Sinful Desire

He wiped a hand across his brow as if to say whew. “Okay, so we’re done then with the résumé basics and we can move on to favorite TV shows and movies, then?”


She laughed, a bright and pretty sound that seemed to match her personality and her bold sense of style. Not that he was well versed in women’s fashion, but the way this woman dressed caught his eye and sparked his imagination. She had a va-va-voom look to her that was his kryptonite. She was all gorgeous, sexy, voluptuous woman, and knew how to show off her assets.

He couldn’t look away from her if he tried.

“Actually, I think someone’s favorite show can be quite telling. I wouldn’t mind knowing yours,” she said, then did that utterly sexy thing she’d done at the slot machine, where she ran her hand along his arm. Okay, it wasn’t like some signature move or anything. But the combination of her long nails, the glint in her blue eyes, along with the wild flirtatiousness in her tone, turned him on something fierce.

As she’d done from the second he met her.

“Top Gear,” he answered easily.

“You like fast cars.”

He nodded. “I do. And it’s just a kick-ass show.”

“I bet you’d like to drive my Aston Martin someday,” she said, brushing her fingertips over his bicep now.

He nodded eagerly. “I’d love to get behind the wheel of that baby. What about you?”

“My favorite show?”

He shrugged happily. This was a simple enough topic. “Sure. Tell me.”

“Mad Men for the fashion,” she said, counting off one finger. “Dancing competition shows because they’re gorgeous to watch. And Orange is the New Black because it reminds me to always be a good girl.”

He forced a laugh at the last one and decided not to touch it, even though he was tempted to make a dirty comment about being a good girl. But he couldn’t chance any conversation drifting into this territory—the behind bars territory. He returned to the middle choice. “My sister is a choreographer. She’s done some work on a reality dance show.”

Sophie arched an eyebrow. “Ooh! Which one?”

“Dance All Night,” he said, naming the show that Shannon had worked on.

Her eyes lit up. “Get out of here!” She slugged his arm.

He ran his hand over the spot where she’d hit him, pretending it hurt. “Ouch.”

“I’ll kiss it and make it better,” she said, planting a quick kiss on his arm. Damn, that felt good, even through the fabric of his shirt. She raised her face. “I absolutely adore Dance All Night. Tell her that her work is amazing. Please, please, please tell her that. There’s a one-night reunion show coming up, and I already have it marked on my calendar to make sure I don’t schedule anything else that night.”

Ryan’s grin spread, anticipating Sophie’s next reaction. “I know about the reunion. She’s choreographing that, too. My sister is Shay Sloan. She runs Shay Productions,” he said, using Shannon’s business name. Their capsule reached the midway point in its rise. More hotels and landmarks came into view, dotting the darkening sky with their blazing lights—the top of the Stratosphere, the Eiffel Tower on The Paris, and the pink neon edging The Flamingo.

Sophie grabbed his arm, wrapping her fingers around it and squeezing hard. “Are you kidding me? I love her shows. I’ve seen the live ones, too. I saw her show at the Wynn. Please tell her I’m a huge fangirl.”

“I will,” he said, and the words surprised him. He didn’t usually discuss his romantic life with his sister, or his two brothers, either. He didn’t usually date anyone long enough to mention her to the most important people in his life—his siblings. So it was odd that he’d easily entertained the thought of telling Shannon about Sophie’s adoration of her work. Odder still—talking about his family with Sophie didn’t make him want to run for the hills. Even when they’d landed on the topic of his father earlier, he hadn’t shut down as he normally would. Because Ryan didn’t share pieces of himself with women. He didn’t like to get close. He didn’t do relationships.

It was weird not to be breaking out in hives right now.

“I wish I knew how to dance,” Sophie said wistfully. “I have absolutely no skills in that arena whatsoever. I’m pretty sure I can’t even manage a basic foxtrot.”

He leaned in and whispered, “Confession: I don’t even know what a foxtrot is. Besides, I think you danced pretty damn fine with me the other night.”

“Dancing with you was easy. I just aimed to press my body as close as I could.”

“Good rule of thumb. Keep it up, because you feel spectacular pressed up against me,” he said.

“Imagine how spectacular I’d feel…” she began, then let her voice trail off as she danced her fingers down the front of his shirt and whispered, “…naked.”

He drew in a hiss and narrowed his eyes. “You are too tempting.” It was a warning, even though it was an invitation, too.