Raising the Stakes: Risking It Book 1 Read online

  Raising the Stakes

  Risking It Book 1

  Autumn Reed

  Julia Clarke

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  A Note from Autumn Reed

  Other books by Autumn Reed & Julia Clarke

  About the Authors

  Copyright © 2016, 2017 by Autumn Reed and Julia Clarke. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the authors, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design © Lori Follett of www.HellYes.design

  Chapter 1

  “Are you sure this is the right place?”

  I stepped out of the cab and eyed the dimly-lit street with trepidation, tugging my jacket closer to my body to keep out the cool December air. When Simone talked me into a night out to celebrate conquering finals, I pictured a hip club on the Strip, not a dingy warehouse in Nowheresville.

  “Yes, worrywart. Come on.”

  She tugged on my arm and led me around the boring, rectangular building. I started grumbling until we rounded the corner and I caught sight of the hordes of people lined up outside the club. And these weren’t just run-of-the-mill Vegas clubgoers; these were the pretty people. Girls in metallic dresses and stilettos, young men who could have stepped off a runway . . . or a Chippendales stage.

  “Holy shit. All these people came way out here for a club?” I noticed the sign displaying “Loft25” in white neon lights. Never heard of it.

  “God, Emma.” Simone paused to give me an exasperated look followed by a toss of her long brown hair. “You are totally clueless sometimes, you know that? This is the hottest club that’s opened in years. All the locals act like it’s this huge secret since it’s off the Strip, but it’s anything but. Loft25 has been blowing up social media since it opened two months ago. Actually, now that I think about it, we should publish an article about it.”

  A story on a popular new club in Vegas—not exactly the hard-hitting journalism I preferred to support, but it would probably get massive web hits. As assistant editor of the University of Nevada, Las Vegas paper, I had to be open-minded when it came to topics of interest to the average college student. Politics? Sometimes interesting. Hot new clubs? Always.

  “Simone, over here!” a girl I recognized as Simone’s friend Jessica called from near the entrance. With her sleek shoulder-length black hair and daring white dress, she looked even more gorgeous than the few other times I had met her.

  Jessica started chatting with one of the bouncers and pointed to the girl standing with her and then me and Simone. He gave us a drawn-out once-over, his eyes lingering on my legs, before waving us through. A chorus of groans reverberated from the long line outside, and I smiled in satisfaction. Good thing I kept this dress in the back of my closet for an “emergency.”

  Between its dangerously low back, emphasized by thin straps crisscrossing up to my neck, and hemline only reaching mid-thigh, the crimson dress was undeniably slinkier than my usual attire. But, I felt amazing in it. Daring, sexy, carefree. My ex would have hated it and insisted I change before stepping out the door of my apartment. Just one more reason to love it, I thought, feeling pleased with myself.

  We strode into an interior hallway where a second bouncer ran our IDs through some type of machine. Hmmm, I wonder how that works? Was it merely for spotting fakes or did it keep a record of patrons? Shaking my head to turn off my reporter brain, I followed the other girls into the club and did an honest-to-god double take.

  Instead of the bland warehouse interior that I expected, the space was surprisingly inviting. The exposed wood beams and black metal accents contrasted with the light gray, cement walls, giving the room the feel of an upscale, modern loft. I glanced toward the upper level where guests overlooked the dance floor, some leaning against the metal railing as they drank and chatted. Others lounged in the VIP section, complete with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, rolling ladders, and actual books.

  To our right, an incredibly long bar stretched from one end of the building to the other, the endless backlit shelves of alcohol neatly arranged. Along the opposite wall stood two rows of high pedestal tables where people gathered, drinks in hand. The dance floor was in the middle of everything, and while it was loud, as expected, at least the current song lacked the annoying strobe lights that were commonplace in other clubs I’d been to.

  The most striking aspect of the interior was the massive wall of windows overlooking an outdoor oasis with strands of white globe lights, low-profile furniture, and a seemingly laid-back bar. Secluded from the noise and crush of bodies inside, it looked utterly appealing. I was tempted to head out there but convinced myself to at least dance a few songs first.

  “Emma, you remember Jessica? And this is her roommate, Danielle,” Simone shouted once we grabbed drinks, including a round of shots, and found an open table.

  Jessica leaned across the small table so I could hear her. “You look amazing . . . I want that dress!”

  “Isn’t it hot?” Simone agreed, looking me over. “And, the sexy, tousled look is really working for you.”

  I instinctively reached up to smooth my shoulder-length blonde hair, the usually straight locks intentionally mussed. “Thanks.”

  “I loved your article on the debate between traditional and no-kill animal shelters,” Jessica gushed. “It was enlightening, even for me.”

  Simone had introduced me to Jessica a couple months before when I began researching the subject. Since Jessica volunteered at a local shelter, she helped me secure an interview with the director. “Thank you. I wish I got to play with puppies for every story.”

  She laughed. “I bet.”

  “Are you still volunteering there?”

  “Yes. I worked at a vet’s office over the summer and loved it, but I couldn’t handle that many hours during the school year. So, I started at the shelter. I get my animal fix and get to help out, win-win.”

  Jessica drained her drink and grabbed Simone’s hand. “Let’s dance. My time is limited tonight; I have an early flight tomorrow.”

  “Going home?” It was a silly question, considering most UNLV students already left for Christmas break.

  Jessica’s answering smile was blinding. “I’m visiting my best friend in Santa Cruz. I’m so excited! We’ve barely seen each other over the last few years.”

  “That sounds fun.” And it did. I wished I could escape to a friend’s house instead of going back to Indiana to see my family. At least I was able to use the paper as an excuse for only visiting for a few days out of my month-long break. I could easily do my work from my parents’ house, but they don’t need to know that, I thought, already dreading my mother’s infuriating comments about moving home, getting married, and having babies.

  Simone turned to me, one eyebrow raised. “Ready to shake that booty?”
>
  Laughing, I took a sip of my cosmo. “Not until I finish this. Go on, I’ll meet you out there.”

  I watched the girls make their way onto the dance floor and admired the way they so easily let loose, especially Simone. Unlike me, she exuded sex appeal and confidence like it was second nature, her curvy hips swinging to the beat with ease. She had been begging me for months to come out with her, and it wasn’t that I didn’t like to have fun, but it had been forever since I allowed myself to act like a carefree college student.

  My ex-boyfriend, Matt, and I were high school sweethearts, so cliché that remembering our relationship almost made me gag. Not only were we voted homecoming king and queen, we received the “most likely to get married and have two point five kids” award. Everything was great until I decided to attend UNLV, something Matt and my parents argued against vehemently, assuming I would attend Indiana University with him. But, I ignored their protests, happy to get out of my small town and ready to accept my full-ride academic scholarship.

  Once we were in college, Matt became increasingly jealous, often accusing me of hooking up with other guys when I went out with friends. Eventually, I stopped going to parties and clubs altogether. It wasn’t worth the argument. Of course, when we did see each other, he was the perfect boyfriend—always attentive and almost overly nice to my friends.

  It all fell apart last summer when I told Matt I was staying in Vegas instead of returning to Indiana as usual. Initially, he exploded in anger, then quickly changed tactics and pleaded for me to come home, saying how much he missed me. After I still wouldn’t budge, he made it clear that if I didn’t want him, there were plenty of girls who did. And, he wasn’t exaggerating. Matt was as good-looking as he was charming, and part of me always wondered if he was cheating on me. I didn’t have a good reason to doubt his devotion, but what sane girl wouldn’t question her long-distance, football-playing boyfriend’s loyalty?

  Regardless of any suspected infidelity on his part, between his controlling nature and the long-coming realization that I wasn’t in love with him anymore, and hadn’t been for quite some time, I broke up with him. He didn’t take it well, and neither did my mother, another of the many reasons I wasn’t looking forward to spending Christmas with my parents.

  I finished off my drink and peered into the sea of dancers, wondering what the chances were I could find the girls without pushing my way through scores of handsy couples. I took a few steps in the direction where I last saw them and was stopped just short of ramming into a rather expensively-attired male chest. Looking up, I was taken aback by the seriously attractive guy smiling down at me. Dark brows hovered over blue-gray eyes that were soaking in every inch of me as he grasped my shoulders.

  “What’s your hurry?”

  Ignoring the zing of awareness coursing through me at his touch on my bare shoulders, I shrugged off his hands and pointed to the dance floor. “I’m meeting my friends.”

  “How about a dance first?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Let me stop you there,” mystery man said, interrupting further argument. “It’s just a dance. I’m a nice guy. I promise to be respectful. Say yes.”

  His grin was so magnetic, I found myself agreeing. “One dance.” Why not?

  He grasped my hand and led me through the crowd until we were somewhere in the middle of it. Slowly, he pulled me toward him and wrapped his arms around my slender waist, making me feel almost delicate against his noticeably hard body. I’m not sure I would call this respectful, I thought skeptically as I draped my arms around his neck. Not that I had any intention of pulling away.

  “What’s your name?” The whispered words blew hot against my ear, making me shiver.

  I drew back just enough that when I stood on my tiptoes, my lips were mere inches from his. “Emma,” I breathed. Two can play at this game.

  He chuckled. “Pleasure meeting you, Emma. I’m Shane.”

  “Shane,” I repeated in a low voice, testing it. I’d never met a Shane before, but I could already tell it suited him.

  As if commanded by his hands, my hips swayed to the music, the alcohol and beat humming through my body. He held me close, and I couldn't stop thinking about how things with Matt had never been this . . . electric. Because Shane’s a stranger? I wondered. His hands slid around to my back, their warmth seeping into my bare skin. No, it's just him.

  When the song ended, I withdrew from Shane, but his hands remained firmly in place. “Always in such a rush. Don’t you ever take things slowly?” he asked seductively, wrapping a strand of my hair around his finger.

  “Don’t you ever take no for an answer?” I responded in a sassy tone.

  “Not when I really want something.” His intense gaze met mine.

  Suddenly feeling bold, I leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Something or someone?”

  I stepped out of his embrace and walked away, needing to put distance between us before I did something I might regret. That dance, relatively innocent as it was, got me revved up in a totally unexpected way. I almost wished I could be a one-night stand kind of girl, because Shane with the blue-gray eyes was hazardous to my libido. When he called my name, I looked over my shoulder and smiled, then disappeared into the crowd. Damn, is he hot.

  I rejoined Simone and the others on the dance floor, more relaxed than I'd been in what felt like forever. With finals behind me, it seemed like the perfect time to let loose. Why had I denied myself this fun for so long? Oh yeah, Matt.

  When I thought I couldn’t possibly dance any more, I headed for glass doors leading to the patio, relieved when the crisp, evening air flooded my lungs and cooled my flushed skin. As I made my way to the bar, I decided right then and there to replicate a scaled-down version of this patio in my future—way, way in the future—home. Something about its cozy simplicity drew me in, asking me to pull up a seat and stay awhile. Whoever designed Loft25 knew what they were doing, a thought I never expected to have about a club, of all things.

  “Bottle of water, please,” I told the bartender, taking a seat on an empty barstool.

  I sipped my water, soaking in the relaxing ambience. Apart from the occasional blasts of noise when the door opened, the outdoor space was much quieter than inside. An upbeat Coldplay song rang through speakers, keeping the mood lively without overloading the senses.

  “Would you care for something stronger?” a deep voice rumbled, and I twisted on my stool, barely able to stop myself from gasping at the face staring into mine.

  Gorgeous was not a word I typically used to describe men, but nothing else seemed adequate. His features were almost too perfect to be real, from his full lips and patrician nose to his striking pale green eyes and thick blond hair. I longed to reach out and run my fingers along the stubble covering his wide jawline and prominent chin. Not that I would ever do such a thing, of course.

  Remembering that he asked me a question, I returned my attention to the bottle of water in my hands. The one that I was currently spinning nervously. Real smooth, Emma. “No, I’m good with water, thanks.”

  He took a seat on the stool next to me, and the bartender set a glass of amber liquid in front of him without being asked. How often does he come here?

  “What happened?”

  Still feeling dazed by his presence, I shook my head to clear it. “I’m sorry, what?”

  He pointed to my finger that was, embarrassingly enough, wrapped in a Disney Princess Band-Aid. Why did he have to be the one guy in the world to notice my finger instead of my cleavage? Just my luck.

  “Oh, it’s only a paper cut. No big deal.”

  “You never know,” he replied seriously. “People have been known to lose limbs from mere paper cuts.”

  “Really?” I pressed a hand over my heart in exaggerated shock and watched his eyes, surprised when they still didn’t stray to my chest. “I may need to change professions, then.”

  One eyebrow arched in response. “Oh? And what profession would that be?”r />
  “Gift wrapping at Williams-Sonoma.”

  His lips twitched into a tantalizing smirk. “I didn’t realize that gift wrapping is a profession.”

  “It’s not really. Well, for me, at least. It’s a part-time job I picked up during the holidays.”

  “I see. And, when you’re not wrapping Le Creuset cookware in elegant pineapple paper, what do you do?”

  “You seem to know a lot about Williams-Sonoma,” I said slowly, wondering if there was a completely different reason he wasn’t interested in my cleavage.

  He shrugged. “My sister is obsessed with kitchen paraphernalia, so it’s an easy place to shop for her.”

  My phone buzzed on my lap, and a new text flashed on the screen.

  Simone: Get your ass back in here! Meet you at the bar in 5.

  “My friend is waiting for me inside,” I said, placing my cell back in my wristlet. As tempting as it was to continue chatting with Mr. Gorgeous, he was the type of guy who could easily threaten my current no-dating resolution, assuming he was interested. No need to stick around and find out.

  I started to walk away but stopped abruptly when a hand encircled my wrist in a gentle hold. My eyes landed on where his skin kissed mine, and goosebumps dashed up my arm.

  “You forgot something.” Those words from his sumptuous mouth nearly made me shiver until I realized he was talking about my water bottle. Of course he was.

  “Thank you,” I said, snatching the bottle from him and fleeing before he could see my blush. What is my problem tonight? Usually men, even hot ones, didn’t affect me like this.

  “Where the crap have you been, Em?” Simone asked when I finally made it to where she was standing along the upper balcony.