Page 33 of Menace in Vegas

The slow, wicked curl of his lips tells me he’s enjoying every second of this.

I panic-sip my water, desperate to cool off.

The waiter appears, placing our food in front of us.

Connor calmly thanks him, like he’s not currently wrecking me in public.

I reach for my fork, gripping it too hard.

Connor leans back, stretching his arms behind his head, watching me with that goddamn smirk like he knows I’m unraveling.

Even though I’m avoiding eye contact, I feel his gaze, heavy and expectant.

Waiting for me to break.

I refuse to let that happen.

He leans closer, lips grazing my ear.

“Allie.”

I jump, startled by the feel of his warm breath on my skin.

My hands fly to the booth to brace myself—and one of them lands directly on his dick.

I freeze, horrified.

Time stops.

My breath rasps in and out of my mouth.

Jesus, Allie.

Let go of his junk.

Connor inhales sharply, his entire body tense.

The air between us is thick. Charged.

The bastard chuckles, low and rough.

"That’s one way to get my attention, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement.

A whimper escapes me.

Fucking whimper.

Jesus Christ.

I stare at my lap, my face on fire.

When I finally dare to peek at him, Connor is leaning back in the booth, smirking like the cocky menace he is.

"What’s wrong, Payne? Lose your appetite?"

11

ALLISON

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