Hot Vegas Nights (The Trifecta 1)

If I would’ve known Maureen was part of the package I would’ve tried harder to get my dad to stay away from Tracy. Maybe sabotage one of his sites to get him focused on work. Well, that’s probably a lie but a girl can fantasize.

I’m still confused how someone could have pulled the wool over my father’s eyes so easily. And now I have the spawn of Satan as a stepsister. Maureen’s little entourage of bitchy friends aren’t any better than her, making my night a living hell. They made snide comments the whole limo ride over here. None of them bothering to keep quiet about how they would be having more fun if I wasn’t there. I didn’t bother to tell them I felt the same way. Besides the way Maureen changes her friends so quickly, I have a feeling most of these girls will be replaced before the wedding.

I slip off one of my shoes, letting it bounce on my toe as the music pounds in the room. The girls cheer, and when I glance up it looks like they are licking alcohol from the Trifecta’s abs.

I roll my eyes and pretend not to care.

But, heat flares in my lower abdomen at the thought of licking it off my Trifecta, but I refuse to let my guard down and ask if I can have a taste. Maureen doesn’t want me here, and I plan on blending into the background until it’s time to escape. That way I did my job as a good daughter and won’t give her friends anymore ammunition to talk shit about me.

“Are you ready for a dance?” one of the Trifectas asks, making my stepsister’s friends crow like idiots.

“Wait, there’s one more girl who hasn’t been part of the toast yet.” Even without seeing who it is I know it’s my Trifecta. I blush, correcting myself to Trifecta number one refusing to recognize I’d labeled him as mine from the moment I saw him.

He isn’t mine.

And he’ll never be mine.

“She’s fine,” Maureen says. Her friends bobble head up and down in agreement. “Clara, never drinks anyway. She’s boring.” More bobble head action, I resist grabbing my dangling shoe and tossing it at Maureen’s head.

“Oh, I don’t know, she looks like she needs a drink. Why don’t my brothers start dancing while I catch Clara up on the party?”

Some sort of triplet communication passes between the three brothers. The other two give an imperceptible nod, grabbing my sister and her friends as they grind on them.

My Trifecta, I mean, Trifecta number one, I correct myself, takes measured steps across the room until he’s less than a foot from me. He nudges my legs slightly and steps between them.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say, looking all the way up to stare into his blazing green eyes.

“I know.”

“You can go back to my sister and her friends. I don’t mind sitting here. I’m actually quite tired.”

He smirks, bending slightly so his face is closer to mine. “Why aren’t you with the other girls? Are you trying to get me all to yourself?”

Yes. “No,” I lie.

He leans even further down, and I can’t help studying the bright green orbs. They’re outlined by thick black lashes that any woman would die for. His face is all sharp angles and soft planes making me know without a shadow of a doubt this man knows how to please a woman in the bedroom. With the way he was shaking his hips earlier, I know this man has the rhythm to last all night long.

Listen to me, this isn’t me. I don’t go to male revues and scope out the dancers. What am I doing here?

“Are you sure?” His tone pulls me out of the trance his cheekbones put me in. He knows he’s good looking, hell he’s one third of the Trifecta. His nearness is causing me to want things I know I shouldn’t want, and his cocky attitude is just what I need to keep me from making a mistake.

“Of course, I’m sure.” I push back against the couch, attempting to put more distance between us. It has to be the alcohol making me want to push the other way and plaster myself against him instead of the red leather couch I’m sitting on.

“I don’t believe you. Now are you ready for your drink?” He stands up straight and moves to pour the champagne over his sculpted abs and right into my waiting mouth.

“Really, I’m not interested.”

His arm freezes from pouring the liquid over his body. I sit on my hands to stop myself from rubbing them over him. I can’t help but wonder if he’s as hard as he appears. His body looks as if tanned skin is stretched over forged steel. Men don’t normally have a body like this. It can’t be real.