Page 37 of Claiming Atlas
Atlas shrugs. “We needed more time to get to know each other.”
My heart bursts in my chest, releasing a flood of butterflies because Atlas Reynolds wants to get to know me, but my brain tries to smash them as they flutter around, because this is borderline stalkery—or just an elaborate act he’s pulled before to get a girl who doesn’t say yes right away—and he’ll just have his bouncer boot me from his life the second he grows bored.
I narrow my eyes. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended.”
He leans forward, bringing his lips to my ear. “Definitely flattered.”
“Ugh.”
He pulls back, his brows furrowed. “Ugh?”
“Yeah.Ugh. Like, how full of yourself are you?” I cross my arms over my chest.
He watches my arms, then meets my gaze again. “Very full of myself.” He says it almost embarrassingly, like he’s not as proud of being a cocky shit as he wants to appear. “But I don’t get turned down by beautiful women very often.” He shrugs. “So...”
“So, what?” I lean forward to hear him over the music.
His gaze falls to my shoulder, then up my neck until he finds my eyes again, and somehow it feels like he ran his fingertips across my skin, like the heat from his hand is in his gaze and I’m being touched by him while not being touched at all.
He licks his lips. “So, I wanted to get to know you. Is that so bad?”
I narrow my eyes and pull in a breath. His dark eyes hold mine intensely, like he’s anxious to hear my response. Will I turn him down again?
Should I?
If I’m smart, yes. Because his reputation precedes him and it doesn’t bode well for me. Only one of us will get their heart broken tonight.
“You summoned me, then stalked me.”
He laughs. “Ouch.” Reaching past me, he grabs a bottle of champagne, and I take a second to breathe in deeply while he’s not looking, to try to gain some composure. When that cologne hits my nose again, however, composure is the last thing on my mind. I want to crawl into his lap and press my nose to his throat and have my way with him, whatever that entails.
I glance at his fingers knowing perfectly well, too well, what they can do to the strings of a bass. What else can he do with those hands?
Only one way to find out.
I’m going to regret the hell out of this, aren’t I?
But if I’m leaving Vegas, why not go out with a bang?
He leans back and hands me the bottle, licking the champagne off his lips. My gaze falls to his mouth, and he smirks.
“You’re trouble,” I whisper.
Atlas laughs, then leans forward to bring his lips to my ear once more. “Only the very best kind.”
