I laugh and take his hand, letting him pull me from the bed, and then his lips are on mine again, his hands framing my face.
“I have something for you,” he murmurs.
“Yes, it’s quite impressive. I’ve met it once already today.”
He huffs out a laugh and tucks my hair behind my ear. I have the majority of it gathered in my hand because I don’t want to have to wash it this morning if it drags through the mess on my back.
“I love your sassy mouth. Come on, let’s get cleaned up, and then you can have your present.”
Sure that he’s still using metaphors for his dick, I follow him into the bathroom and pin my hair to the top of my head, grateful that it managed to escape Mateo’s mess.
And while there is plenty of touching and flirting and sexy nibbles here and there, we manage to finish washing up before the water runs cold.
“You’ll need jeans today,” he says as I pad into the closet to get dressed.
“It’s going to be a hundred degrees,” I remind him.
“I know, but we’re going on the bike.”
My heart kicks with excitement. “You should have led with that.”
I pull on some jeans and a T-shirt, Madonna today, and when I’m ready to go, I find Mateo sitting on the bed, dressed in his standard black jeans and black Henley, sleeves pulled up, showing off those forearms that make me want to bite my fist.
And in his hands is a leather jacket.
“I got this for you,” he says as he stands and holds the jacket up for me to try on.
Of course it fits perfectly.
“Do I look badass in it?” I turn around and smile at him, but he’s not smiling back.
“You look absolutely fucking gorgeous,” he says. “And you’re always badass.”
I wink at him. “I’m hungry. Are you going to feed me? Maybe at the café youdon’town? Their waffles areso good.”
“Waffles it is then.”
“Hey there, pretty fighter.”
Carson’s smiling at me as we stand in the lobby of his resort. I have to admit, only to myself, that Carson may be intimidating and intense, but he’s also ...sexy. He reminds me of a taller, meaner Jax fromSons of Anarchy, with longer dark blond hair, bright-blue eyes, and tattoos on his neck that peek up through his black button-down shirt and down his arms and hands.
All the Kings of Vegas are beautiful. They’d scoff at that word, but it’s true. All four look like fallen angels.
“Hi, Carson,” I reply.
“I hear you want to open up a tattoo studio in my building,” he says and crosses his arms over his chest.
“I’d love to, if you have the space.”
He nods and gestures for us to follow him. Just like most resorts in Vegas, this one is vast. We walk through a casino to a wide hallway that boasts shopping and restaurants on both sides, along with vendors set up in kiosks in the middle.
There’s a huge fountain, and on the other side of it is an empty retail space.
“Holy shit, you have room.”
“I tossed them out three days ago when Mateo told me what you needed.”
I blink at him and then laugh because surely he’s joking.
