If anything, I have the complete opposite luck when it comes to the male species. Instead of sweeping me into their arms, I tend to get pushed down and trampled.
I step up onto my tiptoes to try to get a better look, and that’s when I spot a tall, athletic man flanked by two burly men. He has this demeanor about him that makes everyone in this place stop to look. It’s extreme confidence mixed with some strange sort of control, like he has this authority over the club and everyone in it. And I suppose he does. He’s one of the most famous football players in the world. He’s a gazillionaire and he’s talented and he’s freaking gorgeous.
If I thought he was hot on my television on Sundays, well, he’s even more of a treat in the flesh even from across a dark room. He’s tall, and he just has this big presence about him that takes over this place. He moves through the club with an easy smile, and a small entourage follows closely behind him.
“Holy cheeseballs,” I murmur. “It really is Jack Dalton.”
I turn and look at Shannon, and she grabs me by the biceps.
“It’s Jack Dalton!” we both squeal at the same time.
So maybe we’re a tad tipsy already.
“We have to meet him,” she says. She grabs my arm and starts pulling me in his direction. “We have to get you a shot with him.”
“Oh my God, Shan. You’re freaking delusional.” I can’t deny it—I like where her head’s at, but this just isn’t realistic. Not only is he flanked by club security plus his own entourage, but he can have any woman in this place...in the world.
Is he even single? I could swear I read that someone’s knocked up with his kid, but maybe that was somebody else. I’m not some crazy stalker who knows every detail about his life just because I find him attractive.
“Okay, if you don’t want him, he can be my hook-up!” Shannon squeals.
My brows dip as my claws emerge and I don’t even know why my claws are coming out at this entirely unrealistic conversation.
“You’re getting married next year,” I not so gently remind her.
She wrinkles her nose. “Oh, right. That.”
I giggle.
“We just need to get his attention.” She looks around, and then she snaps her finger in a dramatic aha! I’ve got it! type of thing. “We’ll get you in his path and he can swoop in and save you and then you can work your magic.”
“What do you mean swoop in and save me?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at her.
“Just follow me and play along,” she says, and she moves quickly. I struggle to keep up with her in these hooker boots. I never wear heels, but these came with the costume. They’re four-inch platform things and my feet are freaking killing me, but the Fireball is helping to numb the pain.
One more and everything will start to numb. My tolerance is pretty low these days since my job occupies me pretty much twenty-four-seven and this is my first outing in months.
I’m concentrating so hard on not tripping in these stupid shoes that I don’t even see Shannon coming when she plows into me. I tumble to the ground with a shriek and a curse. When I land on the floor, my knee screams in pain and I’m positive I’ve broken both ankles and definitely bumped my knee on the sticky concrete floor. My glass goes flying out of my hands and shatters a few feet away, and as my hand slams to the floor, a little shard cuts into the side of my palm.
I’m about to scream out what the fuck to Shannon when the most incredible thing happens.
A deep voice is so close to my ear that the heat sends a shiver through my entire core. “Jesus Christ, are you okay?”
I turn to look up at the source of that sexy voice and find myself face-to-face with Mr. Jack Motherfucking Dalton. My eyes widen as they gaze up into his intense, navy blue ones, and I’m rendered temporarily speechless. My cheeks burn—not that he can see them in the dark or under this mask—and my thighs clench together as I get a whiff of his scent.
Oh my God.
His scent.
He smells like a fucking dream. I want to breathe him in and only smell Jack Dalton for the rest of eternity.
Holy shit.
Did Shannon’s ridiculous plan actually work?
“What the hell happened?” he asks. He picks up my hand in his, and that’s when I see the blood. It’s not a lot, but the glass definitely sliced my hand. “You’re bleeding,” he murmurs, his voice husky and dripping with sex.
I force out words. “I’m okay.” My friend pushed me so I’d fall in front of you sounds ridiculous, so I cut it off there.
He holds the back of my bleeding hand in his as he runs the fingertips of his other hand tenderly along my boot and toward my knee. Shivers shoot up on my body at every spot he touches. “Looks like you banged up your knee pretty good.” He turns around and looks at his entourage. “Danny!” He flicks his neck as if to tell Danny to come over, and another attractive man kneels down beside us. “Can you check her knee?”
Danny nods. “Let’s get her up to your suite for some privacy.”
“I’m okay,” I protest, but why the fuck am I protesting when I should definitely just let this happen?
Jack nods, and then, and I’m not lying, I swear to God this actually happens, he literally sweeps me up off the floor and into his arms.
He carries me through the club, and if my knee is freaking broken it’ll be worth it just to have this memory. And if I wasn’t two Fireballs deep, I’d never have the nerve to wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me, and then I never would’ve gotten the chance to breathe him in and allow that woodsy, masculine scent to permanently stamp onto my consciousness.
I will never forget this moment as long as I live.
I’ll never forget the butterflies swimming around in my stomach or the buzzing in my head or the clenching of my thighs.
When Shannon asked me to go with her to this little Halloween shindig she won tickets to, in my wildest dreams I never could’ve imagined that I’d be on my way to Jack Dalton’s private suite as he carries me through the club in his arms.
Yet here I am, and I have all my fingers and toes crossed that this is going to lead to so much more than just him checking out my knee to make sure it isn’t broken.
