Page 9 of Accidental Vegas Vows

“I…” I reached for my drink, downing almost half of the mojito in a single gulp. Horrible idea, Liv. Make it easier to say how he’s making you feel, why don’t you? “I don’t know.”

He set his elbow on the table, resting his chin on it and blocking out the man to his left entirely as he gave me his full attention. Somehow, it wasn’t intimidating, and I wasn’t sure if that was because of the alcohol or if it was because his shields were lowering. “What does that mean?”

“Are you flirting with me?” I asked, the words falling out of me before I could even process them. My cheeks heated further, practically burning, and his eyes widened in response.

He took another swig of whiskey. “That would be against HR policy,” he said. “But if you’re wondering if I’m attracted to you, then yes.”

Oh, fuck.

“Does that bother you, Olivia?”

If I wasn’t borderline drunk, I would have ran. I would have taken my things and asked him what hotel room I was in, thrown myself onto the bed, and sent in a resignation email.

But I was borderline drunk, and he was looking at me like I was the only person in the room. “I don’t know,” I squeaked. “I’m not… I’m not good at this kind of thing.”

He chuckled as he sipped again. “We’re just having fun. If you’re worried that you need to act a certain way with me or feel okay about this just to get ahead, don’t. That’s not how things work at Blackwood’s.” His lower lip tucked between his teeth for a fleeting second as he let his gaze drift just slightly lower down, taking in my neck, my shoulders. Oh, my God. “But if you mean you’re inexperienced…”

“That one,” I blurted, clutching my drink in my grasp like a vice. The alcohol was doing the talking. Admitting that, speaking it out loud, almost felt like I’d walked into the restaurant fucking naked. I was twenty-four for fucks sake, a fully-fledged adult, and because of what I’d promised myself, I still hadn’t done it with anyone. “That.”

His smile widened further and he scrubbed at his lips with his hand to hide it. “Olivia,” he mumbled in a low voice, my name sounding like fucking butter in his mouth. “I can guarantee I’ve got enough experience for both of us.”

Jesus fucking Christ. I didn’t doubt that for a second, and neither did the space between my thighs. I crossed my legs to dull the ache that blossomed there.

“With flirting, of course,” he laughed, one eye closing in a wink.

This man was going to tempt me far too much. “Is this… what you do? I mean, I’ve heard rumors that you, uh, sleep around.”

His unexpected laughter nearly sent his whiskey spraying into his glass. “That’s a bit forward.”

My face felt like it was on fire. “I’m sorry?—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he grinned. “You’re tipsy. I’m not expecting you to have a filter. But to answer your question, yes. Casual is what I prefer. Not at the office, though. That’s off limits for me.”

Off limits? Does that mean I’m off limits? “I don’t think I could do casual sex,” I breathed, hating the words the moment they left my mouth.

“Why?”

I blinked at him, trying to weigh up the positives and negatives of speaking the truth, but in the haze of the alcohol and the wild laughter down at the other end of the table, I couldn’t find a negative. Screw it. “I’m a bit more conservative when it comes to that kind of thing,” I said, my voice a little low, a little quiet.

He leaned just a little bit closer, his eyes sparkling with intrigue. “How conservative, Olivia?”

I swallowed. “Ask me when I’m drunk.”

————

At the bar, Damien’s hand held me in place on my lower back, my feet feeling far too clumsy in my heels after a further two cocktails. I was in dangerous territory — the kind of drunk where my filter was gone entirely, my inhibitions left behind and dunked in the Bellagio’s fountains. He was getting there himself, too. I could see it in the way he looked at me, with his heavy-lidded eyes and the way his mask of authority had slipped entirely. We were tucked away around the corner from the table, just the two of us standing at the side of the bar, and every second we spent here felt like a ticking time bomb.

“You’re touching me,” I breathed. He’d ushered me forward to order with his hand on my back, and it just hadn’t left.

“I am.” His eyes met mine from beside me, his hand resting just a little more insistently against me. “Is that a problem, princess?”

Exhaling shakily, I let myself move toward him, let myself get just a little bit closer. “No.”

“You can tell me if it is.” He gulped down the last of his drink and motioned idly toward the bartender for another, his attention almost entirely on me.

“It isn’t,” I insisted, and God, why did I mean that?

He grinned, turning to lean on the bar with his side as he gratefully accepted the next whiskey. “Well then… Are you drunk enough?”

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