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

by Gina L. Maxwell

  He changed his angle to rub along her clit on every thrust. She cried out in surprise and her fingers flexed, scoring his skin with her nails as she teetered on the edge. Unwilling to put it off any longer, he bent down and bit the cord of her neck. She sipped in a sharp breath as the pleasure/pain sprayed gasoline on the flames, and she exploded beneath him. Her body curved into his, strung tight like an archer’s bow. Dillon held her close and whispered how perfect and beautiful she was as she shuddered through the waves of pleasure.

  Fuck, he loved watching her come. But watching was nothing compared to feeling her constrict around him. It was like a drug, an addiction. A high he’d chase to the ends of the earth. And damn if he didn’t want to feel her do it again. Needed to feel her do it again.

  “One more time, baby.” Dillon licked his thumb and slipped it over her swollen clit. She jerked and made a tiny squeak in the back of her throat, but he didn’t let up, not even when she squeezed her eyes shut and begged for mercy.

  “Please, Dillon, it’s too much. I—I can’t do it again.”

  “Yes, you can. Trust me.” His voice was little more than a growl as he fought to tamp down his own release. Not an easy task when her thick walls squeezed his cock tighter with every hot stroke inside her. “Open your eyes, Aly. Let me see you.”

  Her dark lashes obeyed, fluttering open to reveal her pupils had eclipsed the blue of her irises. And within their inky depths, Dillon glimpsed his future. Their future. She stared up at him with a penetrating gaze, and for the first time ever, he didn’t hide anything. He let her see straight down into his soul.

  “That’s my girl,” he whispered. Anticipation of watching her come apart again gave his desire a sharp edge he welcomed. Adrenaline rushed in his veins and blood roared in his ears. He continued to circle her clit with the rough pad of his thumb. She fisted her hands in his hair and whimpered.

  “Oh, God…Dillon.”

  “That’s it, Aly. Let go for me, sweetheart.”

  Even if he hadn’t been inside of her, he’d have known the moment it hit her. Lust flashed in her eyes, bright and fast, and her mouth opened in a soundless cry. She hooked her ankles at the small of his back and held on as her legs trembled around him. With a growl of satisfaction, he finally let the last thread of his control dissolve. His release barreled down his spine and shattered at the base, sending him off like a fucking rocket. He’d never come so hard in his life and it took all his strength to keep his legs from going out and crushing her.

  When their breaths slowed and he was confident he’d regained the use of his muscles, Dillon rearranged them so he sat in the chair again and cradled her in his lap. He’d move them to the bed and clean them up in a few minutes, but for now he just wanted to hold her. She curled into him, her arms tucked between them, and her face buried in his neck. He closed his eyes and trailed his hands lazily up and down her back.

  “Dillon?” She spoke his name with a hint of a dreamlike slur. It made him smile to think he’d exhausted her to the point of needing a nap. Something she almost never did.

  “Hmm?”

  “In case I forget to tell you when we get home, thanks for a great weekend.”

  Her words pierced through the gut of his happy vibe like a bullet, causing a lot of pain and if he didn’t fix it, a slow death.

  He ran a hand through his hair and released a long breath. Shit, maybe he was overreacting. He’d gotten caught up in the phenomenal sex and his brain started waxing poetic on him. Dillon pictured him and Alyssa back home and carrying on like this weekend never happened. The thought of going back to dating random women held no appeal to him anymore. He doubted he’d even be able to get it up for anyone but Alyssa.

  But what about her? She’d never said anything to make him think she’d consider a life with him. He mentally scoffed. And why would she, asshole? He’d done such a bang-up job convincing her he was a commitophobe like his father. If it was possible, he’d kick his own ass for that. Because it wouldn’t be long before another guy snatched her up. Or several guys.

  Images of Alyssa dating other men—being intimate with other men—churned like acid in his stomach. Pain splintered in his jaw from clenching his teeth, and his muscles tensed so fast and hard that Alyssa stirred and looked up at him questioningly. Dillon forced his body to relax as he smoothed the worry from her brow with a kiss and tucked her head back under his chin.

  No way in hell was he going to lose her. She belonged with him, and he was going to do everything in his power to make her see that no one would ever love her as much as he did.

  Chapter Eight

  Alyssa stretched beneath the covers, a lazy cat basking in the heat of the sun. Usually she awoke with a snap, her mind already turning over the things she needed to accomplish that day in addition to her daily routines. But for the first time in forever she floated into consciousness with a sense of peace and a longing to laze the rest of the day away in bed.

  And it was all because of Dillon.

  Their sexual escapade earlier had started off frenzied and wild, like their bodies were desperate to indulge in as much as they could before the sands filtered through the hourglass. Sexual appetites, under pressure with a deadline.

  But sometime after they made it to the chair, the mood…shifted. Movements slowed, caresses softened, kisses lengthened. And the way he looked at her… It seemed less like sex and more like—

  Alyssa reached for Dillon on the other side of the bed, but cool sheets met her touch instead of the warmth of his hard body.

  Opening her eyes and raising up on one arm, she found a note on his pillow written on the hotel stationary.

  Aly-gator,

  Got antsy. I’ll be back by 4.

  ~ D

  Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she set the note down where she found it and hugged her knees to her chest. He used the word “antsy.” Code for “things are getting too serious so I’m pulling back.”

  Which was fine. Great, even.

  Despite her beginning to feel otherwise, she’d needed the reminder that she and Dillon weren’t a real couple. He’d offered her his body for mutual sexual release, not his heart for the taking for chrissake. Technically, he’d made the offer because he felt protective of her and didn’t want her shacking up with a stranger. Sure, the chemistry and sex was amazing, but she had a hard time believing anything less was possible when it involved Dillon Alexander.

  God, she was so naive. She couldn’t believe she’d almost used the words “making love” for what happened between them earlier. Maybe the myriad of overwhelming physical sensations caused her brain to warp them into something more in its own need to process and compartmentalize.

  Nice work, Aly. That BS almost sounds plausible. You should write a dissertation on it.

  Perfect. Now even her conscience was slapping her with sarcastic barbs. Then again, she couldn’t blame it at this point. For having an IQ higher than the average Ivy League graduate, she’d been thinking like a Disney princess with stars in her eyes. Someday her prince would come and all that utter nonsense.

  A few sessions of mind-blowing sex with a virile man (albeit, a virile man she happened to already love and now couldn’t think of without picturing him naked) had stripped her of her good judgment and replaced it with a girlish fantasy of happily ever after. With a man who got “antsy” and left.

  Just like Dad.

  Shit! She shoved her fingers into the roots of her hair and fisted the hunks in frustration. This was a bad idea from the start. She’d wanted something real with him, but she’d settled for what little bit he offered her.

  Just like Mom.

  No, she wouldn’t allow herself to think that way. Alyssa launched herself from the bed, donned the available plush bathrobe, and paced the length of the room with agitated steps as she sifted through her thoughts. She wasn’t weak-willed like her mother, and Dillon had only been trying to help her in an awkward situation.

  It wasn’t his fault sh
e’d accepted his offer for a weekend of mutual gratification and then let her emotions get tangled up in the process. She’d known it would be impossible to keep her heart out of the arrangement and still she’d agreed. The desire to feel wanted by the man she loved had been too great. She might be more emotionally independent than most, but she was still a girl. Sometimes she just needed to be held and told she was pretty, damn it. Was that so wrong?

  Of course not. And, honestly, who better to accept that sort of thing from than Dillon if he’s offering?

  Exactly! Finally her conscience had dropped the snark and started making sense again. So then why did her eyes burn and her cheeks feel wet? Stopping in front of the full-length mirror, she braced her hands on either side and narrowed her eyes at her rumpled reflection. She didn’t know if she was PMSing or what her deal was, but this little breakdown was at an end. They’d continue the weekend as they’d began: enjoying each other in every way humanly possible. And she’d do it with her heart firmly on lockdown. She was an adult, and this was an adult arrangement between friends. That was all. End of story.

  “Good Lord, is that the time?” Turning back to the bed, she checked to make sure she’d read it in the mirror correctly. Quarter after four. Checking her phone, she frowned to see she hadn’t missed a call or text from Dillon. It wasn’t like him not to let her know if he was running late. Although it wasn’t like he was on his way home from work, either. It wouldn’t be hard to lose track of time in Sin City, especially since displaying clocks anywhere seemed to be a punishable offense.

  But explained tardiness or not, he still wasn’t back, and the masquerade ball started at five. With the crazy sex-fest they’d been enjoying in the last sixteen hours, she’d totally forgotten to remind him about it.

  She worried her lip with her teeth. Would he be able to get in? She doubted he’d brought a tux with him in his duffel bag, but every hotel in Vegas had a formal shop in it for just such occasions. Add the prerequisite mask, and he could charm his way past the female sentries as a cover model. Again.

  It’s so crazy, it just might work.

  Then her devil’s advocate spoke up. He might not even want to go to the ball. In which case, they wouldn’t have to worry about any of that.

  A pang of disappointment doused the kernel of excitement she’d had at the idea of arriving on Dillon’s arm. Of being the envy of every woman they passed when they saw how stunning and regal he looked in his formal attire. And he did, too. Even she’d had a hard time not staring when he’d stood up in his friend’s wedding.

  “You’re wasting time,” she admonished herself. “At this rate you’ll turn into a pumpkin before you even get to the damn ball.”

  And with that, she rushed to hop in the shower and perform whatever magic she could manage with her appearance before her “fashionably late” was of the humiliating, record-scratching variety.

  As she stepped under the spray of hot water, she commended herself for ignoring the ache in her heart and not succumbing to the weight of her tears. At least, that’s what she told herself for as long as the water hid evidence to the contrary.

  …

  When the Alexanders made a decision, it was with careful thought and utter deliberation. And yet here Dillon was, at the crossroads of Make Your Move and Take Things Slow and he kept second-guessing which direction he should go.

  For ten minutes, he’d worn a path in the expensive carpet in front of Alyssa’s hotel room. He’d finally had to call Maddy, hoping her female perspective supported his line of thinking. After hearing his plans, his twin congratulated him for “finding his balls and reattaching them properly,” then gave him an enthusiastic, “Now get in there and make me proud, sport.”

  The motivating slap on the ass was implied.

  Squaring his shoulders in his newly tailored tux, Dillon inhaled deeply before expelling it in a rush and striding into the room. At the sound of the door closing, she called out, “Oh, Dillon! I’m so glad you’re finally here.”

  He’d be lying if he said a small thrill didn’t go through him to hear her say those words. He started to imagine what it would be like to hear that every day, but all brain functions came to a grinding halt when he rounded the corner.

  An angel stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the layers upon layers of white netting that spilled from the waist of her dress. Studying her reflection, he admired the tight fit of the sleeveless bodice that she partially hid with her hands. It reminded him of a corset without the laces. The style reflected Alyssa perfectly: innocence with an underlying hint of sin.

  When she cleared her throat, he dragged his eyes up to meet hers in the mirror. “When I saw the dress, I loved it so much that I never stopped to consider how I would fasten it myself.”

  For the first time, Dillon noticed the material of her top gaping in a V down her back. Tiny elastic loops lined one side and matched up with small, cloth-covered buttons on the other. There was no way for the wearer to complete dressing without help. And he was all too willing to lend a helping hand.

  “Allow me,” he said, stepping in close behind her and began the process of buttoning her up with a painstaking slowness. This moment was meant to be savored. Every time he fastened one, he let the backs of his fingers graze the skin on her back, enjoying how her breaths caught, her pulse raced. She’d curled her hair and piled it high on her head, leaving her graceful neck bared for his touch, his kiss…

  “You’re in a tux.”

  He couldn’t help the quirk of his lips. “You’re in a wedding gown.”

  “I told you, it’s a ball gown,” she quickly corrected. He arched a brow. You sure about that? “Okay, fine, technically I got it from a bridal shop, but since I’m wearing it for the masquerade ball, it’s a ball gown. Pigeonholing it strictly for a bride’s use simply because it’s white is doing the dress and its designer an injustice.”

  “I suppose that’s a fair argument.” Dillon finished the last button and rested his hands on her bare arms. “Alyssa, you look absolutely…ethereal.” Holding her gaze in the mirror, he dipped his head and placed a sensual kiss over the pulse point on her throat. When her eyes drifted closed and her tongue slipped out to wet her lips, he nearly undid all his hard work.

  Needing the physical distance to force his blood back in a northerly direction, he took a large step back from her. It seemed to help clear her head as well. She turned to him with a shy smile and then, in true Aly fashion, quieted her nerves by rattling off their plans for the night as she picked up a silver-and-white half mask.

  “I have my mask already, but we’ll have to get one for you.” She placed it over the upper half of her face and tied the white ribbons in the back where her curls hid the knot. The mask fit her as though by design. It appeared more an extension of her rather than something she wore.

  Almond-shaped eyes looked exotic through the slanted cutouts, their bright blue irises like sapphires set in a bed of snow. Intricate, curling patterns of silver glitter branched out from the center and stretched out to the fancy edges that reminded him of asymmetrical butterfly wings.

  If he’d thought she was stunning before, she’d just upped that by about a hundred. He suddenly had ideas of her wearing the mask as he made love to her and had to choke back a groan. Perfect. Just what every girl dreams of: being escorted by a guy whose dick enters a room before they do.

  Oblivious to his wayward thoughts, Alyssa kept talking. “Luckily, due to the theme of the hotel, every gift shop has an entire arsenal of masks.”

  “Aly—”

  Grabbing her slim purse she said, “I’m really glad you decided to come with me. I know this isn’t typically your idea of a good time.”

  “Aly, wait—”

  Finally she stopped and spun to face him…only to start talking again. “Oh, you don’t really want to go, do you?” She stared at the carpet, and he’d bet that behind the cover of her mask, her eyebrows had pinched together to form that adorable wrinkle. L
ifting her gaze, she offered him a wan smile. “I’m sorry, Dillon, I should have known you’d feel obligated to take me. But it’s not necess—”

  He took two large strides, gripped the sides of her waist, and pulled her in hard, claiming her lips. Her hands fisted in the lapels of his jacket as her pliant body melted against him. He slanted his mouth over hers and their tongues met and clashed in heated abandon. She tasted of spearmint and honey and goddamn perfection.

  He’d only meant to stop her from babbling and listen to him, but Dillon was fast forgetting his intentions, his plans, and the rest of the world. Would there ever be a day when she wouldn’t have the power to spellbind him so completely?

  His phone vibrated in a series of three pulses from his inside breast pocket. That would be a text message from the limo driver letting him know of his arrival. Time to grab the bull by the horns, Alexander.

  Breaking the kiss, Dillon took in the sight of the woman he loved, had always loved for as long as he could remember. Eyes bright with lust, red lips swollen and parted, shallow breaths causing the swells of her breasts to heave in their tight constraints. He’d never seen her more beautiful, and he wanted to remember every detail of this moment.

  “Does that mean you do want to go to the ball?” she asked.

  A smile split his lips, and he shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

  “Oh.”

  “And I don’t want you to go either.”

  “But—”

  “There’s a limo waiting for us downstairs. I have a whole evening of romance planned.”

  Well, he’d managed to surprise her, that was for sure. Even with limited access to her expressions, the disappearance of her eyelashes behind the mask told him her eyes had widened a fair amount. That and the way her jaw slackened were pretty good indicators of the surprise factor.

  “Come on, Aly-gator…let’s go on a proper date. I might not be able to take you to the real Paris yet, but I thought the restaurant in the Eiffel Tower here would be a good start.”