by Angel Payne
He pulled her hand forward.
Turned his face to press a kiss into the center of her palm.
A quaver coursed through her. Rather than risk the chance of another, she slammed her eyes shut. “You have to stop doing this, Sam. Please. It’s already going to be hell to go back to real life after this—”
The press of his lips, fervent and hot, didn’t just snag the words in her throat. The thoughts in her head, like shredded paper on the wind, became chaos. A sob ripped through her. What had she done? What could she do now? Even opening her eyes, hoping to break his spell, only allowed her to see the breathtaking concentration on his face. His gaze, hooded yet heated, focused on her so fully, so sensually…damn. That stare could seduce the underwear off a nun—and probably a priest, too. His dark gold lashes against his rugged skin. The furrows in his brow, deepening by the moment. The warrior’s angle of his jaw, more deeply defined by his tawny stubble, all but begging her to touch it…
Too good to be real. Too good to even be a possibility.
She had to keep remembering that. She had to.
He dragged away, breathing harder than before. His fingertips shook against her cheek. “Hell won’t be even the start of it, lass. But why fight the chance to grasp heaven while we still can?”
Jen threaded her fingers with his. Compared to his hand, hers was so tiny…and cold. At once, it began to suffuse with borrowed warmth.
How she wanted to push the pause button on her feelings, and continue through this night without worrying about them anymore. How she wanted to think she was strong enough to lock it back and race to heaven with him, reveling in the sprint. How she longed to be sure she could spend even another fifteen minutes with him and not spill every stupid thought in her head…and impossible feeling in her heart.
She turned the thought into motivation. Lifted her mouth and gave him one final, melding kiss. Pushed herself into it…and felt him pouring just as much in return.
She fought the craving to jerk him back down to the bed and let him do more dirty, wonderful things to her. Barely.
With a conflicted moan, she backed away. Wobbled to her feet. Deciding this was no time for more practice in the damn heels, she kicked them off then picked them up. Silver lining: the move gave her something to hold on to. She clutched the pumps to her chest while jerking her gaze back to his for one last time.
“I had an amazing time. I won’t forget it. Ever. I promise.”
Her sincere words didn’t diminish the man’s glare. “Jenny.” It seethed between his locked teeth. He rose up, braced like a prisoner about to kneel over a guillotine. “Jenny!”
But she’d already turned.
And raced from the room on bare feet…and a breaking heart.
She’d let a workplace crush cross way too many lines. And as hard as she fought to get pissed at Sam for offering the damn eraser, she couldn’t. She longed to spin around, run back to him, throw herself against his golden monolith of a body, and beg him to show her every inch of heaven for the next eight hours.
But if the agony ripped like this now, how deep would it go after two hundred and forty damn minutes?
It was the only jab of motivation her legs had for continuing forward.
One step at a time.
One step at a time.
One step at a time.
By some miracle she made it inside her room. She walked into the darkened space, one slow step at a time, before plopping to the window seat and waiting for the next refrain to kick in.
One tear at a time.
One tear at a time.
One tear at a time.
Chapter Seven
‡
She’d planned on taking a nice long bath and getting lost in the new book waiting on her e-reader. But the thought of being still, of staying in one place long enough for her thoughts to collide with her heart and sneak up on her, appealed as much as knives in her eyes.
She got up and changed into workout gear.
Confirming she was going certifiably insane.
Okay, so curiosity played a small part in the call. She’d heard about the Nyte’s fitness center: a complex so vast, it took up the entire tenth floor of the hotel. Level Ten had already been named by fitness magazines as one of the best gyms in the world, let alone as part of a hotel. It featured the standard Type A equipment, as well as a cross-training course, parkour run, Krav Maga studio, yoga sweat room, HIIT-specific course, basketball court, running track, and Olympic-length pool. Jen walked in, expecting to have the place to herself at this time of the night, but obviously, she wasn’t the only one who’d heard the buzz. After tucking her room key into her makeup tote then securing the little bag in a locker via thumbprint recognition, she turned on her headset, finding a channel with a driving EDM beat. Once the music blasted through her head, she climbed onto an elliptical machine, and went to work on sweating Sam Mackenna out of her system.
Sweat? Check.
Aerobic peak reached? Check again.
And Sam?
Parked in the hell where she’d left him. Occupying the stretch of her heart between desperate love and functional sanity. As she gulped half a bottle of water, he practically appeared before her, a towering hologram with a smoldering stare on his hewn face. And imagine that, he was fixated on the suction of her lips over the bottle.
Just like that, she envisioned it, too. Instead of the bottle, it was him in her mouth…the most illicit part of him. The slit there would leak sweet milk just before he groaned and buried himself inside her…
“Shit.”
She found a bench and lowered her shaking body onto it.
And wondered if the showers in the locker room had an “Ice Cold” setting.
A shrill ding sounded in her ears. Her wireless headphones were Bluetoothed to her phone, so the text notification came in loud and clear. She whooshed a relieved breath when seeing the message was from Tess, not Sam. He’d gone radio silent since she’d left the bar’s heavenly hidey hole; whether from anger or respect, she didn’t know—and shouldn’t care. But rather than trying to read his mind for the thousandth time, she focused on what Tess needed. It was probably just a giddy bride-to-be squee, and a list of things to bring to the Nyte’s beauty salon in the morning for her hair and makeup appointment. While Tess couldn’t be a bridezilla if her life depended on it, maybe the woman was feeling the pressure about marrying a guy as pedigreed as Dan.
She jolted to her feet when reading the text.
:: I need to talk. Now. Meet me on the roof. ::
The roof?
Maybe “pressure” had been an understatement.
“Oh my God.”
She hampered her towel, retrieved her tote, and raced out of the gym, not wasting any time for a response until she’d jumped into the elevator.
:: On my way. Don’t do anything! ::
Her own message was just as confusing as Tess’s plea, but it felt necessary. Desperate and scared, too.
She beat an impatient hand on the lift’s wall. The car couldn’t seem to climb fast enough. Finally, the overhead display glowed with a bright 60.
“What the hell?” She’d punched the 61 button. The lift itself filled in the answer to that, verbally prompting her to press her room key card against a specialized reader. While the explanation made sense—not every visitor to the Nyte could be allowed to just stroll around on the roof—she also questioned the hotel’s wisdom in allowing the access to even its paying guests.
Especially brides-to-be with drastic second thoughts.
The reader cleared her. The car lurched back to life then rested at the higher floor.
She walked out into a glass-enclosed lobby. Like everything about the Nyte, it was decorated sumptuously, but the décor couldn’t surpass the view. The entire valley sprawled before her, awesome even beyond the city’s parameters. To the left, the cliffs of Red Rock were dramatic against a thousand stars. Her head dropped back, following the twinkling carpet through th
e glass roof over her head. Up here, the light pollution was diminished to a dull roar, turning the stars into a light show in their own right.
A second of the awe was all she allowed herself, though. She had to get to Tess—
“Miss Thorne?”
She jumped. She hadn’t expect anyone up here besides her best friend, but the pixie-sized brunette, dressed in a stylish black pantsuit and toting a flashing smart pad, smiled like she greeted paranoid strangers every day. Not complete strangers. The woman knew her name. How? Why?
“Yes?” Next to the beauty, who floated more than walked and smelled like a newly minted angel, Jen felt like a hobo. Didn’t matter that her T-shirt was her best from the alt-rock bands collection—could one go wrong with the Arctic Monkeys?—she still smelled like a locker room and likely looked worse.
“Hello. I’m Francesca Young, the hotel’s lead concierge.”
“Lovely to meet you but I’m up here to meet someone, and—”
“Yes.” The girl smiled. Seriously, how could so much flawless bone structure be stuffed into one person? “I know.”
“You do?” Her heart lightened. Maybe Tess wasn’t really out there walking on a windswept ledge, like she’d imagined. If the concierge desk was involved here too, maybe this really was just a minor detail about the wedding. “Awesome. So where is she?”
“You mean where is he?”
“He?”
The question mark in her tone didn’t seem to matter now. “Right this way, Miss Thorne. Everything’s ready.”
“Ready for what?”
The last word stammered out differently than she’d planned. But she also hadn’t anticipated following Francesca out the door, around the corner, and onto a huge helipad—where, indeed, a helicopter was parked.
The door was open and waiting. Standing in front of that portal, wind whipping his hair back, a black T-shirt and jeans turning him into sin on two feet, was the beautiful bastard who hadn’t “let her be” at all.
He’d just been away. Plotting. Planning. Then implementing.
This was implementation, all right. With a huge, capital I.
Because of her. For her.
Just the sight of the helo brought her own words back to mind, clear as the moment right after she’d uttered them in the bar. That’s another fantasy of mine, you know. To know what it’s like to fly with you…
He’d sat in that big bed and begged her for more fantasies. Her resistance had been unnecessary. She’d already given him the answer. The moment he’d figured that out too, he’d gone to work on living up to his seductive promise. Now it’s your turn…for fantasies bein’ granted.
He’d even enlisted Tess in his cause. She envisioned her friend now, giggling as Sam explained his plot, totally agreeing to send that text on his behalf. A glance around the deck confirmed it. No Tess in sight.
Jen wanted to—needed to—get pissed about that and the rest of the man’s shenanigans, but even her best efforts couldn’t summon the ire.
Simply put, she just didn’t want to be angry.
She wanted to give in to the rest instead. The giddy leap of her stomach at beholding the powerful lines of the helicopter. The girlish flip of her heart at taking in the majestic man next to it. The tender squeeze of her soul when he beckoned to her, palm turned up, long fingers extended.
She shifted on both feet. Twisted her hands around her tote. Chewed the inside of her cheek into hamburger.
What was the harm in taking that hand? Of letting him give her this last, exciting adventure? Clearly, he planned on piloting the flight, meaning he’d be focused on keeping the helo in the air instead of touching her—though God only knew where her naughty dreams would flow once she watched, up close, his hand on the stick…his fingers on all those switches…
Oh, who the hell was she trying to kid?
Bee. Honey.
Fighting Mother Nature just wasn’t a good idea.
She shook her head. Rolled her eyes. Split a huge grin. Then made her way across the pavement, toward the man who outshone every light around and below with the joy of his barely tamped delight.
Chapter Eight
‡
It was better than she’d ever dreamed.
More sweeping, more spectacular, more shriek-worthy—a fact she emphasized many times over, just to make sure Sam got the point. Perhaps the way he answered her screams, with a smile that turned his dimples deeper than the Grand Canyon and his grin more resplendent than the Luxor’s light beam, made it a little easier to cut loose. All the reasons weren’t important right now. The feelings were. The freedom of having the sky to themselves. The thrill of the wind whipping at the cockpit’s windows. And the awe, turning her into a kid at an amusement park for the first time. From up here, Vegas wasn’t a city anymore. It was a wonderland of lights and color and textures, from the bold blues, purples, reds, and greens illuminating the Strip’s many icons, to the urban fairyland of gold and white beyond.
But all those belly twists didn’t compare to the buzz of watching Sam in his element. He was confident and calm, focused and watchful, though spared a few glances her way that made even her workout gear feel tight and hot. Thank God for well-made sports bras and their padded cups, though her nipples were only the start of her body’s refreshed need. Observing the man’s mastery of this complicated machine only made her remember how he’d commanded every one of her “buttons” and “switches”…and did they absolutely have to position the throttle between the pilot’s legs? With a hand gripping the thing like that, his elbow resting on one massive thigh, her thoughts repopulated with the fantasy she’d had in the gym. His fingers wrapped around his cock. Stroking himself, getting ready to feed his hard length into her eager mouth…
She pushed the thought aside with a pointed cough—though not fast enough to evade Sam’s notice. His jaw clenched. His nostrils flared. His stare heated.
Before a hail over the radio came.
“Night wing two, this is McCarran Tower. Do you copy?”
Thank you, thank you, thank you, McCarran Tower.
“Copy that, McCarran,” Sam responded. “Is course alteration clear and approved?”
“Affirmative,” replied the woman on the other end. “Weather is clear. Enjoy your trip.”
He gave the appropriate sign-off but Jen didn’t care about the words. The secretive quirk of his lips, along with the steady turn he gave the helo, were another matter.
“Course alteration?” she enunciated with all the warmth of a murder conviction.
Sam didn’t look at her, let alone answer. The better part of a minute went by. He flipped switches, checked headings, even sang softly. “Sing me a song…say, could that lad be I…”
“Sam?”
“Merry of soul, he sailed on a—yes, mouse?”
Because of the headsets, he could issue the murmur with the slight growl that spoke straight to the tissues between her thighs. Still, she was able to maintain her glare. “Course alteration?” she demanded again.
More long seconds. Finally, one side of his mouth ticked up. “Jenny?”
Annnnd, more of the damn growl. “What?” She squirmed—and mentally smacked herself for thinking the man couldn’t arouse her without touching her.
“Do you trust me?”
She huffed. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither was you showin’ up dressed like that, all glowy and sweaty and delectable, but I invited you for the ride anyway, did I not?”
Well, there went the huff. And a lot of everything behind it too. Now, she could only laugh. First, because the man was clearly, certifiably insane. Second, because she didn’t know if she wanted him any other way.
Third, because she realized that he was guiding the helicopter toward the vast darkness of the desert beyond the Vegas city limits—and that their next landing very well might not be back on the rooftop of the Nyte at all.
And that despite every damn vow she’d made herself about resisting him ag
ain, she couldn’t wait to learn what surprise he had in store now.
Chapter Nine
‡
The first thing she noticed was the silence. So total as to be an entity of its own, like a blanket across the barren section of desert into which Sam had finally landed the helo, almost making her wonder if they’d landed on another planet. Almost. She’d experienced this kind of stillness before. Those sublime summers of her girlhood, filled with it. But those idylls at Aunt Fran and Uncle Chris’s ranch seemed so far away now, even though she’d just journeyed up to Kingston to visit them at Thanksgiving.
It all seemed so far away now. Everything she’d defined as her life, everything she’d known about herself…redefined by the man who now led her away from the helo, firm fingers entwined with hers. Nervously, she looked up. They were making their way toward what looked like a sizable storage shed, its aluminum siding reflecting the moonlight. That didn’t diminish one speck of its visceral creepiness. She hesitated, wondering whether to prepare for Jason Voorhees or Freddie Krueger.
“Where are we, Sam? What’s going on?”
He glanced back, enough that the moon glow caught the knowing cant of his jaw. “Jenny?”
She snorted. “You going to ask if I trust you again?”
He chuckled and nodded, seemingly satisfied with that, before leading on toward the shed.
As they approached, Jen was surprised to notice a pair of rather nice benches in front of the structure. They were weathered but the construction was custom, and little holes in their bases suggested insertion points for optional sun shades, a necessity if anyone was out here between June and September.
The door was secured by a padlock, which Sam released with a key from a ring in his pocket. Once inside, he reached for light switches with the familiarity of someone who’d been here before. As the illumination kicked in, Jen took her first step across the threshold.
Then halted.
She hadn’t been sure what to expect, but this surpassed the expectations like the Starkiller dwarfed the Death Star. It was damn near a designer showroom. No sign of the aluminum walls from outside. Instead, the space was walled in polished wood, reflecting warm hues beneath the bright track lighting. A stacked stone fireplace was surrounded by big leather couches draped in thick throw blankets, all but begging for someone to curl up in them with a good novel and a glass of wine. The open plan kitchen—separated from the main room by a wide bar framed by wrought iron stools—was small but outfitted with up-to-the-minute appliances. The same industrial motif defined a spiral staircase to their left. Apparently, it led to a loft bedroom.
