Page 32 of Menace in Vegas

His smirk is dangerous.

"You know exactly what I’m talking about," he murmurs, his fingers tapping the back of the seat.

He tilts his head, dragging his gaze down my body, short-circuiting something inside me.

I clear my throat, reaching for my drink again.

"You’re imagining things, Byrns."

"Am I?" His voice is pure sin. A slow drawl, like he’s savoring this.

I clench my thighs together.

Do not react.

He leans forward, propping his forearms on the table.

"I think," he murmurs, "you realize you don’t like being on the receiving end of this game."

My stomach tightens.

He’s right.

I don’t like it.

At all.

I snort, rolling my eyes. "You wish."

He chuckles.

The sound does something dangerous to me.

My insides heat.

I squirm, my body temperature shooting up several degrees.

His fingers trace the rim of his glass. “Why have you been pretending the kiss in the bathroom never happened?”

My entire body locks up.

I force myself to breathe.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I lie.

His eyes darken — and then the bastard smirks.

"Oh, come on, Allie. You remember it." His shrewd gaze cuts straight through me.

"You pulled me into the bathroom like you couldn’t stand another second without my mouth on you."

He pauses before delivering the fatal blow.

"Twice."

My eyes dart around as my face erupts in flames.

"Lower your damn voice," I hiss.

---