Page 28 of All Bets Are Off

“Don’t.”

“Do,” he whispers, and crap, he’s so totally right.

I do enjoy Theodore Sinclair’s big, fat ego.

What is wrong with me?

Maybe it’s the Vegas heat. Yes, that’s it. The alcohol and the heat have me dehydrated and delusional, and when I wake up tomorrow morning, sober, I’ll be back to thinking Theo is arrogant and obnoxious and incredibly annoying.

But right now . . . Right now his eyes gaze into mine, his lips only a touch away.

The intense eye contact is too much to handle. I break it, glancing away and stepping back. I don’t know what just happened, but I immediately cut the tension by changing the tone of conversation.

“How late do you think it’ll be before everyone agrees to turn in for the night?”

“Well, what time did your itinerary have down as bedtime?” Theo asks, hand still in mine as he casually rocks his body in sync with the music.

“It was undetermined.”

“Undetermined?” He slackens his jaw in mock horror, then smiles. “Whenever you’re ready for bed, I’ll turn in for the night, too. That way we can be the boring ones together. Plus, I don’t really have a choice but to come with you to bed . . .” He squeezes our intertwined hands, drawing attention to the handcuffs around them.

“You are not coming to bed with me,” I say very sternly, making my point crystal clear.

“Melissa is still holding the keys to these cuffs hostage. The matter may be out of my hands, Hails,” he says with a cool shrug, but there’s a twinkle of joy in his eyes. “We could cuddle. You know, if the AC gets a little too cold for you. I’ve been told my skin is the temperature of the sun—”

“There will be no cuddling, Theodore.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “Your loss.”

“I’ll survive.”

But actually, the thought of lying under the cool AC with Theo’s arms wrapped around me sounds rather nice. I’ve been single for too long, and I’m a certified lover girl. It comes naturally as a romance writer, after all. When I do love, I love hard and I love deeply, which hurts all the more when it never works out (which seems to always be the case for me). It’s been forever since I’ve enjoyed someone else’s embrace, and it’s the intimate moments I miss the most when I’m not in a relationship. Forget the sex. It’s the hand squeezes when we’re in the car listening to music without talking, the stroking of my hair when I’m anxious, the cuddle on the couch after a long day at work.

Stop it, Hailey, I mentally scold myself. You are not cuddling with Addy’s brother in Vegas.

Even though I’d quite like to.

15

Evelyn

How I sneak out of the club a second time without anyone asking me where I keep going, I have no idea. As I danced with Melissa and tried to shake Jameson’s threats out of my mind for the night, I only ended up getting myself riled up further. Why should he hold all the power? Why should I spend the next forty-eight hours on edge, waiting for him to pop up at any moment? I may be naive and impulsive, I’ve made some stupid mistakes, but I refuse to go to sleep tonight with this man in charge of my fate.

So, when Melissa headed back to the booth to grab another drink, I seized my moment and made my way through the crowds and out of the club once more. Into the elevator I went, straight to the forty-first floor.

The corridors are so damn long, with so many rooms, that I start doubting my ability to recall which room is Jameson’s. I wander back and forth until I finally settle on a door that just feels right. I don’t give a fuck if this man is deep in the REM cycle of his sleep by now—I bang my fist hard against the door.

There’s a long agonizing minute where the lack of response has me wondering if maybe he headed back down to the casino for one final flutter before bed, but then I hear the lock click and I suck in a breath.

The door swings open, revealing a very-nearly-naked Jameson, sporting only a pair of black Calvin Klein boxers that fit nicely around his hips. I fight to keep my gaze from dipping, but holy shit. He’s seriously toned. Lines of definition in his stomach highlight muscles I didn’t even know existed. I never knew a man in his thirties could be this attractive.

I maintain my composure and coolly say, “Surprised to see me?”

“Not really,” Jameson says, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed casually across his bare chest. “You know there’s a peephole, right? I could see you standing out here, scrunching your nose and glaring.”

“Whatever,” I say with a dismissive wave of my hand. I set my eyes on his with confidence, but I’m not sure exactly just how intimidating I can be. “I’ve decided your plan of stalking and harassing me isn’t going to work.”

Jameson tilts his head in curiosity. “And why won’t it work?”