Page 9 of Chasing His Bride

I decide to go with the latter.

Amber is so fucking gorgeous, not tall, maybe around five-five, with her big brown eyes and pouty lips, her nose dainty, her cheekbones high but not model high. Just enough to give her face definition.

But better than that is when she speaks. I hear every single word that comes from her perfect lips. Lips that would look so fucking wonderful wrapped around my cock as she looks at me with those big chocolate eyes.

Fuck. Calm the fuck down, Jack.

Her accent is so cute, I almost come in my boxers just listening to her speak. I was too pissed for words when Hunter sat beside her. His shit-eating grin deserved a hard punch.

Nonetheless, I had the last moment of triumph when I was the one who gazed at her, resulting in her turning beet red as I purposefully grabbed her attention.

There are three distinct groups of women here tonight. One is the high-end, super conscious of everything type of woman who is dressed in expensive clothes and stiletto heels, and enough to make-up to repaint a Picasso.

The second is the jeans and t-shirt type, the ones who are very comfortable in their own skin.

Finally, we have the cute ones, happy wearing a summer dress, or clothing that doesn’t shout, and if they are wearing make-up, it’s very light.

That’s her. Amber … She’s number three. But seriously she's a ten. There is nobody else here quite like her.

I once upon a time, I thought number one was my type... now I know she is.

“What’s her name?” I ask Hunter as we walk to the bar for yet another drink.

I heard her say she’s called Amber, but just in case I misheard. It’s also an excuse to get more information about her.

“Amber,” he replies. “She lives in London, and she's sexy as shit. I think I’m going to ask her on a date.”

“No fucking way. I saw her first.”

“Joking. Even I was uncomfortable with how much you stared at her.”

I groan, hoping I never made her run off.

Hunter grins as he slaps me on my back. “She’s going to the pool at ten. Apparently, her friend is going to win their bet.”

“Bet?”

Hunter shrugs his shoulder as Harvey comes staggering over, Hudson following not long after. “Where the fuck did you two get to?”

“Blackjack table,” I say and turn back to Hunter. “What bet?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. Her friend said she was going to beat their friend and to be at the pool at ten,” Hunter says.

“Tonight?”

“Yes, tonight.”

I glance at my watch—9:49 pm. “Let’s get some drinks at the pool bar.”

“A bottle of your best champagne and two glasses,” I say to the bar attendant.

“Fucking champagne,” Harvey growls. “We’re in Vegas, not some fancy restaurant in New York.”

“It’s not for you.” I sign the credit against my room number, take the bucket of champagne and glasses, and wait at a table.

Two girls are missing, but the pale blonde girl appears with two guys I recognize as the men who were in the seat we took at the blackjack table.

Amber walks behind them, holding a bottle of water. She stops and takes a sip.

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