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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 isonlyninety-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 screaminghot hot hot. Which it then translates toJackson 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.
All the sexy revues filled with women are topless.
Not that I want to stare at random dicks. Not for fun.
Just the one. And I don't want to stare. I want to experience.
