"I trust you,” Arianna whispers, making my heart pound even faster. "I need you, Conor. Please make love to me. I feel safe when you touch me.”
Our lips meet in the softest of touches before the fire grows too strong, deepening the kiss. My hands trace her perfect curves, lips stealing the breath from her lungs even as my heart swells with affection for a woman I had no business falling in love with. When I slide into her, it’s gentle and loving, my handssoothing as I guide her body into feeling the ultimate pleasure. My lips are filled with words of love I’ve never spoken out loud, in a language she doesn’t understand.
My love, my heart!
Words I cannot speak out loud yet, so I let our bodies do the talking for us. It’s slow and heart-wrenching, and when we come together, it’s her name in my heart. In my soul. In my head.
A rún.
Mo chroí.
Chapter Seven
Arianna
Las Vegas is a different kind of beast from all the cities we’ve visited so far—miles away from the quiet towns with their rolling hills and red rock formations. It’s loud, chaotic, and the desert heat hits like a wall. It reminds me of New York, except it’s crazier—a concrete jungle on steroids.
The buildings here aren’t just tall structures of concrete and glass, they’re themed, each one a different fantasy. A faux-Paris, a cityscape, a pyramid, a castle…heck, it’s like a theme park for adults. In New York, everyone’s always rushing somewhere, but here, it’s different. The people I bump into are rarely rude, and I can’t tell if it’s the way of the city or as a result of the tall man who’s stuck to my side the entire trip. The man who sends people shrinking into themselves with a single glare. I shouldn’t like how Conor behaves, the possessive look he gets in his eyes when other men look my way, but…I do.
The days in Vegas are hot and fun, but the magic comes when the sun dips below the horizon. The city explodes—it comes alive. Something about the cool desert air and the cover of night makes people want to do something scandalous.
Maybe that’s the reason I wasn’t upset when our plans to leave Vegas this afternoon suddenly changed.
The plan was to spend three days and two nights in Las Vegas, touring the city and filming for my channel before leaving for Los Angeles, which would mark the end of our trip. Except that things didn’t go as planned. There was a bittersweet moment this morning as we were packing to leave, but thenConor noticed a large puddle of fluid under the van. After tinkering with it, he announced that the brake line had been damaged and the van had to be towed to a mechanic for repairs, earning us yet another night in Las Vegas.
I saw the suspicion in Conor’s eyes. Despite his assurance that everything was fine, I knew that he had his suspicions about the sudden damage and whether it was intentional or not. It scared me to think that someone could have messed with the van, but I couldn’t focus on that. It meant one more night with the man I have fallen in love with.
The truth is…I’m not ready for this trip to end.
Leaving for LA means saying goodbye. I already have a buyer set for the van, and once I’ve handed over the keys, then Conor and I will fly back to New York. I never planned on keeping the van—it has over 3,000 miles on it and memories for days, but selling it off was always the plan. Still, the thought of parting with it feels bittersweet, but even more unnerving is the thought of parting ways with Conor O’Shea. I’m not ready for things to be over between us, but once we get back to New York, the bubble that we’ve been living in will be popped. I’ll go back to shooting content and helping my sister with her bakery café while I plan for the next adventure, and Conor…well, he goes back to protecting other people that are not me.
I shake off the thought and stare up at the bright lights of the casino. What use is there in obsessing over tomorrow when we have tonight? And after attending a show at one of the casinos on the strip, then an intimate dinner at Le Cirque, I’m not ready for the night to end. Heck, we could’ve gone straight to our hotel room after dinner and spent our last night here making love, but I wanted to visit the casino in our hotel and try one other thing.
And now, here we are.
“Can you teach me how to play one of these games?”
“You know the answer to that,a rùn,” Conor says, taking my hand in his and pulling me along with him. “Gambling for anyone under twenty-one is illegal.”
“Just one game.”
“No.”
I toss him a mock glare as we walk in, but I’m not completely oblivious to the stares tossed in our direction. And it seems neither is the man with a firm grip on my hand. I question the wisdom of wearing this tight little silk dress tonight, but I wanted to look sexy for our last night in Vegas, and it seems it’s not just Conor who’s noticing my effort. "They probably think you’re my sugar daddy or something,” I whisper, inching closer to him.
"Good, it means they know you’re taken!”
I bite back a chuckle at the possessiveness in his voice and stay quiet by his side, like the "sugar baby” I’m supposed to be. He exchanges some cash for a stack of chips. We stop at a couple of machines, winning a small amount, before eventually finding ourselves at an oddly shaped table, playing roulette. Well, Conor does the playing while I lean against his shoulder and watch him.
A little over a week ago, I really disliked this man and dreaded being on this trip with him, and now, I can’t imagine a moment without him. I don’t want to.
My mind wanders as I watch the game, trying and failing not to think of the future waiting for us. So when my phone pings with a message, I welcome the distraction even if I already know who it is that’s contacting me.
My stalker.
We’re no closer to figuring out who it is. Fiona’s last update was that she was still working on the metadata she’d gotten from the pictures but wasn’t there yet. It terrifies me to no end that I have a shadow that I can’t seem to shake.
Conor seems too focused on the game to notice me opening the message, and I expect to see a picture taken in one of the several locations we visited today except…it’s not. My heart starts pounding as I take in the picture of me leaning against Conor’s shoulder, a smile on my face as I watch him play a game I don’t understand. I glance up, then quickly back down at the picture. Looking at it, I realize that whoever took it did so from across the floor, but not too far away. From the picture, I can even see the dealer at the nearby blackjack table and the same players at the table.
