Page 52 of The Vegas Lie

Had he shut his mouth, he could have avoided months of wondering what it would feel like pressed against hers. The number of times he made love to her in his dreams should have brought him a fraction of shame, but the only thing he woke up with was longing.

Had Raina paid closer attention, she would have easily guessed he’d been nowhere near inebriated in Vegas. Lucas Saraci didn’t make mistakes, and he’d spent his life perfecting everything he touched.

His hands healed, fixed.

When he spoke, people listened.

Lucas Saracididnothave to clench his fists and plant his heels to stop himself from grabbing a woman, laying her down, spreading her legs, and not coming up for air until his tongue was numb.

Gathering his composure, he found his way back to the shoot.

There, he learned that Raina had slipped into another pair of heels. There, he saw her body from every angle the photographer requested, which left him so captivated he no longer cared how the male model touched her. In his mind, those were his hands, and the things he wanted to do to his wife…

“Are you really her husband?”

He looked down into the dark eyes of the woman from before, the woman’s braids coiled in an intricate style on top of her head.

“Yes,” he said.

“I’m Estelle, Raina’s stylist and assistant. What do I call you?”

“Lucas.”

“Are you a doctor, Lucas, or are you a model who had a shoot where you dressed up as a doctor?”

He almost smiled. “I’m a surgeon.”

Estelle scratched the underside of her chin. “Impressive. I wonder why she didn’t tell me she got married. Hell, I didn’t even know you existed before today.”

“Maybe she’s ashamed of me.”

“I’ve known Raina for twelve years. Trust me, she’s nowhere near the realm of being ashamed of you.” She motioned to him. “By the way, you don’t have to stand back there in the shadows. You can come closer.”

Raina exchanged the fishnets for a full-body version, and the panties were swapped out for a thong. Then she removed the heels, the model picked her up, and his mind showed him Raina, at his condo, lying on his bed. He saw himself spreading her legs, their gazes locked with her still wearing that full-body netting. His wife would look so lovely taking his dick.

“Lucas?” Estelle called.

“It’s fine.” He shook his head. “I’ll stay right here.”

ChapterTen

Tuesday

Despite Friday being only a few days away, this week was shaping up to be one of the longest of Raina’s life. It was even longer than the week she and her brother spent at her aunt and uncle’s luxury apartment in Dakar. For three days straight, she and O.B. lost about a gallon each of tears, crying that they wanted to go home to their parents. By the end of the week, they cried to stay in Dakar.

A little before one o’clock, a nervous-looking man wearing scrubs showed up with a bouquet of carnations and a carton of grilled eggplant paninis. Stuck to the carton was a Post-It—as if she wouldn’t immediately know who’d sent the delivery.

She took the food and flowers to her shared dressing room, which was a mess but graciously empty, and peeled the note off the clear container lid.

Make sure you eat, Rai.

If not, you’ll be in trouble.

With me.

By the way, don’t tip the courier.

He’s a resident.