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hungry. And something in the way he said that last word made her wet all over again. Wet and

She suffered the insane urge to reach across the table, grab him, and tell him she wanted him, in private or even in public—that despite all her claims, that part didn’t even matter right now.

Yikes, talk about your visceral physical reaction to a man!

New rule: Don’t drink in his presence—it brings out the bad girl in you.

Interesting, because she’d never known there was a bad girl in her.

“More wine?” he asked. “I can order another bottle.”

She held up her hand. “Thanks, but no.”

“You sure?”

“Very sure.”Sure I’m going to self-combust before the evening is through .

Because that bad girl she’d just found was barely holding herself in check. Her whole body pulsed with wanting—and an uncharacteristic sense of wild abandon. And maybe it was the wine. And maybe it was Damon. And maybe it was this place, this lusty, lavish, sinful place.

But worse, maybe it was all of it—mixing and gelling together to bring out an untamed sexual response she’d never before experienced.

And if that was the case, it was going to be a very long week.

Three

The cab ride back to the hotel was too hot—the windows were down, no AC going—but  Brenna’s main focus was the fact that Damon sat with his legs apart, the way guys often did, and his denim-clad knee touched hers.

Insane how a tiny touch like that could make her so hot inside, too.

They didn’t speak—the cabbie had techno music blaring, making the car’s seat pulse beneath her. But as they passed through the Venetian’s vast floral-scented lobby a few minutes later, Damon told her to come to his suite the next morning. They would order breakfast in the room, he said, then spend the day going over Blue Night’s various contracts—she would learn what she could offer, which terms were flexible and which

were not.

She tried to concentrate on their conversation but found it difficult as they made their way onto the elevator with three young, good-looking, jock-type guys. As the elevator rose skyward, she found herselffeeling all the “maleness” around her, and at the same time feeling so utterly “female” that she could barely understand it.

She liked sex, of course, but she had never been a woman who gothungry for it. Hungry without rhyme or reason, as if she simply had to have it and would take it in any form in which it came. But that’s how she suddenly felt in the confines of the elevator that seemed to swirl with testosterone. That’s how she felt after spending a mere couple of hours with  Damon Andros. She knew he was hot, but she couldn’t believe she was suffering such a crazy reaction to the guy!

When the elevator doors opened on their floor, she stepped out, her body moving with that fluid sense of ease that came with just a little intoxication. Only now she didn’t know if she remained drunk from the wine, or if she was only drunk on Damon.

When he walked her to her door, she turned to look up and found him standing close, his gaze on her mouth.

It made her want to kiss him. Hard.

Made it so that kissing him, pressing against him, rubbing her body against his, seemed the only natural, sensible thing to do.

And when he lifted his eyes to hers that only made it worse. Because his expression said that if she did kiss him right now, he would respond. He was so near that she could almost feel him without touching him, and his musky masculine scent filled her senses.

But kissing him would be stupid, stupid, stupid. You have to work with him day and night for a week—possibly longer. And you’re stealing his job. You cannot kiss him.

“Ready for this?” he asked.

Her pussy flooded with possibility. “For what?”

“The world of A&R,” he said smoothly.

“Oh, of course,” she replied with an airy quickness, at once relieved and disappointed to

be pulled back from the sexual precipice she’d been hovering upon.

“Get a good night’s sleep.”

Fat chance of that. “All right.”

His voice went lower. “And I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she murmured as Damon took her key card from her hand, their fingers

brushing, and unlocked her door.

“Good night,” he said softly.

Her eyes remained glued to his. “Good night.”

And then she was stepping inside and the door was closing and he was gone, and she had the distinct feeling that she’d ended up in the wrong room. Or he had. Either way, they should have gone into one of the two rooms together and fucked like animals.

She let out a heavy breath and reminded herself once more why that couldn’t happen.

Sex on the job was bad enough. Sex on the job with someone you were lying to was…freaking heinous.

And yet as she took off her clothes and slipped into a white cotton cami and fresh panties—because her others were soaked—desire still held her in its grip. And as she stood before the wide bathroom mirror washing her face and brushing her teeth, she grew keenly aware of her nipples pointing through her top, hard and sensitive, and of her cunt, swollen with want inside her bikini panties. And as she climbed beneath the fancy bed coverings, she found herself lost in a mishmash of images: visions of her and Damon  Andros, bodies naked and intertwined.

This was awful. There seemed no good answer. Having sex with him was a moral

impossibility. But not having it, especially now that she sensed he’d be amenable to the  idea, seemed insane, not to mention torturous. How had this even happened? Sure, she’d

wanted to be someone new and different here—but not different like this. She could

scarcely fathom the effect one mere evening in the man’s presence had had on her.

But then Brenna remembered how you got through tough things. You didn’t let yourself obsess over the big picture—you handled one moment, one problem, at a time. And the problem right now was getting to sleep, having a peaceful night.

So she bit her lip and let her hand ease under the covers, over her mound. She cupped herself, relieved to have any sensation there at all—finally. She wished, suddenly, that she’d been brave enough to buy a vibrator, and smart enough to travel with it. She wanted something inside her, deep.

She swirled two fingers across the engorged nub at the front of her pussy and let the pleasure melt through her. God—it was like having walked across the hot, barren desert and finally finding sweet water. Now she wanted to gulp it, so she pressed her fingers harder, lifted her pelvis against them.

She sighed and licked her upper lip and needed more. Yet she didn’t have more, so instead she turned to fantasy. She imagined if Damon could see her right now. She imagined him knowing he’d done this to her, gotten her this hot. She wondered if there was any way he could know just how hot she was right now, and she envisioned him lying in bed on the other side of the wall that separated them, picturing her this way.

But, damn it, she still needed more, some other kind of stimulation. All of Las Vegas lay outside this room, sin upon sin upon sin taking place. How many people were doing something naughty right now within one short mile of her? Thousands, she would bet. So to lay in her bed rubbing herself somehow seemed…too simple, too drab, not befitting the atmosphere.

Strangely restless, she rose from the bed without a plan. Wandering the spacious room, she found herself standing before the minibar. Normally, she never even opened the minibar, outraged by the price gouging, but that was immaterial now. Peeking inside, she spied a row of tropical-flavored wine coolers. She pulled one out and twisted off the top, then took a long swallow, letting the alcohol warm her chest. Almost any physical sensation felt good at the moment, like a step toward relief.

Then she walked to the drapes that lined the outer wall of the room and, locating the center, opened them up. Wow! The move revealed a window wall that looked out over the  Vegas Strip and its nightly show of lights. Dear God—how had she not realized this before now? She experienced it again—that sense that someone had built this city purely for people to be bad. And she wanted to be bad now, too—to somehow commune with this place.

Setting her wine cooler on a table, she lowered her panties, letting them drop to the floor, and stepped free of them. She sat down on the carpet, facing the window, legs spread.  She still yearned for Damon to be here, touching her, fucking her, but her mantras, she tried to convince herself, were true. She didn’t need a man—she could take care of her own needs.

Looking out on the lights, she stroked her fingers through her parted slit. Wet. Soft. She shivered, then reached for the wine cooler. Still touching herself with one hand, circling her fingers over her clit, she used the other to lift the bottle to her breast—hard, cold, moist against her nipple. The bottle’s dewy sweat left her top damp, her nipple visibly darkening the white fabric, even with the lamps off. The Las Vegas Strip provided enough light in the room on its own.

herself, all of herself, the way a man would explore her. The way Damon would surely Brenna’s fingers slid down into the folds of her pussy, petting deeply, wanting to truly feel

explore her.

She pushed first one, then two fingers inside herself, then moved them in and out of the warm tunnel. Oh God, she wanted them to be Damon’s cock—bigger, harder, sturdier, and more powerful than anything she could do to herself, even if she had brought a vibrator.

Withdrawing her fingers a moment later, she whirled them once more around her swollen clit, then reached inside her cami to squeeze one breast full in her hand. Then she lowered her open bottle between her thighs, pressing it there.

Mmm, God. So cool. And so wonderfully hard. Way too big, wide, but it still felt incredible as she began to move against it. She felt so dirty now. Dirty in a way she wanted to share with someone. Because she feared being this dirty by herself could also make her feel pretty damn lonely if she let it.

But she couldn’t let it. So she looked out on the Vegas lights and imagined again that  Damon was with her. Not only was he with her, he was telling her what to do. Move the bottle up and down on your pussy. That’s right. Faster. Faster. Yeah.

Now take it away. Take it away and splash just a little wine on your cunt. To make you even wetter.

Biting her lip, she withdrew her gaze from the neon spectacle beyond the window and glanced down, spilling just a little of the cooler over her parted slit. She gasped at the cold splatter, then imagined Damon’s deep, commanding voice again.

Touch yourself, Brenna. Stroke your fingers through your pussy.

She did. Extra wet now, like he’d wanted.

Yeah, like that. From the bottom all the way to the top. Press your fingers into the moist folds. Feel yourself. Feel yourself.

Now rub your clit for me.

She did that, too, moving two fingers in tight, hot circles overtop the protruding little nub.

Thrust against it.

She obeyed.

Rub harder, harder. Make yourself come. Look out on those lights, imagine all the dirty things people are doing out there, and make yourself come harder than you ever have before.

“Oh!” The orgasm was brutal, causing her body to buckle, her head to drop forward as her  pelvis jerked in rough response. Each sensation echoed through her like a small  explosion, ripping her apart, stealing her senses, her reason. All that mattered was  pleasure, hard and consuming…until it ended.

And then she realized she was sitting half naked before a large window and had just gotten herself off with the help of a glass bottle.

Dear God.

This city was stealing more than her senses. She feared, already, it was on the verge of stealing…her soul.

Making of her something she wasn’t.

Or…was it, more accurately, maybe just redefining her?

Showing her parts of herself she’d never known before?

Whatever the case, the really scary part was…she almost didn’t care about all the reasons she couldn’t have sex with Damon. She almost wanted to call him, listen to his deep-voiced hello, and say, simply, “Fuck me.”

Setting the wine cooler aside, and not even thinking about her panties, she rose and went to the bed. Sitting down, she grabbed up the receiver. She looked at the instructions for dialing another room and keyed in the numbers.

Then she slammed down the phone before the call could go through, her heart pounding against her chest.

What had she been thinking?

She’d truly been calling him? To beg for sex ?

Thank God she’d come to her senses.

Apparently, the relief the orgasm had provided had finally sunk in.

The relief, and the bit of shame from having to be so dirty alone. What insane behavior!

Suddenly, she was glad she’d been alone.

Just go to sleep. Don’t think about this anymore. It never happened.

You don’t need a man. You don’t need a man.

You need a fabulous job.

Tomorrow, you will meet with Damon and you will think about the job, not sex. You will do the job, without sex. The job is what’s important here, the thing you really want.