Sophie Adams

Bet on Love

Copyright © 2018 Sophie Adams

“Bet on Love”

Written By Sophie Adams

All rights reserved

Cover Design © 2018 Luizyana Poletto

Table of Contents

Bet on love— Lust

Author’s Note:

Lust l ᶺ s t mass noun (lat lascivus)

Blanche

Tyler

Blanche

Tyler

Blanche

Tyler

Blanche

Tyler

Blanche

Tyler

Blanche

Tyler

Epilogue

Other books from the Seven Sins series:

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 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.

What. A. Mistake.

In a mere 12 days, the beautiful, silicone blonde had found her way into my life and before I’d had a chance to even throw the dice, she’d moved into my apartment. It had even come to the point of her leaving a packet of tampons in my bathroom cupboard, can you believe it? When I tried to bring it up, she pouted, her eyes filled up with tears and we had sex. I know, I know, I’m a soft touch when it comes to beautiful women.

Barbarella’s final move was showing up the jeweler’s at Luxury and picking out an engagement ring. One that I was supposed to give her thereby giving my freedom over to that crazy manipulator. Our affair ended and she lost her place as a showgirl because she kept following me around the casinos, calling my cell and then hanging up and showing up in tears at my room on the top floor of the Luxury.

Elijah threatened to cut off my dick if I took another showgirl to bed and he had to do another tedious hiring selection process. But how could I help it if all those feathers and shiny biquínis that Elijah’s birds, as he called them, had such a devastating effect on me?

“Tyler?” A voice rang out behind me and I turned to see Annie Clark, my personal assistant, coming across the room. She was wearing a tight, red dress, just enough to be sensual, but not too much, and heels in the same color. Her honey-colored hair fell in waves around her shoulders and she pouted slightly when she saw me, as she always did. I knew Annie was dying to extend her services as assistant to my bed but she was married to one of the security guards at the Royale. He was almost two meters tall and his body was three times bigger than mine and, as I loved my well-being and wanted to stay alive, I did everything I could to keep her at bay.

She stopped in front of my desk and smiled.

“Elijah just called. He said the line goes all round the casino.” She shifted her weight onto one leg and twirled a strand of hair around her finger.

“What line?” I asked, confused.

“The selections for the Luxury showgirl. As well as Barbarella, two other birds flew off to another casino,” she explained and laughed. “I can do the pre-selection in your place if you want.”

What? Was she crazy? The pre-selection was one of the most fun parts and was always done by me.

“No thanks.” I got up and put my jacket on. “I’m going to keep with tradition. See if Elijah’s assistant can handle organizing the selected ones or if she needs your help.”

I crossed the room and headed for the reception area where Annie was working together with Meg, a lady who was almost 50, and her assistant.

As Annie ran to the desk and made the call, I walked over to the elevators and took one down to the ground floor then walked to where the selection would take place. The hotel lobby was empty at that hour except for the odd tourist or two on their way to the exit in search of adventure in Vegas. The lobby was much busier at night when guests and spectators for the Bluebells Theater would file in across the Italian marble floor.

I passed the gambling tables, nodding in greeting at the few employees on the afternoon shift who smiled when they saw me. I took out my lucky coin from my jacket pocket as the adrenaline of the challenge started to run through my veins. I stopped at the door and saw the enormous line of showgirls that went all round the room. The great majority were tall women with pear-shaped bodies and I bet that, as well as helping to choose Elijah’s new birds, I would also choose my new lover amongst them. One that wasn’t picked for Luxury, obviously, otherwise Elijah would kill me.

I glanced around at the beautiful women and smiled, thinking that there were many options, for both positions, but a movement in the middle of the line caught my attention. A redhead, much shorter than most of the showgirls who were there, looked around, seeming surprised at the number of people waiting their turn. After opening her eyes wide and her mouth, in surprise, in the shape of a heart and painted a bright red, almost the same color as her hair which fell sensually in waves down her back, she walked towards the end of the line, slightly swaying her hips with a grace that made me think of a ballerina, despite her curves. She was short, no more than 1.60m. The redhead put her bag on the floor and, while the other girls talked loudly, laughed and joked with each other about who would be chosen, she started to warm up. She seemed very focused. Her movements, which should have been practical and only to warm up her muscles and prepare her for the audition, excited me in a way that I hadn’t felt for a long time, or, to be more accurate, that I had never felt.

I’d never had a small lover like her and I wondered what her body would feel like next to mine. This thought awakened a wild feeling of lust but, more than that, a desire to care for and protect this beautiful woman before me. This feeling freaked me out and I started to get on with the pre-selection before I went over to her, picked her up and threw her over my shoulder and had her right there, in the middle of the room, like a caveman. Take it easy, Williams! I told myself. I was a sexual guy but not a crazy perv.

Betting myself that I would be able to ignore the redhead, I walked past her without looking in her direction- I was sure looking out the corner of my eye didn’t count. Feeling a little hot and bothered, I went over to Elijah who was waiting for me next to Peggy, his assistant and Brian, his intern who he had taken under his wing ever since he’d found him wandering around behind the casino, searching for food and a place to sleep. He had been doing that since losing his parents and after no longer being accepted at any shelters because he’d turned eighteen 2 months before.

“Ty,” Elijah said as he shook my hand and grinned. “Ready for the pre-selection?”

These pre-selections for the Williams casino were already legendary around the city. This choice was part of the natural charm of our spectacles and created an even greater expectation among the girls. They were very competitive with each other and they would do anything to be chosen, even if they weren’t selected to be one of the main showgirls.

“Sure,” I said and, after greeting him, I put my lucky coin back in my pocket. I then heard the sound of heels clacking on the floor. As I turned around, I saw Annie crossing the room towards us with a clipboard in her hand. “Let’s start?”

We started walking down the line. The pre-selection for Williams casino showgirls was the result of beauty, charisma, sensuality and, of course, luck. As we walked slowly past the competitors, I pointed out those who grabbed my attention in some way. Those who were chosen were identified by a bracelet and taken to the theater. The process was entirely random and without any basic requirements except appealing to my demands for good taste.

Occasionally, Elijah would whisper something in my ear about one girl or another that I had let pass by but who had caught his eye. His opinion was very relevant as he had a good eye for technique.

We walked along the whole line of beautiful women who did their best to make sexy poses, pout with their colorful lips and pushing their busts out to show off their attributes as much as possible.

Normally, I would point out two or three, maybe even four, women who would dance for me in another place. Obviously, one at a time as I had found out long ago that showgirls detest sharing their shows. But, until now, despite finding several who were my type, not that I was demanding, I hadn’t felt that hunting instinct surface. What was going on?

We got to the last part of the line and my eyes immediately went to the last dancer. The redhead. A small problem that was certainly going to be turn into a big headache for me. Choosing her would be so wrong on so many levels that I shouldn’t even entertain the idea.

She’s not tall enough, I thought to myself.

She can make up for it by dancing well, my appeasing side said.

She hasn’t got enough physical strength to dance well, I argued.

Her beauty makes up for everything else, it answered back.

There are lots of other beautiful women, I said as my eyes fell upon her, appreciating every curve of her body.

None of the others are as sexy as her. None of the others arouse this rampant lust in you, my subconscious murmered as I pointed to a random blonde despite Elijah’s look of disapproval.

I took my lucky coin out of my pocket. Heads, I would choose her. Tails, she would be out.

Our eyes met and I could almost feel the air vibrate between us, with lust, desire and something else I couldn’t explain. I glanced down and saw the coin in my hand.

“And her,” I said, pointing at la belle petite with my chin, without taking my eyes off her.

Suddenly, Annie protested, questioning an order of mine for the first time.

“Ty, have you seen her size? She’s practically a midget.”

Without taking my eyes off the redhead, I put Annie rightfully in her place. I would have to have words with her very soon.

“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 into a man’s arms.” I smiled and la belle petite seemed to blush.

Now I felt the excitement of the hunt coursing through my veins. As Elijah clapped his hands and issued orders to the pre-selected candidates, I bet that I would have that girl in my bed that very night. And we wouldn’t be sleeping.

Blanche

We were taken to the extraordinary Bluebells Theater where the Luxury shows were performed. With a capacity for around 1,200 people, the show at the Bluebells was one of the most traditional shows in Vegas.

All the dancers were seated in the audience seats whilst they waited for their turn. There were three hundred and three of us in total. I knew this because I was the last one and the number was written on my bracelet. The bald man, whose name I found out to be Elijah, went up on stage and spoke into a microphone:

“Good afternoon, Ladies.” A chorus of female voices answered. “I am Elijah and I have the honor of welcoming you to the Bluebells selection process.” The women cheered and applauded excitedly. He nodded. “Today, we will select three ladies for the support cast. As well as myself, Mr Williams, owner of Luxury, and our assistants, Mrs Clark and Mrs Mendez, make up our judging panel.”

“They say Tyler Williams auditions his showgirls on the sofa,” one of the girls whispered to another in front of me, loud enough so I could hear.

“I wouldn’t mind doing the sofa audition,” the other girl answered quietly with a giggle, “in bed or up against the wall. He’s so manly!” She fanned herself, her look full of mischief.

I turned my attention back again to the man who had taken my breath away at the casino. He was sitting in the front row and the only things I could see from my chair was his dark, neat hair and the back of his gray suit. Elijah called the first candidate and the gorgeous man turned to observe the dancer, who walked down the side aisle of the theater. This gave me a chance to study his handsome profile, shaped by a dark, well-groomed beard. He really was drop-dead gorgeous.

Concentrate on the dancing, Blanche, I said to myself, trying to regain my focus. I looked around, While the first candidate was walking to the stage, wearing a sequined, blue leotard after taking off her dress, the next ten candidates warmed up on both sides of the theater, getting changed, brushing their hair and touching up their make-up. One thing I had learnt in Vegas was that the dancers from here weren’t shy at all. In ballet, we would get changed in our dressing rooms or, at most, backstage as long as we were wearing a thong or something like that but here, the showgirls got ready anywhere. I guess most of them were used to going topless in the shows anyway, something I couldn’t get used to doing at all.

I stayed in my seat for the next two hours, watching the “competition”. The dancers did every kind of performance possible. There was pole dancing, floor dance, performances inspired by Madonna, Britney Spears and even Lady Gaga. Elijah was extremely perceptive and, often, even before the dancer had performed the third step, he had stopped the performance, thanked the girl and called the next one up. Some went as far as dancing on that so-and-so’s Tyler William’s lap, who watched everything with a malicious smile on his face. Cocky bastard.

Finally, it was almost my turn but, as well as the hunger and tiredness from waiting, I was also quite tense. He had already put two dancers through- a brunette with green eyes who had enormous, never-ending legs and an Asian girl who had given an intriguing performance with a snake wrapped around her waist. There was only one spot left. If he put the girl through who was on her way to the stage now, the third spot would be filled and I wouldn’t get the chance to show the choreography I’d rehearsed so hard with Kitty.