Loving the Odds (What Happens in Vegas) by Stefanie London Page A

When he leaned in again, her tongue came out to meet his and he moaned into her mouth.
    “God, Bailey. You taste so sweet.”
    “Hmmm,” she hummed in agreement.
    Her tongue slid over his, exploring. Tasting. Her lips were pillowy, luscious. His hands dropped to her back, sliding down the soft cotton that smelled of him and her together. Curving over the swell of her buttocks, he pulled her closer. His cock throbbed in time with his heartbeat, creating an insistent thrum of desire.
    “Oh,” she gasped as he pressed against her.
    “See what you do to me, Bailey.” He peppered kisses along her jaw. “You’ve got me so goddamn hard.”
    “Yes, I can feel that.” Her voice had taken on a dream-like quality. “It’s very hard.”
    The combination of her innocent shock and the heat of her kiss were like the headiest of drugs. He wanted to drown in the taste of her, in the heat of her. Holding her tight, he backed them up until she hit the armchair. She sat on the arm and he nudged her legs apart with his thigh.
    He hadn’t known how she would react, but the low, keening moan that came from the back of her throat was the ultimate reward. Her hips rolled and she pressed her sex against his thigh.
    “I have to feel you,” he growled, slipping a hand under the hem of the T-shirt.
    Warm skin greeted his palm and he traced her, drawing a line over her stomach and ribcage until the weight of her breast molded into his touch. The hard press of her nipple drew his attention and he swirled the heel of his palm against it in slow circles.
    “Lance,” she sighed into his mouth. “Oh my…this does not feel glacial.”
    No, it certainly did not. He brushed his thumb lightly over her nipple and she gasped, her hips jerking against his leg. Her fists had released their hold on his T-shirt and were making their way down to the waistband of his tracksuit pants.
    Dear God, yes!
    A sharp knock at the door made Bailey jump so hard that she teetered backward and nearly fell off the seat. He righted her and stepped away, raking a hand through his hair.
    “Room service,” announced the voice on the other side of the door.

Chapter Five
    Bailey touched her fingertips to her cheeks. Her skin was fever-like, hot and tender, and that was only the outside. Inside, her bones felt like marshmallows and her stomach was doing more summersaults than a circus performer.
    And that was only a kiss…
    Lance’s voice sounded from the door as he greeted the room service attendant and carried the tray containing their dinner into the room. If she’d been attracted to him before, being exposed to his talented hands and tongue made her want to lay at his feet and offer herself up. Even the way he walked across the room, the fluidity of his stride and the ease at which he moved around, was utterly tempting.
    “I got some sliders, a few satay skewers, some fries, fruit, these little cake”—he held up a petit four —“things.”
    “Thanks.” It was a miracle she’d been able to find her voice to respond.
    Her hands fluttered at the hem of his T-shirt. Wearing it made her feel as if he was embracing her again, wrapping her up in his deliciously rich, masculine scent. Holding her tight against him so she could feel every hard plane, every bump, every ridge.
    There’s no need to get all hormonal about a kiss. It’s not a big deal.
    But it was a big deal and now Lance was acting like nothing had happened between them. She drew a deep breath to slow the beating of her heart.
    “There are a few drinks in the mini bar.” He paused and looked at her, his brows creasing when he saw that she hadn’t moved an inch. “Help yourself to whatever you like.”
    A horrible thought zinged across her brain. What if she was a terrible kisser? What if he’d been saved by the bell and now he was focusing on the food because the thought of kissing her again was grossing him out?
    What if she kissed like a wet fish?
    She pushed her glasses farther up her nose