Page 147 of Menace in Vegas

And then I make damn sure our last night in Vegas ends exactly the way it should.

With her screaming my name.

61

ALLISON

The second we step out of the airport, I realize I made a terrible mistake.

Humidity punches me in the face like a wet sponge.

Within seconds, my hair frizzes, my shirt glues itself to my back, and I feel my will to live evaporate into the tropical air.

“Connor,” I mutter, wishing I had chosen somewhere cooler for our honeymoon.

He grins, adjusting his sunglasses like the heat isn’t actively trying to roast us alive.

“Welcome to paradise, baby. This was your idea.”

I groan. “Why did I think this was a good plan?”

He laughs, grabs my sticky hand, and tugs me toward the shuttle van. “Because you’re chaotic and unwell.”

I drag behind him like a disgruntled tourist in flip-flops while he struts like he’s auditioning for a tropical cologne commercial.

“You’re thriving, aren’t you?” I mutter.

His smirk is pure evil. “Little bit.”

I narrow my eyes behind giant sunglasses. “I want a divorce.”

Our bags thud to the sidewalk behind us.

He stops dead.

His expression darkens like a brewing storm.

“Say that again,” he growls.

My stomach flips. “Connor?—”

He grabs the hem of my tank top and yanks me against him. “You think I’d let you walk away, baby?” His voice is low and lethal. “You think I’d ever let you go?”

My heart stutters. My traitorous body melts against his.

“It was a joke, hubby,” I whisper.

“Not funny,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over the shell of my ear.

I shiver despite the heat and shove his chest before I combust on the sidewalk. “Get the bags before I leave you for a cabana boy.”

He growls—but it turns into a smug grin.

“You’d be bored with a cabana boy.” He leans closer, voice dropping to a wicked rasp. “I’ve ruined you for anyone else.”

He’s not wrong.

He has.

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