He’s much more than a bad habit.
As a Vegas singer and volunteer counselor, Kate Callender has experienced life on both sides of Sin City’s bright lights. The thrill of performing, and gambling’s devastating effect on the addicts’ families.
Liam Doyle is just the kind of man she despises—a handsome, enigmatic businessman with a knack for seducing customers into his casino hotels. Determined to put a lid on his growing influence, she prepares to picket the opening of his newest casino, Vice.
When Liam spots the lone protestor hassling his customers, annoyance wars with instant attraction. And he quickly discovers the leggy redhead not only can’t be bought, she tempts him the way the sound of a roulette wheel lures a gambler.
They are natural enemies, but when a vile attack sparks Liam’s protective instincts, they begin a sexual odyssey that dances on the edge of addiction. Dangerously close to losing control...and losing themselves.
Warning: Contains a sexy, damaged hero who’d really rather just be having sex, and a no-nonsense redhead who makes him want to roll the dice on love just one more time.
Vice
Rosanna Leo
Dedication
For my mother, Louisa. This book was dedicated to her, even before I started writing it.
Chapter One
“Mr. Calvert. I need you to remove your hand from my ass.”
Despite the clear tone of her voice, her boss’s hand continued to rove over her behind with an intimacy that was as revolting as it was inappropriate. In truth, Howard Calvert wasn’t really her boss, but he was the Calvert behind Calvert’s Used Automobiles, and she was supposed to be recording his radio jingle in this small Las Vegas recording booth. For that reason and that reason alone, Kate Callender bit her tongue, determined not to overreact.
And she would have been successful had the man not leaned in for a closer grope. She hissed and pushed him away.
“No need to get snippy, darlin’. We’re both consenting adults here.”
“I consented to singing your jingle.” She peered through the glass into the producer’s booth. Where was Klein anyway? Probably getting another roast beef sandwich while she still reeled from the effects of her new gluten-free diet. Someone said she could fix her various health complaints by ditching gluten, but after a couple of sin-free weeks, she was willing to endure festering boils for the sake of some white pasta and garlic bread.
Mr. Calvert’s paw appeared once more on her hip, and did a finger drum roll on her ass. “Come now, Kate. I saw the way you looked at me. Don’t be shy.”
She stepped back. “I don’t know what you thought you saw, sir, but it’s not what you think.” Why the hands all of a sudden? She’d sung for Calvert numerous times, becoming the voice of his radio campaign. He’d always given off a curious vibe, appraising her from a distance, but this was the first time he’d let his fingers do the talking.
She’d worked hard to get the stupid gig, auditioning numerous times before Calvert signed on the dotted line. One would think it was tryouts for Les Miserables, not a commercial for a fricking used car dealership. But the gig paid well and regularly. Calvert seemed to think car commercials needed the voice of a sexed-up woman to be effective.
Mind you, she wasn’t all that sexed-up, and hadn’t been for some time, but she put on a good show.
The man tried again, maneuvering closer to her. She had to give him points for determination. “I, uh, sent Klein on an errand so we could get to know each other better. I felt it was time.”
Kate calmed her nerves and realized she was about to cause her immediate financial ruin. “We do know each other, sir, and I know Mrs. Calvert would be very upset at your behavior. Now, unless you keep your hands off me, I won’t record the jingle.”
“Darlin, please. We both know you will. You need this job.”
He was right, of course, but if she had to walk away with empty pockets and her integrity, she’d feel better about it in the morning. Probably.
“I don’t need it so much that I’ll put up with your sausage fingers.”
“Christ,” He muttered under his breath. “Do you always argue so much?” He reached for her breast.
“Back off. I swear to God, I’ll kick you in the nuts!” She vaulted out of the way, ran around a couple of chairs and music stands, and grabbed her purse.
“Come on, Kate. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Stop playin’. Don’t you think you owe me? I’ve sent a lot of royalties your way.”
“Last I checked, I wasn’t rendering that kind of service. This is Vegas. If you want a hooker, stand on the street corner and someone will hand you a card with a picture on it. Call her.” Without a look back, Kate put her hand on the recording booth door.
She should have seen it coming. Calvert was the kind of man who didn’t let people say no to him, let alone insult him. The man copped a feel of her breast before she could make her exit, grinning like it was all part of the game.
Kate turned, unthinking, and brought her knee into his family jewels.
“Aw, fuck!” Calvert grunted and dropped to his knees as Kate opened the door to leave. Despite his pain, Calvert had enough presence of mind to aim one last threat. “I’ll make sure you never get another job in this town. I bloody guarantee it.”
“Go to hell. I’ll take my chances.” How much pull could the Lord of Lemons have in the Vegas entertainment world anyway? As she hurried out of the recording studio, she experienced a measure of calm at being out of his grip. She stood still on the sidewalk and allowed the hot sun to beam down on her face.
Only then did she begin to grow nervous. What if Calvert did know people in the singing world? What if he spread the word she was uncooperative and mouthy and unprofessional? God knew it was hard enough getting a gig in this city that didn’t require her to drop her drawers, and she wasn’t built to play showgirl. Her ample sized knockers would never fit into those skimpy little bras they wore. Plus she couldn’t dance. The Calvert’s jingle had provided her with the steadiest singing job she’d ever had, and she’d likely never land anything like it again.
Maybe Celine Dion would ask her to join her next tour as a backup singer. Right. And maybe the pop icon would also ask to be her new BFF.
“Nuts.” She began walking toward the bus stop. Her royalties would at least keep her in gluten-free snacks for a while until she figured out what to do next. And she still had her volunteer job. It meant more to her than those dumb jingles anyway. There she made a difference. She was always saying she wished she had more time to devote to New Horizons. Now she had a chance. She could concentrate on helping the folks there, and Karma would provide.
She had to believe it. After all, Karma had stolen everything else from her.
“Hi. Um, my name is Audrey, and…well, my boyfriend Darren is a compulsive gambler.” The woman looked down at her lap and smoothed out a few wrinkles in her jeans. After a moment, she raised her head, looking to Kate. “What else am I supposed to say?”
“Whatever you want to share, Audrey. This is a non-judgment zone. You can talk about your life with Darren, about his gambling, or about the weather. It’s your first time in group, so anything’s fair game. We’re not head-shrinkers here, just friends.”
Kate could see Darren had trampled on her trust. She wore the same expression every arrival to New Horizons did, one of pale disbelief. No matter how much good the program did, no matter how it was lauded by its supporters, no victim of gambling addiction ever thought it would work for them.
Audrey’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, but I still don’t see how this is going to help me. I mean…I’m not the gambler. I don’t waste my paycheck at the casino the moment it’s earned. I don’t lie and cheat. I’m just the poor schlep whose money he stole time and again. Darren should be here, not me.”