Page 15 of Betting on her Best Friend
She braced her hands on him to try and push herself off, but when she looked up—which was actually down—she realized she was palming the rounded muscles of his firm backside. Alyssa snatched them back like she’d been burned, effectively causing her upper body to crash into his again. It all happened so fast that Dylan had taken a good five strides before her brain caught up with the action.
“Put me down. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She tried to ignore the hint of panic in her voice and the sea of people staring after them and whispering in their wake.
Dylan tightened his arms around her thighs and turned his head just long enough to answer. “Getting the hell out of here. We need to talk.”
“We could talk just as easily there, Dylan. Now put me down. You’re causing a scene.”
“Not half the scene I’ll cause if we stay, Aly. Now stop squirming, or you’ll end up flashing everyone we pass.” That thought halted all efforts of escape. She felt him tug the hem of her dress down as far as it would go, which wasn’t more than a couple inches. “This isn’t a fucking dress. It’s a long shirt.”
Alyssa didn’t see the point in arguing over her wardrobe choice, but as soon as he pushed through a door that led to a dressing room, she got all fired up again.
“Great, we’re out. Put me down, Dylan.”
“Not yet.”
He swiped his gym bag from a table without even breaking his stride, then continued out into the lobby area of the second floor and over to the elevators. Every plea, every demand she made, went unanswered. Alyssa could only imagine what they must look like: gorgeous, near-naked Tarzan carrying off a surly blonde in a skimpy dress and fuck-me boots.
Classic Vegas.
“What floor is your room?”
She told him, but only because she planned on going in and locking his ass out. The whole night—the whole weekend—was now completely messed up. She didn’t get mad very often, but as they waited for the elevator door to open, she felt her blood start to boil. It wasn’t hard considering it had all drained into her head. She probably had steam coming out of her ears by now.
The elevator dinged its arrival, and Dylan stepped inside and swung her around as he faced the doors. Other people must have tried to get on because he said, “Sorry, this one’s full. You’ll have to catch the next one,” and stabbed the button to her floor.
As soon as the doors sealed shut and they began their ascent, he finally set her down. The blood rushed back into her body and made her dizzy, and Dylan reached out to catch her around the waist, steadying her against his bare chest. She stared up into his hazel eyes, hoping to read his thoughts, understand this new side of him she’d never seen.
In the back of her mind, a small voice told her she should be stepping out of his arms. Reestablish the boundaries that existed between friends, instead of flirting with the intimate embrace between lovers. The only reason she didn’t was because of the light-headedness.
Yep. That was it. Nothing more than a survival instinct.
“There’s something between us, Aly. I felt it when I kissed you. I know you did, too. Why deny it?”
“Because,” she said, finally pulling back to stand on the other side of the elevator. No way was she going to admit to being desperately in love with him now. Or ever for that matter. He’d made his stance on relationships clear last night and all he was offering her was a no-strings affair. Granted, that’s what she’d decided on finding when she got to Vegas, but not with Dylan. She wanted him for so much more than what he gave the women back home.
Something is better than nothing.Her mother’s reason for always inviting her father back into their home. Alyssa had never understood it until now. He was giving her the opportunity to get a taste of something she wanted desperately, but she knew it came with a price.
One broken heart.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “‘Because’ isn’t a reason. It’s a stall tactic.”
Now that she had opportunity to study him some more in his nearly naked form, her blasted eyes lowered to the only part of his anatomy still covered. The bulge behind the loincloth shocked her, its size causing her to wince and yearn at the same time. Then she remembered Trent telling her that jock-stuffing was the norm when wearing skimpy costumes.
“Did that getup come with its own padding, or did you have to use your socks?”
He glanced down at his crotch and then raised a single eyebrow at her. “You think that’s socks?”
She half shrugged. “I hear it’s pretty standard in the industry and considering how exaggerated that particular area is…”
She let her statement trail off, leaving him to finish the obvious conclusion in his head and hoping it would make him self-conscious enough to take his focus off her long enough for her to escape. But instead of his cheeks flushing or his eyes darting away from embarrassment, he closed the small bridge of space between them until only inches remained. Gripping the gold railing behind her, she tilted her head back to meet his intense gaze.
“No padding. No socks. It’s all me, Aly, I promise you,” he said, his voice husky. “And any exaggerated state can be laid solely at your feet. You have this effect on me.”
She opened her mouth but nothing came out, so she shut it and tried to swallow the brick that had formed in her throat.
“If you don’t believe me, you’re more than welcome to try and prove me wrong.”
Oh, dear God.What would it feel like to wrap her palm around his erection? What would he do? Would he submit to the pleasure or take command? He’d always been a leader, never afraid to take the reins in any situation, and she knew he had a reputation at work for being fair, but tough.
Only he’d never been that way with her before. He’d always been content with going along with whatever her super-controlling, OCD-self had planned. But that was not the man standing before her now. This man was a force to be reckoned with. One she wasn’t sure she could handle.
Though it felt like a lifetime, the elevator finally signaled their arrival and welcomed them to her floor with open doors. Alyssa didn’t waste any time. Skirting past him, she walked as fast as her five-inch heels would carry her. In record time, she reached her room, inserted her key card, and slipped inside. Dylan had been several yards behind her, and she almost had the door closed before he stopped it with nothing more than the press of his hand.
“You’re not getting rid of me until we talk.”
