This stool is ours. This bar is ours. The night belongs to this kiss, because it’s not a starter kiss. It contains all the clues necessary to assemble the puzzle of where this night will end.

With unwavering certainty, I know what kind of kiss this is.

As I explore her mouth, and she claims mine with equal urgency, I know that I will be fucking Natalie tonight.

Somehow we make it out of the bar. I pay the bill, she grabs her purse and phone, and we stumble into the big maw of New York-New York.

“So, this whole Vegas experience.” Her eyes are flirty, her voice is naughty, and her hips sway as she walks. “Does the rollercoaster come next?”

Now that’s an invitation if I’ve ever heard one. I RSVP to it. “Let’s ride it now. We’re making the most of every single second in this town.”

I don’t say the next part—that come Monday we go back to normal. To work. Anything more than tonight is too risky, but I don’t want to lay down ground rules now. I want to be in the moment tonight. Besides, the vodka is already telling my brain who gives a crap about Monday? “We do it all,” I say instead, because that makes a helluva lot more sense right now than thinking about consequences.

“Good.” She grabs the neckline of my black T-shirt as we stop in front of Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs, where patrons stuff foot-longs and cheesesteaks in their mouths. “Because I love rollercoasters,” she says, grinding against me in the bright light of the casino hallway, the plink-plink-plink of nearby slot machine payoffs and the spinning of roulette wheels gliding through the air.

I grasp her hips in my hands so she can feel the hard length of me against her. She gasps as she comes in contact with my hard-on, then a sweet, sexy moan slips from her lips. Her reaction is priceless and perfect. “How much do you love rollercoasters?” I ask.

“Just you wait ’til you hear me scream on the drop. Then you’ll know how much.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, I’m going to take you for a helluva ride.”

Somehow, we pull apart.

We walk and we kiss. We follow the signs for the ride, and stop to make out on the way. I press her to the wall and kiss her neck, my stubble dragging against her soft skin. She moans when I do that, and her sounds drive me crazy. I want to hear all her murmurs and sexy cries, be the reason she makes them, and then make her groan and moan again.

We manage to traverse another hundred feet or so, then up the escalator where the entrance to the joint arcade and rollercoaster looms near.

But I need to touch her again, so I spin her around, back her up to the wall, and pin her wrists at her sides, pressing my body to hers and crushing her lips once more with mine. When I manage to pull away, I drag my mouth to her earlobe, and bite. She lets out a soft yelp. “Want you so much,” I tell her.

“God, you have no idea. Being near you is torture. I’ve been dying to touch you. I told my sister when I got on that plane there was no way I could come here with you and not want you.” She says it in a breathless rush, her admission perhaps fueled by liquor, and that’s fine with me because I’m buzzed, too. Not so buzzed, though, that the sliver of text messages I’ve spotted locks into place.

It hits me—she’s been texting her sister about me. Telling Charlotte that being near me is torture. Then Charlotte replying that she knew Natalie would want to do this with me in Vegas. And fuck if that doesn’t turn me on more.

All my reasons to resist her have vanished. All my rules separating work and pleasure have crumbled to dust. This is temporary, a one-night-only kind of tryst as we make the most of this evening.

I hope things won’t be awkward in the morning, but hell, I can only think about now. Tomorrow is for tomorrow.

We thread through the bright lights and flashing screens in the arcade and find our way to the line for the rollercoaster. There are only a few people ahead of us. We won’t have long, but I want the wait to be foreplay for her. I yank her against me, her back to my front, tugging her ass right against the outline of my hard cock.

She leans her head against my shoulder, turns her mouth to my neck, and says my name in a purr.

I whisper hers in her ear, and the way I say those three syllables seems to set her off. She pushes back into me, her sexy little ass rubbing up and down along my length. We are the fucking definition of PDA right now. We are the get-a-room people, but amazingly, no one says a thing.

Vegas, baby. I love this town.

My fingers play at the top of her skirt. “Tell me how much you want this. I want to hear you say it.”

“How much I want to ride the rollercoaster?”

My hands dig into her hips. “No. How much you want me to fuck you tonight.”

She spins around, her blue eyes meeting mine. She says nothing at first, just studies me. Her eyes darken with desire, and she never lets go of the stare. The air whooshes out of my lungs from the intensity of her gaze. “Wyatt Hammer, don’t you know?”

“Don’t I know what?” I say, my voice a dry husk.

Each word comes out of her mouth dripping with desire. “I ache for you.”

Never have four words sounded so hot when strung together. Even though we’re not alone, we might as well be. I drop my lips to hers, and for the first time all night, I kiss her softly. It lasts for a second or two, then I whisper, “You’re killing me here, Nat.”

Then it’s our turn, and we untangle from each other as our group heads to the station with the string of yellow cars designed to look like taxi cabs.