“You are perfect,” he husks before his lips ghost across mine in a gesture that can barely be called a kiss. “So perfect, in fact, that I’m probably gonna regret giving in to you.”
“I don’t want you to regret anything.” Still, I run my hands up his back, silently urging him to leap.
And he does.
His mouth crashes down on mine with a ferocity that takes my breath away. I should have expected that this resolute man would kiss like he does everything else—with 100 percent of himself—but the intensity catches me off guard, and my knees go weak.
Without breaking our connection, he curls an arm around my middle to keep me upright, kissing me like it’s his job. His lips are demanding yet gentle, greedy yet giving, and when his tongue teases against mine, it’s all I can do not to melt into a puddle of lust right there on the terrace.
Kissing Dean Langston is a million times better than I could have ever imagined. The way one of his rough, calloused hands cups my face and the other holds me. How his stubble abrades my skin, like he’s marking me. His taste—like an honest to god man and not like theboysI’ve kissed before.
It’s overwhelming and, to steal his word,perfect.
“Mm, you taste like lemon.” He breaks away, and I almost whimper in protest until he rests his forehead against mine.
“Lemon drop martini.”
“Went with the fancy drink for the fancy crowd, huh?” he teases, obviously remembering what I’d said about the beer last night.
“Something like that.” I shift closer and loop my arms around his neck. I’m in no hurry to let go.
“One night,” he mutters before he sweeps his lips across mine again. “We get this out of our systems, and we move on.”
I nod, even though the voices in my head warn me otherwise. “One night, and we walk away like it never happened.”
chapter 5
DEAN
Never before has such a bad idea been so much fun.
“Hurry up,Deeean!” Tessa calls from the top of the escalator on the pedestrian bridge between hotels. She’s still wearing her bridesmaid dress, but she swapped the strappy heels for a pair of cheap lobby flip-flops when we left the reception to walk along the strip.
“You’re awfully demanding for someone who can’t even carry her own shoes,” I holler up to her and hop on the lift with her heels hooked on my fingers.
“That was our deal, remember?”
“I don’t remember any such deal.”
She giggles when I finally step off in front of her. “I may be a few martinis deep, but even I remember.” She toes up and gives me a kiss, playfully nipping my bottom lip as she pulls away. “You’d carry my shoes, and I wouldn’t drag you toThunder Down Under.”
I snort. “No way will I ever be caught watching that shit.”
“Aw. Worried it might challenge your masculinity?” She walks her fingers up the center of my chest, stopping only when she brushes the hair where my shirt is unbuttoned.
“I’m plenty confident in my masculinity, sweetness. Don’t you worry about that.”
She bites her lip and bats those lush eyelashes, and I instantly imagine her on her knees, that pretty mouth of hers full of something other than sass. “Mind if we put that to the test?”
I cock an eyebrow. “How so?”
“If I tell you, it’ll ruin the fun.”
“I don’t like the sound of this.”
“You didn’t like the idea of giving in to me either, but look how much fun you’re having.” She slides her hands around the back of my neck and leans up for another kiss. “I promise it won’t hurt, boss man. Not too much anyway.”
Twenty minutes later—and forty minutes late—we walk into a comedy burlesque show on Fremont Street. The dimly lit saloon-style showroom is packed, but Tessa points out two empty seats near the back.
