Tempting Her Best Friend (A What Happens in Vegas Novel)

by Gina L. Maxwell

  Sister. She mentally slapped a palm to her forehead. Of course. His brotherly sense of duty must have kicked in when she told him her plan to dabble in the ancient art of one-night stands. That was why he was here looking like he wanted to bury a cover model in the desert for flirting with her.

  Of all the high-handed, overbearing—

  “What the hell’d you just call me?”

  Oh, God, the last thing she needed was to be the cause for the first throwdown in romance-convention history. Temporarily abandoning her frustration with Dillon, she interjected before the good-looking got ugly.

  “Mark, I’m so sorry. You’ll have to excuse us. I mean, him. Well, actually both. Him for being rude and us because we need to go. He gets cranky when his blood sugar’s low.” She arched her brows at her friend, encouraging him to play along. “Isn’t that right, Dillon?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. “No.”

  Pretending he hadn’t just negated her last statement, she clapped her hands together and said, “Okay then, let’s go find you some juice. Or a Snickers. I hear those really satisfy. Then again, your issue isn’t hunger so—eep.”

  The squeak escaped her throat when Dillon grabbed her by the arm and pulled her in the opposite direction of her suitor. Her cheeks warmed as the people they wove through stared after them. She hated being the center of attention, and if Dillon kept this up, they’d be the entertainment portion of the evening.

  At last, they reached the corner of the ballroom, where Dillon promptly placed her. With his feet planted apart and arms crossed, his wide shoulders effectively hid her from curious eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was the skimpy costume or the way he was standing that made him seem so…so big.

  Alyssa rarely ever saw him in anything less than jeans and a T-shirt. He’d been overweight as a child until he’d shot up two feet and started playing football in high school and shed most of it. It wasn’t until college when he found a love for kickboxing that all of his squishiness was replaced with solid muscle.

  No one would ever guess he’d struggled with his weight, but he still seemed to have insecurities about his body. He wasn’t one to walk around shirtless, even in the summer. So although Alyssa knew he was muscular from the way he felt when she hugged him, she only ever saw his arms and, on the rare occasion he wore a tank, his shoulders. Only now she wondered if she’d ever truly looked at them, because she didn’t remember them being so…well, big.

  She rolled her eyes at her own inability to come up with better adjectives than a preschooler. Apparently noticing well-defined muscles made her as intelligent as a teenager noticing a set of double D’s. How very primitive of me. Maybe I should be the one wearing a caveman costume.

  “Tell me you were not about to go up to that douche’s room.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and glared up at him. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business. What the hell are you doing here, Dillon? And why are you in that ridiculous costume pretending to be a cover model?”

  “It was the only way I could get in to stop you from making a huge mistake.”

  “What kind of mistake?”

  “The kind where you sleep with a total stranger,” he said between clenched teeth.

  “It’s not like I’m picking up some guy at a dive bar in a seedy part of town,” she hissed. “Come on, Dillon, you know me better than that. I’m not one to throw caution to the wind. I don’t even jaywalk, for chrissake.”

  His rigid stance finally broke. He braced one hand on the wall next to her head and leaned in, his eyes intense. “I know, but I still don’t like the idea of you throwing yourself at some guy just because you have certain…needs.”

  The heat of indignation spread from her toes to the roots of her hair faster than a brush fire. Digging her nails into her palms, she forced herself to remain calm. “Oh, I see,” she bit off. “And just who do you suggest I get to attend to my ‘needs,’ hmm? You?”

  “Yes.”

  “See, even you won’t—” His response hurtled into her brain a little late but still hit her with the force of a cannonball to the chest. She shook her head. No way. She’d heard him wrong. Her subconscious was projecting answers that would quell her out-of-control, starved-for-action libido. “You said ‘no,’ right?”

  “No.”

  “No you said yes? Or no as in—”

  “Alyssa.” Dillon gripped her shoulders and stepped in close. She tried to retreat, at least a little to increase her oxygen intake, as he seemed to be stealing every last molecule between them, but her body was already wedged into the corner.

  There was nothing to do but wait for him to confirm whether or not he’d propositioned they have sex, although something told her she’d heard him right the first time. Which begged the question, what did she plan to do about it?

  Chapter Four

  “Yes,” Dillon repeated. “I think I should be the one to help you.”

  Christ, he felt so dumb saying that. Like having sex with her was some huge altruistic favor as her friend. What she didn’t know was that she’d be bringing his years-long fantasy to life. Hell, the moment he laid eyes on her in that red dress and black boots, several fantasies came to mind. None of them compared to the real thing, though. The silky material clung to her body like a second skin and displayed the whole of her back. His fingers itched to trace the line of her spine and continue over the crease of her ass until he reached the hot flesh between her legs.

  She shook her head, disbelief evident in the furrow of her brow. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m dead serious.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not like I’m suggesting something that outrageous here. Last I checked, sex between consenting adults was all the rage. And friends with benefits isn’t exactly a new concept.”

  “Dillon, think about what you’re saying. We’ve been friends for eighteen years. You’re like— Like…”

  “Like what, Aly?” Don’t say it. Don’t fucking say—

  “Like my brother.”

  That. Ouch. No guy ever wanted to hear the “I love you as a friend” speech. But the “you’re like my brother” speech was even worse. Friends could at least fool around if they got drunk enough. But unless they grew up in Arkansas, no one fooled around with their sibling.

  Only, the more Dillon studied her, the more he saw signs that she might not be telling the whole truth. Things like the hitch of her breath when he leaned in the slightest bit. How her pupils ate up the blue of her eyes. That her cheeks looked like they’d been kissed by pink rose petals.

  Or maybe she was nervous. Or embarrassed, for that matter. It’s not like he’d announced his presence or the subject of being friends with bennies in a civilized manner. But damn if he hadn’t almost thrown a punch as soon as he’d heard that pirate-ass invite Alyssa up to his room. The fact that Dillon merely traded insults with the guy should earn him a trophy for immense restraint.

  And then it happened. Her eyes settled on his mouth, and her tongue flicked over her lips. It happened faster than the blast of an air hammer, but his brain played it back in super slo-mo. She probably had no idea the things she’d just revealed.

  If there was any place to go all-in and hope he played his cards right, Vegas was it. So he’d call her bluff and hope she folded.

  Bracing his other hand on the wall, he caged her in completely. Dillon needed to take the upper hand where he could. He wanted to overwhelm her, get her off her game. So all she saw, heard, smelled, and felt was him in front of her, and to hell with the rest of the world around them.

  “Kiss me.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “What?”

  “Kiss me. I think you owe it to yourself to make sure I don’t do anything for you before you go to some stranger.”

  Alyssa sucked the corner of her lip between her teeth. Her tell. He had her on the run. All he needed was to up the ante one more time to drive his point home.

 
“Besides,” he said. “Here you’ll get two nights at the most before you go home to the same problem you started with. I’m right next door. You’ve always had free rein in my kitchen. I have no problems giving you free rein in my bedroom, Aly.”

  “This is crazy.” Her words lacked conviction.

  “All you have to do is kiss me. If you can honestly tell me it feels like kissing your brother, that’ll be the end of it.”

  “You’ll drop this whole thing? And go home?”

  Hope sparked in her eyes and burned his pride. He hated thinking the idea of him leaving made her relieved on any level. “Promise.”

  This time, when she dropped her eyes to his mouth, she let them linger. The weight of her gaze traveled through his body and settled in his balls, making them heavy with years of anticipation for this moment. Years of longing, of waiting, was finally coming to an end. He balanced on the knife’s edge between letting her make the first move and taking what he wanted. What he’d demanded.

  Her pulse beat a rapid tattoo at her throat, and he made a mental note to kiss her there later so he could feel her excitement against his lips, his tongue. The thought had him biting back a groan that had been building for over a decade.

  But he couldn’t let himself have that luxury. Not yet. Not until Alyssa admitted to herself and to him that she wanted this. He had to remain in control for a little while longer or risk scaring her away.

  Dillon used every last bit of restraint he could summon to hold still. He dug his fingertips into the wall until he had plaster under his nails. She placed her hands on his chest to steady herself as she rose up, slowly closing the gap that had always kept them separated, even as they’d been inseparable.

  This was the point of no return. The moment when things would change, for the better, or worse. No matter what happened after, things could never go back to the way they were before. This one kiss would be a defining moment.

  Her thick lashes lowered as her breath whispered over his face…and his control slipped. Cupping the sides of her face, Dillon obliterated the last inch that lay between their past and their future.

  Supple lips molded to his in a way that could only be described as perfect. She made a tiny sound that vibrated through their fused mouths, growing his confidence along with his cock. Though his mind raged for him to plunder and take what he so desperately wanted, and what he now knew she would eagerly give, he kept his pressure gentle and enjoyed her like she did her fine wines.

  He sipped at her lips, tested their softness, reveled in their taste. Every second was beyond what he’d ever imagined, and yet there was still so much left to discover. Hundreds of inches to kiss, taste, explore. Dozens of ways to bring her more pleasure than she could ever need in a lifetime, so she’d never have any reason to go looking for it anywhere else ever again.

  Finally, he forced himself to break the kiss and take a step back. Her blue eyes were bright, her pupils blown with hunger. Dillon had to gently remove her fisted hands from his chest to give them both the space they needed to catch their breaths. When she realized what he was doing, she did her best to compose herself by schooling her features and tucking her hands under her arms.

  Despite the noise of the party going on behind them, it was her silence that was deafening. “Well?” he prodded.

  “Sorry,” she said with a half shrug. “Nothing. Have a safe trip back, and I’ll see you when I get home.”

  …

  Please go home please go home please go home…

  “I’m not going home, Aly.”

  Damn it! “But you said you would.”

  “Yeah, on the condition you could tell me honestly that you felt nothing. But you’re full of shit, so I’m not going anywhere.”

  Shit! She didn’t know how to process what she’d felt when Dillon kissed her. The care in which his hands held her face like she was a flower with fragile petals. How his lips, full and strong, had fit so perfectly to hers that her mouth now felt incomplete without them. And the swirling heat deep in her belly that urged her to let go and be consumed by its lascivious flames.

  Because while the idea of finally getting to feel Dillon against her—inside her—was like every fantasy she’d ever had rolled into one, the fact was, he was still only offering her a fraction of what she wanted. His body. Could she go back to being just friends when he grew tired of her benefits? Would she be even more in love with him after lying in his arms? Even worse though was the thought of never being able to get the feel of him out of her mind, out of her soul.

  For the first time ever, she had sympathy for her mother…

  Alyssa willed her pulse to slow down and her control to return. She needed time and space to think things through. To crunch the numbers and make a logical and objective decision on his—at the moment, seemingly ludicrous—proposal. If he wouldn’t go home, then she had no choice but to avoid him until she worked everything out.

  Throwing her hands up, she said, “Fine, then. Stay. I hope you have a good time.”

  An eavesdropping flock of romance reading vultures started moving in to collect what she’d left behind. As she sidestepped around him, she assured herself she didn’t care that several made blatant plays for her best friend. She hoped they didn’t try their hands at gambling because not one of them had a poker face. They practically showed him their cards, their sugary-sweet voices marking them as sure bets if he was so inclined to throw his chips into the pot.

  “Aly, wait,” he said, grasping her arm.

  But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Alyssa shook free and shot past him, practically diving into the sea of women that had crowded around him. Behind her, she heard female pleas for him to stay and then the sound of fabric ripping, followed by squeals of delight.

  Glancing back, her jaw dropped to find a shirtless Dillon in the middle of an eye orgy. She told herself to stop gawking and walk away, but her eyes had taken over and rooted her in place so they could look their fill. It was as if she’d had blurry vision all these years and someone finally gave her corrective lenses, pulling all the delicious details into sharp focus.

  His arms, which she’d seen daily, somehow looked bigger framing well-defined pecs, a six-pack of abs, and cut obliques that lined his narrow waist. And the only scrap of clothing left on him was a pair of barely visible leopard-print briefs beneath the matching low-slung loincloth covering him like ragged mud flaps in the back and front.

  Alyssa’s throat suddenly felt drier than the Nevada desert. For the first time, she saw Dillon, not only as her handsome best friend, but as the rest of the female population must see him: a sexy, modern Adonis. She felt her nipples grow stiff and warmth bloomed between her legs as images of him pressing that godlike body of his against her flooded her mind.

  Holy hell. I’m in trouble.

  When a woman reached out and slid her fingertips down his arm, he jumped like she’d shocked him with a jolt of electricity. “Easy, ladies, let’s not get carried away,” he said, holding his hands up in front of him. Unlike the real models who were probably just as comfortable in their birthday suits as they were business suits, Dillon wasn’t relishing the shameless attention the women wanted to shower him with.

  And neither was Alyssa.

  “Hey,” she called out. Something primal and unrecognizable drove her to push her way through the wall of women and plant herself in front of Dillon. “I’ll thank you to keep your hands to yourselves. He’s eye candy, not a boy toy. Now, shoo, all of you.”

  Most of the group started to disband, but a lady old enough to be Alyssa’s grandmother winked at her and said, “He sure looks like he wants to be your boy toy.”

  Unable to stop herself, she huffed. “Yeah, well, people in hell want ice water, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to get it.”

  “That’s it.”

  Alyssa almost hadn’t heard the growled phrase before she was spun around and hoisted into the air. Her squeal of surprise was cut short as her body folded over Dillon�
��s shoulder like one of the sandbags he hauled around his sites.

  She braced her hands on him to try and push herself off, but when she looked up—which was actually down—she realized she was palming the rounded muscles of his firm backside. Alyssa snatched them back like she’d been burned, effectively causing her upper body to crash into his again. It all happened so fast that Dillon had taken a good five strides before her brain caught up with the action.

  “Put me down. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She tried to ignore the hint of panic in her voice and the sea of people staring after them and whispering in their wake.

  Dillon tightened his arms around her thighs and turned his head just long enough to answer. “Getting the hell out of here. We need to talk.”

  “We could talk just as easily there, Dillon. Now put me down. You’re causing a scene.”

  “Not half the scene I’ll cause if we stay, Aly. Now stop squirming, or you’ll end up flashing everyone we pass.” That thought halted all efforts of escape. She felt him tug the hem of her dress down as far as it would go, which wasn’t more than a couple inches. “This isn’t a fucking dress. It’s a long shirt.”

  Alyssa didn’t see the point in arguing over her wardrobe choice, but as soon as he pushed through a door that led to a dressing room, she got all fired up again.

  “Great, we’re out. Put me down, Dillon.”

  “Not yet.”

  He swiped his gym bag from a table without even breaking his stride, then continued out into the lobby area of the second floor and over to the elevators. Every plea, every demand she made, went unanswered. Alyssa could only imagine what they must look like: gorgeous, near-naked Tarzan carrying off a surly blonde in a skimpy dress and fuck-me boots.

  Classic Vegas.