Page 5

The hotel room door clicks shut behind us, and suddenly the air feels charged. Almost suffocating like if he doesn’t pull a move on me right this second, I will die. I’ve never in my life felt like I was dying for someone’s attention like this.

Reed’s suite is beautiful. There are floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Strip, expensive furniture that screams luxury, but I barely register any of it because he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the room that matters.

“We—” he starts, but I don’t let him finish.

I close the distance between us and press my lips to his, cutting off whatever he was about to say.

The kiss is even better than I imagined.

I’m not sure what I imagined, but this… his lips kissing back is life-altering.

I move my lips, wrapping my arms around him, inhaling his scent. Everything about him floods my senses.

When both his hands frame my face, I melt into him, needing more. Suddenly I’m in his arms and licking my tongue against his. I grind my hips against his, hoping to find what I’m searching for, but he’s so damn tall that I’m resting on his waist.

His hands grip my ass, and I arch into him. The tiara slips, but I don’t fix it. It falls to the ground as we laugh against each other’s mouths.

Holy shit, this is intoxicating more than anyone I’ve ever kissed. The kiss deepens, is consuming, hungry, desperate, like we’ve been waiting our whole lives for this moment.

When he pulls away, we’re both breathing hard.

“Wait,” he says, his voice rough. “I realized I never got your name—”

“Kiss me,” I demand, my heart racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the kiss. The last thing I need is for him to connect me to my father, to think this is some kind of setup or that I’m using him for access to the hockey world.

He drops me on the bed and leans down to kiss me. Thank God.

This time I let myself sink into the sensation of his lips against mine, his hands tangling in my hair, the way he tastes like vanilla gelato. I reach for his shirt.

“You’re full of surprises,” he says.

“I promise you that I’m really not.”

And then I’m kissing him again, pulling him closer to me.

I want to feel the weight of his body on me.

I’ve never been the aggressor before, never been the one to take charge, but something about Reed makes me want to be bold.

Makes me want to take what I want instead of waiting for it to happen to me.

“Is this okay?” I ask, tugging at his shirt.

“More than okay,” he breathes. “But are you sure? Because once we—”

“I’m sure.” I pull back to look at him, this beautiful, complicated man who’s been gentle with me all night despite his reputation. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He lifts his arms and lets me pull his shirt over his head, and oh.

Oh my. I knew he was big, knew he was strong from the way he held me, but seeing him like this.

.. His chest is broad and muscled, marked with scars that tell the story of his career.

There’s a particularly nasty one across his ribs that looks recent.

“Hockey?” I ask, tracing it with my fingertip.

“Skate blade. Three weeks ago.” He catches my hand, presses it flat against his chest where I can feel his heart racing. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” I say, and I mean it.

Something shifts in his expression at that, becomes softer and more intense at the same time. “Come here.”

He rolls me over onto his lap, and suddenly I’m straddling him, my dress riding up my thighs, his hands warm on my waist. The position is intimate, electrifying, and when he looks up at me, I feel beautiful in a way I never have before.

“You’re incredible,” he says, his hands moving to trace the line of my jaw, my neck, my collarbone. “When you walked over to me tonight, I thought I was dreaming.”

“When I saw you across the bar, I forgot how to breathe,” I admit.

“Good thing you figured it out.” His smile is wicked. “I like watching you breathe.”

I laugh. “That’s a terrible pick-up line.”

“Well, I’m terribly attracted to you.” His hands slide down to my hips, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us. “I’m terribly gone for a woman whose name I don’t even know.”

“Reed—”

“It’s okay,” he says, reading something in my expression. “Whatever reason you have for not telling me, it’s okay. I just... I want you to know that this isn’t just physical for me. I know we just met, I know this is crazy, but you’re not just some random Vegas hookup.”

The sincerity in his voice almost undoes me. “You don’t feel random to me either.”

“Good.” He stands up with me still in his arms, and I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively. “Because I plan on taking my time with you.”

He turns us around and lays me down on the bed gently, like I might break. Then he’s hovering over me, his weight supported on his forearms, looking down at me with an expression so intense it steals my breath.

“Still sure?” he asks.

Instead of answering with words, I reach up and pull him down to me, kissing him with everything I have. Because I am sure. For the first time in my adult life, I’m acting purely on instinct, on desire, on the simple fact that I want this man, and he wants me back.

And it feels absolutely perfect.

His hands find the zipper of my dress, and I arch into his touch as he slowly, carefully, begins to undress me. Each piece of clothing that comes off is followed by kisses, lingering glances, and touches that make me feel like I’m coming alive for the first time.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin, and I believe him. In this moment, in his arms, I believe every word.

He rakes my breasts with his teeth.

He presses his hard body against mine.

He slides his dick straight into me, and when I moan, he inhales the sound.

When there’s nothing left between us but instinct and reaction, I let my toes curl at the pace he’s keeping.

I let myself imagine that we could have something real beyond this immediate attraction.

Now I understand why people do reckless things in Vegas.

Because this feeling of being completely consumed by another person is worth any consequence.

Reed is nothing like the textbook encounters I’ve had before. This is fire and connection and a desperate need that goes beyond the physical. This is someone really seeing me, and somehow finding me worthy of his attention, his desire, his careful hands and racing heart.

When he moves over me, in me, with me, it’s like everything in my life suddenly makes sense. Like every choice I’ve made, every careful plan, every safe decision has led me to this moment, this man, this feeling of being exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Later, when we’re both breathing hard and tangled together in his expensive hotel sheets, he traces lazy patterns on my skin.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

I could tell him I’m thinking about how this changes everything, how I’ve never felt anything like what just happened between us, how the thought of leaving this hotel room makes my chest tight. Instead, I opt for honesty that’s a little less terrifying.

“I’m thinking I’m really glad my friends made me wear this tiara tonight.”

His laugh rumbles through his chest, and I feel it everywhere we’re touching. “Best accessory choice ever.”

“What are you thinking?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, his fingers still moving across my skin. “I’m thinking I don’t want this to end when the sun comes up.”

Neither do I. But saying that out loud feels like too much, too fast, too real for a night that’s supposed to be about being someone I’m not.

So instead, I press a kiss to his chest and let myself sink into the warmth of his arms, pushing away thoughts of tomorrow and consequences and the fact that in the morning, we’ll both be back to our real lives.

“Stay,” he murmurs, already half-asleep. “I have to be up early but stay.”

I trace the tattoo on his ribs. It’s some Latin phrase I can’t read in the dark. “Okay.”

But I’m lying.

I wait until his breathing evens out, then slip from his arms. Three a.m. shadows make him look younger, softer. Vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache. I find a pen on the nightstand and, in a moment of weakness, write my name and number on his forearm where he’ll see it when he wakes.

My dress is wrinkled, my hair a disaster, but the walk of shame through a Vegas hotel is practically a rite of passage. I make it back to my hotel by calling an Uber. Then I reach my room and slide into my hotel bed as the sun threatens the horizon.

“How was it?” Mia mumbles from the other bed.

“We had sex,” I whisper back.

She laughs, still drunk. “Oh, Vegas.”

I think about strong hands and stronger chemistry, about the way he looked on top of me, about how this empty feeling is the reason I don’t hook up with anyone. I feel gutted.

“It was a big mistake,” I admit.

But I won’t repeat it. Tomorrow I’ll fly home, accept a job that will make my father proud, and forget about the stranger who made me feel alive. It was just one night.

Just Vegas being Vegas.

It meant nothing.