“You left.” The words burst out before I can stop them. “You just left without saying anything. I woke up and you were gone like you’d never been there at all.”
His jaw tightens. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“That’s it? You’re sorry?”
“I felt like a dick the second I did it.” He’s still holding my arms. “You looked exhausted. Completely worn out. I didn’t want to wake you. I thought it was better to let you sleep.”
“You could have left a note. Or your number. Something.”
“I should have.” His eyes travel down, taking in the dress, the heels, the makeup. When he looks back at my face, there’s heat in his gaze. “You look different. Beautiful. Sexy. Not that you weren’t beautiful on the plane, but right now…”
He trails off, and I’m still mad at him, but he looks so sincere, so genuinely sorry, that the anger starts to deflate.
“I Googled you,” I admit. “Couldn’t find anything useful.”
A smile tugs at his mouth. “I’m hard to find.”
“Apparently.”
We’re standing too close.
“I’m really sorry,” he says again, quieter this time.
The fight drains out of me completely. I step forward and wrap my arms around him, hugging him tight. He’s solid and warm, and he didn’t mean to hurt me.
“You’re forgiven,” I mumble into his chest. “But don’t do it again.”
His arms come around me, holding me close. “I won’t.”
When I pull back, he doesn’t let me go far. His hands slide down to my waist.
“Dance with me,” he says.
We move back onto the dance floor, and this time it’s different. His body is against mine, his hands on my hips, guiding me to the rhythm. The music is slower now, something with a heavy bass that pulses through my chest.
I loop my arms around his neck, and we’re so close I can feel his breath on my face. His eyes are darker in the strobing lights, pupils dilated from alcohol or desire or both.
“You’re trouble,” he murmurs.
“Says the man who abandoned me on a plane.”
“I told you I was sorry.”
“You’ll have to make it up to me.”
His thumb traces circles on my hip, and I’m burning up. “How should I do that?”
I shrug. “You know how?—”
His mouth finds mine, cutting me off. His tongue traces my bottom lip, and I open for him. We’re making out in the middle of the dance floor like teenagers, and I don’t care who’s watching.
His hands roam up my back, into my hair, and I press closer. I can feel him hard against me, and it makes me bold. My hands slide under his jacket, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“Come on,” he says, voice rough. “Let’s get out of here.”
He takes me through a side door, past the VIP section, into a quieter part of the casino. The sudden shift from the club’s chaos to the casino’s controlled energy is disorienting.
