Page 47 of Menace in Vegas

He grins. "How?"

I stare at him in disbelief. "How? You … you’re manifesting this bullshit!"

He chuckles.

I whip around, jabbing a finger at his chest. "This isn’t funny, Connor!"

He just stares down at me, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

He’s too close.

There’s too much damn eye contact.

Then, in that slow, rough voice that is currently ruining my life, he murmurs, “Sweetheart. It’s a little funny.”

I shove him into the door.

* * *

I’m standingat the foot of the bed, my arms crossed.

Connor is lounging in bed, looking way too comfortable.

"You getting in or are you just gonna stare at me all night?" he smirks.

I grit my teeth and crawl in, staying as far on my side as possible.

I face away from him, trying my best to convince myself I can handle this.

The bed shifts, and I hold my breath.

His warmth seeps into my space.

Before I can react, his hand brushes my waist.

I freeze.

"Relax," he murmurs, his voice a lazy drawl.

My entire body locks up.

Is he fucking kidding me? Relax?

"You’re fine," he continues in that calm, soothing voice, like he’s talking about the weather.

I make a strangled noise. "This isnotfine!"

He chuckles, and it’s the most irritating sound in the world. "You’re so tense, babe."

“Stop calling me babe,” I snap.

"What should I call you? Oh, I know.” His voice dips lower.“Mine.”

I shiver, hating that I can’t control myself around him. “I’mnotyours.”

He chuckles, hovering far too close to me. His voice is as smooth as Irish whiskey. "Wife."

I launch myself out of bed.

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