Leaving Las Vegas (Entangled Ignite) by Aleah Barley Page A

wearing clothes, but if she got any closer, that wouldn’t matter. Every time she took a breath, her body expanded against his and his mind spun.
    Gloria Allen. Rough, tough, and wild. A woman who was capable of lying to a room full of strangers, cheating at poker in a game where the consequences were worth more than the rewards, and facing down gunslingers without even batting an eye.
    Speaking of gunslingers… He should probably check his cell phone. Maybe Tiffanette, or whoever had set this up, had tried contacting him. He eased the phone out of his pocket, careful not to wake Glory. At some point the night before his battery had died. His nostrils flared. People could have been calling him, trying to figure out what was going on or—more importantly—trying to update him about the progress on Cleopatra’s Asp. The opening was just around the corner. Someone needed to keep an eye on things. With careful movements, he plugged it into the charger and then went back to focusing on Glory.
    Gloria Allen, who blushed when she lied to her older sister. He couldn’t say for sure whether that was a good thing, but it was certainly something to think about. Lying to strangers was one thing, but she couldn’t even tell one little fib to someone she cared about.
    More than those things, she was also a bright smile and a smooth laugh. When the song “Hot Blooded” had come on the radio the night before, she’d sung along, word perfect, in a voice that was surprisingly angelic. Whoever was staffing the radio station must have been on a seventies guitar-rock kick, because after that there was nothing but seventies music, and they’d sung along to almost every song until the signal sputtered and died.
    He tried to raise his head and bit back a groan. His muscles were twisted and his bones ached. His neck felt as if it were stuck in a vise.
    Clearly, sleeping in an Aston Martin was an acquired skill. Something that needed to be worked up to gradually. Starting with an RV, then a van, a sedan, and finally a cramped sports car. He was six foot four in his bare feet. Maybe sleeping in the car was okay for a woman with more curves than sense like the one beside him, but he was a tall man. He needed space. He needed to stretch. He needed—
    Glory twisted in his arms again, and he forgot what he was thinking about. He forgot everything except the way her soft breasts moved against him. All he could think about was what it would feel like to have her naked underneath him.
    “Glory,” he murmured quietly. Nothing happened. Her eyes didn’t open, her body didn’t tense.
    The smart thing to do would be to pull away slowly, get out of the car, and then wake her up while he was standing outside. After that, he could set about figuring out who’d set him up. He held still, unable to move. Not while she was sleeping so soundly. Wrapped around him like a soft, adorable puppy.
    His last girlfriend had been a tall blonde with slim hips and expensive taste in clothes. Made from the same mold as the girls he’d been dating since high school. Her name was Cynthia, and her family was old money from New York City. Luke’s mother had thought Cynthia was perfect. Cherry—his mother—had been right. Perfect clothes, perfect hair, perfect makeup. Unfortunately, Cynthia hadn’t been perfect for him.
    As far as he could tell, Glory didn’t wear makeup. Not even lipstick. The raspberry gloss of her lips was all natural. He’d promised not to kiss her again the night before, but that didn’t quell the sudden impulse he had to taste her lips for the second time. Just to make sure. It would be a scientific inquiry. For the good of humanity.
    She hadn’t been wearing any makeup the night before either, staring across at him over the cards that had started this whole thing. All Glory, brazen and honest, playing cards with the big boys. His former girlfriends had thought playing poker was crass. They were elegant, composed, and, in the right