Holy hell. I’m in trouble.
When a woman reached out and slid her fingertips down his arm, he jumped like she’d shocked him with a jolt of electricity. “Easy, ladies, let’s not get carried away,” he said, holding his hands up in front of him. Unlike the real models who were probably just as comfortable in their birthday suits as they were business suits, Dillon wasn’t relishing the shameless attention the women wanted to shower him with.
And neither was Alyssa.
“Hey,” she called out. Something primal and unrecognizable drove her to push her way through the wall of women and plant herself in front of Dillon. “I’ll thank you to keep your hands to yourselves. He’s eye candy, not a boy toy. Now, shoo, all of you.”
Most of the group started to disband, but a lady old enough to be Alyssa’s grandmother winked at her and said, “He sure looks like he wants to be your boy toy.”
Unable to stop herself, she huffed. “Yeah, well, people in hell want ice water, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to get it.”
“That’s it.”
Alyssa almost hadn’t heard the growled phrase before she was spun around and hoisted into the air. Her squeal of surprise was cut short as her body folded over Dillon’s shoulder like one of the sandbags he hauled around his sites.
She braced her hands on him to try and push herself off, but when she looked up—which was actually down—she realized she was palming the rounded muscles of his firm backside. Alyssa snatched them back like she’d been burned, effectively causing her upper body to crash into his again. It all happened so fast that Dillon had taken a good five strides before her brain caught up with the action.
“Put me down. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She tried to ignore the hint of panic in her voice and the sea of people staring after them and whispering in their wake.
Dillon tightened his arms around her thighs and turned his head just long enough to answer. “Getting the hell out of here. We need to talk.”
“We could talk just as easily there, Dillon. Now put me down. You’re causing a scene.”
“Not half the scene I’ll cause if we stay, Aly. Now stop squirming, or you’ll end up flashing everyone we pass.” That thought halted all efforts of escape. She felt him tug the hem of her dress down as far as it would go, which wasn’t more than a couple inches. “This isn’t a fucking dress. It’s a long shirt.”
Alyssa didn’t see the point in arguing over her wardrobe choice, but as soon as he pushed through a door that led to a dressing room, she got all fired up again.
“Great, we’re out. Put me down, Dillon.”
“Not yet.”
He swiped his gym bag from a table without even breaking his stride, then continued out into the lobby area of the second floor and over to the elevators. Every plea, every demand she made, went unanswered. Alyssa could only imagine what they must look like: gorgeous, near-naked Tarzan carrying off a surly blonde in a skimpy dress and fuck-me boots.
Classic Vegas.
“What floor is your room?”
She told him, but only because she planned on going in and locking his ass out. The whole night—the whole weekend—was now completely messed up. She didn’t get mad very often, but as they waited for the elevator door to open, she felt her blood start to boil. It wasn’t hard considering it had all drained into her head. She probably had steam coming out of her ears by now.
The elevator dinged its arrival, and Dillon stepped inside and swung her around as he faced the doors. Other people must have tried to get on because he said, “Sorry, this one’s full. You’ll have to catch the next one,” and stabbed the button to her floor.
As soon as the doors sealed shut and they began their ascent, he finally set her down. The blood rushed back into her body and made her dizzy, and Dillon reached out to catch her around the waist, steadying her against his bare chest. She stared up into his hazel eyes, hoping to read his thoughts, understand this new side of him she’d never seen.
In the back of her mind, a small voice told her she should be stepping out of his arms. Reestablish the boundaries that existed between friends, instead of flirting with the intimate embrace between lovers. The only reason she didn’t was because of the light-headedness.
Yep. That was it. Nothing more than a survival instinct.
“There’s something between us, Aly. I felt it when I kissed you. I know you did, too. Why deny it?”
“Because,” she said, finally pulling back to stand on the other side of the elevator. No way was she going to admit to being desperately in love with him now. Or ever for that matter. He’d made his stance on relationships clear last night and all he was offering her was a no-strings affair. Granted, that’s what she’d decided on finding when she got to Vegas, but not with Dillon. She wanted him for so much more than what he gave the women back home.