‘Oh I know I can.’ He smirks, slipping a hand under my t-shirt, skimming the curve of my breast. ‘But sadly, we have somewhere else to be.’ My body silently shrieks in protest as he removes his hand.
I thought we’d have hours before the concert. It’s not supposed to start until ten. It’s only early afternoon yet.
‘Where are we going?’ It’s an effort not to pout as he drags me towards the front door.
A firm seductive slap lands on my bum in full view of the entourage of private security congregating in the corridor
‘You’ll see.’ Devilish eyes glint with mischief.
Oh god, what am I even doing here?
Who even knew the Bellagio had its own mini shopping centre? I feel like I’ve stepped right into that scene fromPretty Womanwhere Julia Roberts goes shopping. The only difference being Ryan Cooper is way hotter than Richard Gere ever was (and that’s saying something), oh, and I’m not a prostitute.
Also, I mustn’t forget I actually have millions in my bank account, thanks to a few childhood lyrics and Ryan’s multi-platinum albums.
We do a quick tour of the touristy stuff; walk the Strip, as much as possible anyway, when we have a security entourage as big as Ryan’s flanking us. Women scream at him from miles away. At one point I worry we’ll have to abandon the sight-seeing altogether, but the suits have it all under control in a matter of seconds.
Ryan indulges my own excited squeals, even letting me photograph him under the Welcome To Vegas sign. We devour the most delicious steak lunch at the Top of the World restaurant on the 106thfloor of Stratosphere Tower, ogling the panoramic vistas while sipping champagne.
But the highlight of the day so far, has to be the Bellagio.
Stepping out of the bright white, spacious changing rooms, I twirl in front of the biggest mirror I’ve ever seen in my life and cautiously glance at Ryan, who lounges on a chaise longue sipping an iced water like he’s part of the furniture.
As if this is a totally normal, regular occurrence for him. It might be, who knows. But it’s certainly not for me.
I’m in fucking Vegas!
In the Bellagio.
In an exclusive celebrity boutique trying on a Evangeline Araceli dress that costs four figures. I have another heap of clothes on the white leather couch adjacent, clothes that I’ve tried, loved, and am about to purchase.
‘Fucking hell.’ A low whistle surges through Ryan’s teeth. He leaps to his feet, prowling in circles around me like a lion ready to pounce on his prey.
The way his pupils dilate and his nostrils flare indicate he likes the dress. I like it too. Slim-fitting rose gold silk draping in all the right places, jees, what’s not to like? The front only delivers a hint of cleavage, but the back drops low enough to practically see my tailbone, which Ryan’s fingers skim over appreciatively as his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip.
‘She’ll take it,’ he says to the smartly dressed assistant in her thirties, whose shell-shocked eyes are darting between us faster than a shuttlecock in a professional badminton match.
I imagine, working in a place like this, she must be used to dealing with celebrities. Though I suppose Ryan’s devastatingly good-looking in addition to being off-the-chart famous, so I’ll have to cut her some slack. Hell, I know exactly how she feels in his proximity.
Though she recovers quicker than I’m ever able to do around him. Mind you, I get the benefits – touching him, and having him touch me – which is something no woman in the world would ever recover from quickly.
Oh god, the mere thought of Ryan touching another woman sends a stabbing pain through my chest.
‘Of course. Is there anything else I can get for you to try?’ Her voice is polished and professional, though her eyes continue to flit.
I shake my head. We already spent a bomb in Chanel and Louis Vuitton before even stepping foot in here.
‘Thank god.’ Ryan’s shoulders sag with relief. It’s nothing to do with the money. Or the act of shopping itself. It’s because he’s not used to being limited to looking, not touching.
We’ve been gone from the villa for hours. It’s probably the longest we’ve gone without being intimate since we’ve been reacquainted. He’s not the only one getting restless for some earth-shattering physicality. I shoot him an agreeable wink, which triggers both a grin and a subtle sigh of relief.
He tosses the sales assistant a credit card.
‘No, Ryan. I’m getting these.’ Colour floods my cheeks. The last thing I want is him thinking I’m taking advantage of him. He already bought me every other item I tried on today.
‘What’s mine is yours. Get used to it, sweetheart.’
My eyes instinctively drop to his crotch.
