Vegas Heat. Lisa Renee JonesЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter One

      Thick raven hair. Intelligent chocolate-brown eyes. Perfectly honed body accented by a well-tailored, outrageously expensive suit. Dante Ricci, the thirty-four-year-old heir to the Ricci Fashion empire, dripped sex and money. A fantasy for women, an idol for most men. And he’d chosen her. Sonya Miller. A choice that had delivered to her the task of discovering what pleased him, of ensuring his satisfaction.

      Attorney Sonya Miller sat across from him now, her hands primly folded on the shiny mahogany conference table of one of Vegas’s top law firms, not nearly as unaffected by Dante as she would have liked to be. But then, she was quickly learning he had a way of looking at a woman few other men did. A way of casting an attentive inspection that seeped through one’s pores, a way of listening that seemed to drink in every word spoken. The man just plain refused to go unnoticed. Not even by her, a woman who kept her professional and personal desires devoutly divided. A woman who never mixed business with pleasure.

      And this wasn’t about pleasure, not one bit. No matter how much he made her want it to be. This was about him, a high-profile potential client, requesting her as counsel, not one of the senior partners. At twenty-eight, only three years out of law school, this was more than a compliment. It was a much-needed feather in her cap. The one that might finally earn her the “partner” title she’d fought so diligently to achieve. That her seventy-hour work weeks and a recent win against the city that had earned a client a cool three million hadn’t done the job was a bitter pill to swallow.

      Regardless of the reward Dante’s interest might offer, Sonya listened to his business needs with genuine interest that extended beyond any gain, enthralled by his plans. She clung to his every word as he explained his intention to expand the Ricci name through the heart of Vegas, branding it with his mark, his claim to fame.

      Sonya kept her tone as prim and professional as her long blond hair, which was pinned conservatively at the back of her head, despite her excitement over this new project of Dante’s. “Acquiring three major casino properties and then re-creating them is a high stakes venture, Mr. Ricci.” Her voice lifted despite her best efforts to contain the eagerness she felt to earn this challenge. “But it’s also an exciting venture I’d love to sink my teeth into.” She enjoyed corporate law, the negotiations, the edge of knowing the right play at the right time. “I sincerely hope you’ll do more than consider us as counsel. We won’t let you down.”

      Sonya’s boss, Michael Roberson, sat by her side, gaze fixed on Dante with his own form of lusty inspection—the kind born of dollar signs. “We’re confident we can deliver results,” he assured Dante, his diamond-studded cuff link catching in the lights above. His dark hair was cut short and neatly styled, his face smooth shaven. “No other firm in this city has the diversity of skill that we do. Anything that can be thrown our way, we can handle.”

      Dante offered him a cool reply. “Frankly,” he said, his stare direct as he spoke to Michael, “I rarely choose a large firm. Too many chances to be handed off in the midst of miscommunication. My confidence is not in this firm, though I’m aware of your respectable reputation.” Dante’s gaze shifted to Sonya. A gaze so warm, so rich with inspection, she felt as if he could see every intimate detail covered by her conservative light blue blazer. “It’s in Ms. Miller.” His lips lifted ever so slightly. “I saw you on the news a few nights ago. Quite a victorious courtroom showing.”

      “Thank you,” she said, proud of her win, proud of the tears and sweat she’d put into achieving success, but unsettled by the flutter of ridiculous awareness in her stomach, the heat in his eyes becoming hard to ignore. Why, she didn’t know. Arrogant, rich men were plentiful enough in her profession to give her perspective enough to know they were trouble. Arrogant, attractive rich men, like Dante Ricci, were bigger trouble. Without hesitation, Sonya left those types of men for other women to fawn over and please. Except this man, she thought. She couldn’t leave him for others to please. He’d become hers for now, hers to please, and trying to block out the sultry images that idea produced, she delicately cleared her throat and added, “It was an exciting accomplishment.” She met and held his gaze, never wavering despite the intimate way the contact stroked her inside out, the way she felt the connection in every inch of her body.

      “We’re quite proud of Sonya,” Michael commented.

      “You should be,” Dante said, flicking Michael what appeared to Sonya to be an irritated look, as he added, “Because mark my word, she’s why I’m here. She’s hungry for success.” He shifted his attention back to her, his eyes warm with regard. “Exactly what I’m looking for. Understand that I’ll need a great deal of services. There will be contracts to negotiate on many levels once the properties are secure. There will be a local management operation to set up as well. All the more reason for me to be clear. If I sign a retainer with your firm it will be under the condition that she and I can come to terms that place her as my lead counsel.” His cell phone buzzed, shaking on top of the table where he’d set it. He reached for it and punched a button, eyed a text message and sighed. “I’m afraid I must depart.” Regret laced his tone as he glanced at her. “Sonya.” He said her name softly, a silky play along her nerve endings that stroked her into attention. Damn it, the man got to her when he should not! He continued, “Do you know Parr’s Restaurant inside Bell’s Hotel and Casino?”

      “No,” she said, her throat thick, deciding her lack of interest in the casino scene might be best left unspoken. “I’m a bit of a workaholic. I don’t get out much.”

      His gaze narrowed ever-so-slightly. “We’ll have to fix that,” he said, again his voice low, his words spoken to her as if Michael wasn’t present. “Parr’s personifies the concept I intend to embrace with this new venture.”

      “Which is what concept exactly?” she asked, knowing it was the expected reply and that the answer was going to be a loaded one.

      “Divine pleasure,” he drawled. “Every