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“Um, where are we going?”

Mystery tainted his grin. “It’s a surprise.”

She blinked. “What kind of surprise?”

“You’ll see. Just walk with me.”

Without quite planning it, Brenna locked her arm through Damon’s, and his free hand rose to cover hers. And as they strolled the grounds, finally reaching an expansive white staircase that welcomed pedestrians coming off the Strip, Brenna felt…close to him.  Romantically close.

Which she knew was terrible, bordering on tragic.

But Damon’s body next to hers was so snug and cozy, and the night felt too good for her to do anything but bask in it. And see what her surprise was.

The sprawling piazza at the top of the stairs was quiet but for the echo of music wafting from a dance club high above. The hotel’s arched gothic windows and columns rose majestically around them, lit from within. And just like so many times over the past few days, she felt amazingly alone with Damon despite being right in the middle of Sin City.

Still arm in arm, he led her to the gondola landing where all lay dark and still, as well, but for one lone gondolier manning one of the long, ornate vessels.

“I thought you might enjoy a gondola ride,” Damon said.

She swung her gaze from the gathering of narrow boats to his face. The idea was unbelievably sweet, but…“I think they’re closed for the night.”

Yet he gave his head a confident tilt. “For most people.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Most people?”

“I made a call earlier—while you were in the ladies’ room.”

“And…”

His eyes twinkled in the darkness. “I stay here a lot and they seem to like me—in spite of all my bad publicity. They agreed to open the canal for one last ride tonight.”

Just then, the gondolier called up to them. “Mr. Andros?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Thanks for being so accommodating.”

“It’s my pleasure, sir…and miss,” the young man said, nodding to them as Damon led her

toward the boat where he stood, pole in hand.

This particular gondola, she noticed, was even more grand than its counterparts, gleaming black with lavish gilt ornamentation framing the plush, black seats. Damon discreetly passed what looked like a sizable wad of money into the gondolier’s fist as Brenna settled into the velvet upholstery.

“Sit back and enjoy,” the gondolier told them, and she’d just noticed his Italian accent  when he broke into an elegant operatic serenade that blocked out all other sound—and  the rest of the world beyond the canal.

Damon sat close and, as the boat departed the landing, she leaned over to whisper in his ear. “This is so wonderful, Damon—thank you. But…you didn’t have to go to so much trouble. I would have been thrilled with a normal ride tomorrow—one that didn’t cost you an arm and a leg, I’m betting.”

“But I wouldn’t have been,” he said deeply.

“Why not?”

“Because sometimes evenI like certain things in private. I wanted to be able to make out

with you if I felt like it—and I didn’t think you’d let me in broad daylight.”

Brenna laughed, reminding him, “I just went down on you on top of the freaking Eiffel

Tower.”

His eyes locked on her possessively. “Yes, you definitely did. But during the day, people stand around the canal to see the gondolas go by. I didn’t think it was a good idea—unless  I want us to show up on the cover of the National Enquirer next to the latest alien baby.”

“Ah,” she said. “Well, I suppose that’s a valid worry. But just to be clear, if you started

kissing me while a thousand people watched, I still don’t think I could resist.”

He gave his head a speculative tilt. “I can’t get over you. You’re the last girl I would have expected to be so damn much fun.”

“And what exactly made you think I was so prim and proper in the first place?”

“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but I saw you in the office every week for the last few  years and my impression was of a…nice, dependable woman who…probably thought I  was someone to beware of.”

Some bold, new-Brenna part of her wanted to convince him he was off the mark, that he’d had her pegged all wrong, but she never had been good at lying—honesty just came so much more naturally. “Well, maybe I was a little more prim when I was with Wayne. But now there’s no reason to be. And as for what I thought of you…”

“Yeah?”

She sort of hated telling him what he already knew but…again, she had a hard time not being truthful. In fact, the more she got to know him, the easier it was to simply speak from the heart. “I…thought you were the hottest thing poured into a pair of ripped jeans I’d ever seen.”

He lowered his chin, looking utterly provocative. “Is that so?”

She hoped her nod came out more sexy than sheepish.

Either way, he slid his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close as he reached out his free hand to lift her legs across his lap. And he leaned near, his whisper echoing as sultry as the night. “You’re pretty fucking hot yourself.”

Being so close to him, but not kissing, got her hotter still. Just looking into his eyes and feeling that sense of possession again—of belonging to him, being at his sexual mercy.

“Still want to make out?” she asked.

“Oh yeah,” he replied, then leaned in for a long, slow kiss.

The gondolier’s Italian song permeated the night air, his voice strong and deep, as the private boat glided along the canal’s smooth surface. He stood behind them, guiding the boat, but a large awning shaded the seat from his view—and thank God, since Damon’s kisses grew more passionate. Soon, her breath turned labored as an intense heat climbed her thighs. She wasn’t sure she’d ever gotten so turned on from mere kisses in her whole life.

As usual, when his mouth trailed down onto her neck, she thought she’d implode. Tendrils of pleasure curled through her arms, her breasts—the small of her back ached with hard, sensual need.

When the gondolier’s song ended, Brenna and Damon both paused and looked over their shoulders, in case he were to speak to them—but when he simply began another tune behind them, they resumed kissing.

Until Damon eased his hand between her thighs.

Sensation pulsed through her, creating a maddening need. “Please,” she heard herself whisper in a shaky voice, “more.”

She parted her legs just slightly and felt his fingers ascend, slowly, so slowly, until they met her damp slit.

“Mmm,” she sighed, unable to hold it in—and thankful the gondolier sang so blissfully loud

as their ride continued through virtually dark, private waters.

“Still hot and sticky for me,” Damon breathed low in her ear.

She nodded. “Mmm, yes .”

His tongue invaded her mouth once more, kissing deeply, possessively, again taking ownership of her, just like she wanted—until she said, “God, I need you, baby.”

“You’ll have me soon—deep inside your perfect little pussy.”

The body part he mentioned involuntarily convulsed around his fingertips, and they both let out a heavy breath. “Jesus,” he whispered. “You’re so ready, babe.” She’d never heard him sound so intensely aroused.

Or felt that way herself, her whole body burning with a reckless, feral hunger. “I…I almost can’t control myself. I almost want to fuck you right here.”

Unparalleled heat filled his dark eyes. “Just a little longer,” he promised.

“You…you should quit touching me now. Or…or I don’t know what I’ll do.”

He pulled his hand away, and they both let out low groans of frustration even though she’d insisted. Yet he couldn’t seem to stop touching her entirely, since he slid his hand upward to the side of her breast to stroke his thumb over her almost painfully hard nipple.

A gasp of unrestrained pleasure escaped her as he leaned in to ask, in the dirtiest voice she’d ever heard from him, “Does it get you hot to imagine it? Fucking me right here, right now, in front of the gondolier, in front of the people walking around in the dark? Does it get you off to imagine the whole canal lined with people, but you can’t stop yourself, so you lift up your skirt and climb onto my cock and fuck my brains out while they all watch?”

Oh God—the pictures he sent darting through her head made her pussy pulse with raw, hard need. He still stroked her breast, making her crazier with each touch, and she heard herself speaking still more unbridled truth. “Yes. Oh, yes. ”

“Tell me,” he urged her, low, demanding. “Tell me how hot it gets you.”

“It’s…like at the pool,” she tried to explain, breathless, every fiber of her being growing  more ravenous with each passing second. “How I said I would do it with you on the bed  there if I could, even in front of all those people. And right now—I would straddle you and  ride your big, beautiful cock so hard. I would fuck you so hot, baby, until I came all over  you.”

He was kissing her again, harder now, their mouths struggling, trying to take more of each other in somehow.

And then the gondolier stopped singing again.

And they both went still, looked up over their shoulders again.

And this time he did glance down. “I hope you both enjoyed our gondola ride here at the

Venetian. Have a wonderful evening.”

God, they were back at the landing already. She hadn’t even realized—she’d lost track of space and time and everything else. She couldn’t speak, her breath trembling too much, but Damon managed to sit up a little straighter and say, “It was great. Thanks again for the favor,” as Brenna worked to calm down and act normal until they could depart.

As they walked away a moment later, hands clutched tightly, Damon said, “You okay, babe?”

“No,” she told him. “I’m going crazy. I think I could come just from kissing you right now.”

They walked briskly toward a line of doors that led inside. “Just hold on, honey, a little longer, and I promise I’ll make it all better.”

His voice was soothing, but when he squeezed her hand, her pussy surged with still more moisture, and she began to worry—insanely, she hoped—wondering if she could emit so much wetness that, without panties, it would begin to run down her legs. Was such a thing even possible? She feared she might soon find out.

“Hurry,” she said, then pulled him onward even faster, breaking into a light jog.

Seven

Damon had been with eager women before. He himself had been eager before. But not since his youth did he remember ever running to reach someplace to have sex.

And it wasn’t just Brenna who was eager. He was just as anxious—so he let her pull him through the Venetian’s doors and then through the casino toward the elevators, feeling like he would explode in his pants if they didn’t reach the room soon.

Damn, he wanted her. And he liked her. So fucking much. Too much. And he’d spent the last few days doing exactly what he’d told himself he couldn’t afford to do anymore, especially right now—he’d indulged his lusts, he’d let himself be seen in public with a woman right when he was being accused of taking advantage of women, and he’d been taking too many chances with her. But something about Brenna made it impossible to stop.

She might try to act casual about having been “a little more prim” before now—but he still suspected that she’d been a lot more prim until very recently, and he had a strong hunch he’d changed her into the sexual animal she was now. He knew that made him an arrogant bastard, but he felt it in his bones. And God help him, he loved it. It made him feel like…a god. Her god. But also like…he wanted to take care of her. Needed to. He felt almost as if he’d saved her from something—and had to keep saving her.

Normally, he didn’t enjoy feeling any sort of responsibility toward a woman, but this was different—she was different. She didn’t demand it, she didn’t even ask for it, she was just her open, genuine self and it made him want more. He wanted to keep saving her, keep fucking her, keep laughing with her, just keep on being with her.

Of course, this moment, as they stepped to the rear of a rapidly filling elevator, was all about fucking. The urgency was palpable.

Standing behind her, he let his arms fold gently around her waist, pulling her back against him, knowing how hard his dick was and that she could feel it pressing insistently into her soft, sweet ass.

As the elevator climbed, she trembled in his arms, fueling his lust still more. And shit—the damn thing stopped on floor after floor. People getting off, more people getting on. He rubbed against her. He couldn’t help it. She covered his arms with her own, squeezing, caressing—and soon gently digging her fingernails in.

When finally the elevator stopped on their floor, they practically tumbled out into the hallway and he grabbed her hand, pulling her down the quiet corridor toward the suite.

“My God,” she uttered, sounding frantic, breathless. “I can’t believe this.”

“What?”

“I can feel it…actually rolling down my legs.”

He was confused. “What? What’s on your legs?”

“My…wetness.”

He stopped, pulling her up short, then his gaze dropped to her miniskirt—and below. She’d clearly been holding her legs together in the elevator, but he could see the moisture there, on her inner thighs, below the hem of her skirt. “Jesus God.”