Sweet Sinful Nights

She licked her lips and exhaled but said nothing. In her silence, he sensed an opening. A chance to earn a laugh or two. With complete honesty.

He inched closer. They were less than a foot apart. He could smell her, and her scent was intoxicating—she smelled like honey and spice, completely different than how she’d smelled in college. This was more sultry than the jasmine lotion she wore then. It was heady. It made him high in seconds.

“Please.” It was all he had. “I held onto the scarf to see you again. I saw it on the floor, took it, and hid it. I’m a thief, I’ll admit it,” he said, holding his arms out wide, one hand still gripping the silvery fabric. He wasn’t letting go of the only thing he had that she wanted.

She furrowed her brow. “You took my wrap?”

He nodded. “Yes. You always left them behind when we were together,” he said, stopping briefly when she winced at those words—when we were together. “When I spotted it on the floor, I grabbed it when the guys weren’t looking, and I hid it. I sat on your scarf.” He kept his eyes fixed on her, admitting the full truth even if it made him look like a complete ass.

Her lips quirked almost imperceptibly, but it was enough for him to think that he was gaining ground. He tried to build on it. “It’s a nice scarf. Do you think I could pull it off for a meeting tomorrow with my real estate guys?” He tossed it around his neck and adopted a pouty stare.

She rolled her eyes, and he was ready to declare victory. “You’re the worst,” she said, laughing. “Stop it.”

“You don’t like the way it looks on me?” he continued, deadpan.

“It looks ridiculous on you, Brent,” she said, but she couldn’t stop smiling. “And by the way, it’s a wrap. It’s not a scarf.”

“So…you really like this…wrap?” he said, as he removed it from his neck.

“I do. I like it so much I came back for it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Only for the wrap?”

“Only for the wrap,” she said, enunciating each word, but the hard edge had evaporated. In its place was something ... almost playful.

“What about a trade then? Wrap for a drink?” he asked, dangling it in the air, the metallic fabric shimmering under the lights in the bar. Vegas had coasted into nighttime, ushering in all the possibilities of the town, all its risks, all its opportunities. As he held the long scrap of material, his whole body felt poised on the edge of something. “You’ll notice I used the proper name this time. Wrap.”

He handed it over. Whatever she decided next had to come from her, not from him holding a piece of her wardrobe hostage.

Time slowed to a crawl as she held his gaze, her green eyes giving nothing away. The straight line of her lush red lips revealed no hints of her intent. Perhaps she was toying with him. Torturing him. He probably deserved it.

I definitely deserve it.

She raised a finger. “One drink.”

He could breathe again. He’d been granted a reprieve.

“One drink,” he echoed.

He guided her to a quiet table near the corner of the Mandarin, with the city spread out far below them. She sat first, and he was torn between trying not to stare, and watching every move she made. But he’d never been good at looking away from her, and now was not the time to learn new tricks. She crossed her legs, one bare-skinned calf sliding against the other. His breath hitched. Those legs. Those gorgeous, sexy legs. They were his downfall, his weakness, and his complete obsession. They were an altar he’d pray at. He’d spent countless hours caressing them, touching them, and tasting them. If he were an artist, he’d have drawn them over and over. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off them when they were together. He hardly knew how to keep his hands to himself now.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence between them as he tore his gaze back to her eyes. “You’ve done well for yourself.”

He hated that they were talking like any other man and woman without a history, but he sensed she was something of a wary animal around him, who needed to be coaxed out of the corner.

She nodded. “Thank you. It’s been quite rewarding building the business.”

“It’s very impressive what you’ve done with your company.” He had half a mind to kick himself as soon as he said it. What he wouldn’t give to turn this conversation around to something that mattered. But he was going in cold, navigating without a road map and hoping he wouldn’t crash.

“Can I get you something?”

The waitress had materialized at their side, giving him some breathing room. “We have some fantastic cocktails,” she said, then waxed on about several concoctions. Shannon opted for the house martini and he ordered a whiskey. As the waitress walked away, Shannon folded her hands across her lap, shooting him another closed-mouth smile. “And you’re doing great, too. I’m so pleased that Edge is faring so well.”

Shit. This was not how he’d wanted to spend time with her. It was so fucking formal. So immensely fake. So not them.