he urged, “By all means, then, bottoms up.” Tossing back a swallow of his own, he grinned. “I’ve got all night.”
Damn, she had a gorgeous laugh. Even after it left her lips...echoes of it lit her eyes. Those sparkling eyes that were staring up at him like maybe he had the solution for anything. And suddenly, the idea of this strong, fiercely independent woman needing something from him appealed on an almost primal level.
“What?” he asked, chalking up the low timbre of his voice to a dry throat and remedying the obvious problem with a gulp of scotch.
Megan reached for the lapel of his jacket, her slender fingers curving around the fabric in a move both needy and intimate—a move that did something to him he wasn’t quite sure he should like quite so much.
Pearly-white teeth sank into the soft swell of her bottom lip before pulling free and he stopped breathing altogether.
“Megan.”
She sighed. “I’m starving.”
For a beat he stared down at her. And then those fingers tightened and she gave his lapel a little shake. “Star-ving.”
A single nod.
Food.
Yeah, he was pretty hungry too. For something, anyway. So it was time to stop staring down into her pretty, freckle-kissed face.
“Right.” Downing the rest of his glass in one swallow, he handed off the empty to a passing server. “Then I’m your man.”
Seven hours earlier...
He’d thought it couldn’t get any better than the laugh. But then he’d heard the laugh coupled with the squeals of delight and gotten an eyeful of Megan’s sensational and perfectly displayed backside. Shimmying in some victory dance as her winning machine counted up at the far end of the waffle buffet their surprisingly reliable cabbie had recommended.
Damn.
She’d caught him by surprise. Again. Lulling him into too easy a conversation and then giving up the details of her life as easily as this machine had given up her winnings. All it had taken was the right question at the right time, and she’d opened up, revealing new insight into the engaging creature he’d managed to capture for the night.
She was a self-proclaimed recovering romantic. A woman who believed in love but had discovered through a lifetime of experience the heights of that particular romantic elevation to be beyond her reach. And she’d accepted it, wasn’t interested in the futility of an unattainable pursuit. She was a brainiac beauty. A freelance software engineer, successful in her own right. Confident where it counted and modest in the most appealing ways. Independent to an extreme and unafraid to buck convention when it came to the achievement of her goals. Kind, funny and sexy.
Now he stood behind her, their latest round of cocktails set aside—which maybe wasn’t such a bad thing considering the kind of detours his head had been taking—as he shrugged out of his suit jacket, giving in to the absurdly out-of-place bit of possessive insanity going nuts thinking about anyone else seeing this heart-shaped perfection.
“Here, put this on,” he said, slipping it over her shoulders.
“I can’t believe it!” she gasped. “I never win. I never, ever, ever get lucky like this.”
Connor grinned, watching as the bare length of her arms disappeared within the sea of his coat. Reaching over, he adjusted the lapels, telling himself she’d looked cold. Then before he gave in to the temptation to linger near that tantalizing V of feminine flesh, or God forbid let his knuckles skim the softness there, he moved on to cuff her sleeves. Rolling up the arms until the slim band of her wristwatch shone beneath the flashing lights of her winning machine. It was a delicate band, but a little plain. The way he’d mistakenly thought about her, when really this girl glittered like a diamond.
“Carter,” she said breathlessly, those blue eyes watching where his thumb stroked across the sensitive pale skin of her inner wrist.
“Connor.” What the hell was he doing?
Her eyes lifted slowly, following the line of his arm, across his shoulder, to the top of his tie and then his mouth.
Did she have any idea how seductive those few beats of time were when he could all but see her mind working through the possibilities of where her gaze lingered.
This woman was hot. And sweet. And smart. And funny.
And she was staring at his mouth like it looked better than vanilla vodka and white-chocolate liqueur.
Like maybe, after all, she might want a taste.
Or even more.
Another beat and her eyes met his.
“Connor,” she corrected, the good judgment wrestling in those blue pools, barely holding out against temptation.
Damn, he liked the way she said his name. Especially when she got it right.
He had an excellent idea for helping her remember too.
Repetition. And positive reinforcement—the breathless, moaning, pleading kind.
Hours of it.
He could push—turn on the seduction and he’d have her.
This flirtation he’d been playing at was nothing. For every easy compliment, he’d kept a physical space between them. For every suggestive line, he’d avoided eye contact. Because he’d known—had a sense about what could be between them, and he’d steered clear of it. Only, now...he wanted more.
Shaking his head, he glared at the half-empty glass on the counter beside them. Your fault.
Pushing those thoughts aside, he put the arm’s length back between them, the easy smile. The just-for-fun.
Moments later they were outside in the night air, surrounded by the bright lights, the drifting foot traffic and steady stream of cars. “You just cracked two machines in a row. We ought to head back to the casino and find you a real jackpot. Or would you like to try something different, like roulette?”
A deep sigh left her pretty mouth. “I don’t think so. For someone who doesn’t win very often, I’m happy to be coming out ahead the way I am. I don’t want to push my luck.”
“Something else in mind?” he asked. But he already knew, having seen the flash of resignation in her eyes.
Goodbye.
He didn’t want the night to end, but she had a plan, after all. He respected her for it. Admired the sense of priority, forethought and commitment she’d put into it. Hell, that plan was probably half her appeal.
“I’ve had a really good time tonight.” Megan shifted in front of him, her gaze skating away as her fingers slid down the lapels of his suit jacket, to where they idly played with the top button.
“Me too. Of course, this is Vegas. It’s still early.”
Her eyes pulled back to his, flickering only once to his mouth. “Early morning.”
And then her shoulders were straightening, her features falling into an altogether too-polite expression. “And I’ve got a big day ahead of me.”
“Big day of attending.”
“Yes. And making up elaborate lies about our night together.” This time her grin was pure imp. “Give Jodie and Tina something juicier to chew on than each other.”
“Wow, you’re going to lie about me?” he asked, settling his hand at the small of her back as they approached the curb in search of a cab. “I’m flattered.”
Nothing available, but one would come along any minute.
Megan shot him a wry smile. “Actually, probably not. I want to. It would be so great. But lying gives me hives. Even for a good cause like keeping the peace at my cousin’s wedding, I’m not sure I’d be able