“Do you always follow the rules?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“Except for owning a fake ID.”
“She wouldn’t even have that if I hadn’t bought it for her birthday,” April butts in. I tilt my head her way as though to say See? That wasn’t on me. “I got it online from overseas.”
“I’m sorry I’ve lost it.” I’m so sorry about the money and the fuckup that I feel sick to my stomach about it.
“Maybe we should call the cab company,” she says not without sympathy, her fingers light on my arm. “See if it fell from your purse?”
Jake shouts April’s name, and she turns to him.
“You’ve never parked where you shouldn’t?”
I turn my attention from April’s retreating form and half-heartedly shake my head in answer to Roman’s question.
“Never inadvertently driven through a red light?”
“I don’t think that counts,” I reply, still distracted and wondering how I can persuade her to let me go back to the hotel without her. I don’t want to spoil her night.
“Never messed around in public?”
“I—” I’m suddenly thinking about it. Thinking about Roman pulling me closer, one strong arm wrapping around my shoulder, slamming me against the wall, his other hand slipping between my legs. Yes. God, yes. But also no, because I have never—
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.” It’s not exactly an apology, and his expression reminds me of Clyde, my nana’s old cat, eyeing a tiny bird. “You look a bit stunned.”
“I . . .” I wet my lips. “I guess I’m just an anomaly.” The kind that died out with the dinosaurs. I feel parched suddenly, parched and out of my depths.
“The last good girl in Vegas?” As his small smile spreads, it does nothing for my thirst. Except make it worse.
“I guess you think that’s funny.”
“No, we’re back to adorable again.” Pulling me into his side, he moves us in the direction of the doorway.
Five minutes later, and Roman becomes fully aware of how tight the liquor laws are in Vegas. No amount of charm or good humour will get me into any club. While he’s shown more deference than I’d expect, no is still a no, no matter how sweet the delivery is.
“Right-o.” He pushes out the word on a long breath, a slight furrow appearing on his forehead. “You guys take the table. We’ll go back to the cab stand and follow once we’ve got it.”
“No, I couldn’t possibly,” I begin, my eyes darting between his and April’s as the thought slowly dawns that I’m going to spoil one of their nights, no matter what.
“I’ll look after her.” This he says to April.
“Yeah, okay.” Her narrowed gaze is countermanded by the smile she can’t seem to contain. “I think you will.”
8
Kennedy
Past
NOT GONNA WASH
“I feel so bad,” I bemoan at the cab stop when our first stop is a bust. There was no ID handed in to the company, and the driver reported that it was not in his cab. “All that money gone to waste!”
“Let’s head back to the hotel first and see if it’s there.” Roman grabs my hand, and a ripple of awareness travels to my chest. It’s probably a one-way sensation as he seems unaffected as he tugs me into a waiting cab.
Back at the hotel, there’s more bad news. It hasn’t been handed to either the reception desk or the bar, not that I dared go into the bar myself. Not without my ID. Roman kindly offered while I checked the room. I guess I should be comforted that he didn’t offer to come up with me as a pretext to, you know, come up me.
Urgh. That was so bad. Nasty thoughts, get out of my head!
“What now?”
From my seat in the foyer, I glance up at his face. His gorgeous face. “I guess I’ll go back to my room,” I say, trying to keep my voice upbeat. “Put on my PJs. Watch some TV. You go on to Hakkasana. I’m fine, really!”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” The plush sofa dips as he lowers himself next to me.
“No, I just don’t want you to miss out on the fun. You just obviously have your friends and—”
“I’d rather hang out with you. The only question is, are we doing it in or out of our PJs?” Leaning back, he stretches out his long legs, oh-so-casually crossing them at the ankles.
“W-What?”
“In your version of hanging out, are we in or out of our PJs?”
My head fills with images of tan skin and white sheets. Pillow parties and nakedness.
“I’m just yankin’ that chain.” This he says in a much quieter tone as he reaches out and begins to trace the neck of my dress. His eyes are dark and kind of inscrutable, and I fight the urge to shiver. To press myself to him. To crawl onto his knee. “What would you like to do?” From the chain to my bare shoulder, his finger brands a hot trail down to my wrist.