I’m looking over my shoulder at her slightly as I walk through the door and I step out into what I expect to be a hallway. But it’s not. It’s a wall.
A wall?
Wait, that can’t be right. It would make no sense for a door to open right into a wall.
Hands grip my shoulders and electricity shoots through my body. It’s a sensation I used to feel all the time, but that was years ago. In what feels like another lifetime now.
I tilt my head back and look up into whiskey-colored eyes and everything stills.
No.
No way.
No fucking way.
“Everton?” The name slips from my lips, a question and a plea in one breath.
His mouth falls open and there is surprise written all over his face. He masks it quickly, but I saw it. When one side of his mouth tips up into the same lazy smile that sent my heart racing years ago, it takes all my will power not to throw myself into his arms until he has no choice but to hold me. I desperately want his arms around me.
Everton Connors’s arms.
The arms of only boy I’ve ever loved.
I shake my head and my eyes slide closed. Pain and regret hit me right in the middle of my chest. I’m sure when I open my eyes again, it won’t be him. It’ll be another man with whiskey-colored eyes. I’ll have to live with how I just made a fool of myself.
“Oh,” the woman chirps brightly behind me, “hi, Cowboy. Nice to see you. I was just giving our new dancer a tour.”
My eyes snap open and I have to bite my lip to not turn around and snap at the woman whose tone is far too casual and familiar for my liking. I’m aware I don’t have the right to feel that way, not anymore, but I’m still tempted to claw her eyes out just the same.
Wait. Cowboy?
I blink up at the man still holding my shoulders, his grip firm and grounding. His face comes into focus and I know it’s him. Here. In Las Vegas.
As I take in more of him, I realize he’s wearing a leather cut and the name on the chest says ‘Cowboy’. Okay then.
He looks different; grown up. But there are still so many similarities. His eyes. The strength in his jawline. The scar right above his eyebrow which he got when a horse bucked him off.
While my heart is pounding in my chest, he still hasn’t said a word. My mouth is so damn dry, and a lump has formed in my throat which has nothing to do with faded memories and everything to do with the man in front of me.
The man. Not the boy he used to be.
“Hi, Tiny Dancer,” his voice is a low rumble.
It’s different than I remember, but the effect is the same. My nipples pebble and I have to clench my thighs together as desire rushes through me.
His eyes darken slightly as they sweep down my body and then back up. My mouth opens to say something, anything, but nothing comes out.
Could this be the real reason I came to Vegas? Is fate not done with us yet?
CHAPTER 3
COWBOY
I can’t let her go. I’m still holding her by her shoulders. And I can’t let her go.
Brielle Fowler.
The only girl I’ve ever loved.
