Staying in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 1)

She doesn’t even protest. Holding her hands up in surrender, faintly raising an eyebrow, she says, “All right, I get it. When you’re done playing with your little mouse and proving whatever point your cock needs to make, you’ll want the pussy that can actually handle you. If you make it quick, maybe I’ll still be around.”

Laurel watches this exchange, taking in our words, tones, attitudes. Apparently painting herself an accurate picture, she flashes Cassandra a smile. “Oh, I don’t think he’ll be calling; mine handles him pretty well.”

I wouldn’t want my kitten’s claws scratching me, but she can drag them all over Cassandra anytime she likes. Even though I have no godly idea what she’s even doing in Vegas, let alone on my doorstep, I want to get a dig in, too, so I loop an arm around Laurel’s waist and tug her close, gazing down at her with open affection. “It certainly does.”

Laurel doesn’t understand why we’re playing this game, but she plays along like she does. Gazing up at me the way she did by Mateo’s pool, Laurel wraps her arms around my neck, pulls herself up on tiptoe, and leans in to kiss me.

Her lips are so soft and gentle. I remember how hungry she was for me, how desperate my touch made her. I remember the sounds that slipped out of her as I explored her body, the way she cried out the first time I made her come.

I cradle the back of her head in one of my hands and kiss her more deeply, remembering the softness of her skin, the sweet taste of her pussy.

She’s right here; I might as well have another taste.

Laurel pulls back, her chest working as she gazes up at me, biting down on her bottom lip. That’s my job. I bend to kiss her again, to get lost in her warmth, but Cassandra’s cool tone yanks me right out before I can make contact.

“You’ve made your point, Rafe.”

Cassandra’s blue eyes are cool as she regards me now, tying the belt of her trench coat. She cuts a look at Laurel, sizing her up, then she walks out the door without another word.

Like a vampire just fled the premises, I take Laurel’s arm and pull her inside, closing the door behind her before Cassandra can come back.

“So, what are you doing on my doorstep, kitten?”

She flushes with pleasure, ducking her head and looking at the veined marble floor. Her long dark waves fall in her face, but they sway right back as she looks up at me. “Would you believe I was just in the neighborhood?” she asks, lightly.

A faint smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Not really.” A new possibility crops up, the most likely reason she is in town, and I don’t like it. Still, I keep my tone casual. “In town with Vince and you

r sister?”

Laurel shakes her head. I’m relieved. Didn’t feel like killing the little fucker today. Sin and I are supposed to have dinner, for fuck’s sake.

“Just me,” Laurel says.

“And you’re in Vegas because…?”

She shifts her weight again. Damn, she is nervous. More nervous than she was before. I don’t know her well enough to guess why.

“Actually, at the risk of sounding like a stalker… I came to see you.”

5

Laurel

The man does not look nearly as put off as he should at the prospect of me being a stalker.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, seeming to like the idea. “Did you creep in last night and watch me sleep?”

“Of course not; I would have climbed in bed with you and made my presence known.”

“Mm, you’re full of good ideas,” he tells me, warmly. “I almost regret having such an adequate security set-up now. There’s no way you could ever do that, and it’s quickly becoming a fantasy of mine.”

“Well, I could give you the name of my hotel and you could sneak into mine instead,” I suggest, smiling.

“I like that, too.” Now he grabs my hips and tugs me close, encircling my waist with his strong arms. “Except the part where you got a hotel room. If you’re in town to see me, you should be staying with me.”

“You’re really bad at being stalked,” I tell him. “You’re not supposed to be so accommodating. You’re going to get victim-blamed really hard.”

“Believe it or not, I think I can handle myself against a 19-year-old science nerd,” he states, catching a strand of my hair between his fingers and rubbing. “Your hair is different.”