I sense the precise moment his gaze leaves me and he peers through the glass.
“I like seeing the city from this high up. Reminds me of all of the possibilities, the ways to enjoy. I don’t get a lot of free time while here for work and my job has me viewing the city from a much lower angle.”
“On the Strip?” I ask.
“You could say that.”
I nod, not wanting to probe any further about his work.
I motion with my chin toward the view. “What possibilities do you see from up here, Mr. Townsend?” I tease.
His hand inches farther along my waist, pulling me into his body. I willingly go, inhaling his citrusy, masculine scent.
“Winning,” he answers, staring down at me. “That’s what Vegas is all about. People come here full of hopes and dreams to hit it big at a casino, or make it onto one of the coveted stages or … what I do. It’s all about winning.”
“Winning is everything?”
The corners of his lips flex. “Here it is. And in life.”
On an inhale, I mull over his words.
“Winning looks different for everyone,” I finally say. “Some people just want safety, security, and a place to call home.”
His fingers tighten. “That’s not winning. Those are the basics.”
“To some, the basicsarewinning. Especially if you once had those very things ripped away from you—” I clamp my mouth shut.
“Everyone knows what winning looks like,” he says, then motions toward the lights. “There. That’s winning. You’re lucky if you get to own it, even just for a moment.”
There’s a reverence in his voice with an underlying edge in it. I wonder what he’s seeking, or what’s seeking him.
“And I always get lucky in Vegas,” he finishes.
The hard edge in his voice arouses something inside of me. I don’t believe in luck, not for me, anyway. Yet when he says it, I believe it exists for him.
And that makes me want to believe it for myself.
It gives me something to reach for, something almost palpable and solid to hold onto.
As a person who’s felt adrift for longer than I can remember, there’s a security in being with someone who knows who and what it is they want. Even if this coupling, if it’s even that, lasts for a little while.
“Then you must be a gambler,” I say. “Your luck extending to the casinos.”
His eyes drop as he looks down at me. “The gamblers get lucky betting on me,” he states, his voice rigid with conviction.
“No one can make the claim that you lack for confidence.”
He moves in front of me, pinning my back against the window glass. My arms come up around his shoulders.
“Confidence well earned, Alyssia.”
My knees weaken a little from the sound of my name on his lips.
He presses into my body, making heat lick through my veins. The fire burning in his eyes rivals the lights on the Strip.
At the back of my mind, something knocks, reminding me of a promise I’d made to myself before entering this room, but I can’t quite recall what it was.
“Then show me,” I say, my voice coming out as a challenge. “Just for tonight,” I add.
