Page 44 of Menace in Vegas

Even worse, I’m feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling.

Hot.

Turned on.

My panties are soaked.

My heart is pounding, my pulse hammering against my throat.

What’s wrong with me?

Why am I so aroused that Connor nearly ripped a stranger apart for touching me?

I need psychological help.

* * *

I sitin the passenger seat of the wood-paneled station wagon, staring straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge what happened at the inn.

I’m certainly not letting myself think about how hot it was when Connor lit into that guy.

Lies.

All lies.

I glance over at him.

He looks relaxed and completely unfazed.

One hand casually grips the steering wheel while the other arm rests against the door, his muscles flexing slightly.

He glances at me, a smirk curling his lip.

I whip my head away, my hands digging into the frayed edges of my shorts.

He saw too much.

Knows I’m rattled.

Knows I can’t stop thinking about it.

And the longer he lets the silence stretch between us, the worse it gets.

* * *

The tension islike a live wire, snapping between us, burning my skin.

I crack beneath the pressure of it.

Inhaling sharply, I cross my arms and break the silence.

"Why did you do that?"

Connor doesn’t even blink. "Do what?"

I scowl, irritation blooming through me. "You know what.”

He smirks, and I want to slap his handsome-as-sin face, then kiss him like my life depends on it.

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