Page 11 of Accidental Vegas Vows

“We’re in Vegas, princess. Marry me.”

Chapter 4

Damien

The group filtered out the Bellagio’s doors, piling into cars that would take them to the Flamingo where my assistant had booked their rooms. “Incredible job today, everyone!” I called, drunkenly shaking hands with the few who were paying attention. “Enjoy your evenings and I’ll see you all tomorrow evening for dinner.”

I checked my watch — only just barely past midnight. The night was still young on Vegas time.

A flash of chestnut hair and a tight black dress caught my eye. Olivia stepped through the revolving door behind the last three employees, her cheeks pink and her footsteps slightly uncoordinated. Her mouth parted and her eyes glossy, she locked gazes with a driver.

I moved before I’d even decided to.

Before she could grab his full attention, I caught her by the wrist. “Where do you think you’re going?” She blinked as I pulled her back to me, her balance tipping before she caught herself on my chest.

Her eyes searched mine for something, but whatever it was, she didn’t say. “The Flamingo,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I narrowed my gaze at her. Is she really this dense or is it just the alcohol? “You’re not going to the fucking Flamingo just yet,” I mumbled. Instinctually, I released her wrist, hoping that her stumble and my insistence didn’t come across as anything more than a helping hand to whoever from the office was watching us. I didn’t know what had gotten into me over the past week, but there was something about her, something that was so Goddamn tempting, that made me lose all sense when she looked at me. It had only amplified with her presence here, and even more when I’d let myself hold her upstairs.

And that fucking kiss.

I needed more, but suggesting she marry me for it was probably not the brightest idea or the best way to get what I wanted, even if it would kill two birds with one stone. I’d said it in the heat of the moment, my mind drunk on the idea of burying myself inside of her. I still was, but in the fresh air with the effects of too many drinks starting to wear off little by little, the error of my insistence was blinding.

I wasn’t even sure if she remembered what I’d said, but I wouldn’t have felt right without saying something. “I’m sorry about what I said upstairs. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

She shook her head and covered her lips, a little giggle breaking through. “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone offer to marry me on the spot just to sleep with me,” she said. The blush across her cheeks spread further and deepened. She looked so small, so fucking bendable. “It’s okay. It was, uh, flattering, I think?”

I wondered if she’d think the positions I’d been imagining her in for days were flattering.

“So… if I’m not going to the Flamingo yet, then what am I doing?” She blinked, the alcohol still thick on her breath as she watched the last employee be driven away. I pulled her to me the moment they were out of eyeshot. “And don’t you dare say you.”

“We’re in Vegas, and the night is young,” I grinned. “I figured we could spend a little more time together out on the town.”

The wind kicked up, forcing her hair over one shoulder as she laughed. “You’re like… twice my age, grandpa. How are you awake enough to keep going?”

“I’m not nearly old enough to be your grandfather. Maybe your dad, at best.”

“My dad, huh?” she grinned, her tongue dragging along the edge of her top teeth as I pulled her toward the waiting car I’d ordered. “Should I call you daddy then?”

The idea of that was almost sobering enough to give me pause, but I hauled her into the backseat with me anyway. If she was going to be the death of me this evening, I’d go willingly with whatever she’d give me.

————

No loud parties. No clubs.

Those were her only requests if we were going to keep going into the night, and I was more than happy to oblige — so on the 64th floor of the Delano, out in the open air in their rooftop bar, we truly began our evening.

Overlooking the entirety of the strip, she leaned against the railing, her hair blowing over her shoulders in the warm, early-summer breeze. I almost regretted saying anything about the wardrobe malfunction in my email — at least then she might have worn something slightly more revealing, leaving me more skin to sink my teeth into.

“You’re different around them,” she said, her fingers ghosting across the back of my hand as she placed her empty glass in my grasp. The way she looked at me was maddening — it was as if she saw a million solutions to questions she desperately wanted answered. “I like this version of you more.”

“I have to keep some kind of professionalism around them,” I laughed.

“And not me?”

“I think we’ve established that I don’t feel a need to with you.”

Her blush spread again, and God, it was so fucking cute.

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