Page 187 of A Match Made in Vegas

My body is a fucking idiot.

"But you wouldn't want to make Daddy mad." She shoots me an exaggerated pout. "You'd never touch the boss's daughter."

"It wasn't about that."

"Is it not now?" she asks.

Of course, it is. But it's about other shit too.

"You wouldn't."

"You wouldn't," I return the dare.

She scoffs. "Watch me." She looks me directly in the eyes and pushes her dress off her shoulders.

The fabric falls at her feet.

Laurel Steele is standing in her brother's living room in only her bra and panties.

Black mesh that barely covers her nipples.

And those red shoes—

Fuck me.

I need to do the smart thing and stop now.

I don't.

I pull my t-shirt over my head.

She gets something from her purse. A condom. "I'm not playing, Rome."

Rome. My actual name.

She isn't playing. She hasn't said that since she groaned it.

I swallow hard.

"Fuck you, or shut the fuck up?" I ask.

She nods. "That's right. Your choice."

"What if I'd rather put my mouth somewhere else?"

She stares at me, fire in her dark eyes, voice dripping with desire, and she issues a dare I can't resist. "Then make yourself useful."

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