A Match Made in Vegas Read Online Crystal Kaswell

Categories Genre: Alpha Male Tags Authors: Crystal Kaswell Advertisement1

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Fuck, he has such a nice smile. It lights up his eyes. It lights up his entire face.

He's stern most of the time, but when he smiles—

"Keep anything you want." He picks up the basket and hands it to me. "I don't want anything from him." He taps the plastic over the handcuffs. "And those don't work."

"Do you only use real metal police handcuffs."

He raises a brow in a teasing pose. "Do you really want to know?"

Yes, tell me everything right now. Thank you. I swallow the words that rise in my throat. I am not here to fuck my best friend's brother. No matter how much I want to feel his body against mine.

"Shouldn't we talk about what you want?"

You, ordering me out of my clothes as soon as possible. That isn't what he means though. What does he mean? "Huh?"

"In Mr. Right Now," he says. "We can start looking after we unpack. Unless you have plans with Cass."

"I think she has plans with Damon."

He shakes his head, though I can't say what he's shaking it at, specifically. The thought of his sister with my brother. The thought of his sister having sex. The fact they're ditching the group to get down.

Or maybe that's why I'm shaking my head.

Even though I told her to do it.

Even though I'm the one hiding from her.

"Perfect," I say.

He nods sure and grabs his suitcase. "Give me twenty to unpack and shower." He motions to the four-poster bed. "You can take this. I'll use the pull out."

"Let's talk and walk the strop. I need to stretch my legs." And get away from all the inviting horizontal surfaces in the room.

He sets his suitcase on the ground and moves clothes into the closet.

I take the dresser.

For a few minutes, we arrange our stuff in silence, then he heads to the shower.

I finish unpacking, I pop a bottle of water, I pack a few of the condoms, and toss the rest of the pack.

It never hurts to have extras. This is it. The start of my mission to find someone to fuck.

Then Jackson steps out of the shower in only a towel, and the whole find someone hotter than Jackson part of the mission fails to launch.

Where the fuck did he get that body?

His features look even more chiseled with his wet hair sticking to his face. And with water dripping off his defined shoulders, chest, stomach, thighs—

I'm such a sucker for a man's thighs.

I give him the room, but I don't find any space from my dirty thoughts. I listen hard for the sound of the towel dropping, and I fill in my own scenario.

Jackson inviting me into the room, ordering me to strip for him, teasing me with those perfect flashes of hard muscle and soft skin, until the two of us come together again and again—

Okay, so maybe I won't find someone hotter.

Maybe I just need to find someone.

Anyone.

Whatever it takes to keep my hands to myself.

Chapter Six

Daphne

The sun is even more oppressive than it is in California. The heat too. Somehow, the dry air is still thick and heavy.

The high today is only ninety-one. About the average for May. A temperate spring day by Las Vegas standards.

I'm sure it will get cooler as the sun sets—Los Angeles is a desert too—but right now, it's too warm to think of lust. How could anyone elect to exert themselves in these conditions?

"It's too hot," I say. I don't have a more clever commentary. Only an intense need for iced coffee. Or ice cream. Or anything with ice at the start.

Jackson nods in agreement, even though he shows no signs of wear. Of course, we're only three feet from the entrance to the Mandalay Bay. Most people wouldn't be melting just yet.

But Jackson isn't sweating or sighing or fanning himself with his hand. He's perfectly comfortable in his all-linen outfit. Even with the leather loafers.

Aren't his feet sweating? There. That's an unsexy thought. Sweaty feet.

I try to focus on the possible odor, but I can't. My brain keeps screaming hot hot hot. Which it then translates to Jackson is hot.

Mis-attribution of arousal. That's why people watch scary movies on dates. Because they associate their excitement with the person next to them. It's not the possible jump scare. It's Mr. Sexypants over here.

Linen pants shouldn't be sexy.

Why does he make them so sexy?

Jackson takes my hand and leads me back inside through the big glass doors.

All at once, the air-conditioning hits me. Ah, sweet relief.

"You haven't been to Vegas before?" he asks as he leads me through the casino.

"As a kid," I say. "And a teenager once."

"Right." He smiles. "You and Cassie used to joke about seeing The Thunder from Down Under."

"Oh, there's no jokes." I smile. "What do you think we're doing tonight?" We have tickets to the Australian-themed all-male revue. There's no full-frontal nudity though. It's a bad deal.


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