SinCityTryst Read online

  Sin City Tryst

  Kim Tiffany

  Luck be a lady tonight.

  A bachelorette weekend takes a steamy turn when full-figured Sara Fenyes unexpectedly encounters her secret crush in the city of sin. A self-proclaimed wallflower, Sara knows that when it comes to relationships, being alone is always a safe bet. Now if she could just remember that in the presence of a certain sexy firefighter, who also happens to be the groom’s best man.

  Ethan la Montagne has had it bad for sultry Sara for as long as he can recall, but he can’t seem to keep her in one place long enough to tell her. A stag party in Vegas offers an opportunity to catch her unawares and raise the stakes on their cat-and-mouse game.

  When inhibitions fly out the window, Sara and Ethan generate enough heat to rival the brightest lights on the Strip. But what happens afterward, when reality intrudes and misunderstandings tip the odds against their favor? Together they must decide if what happens in Vegas should stay in Vegas.

  SIN CITY TRYST

  Kim Tiffany

  Chapter One

  “To the future Mrs. Sean Duke!”

  “Hear, hear!” Glasses were raised to a chorus of squeals and raucous laughter. Sitting at a table full of plastered women smack in the center of Wolfgang Puck’s at the MGM Grand, Sara Fenyes discreetly adjusted the overflowing cleavage in her snug velvet halter top before raising her glass and joining the toast. She smiled as she spotted her ebullient best friend at the end of the table, decked out in a white sundress and a hot pink homemade sash with the words “Bride-To-Be” printed in rhinestones.

  Angie stood and raised her martini glass, and the table quieted. “Ladies, I just want to say that I don’t know how I would’ve made it through these past six months without your support.” She turned her gaze toward Sara and winked. “I know I haven’t been the easiest bride-to-be, but you guys have been amazing. Thanks again for sticking with me through thick and thin.”

  Sara snorted and grinned at Angie’s choice of words. “Thick and thin” was right. The ordeal of finding bridal party dresses that looked equally fetching on Angie’s wasp-waisted relatives as well as Sara’s own solid size-eighteen figure had proven itself an insurmountable challenge. In the end, Angie had decided on a voluminous shirred pink gown with marabou accents for her bridesmaids and maid of honor. While the frippery frock made the bridesmaids look positively ethereal, the poufy proportions made a complete mockery of Sara’s substantial curves, shorter legs and thick waist. It made her look and feel like a shrink-wrapped Hostess Snowball.

  But hey, she figured her best friend was only getting married once. It was the least she could do.

  “Oooh, Sara, can I have a bite of that?” asked Angie’s twenty-two-year-old cousin Carolina from New York City. She was an aspiring model, and everyone called her Caro for short. She looked longingly over at the remnants of Sara’s butternut squash ravioli—swimming in browned butter and fragrant sage—from across the table and sighed. “I haven’t had carbs in, like, forever.”

  “Sure, help yourself,” Sara replied, pushing the plate toward her. She watched in amusement as the alarmingly slender girl took a single, infinitesimal bite of pasta and savored it with her eyes closed. She shook her head and sat back with a sigh.

  “Oh my gawd, that is so decadent. But so many calories… You have no idea how lucky you are that you can eat that whenever you want.”

  Sara raised her eyebrows a little at Caro’s comment but remained silent. The vapid young woman had been taking random pot-shots at her size for the past two weeks and Sara had almost grown immune to it. She’d been told all her life that she was a thicker version of her paternal Hungarian grandmother, who was now in her seventies and still zaftig and beautiful in Sara’s opinion. She took considerable personal pride in the comparison. What was the point in eschewing bread baskets in restaurants for the rest of her life just to satisfy irritable, self-absorbed carb-Nazis like Caro?

  She eyed the dry mesclun greens on her dinner companion’s plate with a grimace. They needed a healthy dose of olive oil, lemon and garlic to make it good and palatable in her book. Sara didn’t believe in depriving herself of good food when it was a special occasion such as this. Without a word, she yanked her plate back and popped another luscious, buttery bite of ravioli into her mouth, chewing slowly and enjoying the firm texture of the pasta. Bliss. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Angie waving at her madly, trying to get her attention.

  Mouth full, Sara cocked her head and shot her a questioning look.

  “Behind you,” Angie mouthed back at her, waggling her eyebrows.

  Frowning, Sara turned to peruse the crowds of people occupying the casino floor and nearly choked. Shit! What the hell was he doing here? Bachelor parties and bachelorette parties weren’t supposed to rendezvous in Vegas!

  “Sean! Baby! Over here!” Angie called out. She jumped up and the lights on her sash began blinking wildly, and several people around them laughed and started clapping. Sara watched a tall, ruggedly handsome blond man separate himself from the small posse he was with and make a beeline toward his fiancée. Sean Duke, better known as the groom, made his living as a firefighter, and with every step women swooned at the sight of his bulging biceps and chiseled good looks. He was Angie’s rock, a thoughtful and authoritative partner, the perfect foil for her innate flightiness.

  Regretfully, his imposing bodaciousness was the furthest thing from Sara’s mind at present. Focusing all of her attention on the dregs of butter left on her plate, she tried hard not to stare at one particular dark-haired, whipcord-lean, golden-eyed stud who brought up the rear of the devastatingly good-looking group.

  Ethan la Montagne was Sean’s best man and fellow firefighter at Station 54. He was also the top-billed star of every masturbatory dream that Sara had indulged in for the past two years. He was a bonafide sex-god—bronzed, broad-shouldered and soft-spoken, with tousled dark curls and a set of lethal bedroom eyes in a shade of hot-buttered hazel. Just a glimpse of his sexy mug never failed to send her thighs a-clenching and she inevitably spent the rest of the day shifting uncomfortably at her work desk entertaining kinky thoughts that involved tying him down and molesting him within an inch of his life.

  Given her close connection to Angie and Sean at the firehouse, the four of them had dinner together a couple of times a week at their apartment, which was the highlight of her social calendar if Sara was completely honest with herself. Over time she had discovered that Ethan was not only delectable eye candy, but funny and kind and a great listener to boot. Day after day her attraction had grown, to the point where she positively ached to touch him whenever they were in close proximity. Across countless dinner tables she’d imagined tasting his smiling mouth and running her fingers through his unruly curls. At night her fantasies took a decidedly erotic turn as she imagined his huge, hungry, blunt-tipped hands stroking and kneading her entire body before dragging her thighs apart and plunging his steel-corded cock deep inside her cunt. Yum.

  Sara generally appreciated the fact that her plus-size body was strong, healthy and capable of vigorous physical activity. But she wasn’t immune to the fact that she was the largest woman sitting at that table. Ethan’s rough-hewn good looks and quiet intensity intimidated the hell out of her and she seriously doubted that she could ever trump up enough courage to come right out and tell him how she felt. She just wasn’t in the same league. In her experience, opposites didn’t attract, and she and Ethan were about as far apart on the sex-appeal meter as two people could get. Sure, she’d dated a few guys, but none of the men had ever seemed particularly enthused about her substantial curves, which had made for some pretty boring, vanilla experiences in the bedroom. She couldn’t help but feel homely and self-conscious aro
und him now, and she sensed the devastating impact that a single dismissive glance from him could have on her threadbare ego.

  Shit, even a lot of the overweight guys she’d gone out with had preferred twiggy little androgynous bodies to her own, and a few had made no qualms about telling her so. So why the heck would someone like Ethan, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Do-Me personified, want to dabble with the likes of her when he could easily have his pick? Sara had worked too hard to cultivate her friendship with Ethan to muck it up by admitting her unrequited attraction to him. It compelled her to strive even harder to mask her true feelings for him.

  Being privy to the inner workings of her personal life, Angie was of course aware of her unrequited lust, but understood Sara’s reasons for wanting to keep him in the dark. It was a big girl’s prerogative, after all, to protect her fragile pride against inevitable rejection when it came to the opposite sex. The last thing Sara wanted was to lose his company entirely simply because he felt awkward about not being able to return her feelings. She’d settle for what she could get and be satisfied with that.

  At the opposite end of the table, Sean swept Angie into his beefy arms for a brief but searing kiss, taking her seat and plopping her down on his massive lap. He nuzzled his fiancée’s neck and nodded at the table in general. “Ladies,” he acknowledged with a wide smile.

  “Hi Sean,” they all chorused back, shifting around to make room for the men.

  “Hope y’all don’t mind us crashing the party. I just couldn’t stay away from my girl,” said Sean, toying with the end of Angie’s ponytail as she looked up at him lovingly from her perch on his lap.

  There was a collective round of mingled groans, sighs and giggles, and Sara found herself grinning along with the table. They were so bleepin’ in love and adorable that people couldn’t help but feel good around them.

  “Hey, Sara.”

  A true smile bloomed on her face as she savored the sound of Ethan’s deep, resonant voice. He crouched beside her at almost eye-level, gracing her with the full effect of his handsome features. He always smelled so good, like toasted almonds and spicy aftershave. Sara squelched the urge to bury her nose in the tempting little niche where the corded muscles of his shoulder met his thick, strong collarbone…

  Grabbing her water goblet, she downed it gratefully before answering. “Ethan! How’ve you been?”

  “I’ve been good.” His voice licked across her nerves and she quivered like a taut bow. “You look great,” he murmured, his warm gaze caressing her from head to toe, pausing appreciatively at the intricate and clingy velvet top before meeting her wide-eyed gaze. “I really like your hair like this.” He swept a light hand over her wavy dark-brown locks, which she had left loose and swinging against her shoulders that evening instead of gathered in its usual messy coil at the nape of her neck. Before she could think of a reply, he tucked a few of the rogue ringlets behind her ear, briefly skimming the sensitive skin along her jaw. She tried not to purr like a cat being stroked. God, she had it bad.

  “Thanks,” she said with a flustered smile, trying to ignore his distracting touch. “Wanna sit down?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “There’s a seat right here, Ethan.” Caro’s sugary-sweet voice carried over the din.

  Oh, I’ll bet there is, Sara thought with a scowl. She bit her lip as she watched Caro pat the wooden bench beside her and peer up at Ethan from under her long, undoubtedly false lashes. “It’s kind of tight, but if we work it right you can slip right in.” Caro’s voice dripped with obvious innuendo.

  Sara gawked at Caro in mild disbelief. To think that she’d shared her pasta with the wench! She knew Ethan wouldn’t refuse the offer. Their table was full and Sara couldn’t hope to share her own bench with him on account of her own resolutely wide hips and derriere. She watched with what she hoped was a neutral expression as Ethan slipped into the seat right across from her beside Caro, who leaned into him with a coy smile.

  “Wow! I had no idea we’d be meeting up with you guys. Are you coming with us to the club later?” She shook her long blonde tresses about as she spoke, reminding Sara of a beautiful, sleek Afghan hound she saw once on a televised dog show.

  “Um, no,” Ethan said with raised eyebrows as Caro gave him the full come-hither stare that Sara knew made lesser men melt into a puddle of goo. “We wouldn’t want to cramp your style, after all. The fellas and I have other plans at the other end of the Strip.” As he spoke, Sara watched him frown and pull a long strand of blonde hair away from the front of his dark knit shirt. She snorted with suppressed laughter, and Ethan caught her eye and winked.

  Caro made a mock moue as she rested her perfectly coiffed head against one brawny shoulder, looking up at Ethan coquettishly. “That’s a shame. I really wanted to see your moves.”

  Sara felt her smile fade and she averted her eyes. But it was too late. The image had already been indelibly burned into her brain. She was loath to admit it, but they made a striking couple. The sight of Caro flirting with Ethan while encased in a miniscule white strapless mini-dress that could have easily doubled as a leg warmer on Sara made her feel exceptionally enormous and unwieldy in comparison.

  Like a friggin’ continental landmass beside a lacy, delicate archipelago.

  She silently chastised herself for caring. So what if Ethan seemed a tad too appreciative of Caro’s waifish frame, rail thin and narrow from stem to stern? That was fine with her. She had her own mini-arsenal of sex toys to help take care of things whenever she hit a dry spell. And the past two years had been a very long drought indeed. She thought about the new vibrator and remote that she had tossed into her evening bag earlier that evening while she had been getting dressed. Their group had made plans to visit a male strip club later that evening off-Strip and thought that it would be great fun to make Angie dance around with a bright pink dildo up on stage. But as Sara watched the play of mouthwatering muscles in Ethan’s forearms as he engaged in small talk with her arch nemesis, she suddenly felt the need for some very personal relief of her own.

  The strip clubs were lousy with cocks. Surely Angie wouldn’t begrudge her the one that was safely stashed in her purse.

  She pushed her chair back decisively. “Excuse me a minute, you guys,” she murmured in a low voice, not really expecting anyone to have heard her. She was surprised when Ethan instantly made to rise as well, but she waved him back down.

  “No, no, don’t get up,” she said. “I’m just going to freshen up. Be back in a jiff.” Sara reached for her sequined clutch and shoved it under her arm before making a beeline toward the nearest ladies’ room across the crowded casino.

  “Sara!”

  She continued to pick her way across the floor as she navigated the crowds in her tall wedges.

  “Sara, wait! Dammit, will you stop?”

  Sara jerked to a halt at the sound of her name being called. She turned and almost swallowed her tongue when she found herself almost at eye level with Ethan’s bronzed throat. He’d been running after her.

  “Ethan? What’s up?”

  “Turn around.” His low voice sounded a bit strained, and she frowned up at him.

  “Huh? What’s wrong?” Sara yelped as he grasped her firmly by the elbow and steered them toward a narrow alcove in the casino wall next to a set of house phones.

  Sara looked over her shoulder in confusion. “Ethan? Stop! What the hell are you doing…?” She twisted against his hard hands, growing alarmed.

  “Jesus, Sara. Turn around. Trust me on this, please.”

  She detected mirth in his tone and cautiously did as he bade. She stiffened in shock as he pressed his huge chest against her back and one hand snaked around to anchor itself against the soft swell of her stomach.

  Ack, she thought, finding herself surrounded by the inviting heat of Ethan’s tall, rangy body and thick arms. His warm, musky scent tickled her senses as she tried sucking her stomach in. She felt the contents of her purse shift and something lon
g and cylindrical settled back into place under her arm. With a growing sense of dread, she realized why Ethan had jumped up after her so fast.

  The large mushroom-shaped head of her pink, sparkly dildo had been poking out the side of her stylish narrow clutch the entire time, and Ethan had prevented it from tumbling out on the busy casino floor for the world to see. Even without a mirror Sara knew that her face was the same color as the offending object that now lay snug and secure against her armpit. How appropriate, since she felt an overwhelming need to shove her own face somewhere dark and rank.

  She stood in the loose cradle of his arms and felt Ethan shudder with suppressed laughter. “Wow,” he rumbled over her shoulder in a low voice meant for their ears only. “Looks like you had a hell of a night planned for yourself.”

  Ack! Sara wanted to howl in embarrassment and was annoyed to feel the slight prick of tears behind her lids. She wished that she could toss a snappy comeback over her shoulder and sashay away with a wink and a smile, to act as if it was within her rights to be in possession of a very large and decorative sex toy in public. But she wasn’t that type of girl. What she wanted to do was dive back under the table they’d just vacated.

  The most beautiful man she’d ever clapped eyes on had just witnessed what consisted of a sizzling evening for chubby ol’ Sara Fenyes in Sin City.

  Nine inches of sparkly, medical-grade silicone.

  Mortification didn’t begin to cover it.

  Chapter Two

  “It’s not mine,” she burbled over her shoulder. “It’s for Angie!”

  “Really?” he drawled. “From what I could tell, that thing would put Sean to shame.” Ethan couldn’t help but grin as Sara’s ears and cheeks turned crimson under his regard. She was so damn adorable, and if he was completely honest, he loved how he could unsettle her so easily. He’d noticed how she tried to hide her reaction when he’d stroked her hair earlier, and was both elated and relieved. The woman was one hard-headed cookie.