“Appearances, dear,” he growls in my ear, and it’s like a live wire right to my core. I blush at the feeling of forbidden heat that creeps traitorously through my body. He steps away and winks at me before turning back to Sarah.
“We’ll take the spare room; might have some guests later in the weekend. Oh, and Sarah?”
She looks up with this eager look on her face that has me rolling my eyes.
“You guys still have that in-house personal stylist, right?”
Sarah beams. “Of course, Mr. Taylor. Will you be needing the same style suit as last time?”
“That and something for my wife.” He grins. “What do you have in white?”
We skip every single line at every single club and bar on the Vegas strip. Bouncers greet Austin by name, girls in line freak the hell out and snap pictures of him while shooting dagger looks my way.
“You sure you’re not in some movie I haven’t seen?” He laughs and I arch a brow at him. “Seriously, what did I get myself in-”
“Hey, princess.” He pulls me close and kisses my check as the crowd outside the club goes bonkers and shrieks his name.
“You’re getting paid to hang out with me at a place like this.” He shrugs. “Try and have a little fun.”
He nods at the bouncer and pulls me into the thumping, pounding swirling crowd of the club.
“And smile,” he yells into my ear over the pulsing roar of the house music. “We just got married, remember?”
I don’t even have time to roll my eyes, or give a second thought as to what madness I’ve managed to willingly get myself into, before he drags me into the throbbing mass of the crowd.
My nights out have historically involved catered dinner parties and high brow conversations, not pulsing club music and swirling masses of sweating, undulating dancers. And I want to say this isn’t my scene, or that I’m only at a place like this because I’m being paid to be here. Except, that’s not entirely accurate.
Because as much as I want to say this is beneath me, or stupid, or whatever, the truth of it is I haven’t stopped grinning since he took my hand and pulled me in here.
I have officially left the old Natalie Ames behind, and whoever this new version of me is, I have to admit…
I kind of like her.
“Cheers.”
Austin grins as he sets the bottle of champagne back into the ice and raises his glass towards the one he’s just poured me. We can hear each other better here, in the private room up on the second level overlooking the rest of the club.
“You’re being pretty quiet.”
“Well you’re being really mysterious,” I say quickly, taking a gulp of champagne.
“Isn’t that what makes a marriage last?”
I snort. “I think honesty makes a marriage last, or, at least that’s what they say.”
Austin grins and sits back in the book, his eyes dancing over me. “Well, in that case, I can honestly say you look fuckin’ hot tonight.”
“Not gonna happen,” I say, taking another gulp of bubbly to hide the grin and the blush that creeps over my face.
He laughs. “I think I’m allowed to compliment my wife.”
“Only if you behave.”
“So is me telling you that your ass in that dress makes my cock hard as a rock behaving?”
I swallow the mouthful of champagne quickly, choking suddenly on the rush of bubbles caught in my throat as my eyes dart to his. The grin on that handsome jaw says he’s messing with me - trying to get a rise out of me, or to test me to see where my boundaries are.
But the way his eyes are burning right into me says that his words are anything but a joke.
I shiver, coughing again as the heat pools between my legs. I’m remembering that kiss in the elevator, the feel of his hands on my face and my hips, the feel of his lips against mine. I’m imagining my dirty thoughts from the shower, and I quickly pull my eyes away from him.
“Um, no,” I say quickly, clearing my throat folding my hands primly in my lap. “No, it’s not.”
There’s a war inside of me. On one side is the proper girl - the girl trained to be polite, to fit into a certain level of society. I know I should be incensed by the crudeness of his words, the lewd way he’s trying to get a rise out of me. I should be turned off by every single facet of this man.
Except I’m not turned off in the slightest. In fact, it’s that crude, dirty edge to him that maybe has me feeling the exact opposite of turned off. Because the other side of that war inside is caught up in this wildness, the recklessness, and the insanity of everything that’s happened over the last twenty-four hours. The other side of me is screaming for release from the stuffy, and the planned, and the boring, side-lined existence of being partnered with someone like Vince Capra.