Lust (Vegas Nights 2)

He shot me a look as we pulled into the hotel. “You could attempt optimism, you know. It might do you some good.”

“And you could try to do a little thing called listening. That’s what these are for.” I tugged on his earlobe right before unclipping my seatbelt and getting out.

He stayed in the car.

I bent down and looked at him. “Are you coming?”

His eyes flitted to the cleavage caused by both the low neckline of my dress and by gravity. “With you or on you?”

I stood up. Fast.

There was a line, and we were very, very close to crossing it.

“Please excuse him,” I said to the displeased valet waiting for him to get out. “The doctor’s trip this morning was unsuccessful and he’s still very concerned about his little…issue.” I waved my hand in the general vicinity of my hips.

The valet’s eyebrows shot up as my words sank in.

Adrian slammed his car door shut and shoved the keys at the valet. I dipped my head to hide my smile, checking the road before I walked across it and stepped up to the pavement outside the doors.

I didn’t even make it inside before Adrian pulled me against his body. His fingers dug into my waist with his tight grip, and he pressed his mouth against my hair.

“Did you just tell the valet that I can’t get it up?”

“I merely insinuated you had issues in that area. That could be crabs or herpes for all he knew.”

“Perrie.”

“If you want to be inappropriate, I can be, too.”

“You told him I can’t get it up because I can’t stop thinking about how fucking sexy you are in that dress?”

Well, there went the line.

“And I’ll tell everyone else if you carry on!” I nudged my elbow into his side so he was forced to release me. Storming ahead, I didn’t even care that I knew he was looking at my ass.

Tomorrow, I was going to wear a fucking parka and a pair of sweatpants.

I walked up to the bar and tapped my nails against the thick, black, glass surface. Glass bar. That sounded like a recipe for disaster for me.

A hard body pressed against mine from behind. Familiar hands landed on the bar either side of me, and Adrian’s lips hovered right by my ear, his breath tickling across my cheek.

“I don’t know if you’re PMSing or you’re generally just this prickly, but remember who you are when you step into the casino.” He leaned into me. “You’re my girlfriend, and you need to act like it.”

“I am. I’m just your pissed off girlfriend. Doubly so now that you suggested I’m PMSing.” I snapped the last few words and shoved at his arm.

He took a deep breath, but moved his arm and stood beside me instead of behind me.

Thank fucking god. I’d been starting to feel something I had no place feeling—his cock. Hard and pressed right against me.

“What can I get for you?” A young woman who looked no older than me put her hand on the bar in front of us and shot Adrian a flirty smile.

“I’ll have a beer, please. Budweiser.” He smiled right back.

Hers grew a little wider, and she leaned forward, the scooping neckline of her shirt giving the people on the other side of the damn casino a full view of her cleavage.

I cleared my throat, catching her attention. “I’ll have a strawberry margarita, please. Non-virgin.”

“She’ll have it virg—”

“No. She won’t.” I glared at Adrian.

He stared back at me before saying, “Whatever she wants,” without taking his eyes off me.

The bar girl hovered for a moment, clearly undecided over whether we were together or who she should listen to. With a slight grimace, she nodded, then turned.

“I could have gotten her number.” Adrian perched on the edge of a stool and looked over at the girl behind the bar.

“You’re more than welcome to ask her.” I sniffed, turning away from him.

He was bluffing. I knew it. He was only trying to piss me off and get back at me for my comment to the valet. Whatever. I didn’t care—not at all.

“Twenty-two-thirty,” the tender said, sliding both drinks across the bar, a move I caught in the corner of my eye.

“Keep the change. And sorry about my girlfriend. It’s, you know.” He bent forward as he handed her the money. “That time of the month.”

My jaw dropped at his words. What the hell? Slowly, I turned my head to look at him. His expression was deceptively plain, but there was no denying the fact he was laughing inside.

All right, so he’d gotten me back.

I hoped it felt good.

I pulled my drink toward me and sipped. Immediately, I had to fight the scrunching up of my face as the alcohol burned on its way down my throat. It was strong—stronger than usual. I’d have to drink it slowly.