Bet on Love Read online

  Bet on Love

  Sophie Adams

  Translated by Rachel Thomas

  “Bet on Love”

  Written By Sophie Adams

  Copyright © 2017 Sophie Adams

  All rights reserved

  Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

  www.babelcube.com

  Translated by Rachel Thomas

  Cover Design © 2017 Luizyana Poletto

  “Babelcube Books” and “Babelcube” are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Bet on Love

  Forbidden Passion | Envy

  Pardon Granted | Wrath

  Bet on Love

  Seven Sins: Lust

  Sophie Adams

  Index:

  Synopsis

  Author's Note:

  Blanche

  Tyler

  Blanche

  Tyler

  Blanche

  Tyler

  Blanche

  Tyler

  Blanche

  Tyler

  Blanche

  Tyler

  Epilogue

  Bet on love— Lust

  Emily Crowford thought that her life was all planned out. She was the prima ballerina at the city’s ballet corps and she had everything any girl could want: success, money, talent and a handsome fiancé, considered by everyone to be a good catch. She never would have imagined that her life would take such a dramatic turn and everything she had taken for granted would suddenly slip through her fingers.

  To turn her life around, Emily Crowford needed to die. And, in her place, Blanche Deluxe was born, showgirl and star of Bluebells, one of the greatest showhouses in Vegas. She used her body to seduce and entertain the audience but, privately, she built up barriers to prevent anyone from getting close to her, to protect her heart.

  When Tyler Williams, the charming hotel-casino owner, saw the mysterious showgirl for the first time, he was overcome with lust. She was a challenge that Tyler would love to win and he was willing to bet high to make sure he would get her into his bed, for his pleasure.

  What he didn’t know was that when a bet involves the heart, there can be a lot to gain... but also a lot to lose.

  Bet on love is the second short story in the Seven Sins series.

  Author’s Note:

  Seven sins. Seven human attitudes that go against the divine laws. Seven errors that we have all committed or come across at some point in our lives.

  Envy, Lust, Wrath, Vanity, Greed, Gluttony and Laziness. Each story from the Seven Sins series is inspired around one of these attitudes. All the stories have a beginning, a middle and an end and can be intertwined with characters that appear in previous stories.

  In Bet on Love, we are going to follow the growth of lust between a man who has only ever known desire and a woman with a painful past who is unwilling to lower her defenses. Writing about Tyler and Blanche was very special and I hope they touch your heart as they did mine.

  When you finish the book, please review it on Amazon and recommend it to your friends. Your review enables others to become interested in reading the stories.

  Visit my website and follow me on Facebook to keep up to date with my news and future releases.

  With love,

  Sophie Adams

  Lust

  l ᶺ s t

  mass noun (lat lascivus)

  1 – Passionate desire for something.

  2 – Propensity for exaggerated sensuality; lust; voluptuousness.

  3 – Instinctive passionate desire for sensual and erotic desire.

  Blanche

  “Emily Crowford is dead. Stay focused, Blanche Deluxe”, is what I would say to myself every morning when I woke up and a slight feeling of sadness would wash over me as I took in the peeling walls and the musty smell in my small rented apartment in Lake Las Vegas. For a woman used to living in an eight-bedroomed mansion in the wealthy district of Raleigh, North Carolina, it was far from easy to keep my spirits up and remain optimistic when I was living in a neighborhood mainly made up of alcoholics, working girls and drug dealers. To get across town to get to the Strip took me almost two hours. Then, it was rehearsals for eight hours non-stop for a one and a half-hour performance and then I had to do the same journey in reverse to get back but now with the added complications of the late hour in a city that never sleeps and the dangers that are around at that time of night.

  But, I couldn’t complain. It could be worse. At least I had food on the table and a roof- albeit ugly, small and musty, over my head as well as a job that enabled me to get by.

  I still remember when I arrived in Vegas, a little over a year ago. After my mother's death and the reading of the will, I had lost everything: family, my place as Prima ballerina at the city's ballet corps, money, social status and the fiancé. That was how I referred to Jacob Mills- the guy who doesn't deserve to be given a name. The asshole who trampled on my heart and then took off at the first sign of trouble. The only thing I had left was the house but it had been mortgaged for years and so I had needed to sell it to pay off all the debt, taxes and fees. With only two thousand dollars in my bank account and being treated like a social outcast by everyone I'd known my whole life, I made a list of all the American states and, through an app on my cell phone, I picked one out at random. I had chosen my destination. The numbers rotated and Nevada came up. In less than 24 hours, I was on a plane, economy class, on my way to Las Vegas with one designer suitcase, which I sold when I got here, and a folded piece of paper in my jacket pocket which was an ad for an audition at a casino in the city.

  The biggest con ever!

  When I arrived in the city, I came across what I consider to be one of the worst things in Vegas: the strip clubs.

  Women would dance naked or semi-naked on stages in places that were even worse than my apartment, gyrating their bodies around a pole and receiving money in their panties. They left 65% of what they’d earned with the pimp owner of the club.

  I admit those days were tough. I got a job waiting on tables at the worst restaurant in the world, on the ugly side of the Strip. Hours and hours on my feet serving all kinds of people, hearing the worst chat-up lines, getting my ass pinched and being treated rudely by clients in return for $1.50 an hour. It was the same story at every bar or showhouse I went to: I could be a topless cabaret dancer or a working girl. All I had to do was choose. My money was running out, the landlord of my flea-ridden room was threatening to kick me out and I hadn’t had a decent meal in five days when my luck started to change. I managed to get some auditions for better shows. This was when I met Kitty Monroe, an original showgirl. With an hourglass body and a pout to die for, Kitty was as hot as her name suggested and she turned men on and made women envious. I met her the first time at a dingy casino where she was the choreographer and was hiring girls for her new show. She looked me up and down, her lips, painted in shiny red, turned up in distaste.

  “My dear,” she said, “the swan lake ethereal type might be successful where you come from but here in Vegas, to be a successful showgirl, you need to have long, shapely legs, a round butt that leaves men drooling and, most importantly, know how to move your hips.”

  I didn’t pass the audition. My ballerina physique of 1.58m, slim but toned body, very blonde hair and classical expression weren’t comaptible with the sensuality Kitty was after. But, after seeing me cry as if I’d just lost my best friend, she agreed to help and train me to be the perfect showgirl.

  As I, obviously, couldn’t stretch my limbs enough to transform my 1.58m into 1.75m, Kitty put me through a training program fit for a soldier preparing for war. My diet, which until then had been 1.200 calories a day, had practically doubled.
The objective of the exercises was no longer to keep my muscles firm and build up my resistence. I needed to thicken my legs and butt so that, for the first time in my life, I had a body so curvaceous that Jessica Rabbit would have been jealous. Kitty taught me how to do precise movements and perfect high kicks, sensual hip swinging and what I would call puffing out my chest which drew attention to all my attributes...which I hadn’t even known I had.

  After a few months, I was the perfect pinup girl: as well as a body full of curves, I’d also gained a sexier and more sophisticated appearance as a result of my make-up classes, my very tight clothes and long, red, wavy highlights instead of my blond hair.

  When Kitty thought I was ready to kick ass, she gave me a small role with tears of emotion in her eyes and said that I had passed her showgirl training school with flying colors, even though I was the only student, and that, for this reason, I deserved a new name and a new opportunity.

  That was the day I buried Emily Crowford and became Blanche Deluxe, the sexy redhead.

  On the sheet, in her beautiful calligraphy was written:

  Bluebells Theater

  Casino Luxury — Strip Las Vegas, 8455

  Speak to Elijah

  Tuesday 4pm.

  Bluebells was one of the main showhouses in Vegas with daily shows sought after by tourists from all around the world. It was situated in the beautiful Luxury, a five-star hotel and casino right at the heart of the Strip. The vacancy was for a level three showgirl, i.e. a kind of extra-dancer but, even if I didn’t get the chance to show all my technique and talent in a standout role, Bluebells would still pay much more than my current job.

  When I arrived at the casino with thirty minutes to spare, I was faced with the biggest line I’d ever seen in my life. Hundreds, maybe even millions, of women in all shapes and sizes were standing in a line that went right round the theater block. Blondes, redheads, brown and black women- the diversity was huge. But they also had some things in common: the rehearsed-sexiness, low cut tops, innate antipathy and height. They seemed like giants in comparison to my short stature, giving me the impression that if one of them wanted to give me a shove and throw me out of there, I wouldn’t even be noticed.

  I took a deep breath and walked to the end of the snail-shaped line, twirling a red lock of hair around my finger and trying to concentrate despite the chatter going on. This was the hardest part for me: being able to block out everything around me so that I could focus and give a great performance and impress. I had always been the star of the show and when I asked for silence, I was given it immediately. My closed eyes got moist as I remembered how I’d had my own dressing-room. Good times that would never come back.

  I inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to find my inner balance. If there was anything I’d learnt from the knocks life had given me, it was that I was capable of standing up to anything. Life was tough, but so was I.

  I started to stretch, sensing that some of the dancers were looking at me disdainfully. Then a small commotion caught my attention. A kind of entourage was walking along the line: two smartly-dressed women with a nonchalent look on their faces and a man wearing a flowery shirt and completely bald was smiling at the girls. With them was a guy who looked about 18 who was putting bracelets like the ones you get in the VIP area at a show, on some of the girls’ arms who were being picked out by the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen in my life.

  He was wearing a gray suit, that I was sure had been tailor-made, a wine-red, pure silk tie and Italian, leather shoes. His dark hair was very neatly cut and his beard, which hid his strong jawline, gave him a mischevous look. His eyes observed each girl from head to toe very fast, expertly done by someone who was used to having the most beautiful women fall at his feet. With each step, he pointed to a woman, and another and the boy would put the bracelets on. He was a sexy, seductive and experienced man.

  If I were the kind of girl who made bets, which I wasn’t, I would have bet the 10 dollars I had in my bag and my favorite ballet shoes, which I couldn’t throw away simply for sentimental reasons, that this man was a player. The most dangerous kind there was in Vegas.

  Write this down: when you come across a player, run. They’re not afraid of anything and won’t hesitate to get what they want. They don’t give up and a challenge to them is like a red flag to a bull. When they get the jackpot-Ding! Ding! Ding! Whether it’s the girl or all the coins from the nearest slot machine, they simply move along to the next table, or woman, without giving a second thought to what they’re leaving behind.

  I should have taken my own advice and kept my eyes off Mr Sexy, but his sensuality was so natural and powerful that I couldn’t concentrate on anything else except him.

  The women around me clucked like chickens in a chicken coop, moaning, squealing, pretending to giggle and the only thing I could make out from all that was when one of them said Tyler, which I gathered was his name.

  The small group kept coming closer and closer towards me until he, with the most expressive eyes I’d ever seen, finally laid eyes on me.

  Holy. Mother. Of. God.

  He moved his tongue over his perfect lips, which seemed soft like a ripe peach, and he observed me closely from top to toe, arousing all my senses at once and leaving me feeling the most self-conscious I’d ever been my whole life. His eyes ran over my body, passing over my legs, the curves of my hips, my slim waist outlined by my figure-hugging dress, my breasts enhanced by my push-up bra given to me by Kitty, my lips, which were slightly parted, and, finally, my eyes. When our eyes met, I felt as if a fire had been lit inside me, burning with lust, desire and something else I had no words for.

  “And her,” he said, making a movement with his chin in my direction, without taking his eyes off me. The young guy leaned over towards me but was stopped by one of the women in the entourage.

  “Ty, have you seen the size of her? She’s practically a midget,” she said, turning her nose up. I shrank, as if I’d been hit.

  Without taking his eyes off mine, the man, who I’d found out was called Tyler, said to the woman in a tone which made me shake and thank the skies that his words weren’t directed at me,

  “Annie, I’m the one who chooses the candidates. Then, Elijah. And she’s not a midget. She’s mignon. The kind of woman who fits perfectly in a man’s arms.” He smiled and I felt my cheeks redden.

  Player!! The word flashed in my mind in neon lights. I tried to keep my composure and not allow myself to be affected by the seduction of his words.

  The woman backed off and the young guy finally put the bracelet on my wrist. The bald man clapped his hands and said,

  “Those of you with the bracelet on, go in an orderly fashion to the red room. The rest of you are free to go. Thank you!”

  Tyler

  I was sitting in a chair in my office, watching the hustle and bustle of Vegas through the window that went from one side of the room to the other. At this hour, Sin city was just starting to get going, ready to receive the gamblers, tourists and people from all walks of life in its streets and establishments. The bright signs would soon be lit up like colorful beacons to lure in whoever was in the streets, eager to spend all their money in the casinos of the city.

  I’d always loved this. I, in fact, was a man of the night. I loved the neon lights that shone in the dark sky, the tinkling of the slot machines, the sounds of laughter and of glasses touching as tourists and professional players spread themselves around the poker, twenty-one and Baccarat tables.

  I had been brought up in the middle of all this Vegas hustle and bustle. My dad, a famous professional player, spent his days at the tables. It was only the two of us as my mom, a famous showgirl at the time, ran off with a rich, ranch-owner to Texas and never looked back. I was only five at the time so my dad used to take me everywhere with him. That included the main casinos in the city.

  I learned to count cards before I could write my own name in full. At ten, I was already a legend among the big gamblers and I could
play better than my dad. At 17, I lost him. He died from hepatic cirrhosis caused by all his heavy drinking. When I was 18 years old, I won my first million at a tournament in the city.

  A short time after, I bought the Royale, my first casino, and I became a businessman. This was where I learned everything about my new business. Following my father’s advice to keep my head in place and always invest my money responsibly, I started to be successful and make money- a lot of money. Today, the casinos from the Williams Group – Royale, Mystery and Luxury, which was my pride and joy, were the three largest casinos in all of Vegas and I was very proud of them.

  Naturally, living in Sin city, I had two vices: gambling and women. The first was part of who I was. I was raised to be a betting man and not only at the tables. I would make bets with myself in situations I was in. Things like, how long would it take to achieve a self-imposed goal, how much of a certain exercise could my body take, how long would it take to get a specific woman into bed and how quickly would I get fed up of her...which leads me on to my second vice.

  Look, I liked women. A lot. All kinds: blondes, brunettes, tall, short, skinny, curvy. I always had a stunning woman on my arm and they generally worshipped the ground I walked on and did everything they could to please me, both in bed and out of it. Obviously, my dates were very well compensated with spectacular sex and expensive gifts. Lust ran through my veins, mixed with my blood and it was an important part of who I was. Sex was an essential part of my life, just as much as eating and sleeping were. It was a shame I couldn’t find anyone who could keep me interested for long. My record with the same woman was three weeks. After that, my hunting instincts would kick in and I would start to sniff out new challenges.

  It was this thought that was giving me this irritating headache. Barbarella. Just thinking of the name sent shivers of fear down my spine. A Luxury showgirl, she came to my office one fine day to show me she could shake her ass well enough to be one of the standout showgirls. One thing led to another and I thought she swayed better on my lap than on the stage.