Double Lucky by Jackie Collins Page B

hard-on that never quit. Emmanuelle and Carlita did not object, in fact quite the opposite—the two of them begged him for more. Insatiable bitches , he thought with a self-satisfied smirk.
    The first woman he’d ever screwed was a whore plying her trade on the streets of Naples. It had happened a few weeks before his twelfth birthday and he was already ragingly horny. The whore had beckoned him into an alley—snatched his money, which he’d stolen from his mother’s purse, and screwed him standing up. Fast and furious, that was the way she’d liked it. He’d realized then and there that was the way all women liked it.
    He’d never changed his sexual style. Fuck ’em hard and fuck ’em long. The story of his success with women.
    Renee Falcon Esposito, joint owner of the Cavendish Hotel, had sent a limousine to the airport. Renee and he went way back to the days she was married to Oscar Esposito, the Colombian billionaire politician, a man who’d met his fate by being tossed from a moving plane after trying to pull a double cross on an extremely powerful and vengeful drug lord. Since Anthony had been banging Renee on the side, she’d immediately turned to him for help. He’d never revealed to her that he was part of the plot to get rid of Oscar, but he had helped her flee Colombia with the money she’d inherited from her deceased husband—not to mention several safe-deposit boxes stuffed with illegal cash, which he’d persuaded her she had to split with him.
    He’d moved Renee back to her hometown, Las Vegas, where she’d eventually hooked up with another mega-bucks female, Susie Rae Young, the widow of famous country singer Cyrus Rae Young. The two of them had formed a life partnership and built their dream hotel in which Anthony had declared himself a silent partner.
    That was over ten years ago, and business was excellent, so Renee had not taken much convincing that the Keys was a direct threat and could pull away many of their best customers. Anthony insisted they had to do something drastic to stop the Keys from opening. He’d come up with an idea of how to do this. It was a costly plan, but it would be totally effective. Anthony had agreed to pay half of the million bucks it would cost them to have an expert blow up the complex—one building at a time. He had no intention of paying his half. Let Renee foot the entire bill. She owed him.
    The hotel limo was waiting on the tarmac alongside his plane. The driver was a tall Swedish blonde dressed in black leather from her knee-high boots to the jaunty cap sitting on top of her head.
    â€œWelcome back to Vegas, Mr. Bonar,” she said in a throaty, accented voice. “I will be your driver while you are here.”
    He barely glanced in her direction.
    â€œMy name is Britt,” she continued, handing him a small silver cell phone. “All my numbers are programmed in. I’m on duty twenty-four hours a day. Call whenever you need me, I’m at your disposal.”
    Anthony tossed the phone to The Grill, a move not lost on the blonde, who pretended not to notice.
    â€œStraight to the hotel, Mr. Bonar?” she inquired, holding open the door.
    â€œYeah,” he said, climbing in the back. “An’ no conversation.”
    The Cavendish was a small—by Vegas standards—boutique membership-only luxury hotel catering to extreme high rollers, sports and movie stars, plus high-powered moguls and executives. Very few of the general public were allowed in. The gambling was exclusive, as was the hotel, which had a reputation for supplying all services a guest required. “The best of everything” was the hotel’s motto, and that included any known drug, and the highest-priced call girls in the city. Renee ran a tight operation, with major security all around.
    Renee herself was standing in the cool marble lobby of her hotel waiting to greet him. Every time he