“Your accent, I’m guessing Italian. Have you been here a long time?” he asked when I’d yet to summon a response to his confession. “I’m—”
“No names.” Safer for us both. Besides, being a Calibrisi wouldn’t tether me to the ground tonight. I wasn’t the daughter of a feared and powerful man. “Can we be two strangers who happen to share a moment and leave it at that?”
His brows tightened, and his bottom lip rolled inward for a brief moment. “So, you felt that, too, huh?”
“Hard not to,” I admitted.
“Hey, here’s your birthday drink,” Jason called from behind the bar, and I mentally willed him not to give away my name.
The Irishman checked his watch. “Ten more seconds until midnight.”
“Well, technically I was born a minute after twelve.” My lips twitched into a smile, which caught me by surprise since the subject of my birth never usually resulted in happy thoughts—no mother and all that. But I didn’t avoid celebrating my birthday because that would mean I had . . . well, feelings about it, but . . .
“Fairy tales. You a fan?”
I set my drink down alongside my clutch, momentarily confused about his question until I remembered he’d probably overheard Chanel’s words back at the arena. “Do I look like a woman who buys into fairy-tale nonsense? Am I a damsel in distress in need of a hero?”
“No, you look like a woman who can handle herself.” Nevertheless, he took one step forward and banded a hand around my waist, evidently deciding to throw caution to the wind.
I could have easily twisted his arm behind his back and brought him to his knees in an instant for setting a hand on me.
But I didn’t want to. No, I wanted his hands all freaking over me.
Ah, the midnight kiss. Now I recalled Chanel’s earlier words and realized that’s what he was suggesting. I nodded, permitting him to do exactly that.
Bright lights danced all around us in time with the bass as he palmed my cheek, clearly waiting for 12:01, wanting it to be official.
Drawing nearer to me, his lips gently pressed to mine, and when I placed my hand on the hard planes of his chest, a rumble of appreciation vibrated through from our connection.
It was soft and sensual, nothing too naughty, as though he were the prince waking Sleeping Beauty. Just enough to draw my attention, yet reserved enough to declare respect, acknowledging that the next move was mine to make. Essentially, it was perfect.
His lips lingered close to mine once our mouths broke apart, but his eyes remained closed as he released a quiet sigh. It was almost as if he were processing a storm of emotions created by our downright sinfully chaste kiss. It felt that way for me, at least.
“Do it again,” I commanded, rooted in place, the loud music fading away to the distant background. “But put your tongue in my mouth and taste me this time.”
“I’ll need a name for that, love.” His breath tickled my lips as our bodies remained close but not touching. The beats of our hearts nearly mingling. Who am I now? A poet?
“How about we choose names from a book?” For some reason, Charles Dickens popped into my head. “Great Expectations.” I was stuck on the ride of pleasure from that kiss, and I didn’t want to get off. Well, retract that line. I did want to get off. Very, very much.
“I’m not a Pip,” he said with a laugh, and God, he had a gorgeous smile, and he probably won a lot of hearts with it. He was currently winning mine over. Well, he was winning over my body. Still, it wasn’t an easy feat. “What about Romeo and Juliet?”
“Unless you think a good time ends with someone stabbing themselves or drinking poison—”
“Point taken.” He smiled. “Favorite Vegas movie, then?”
“You pick,” I prompted.
“Ocean’s Eleven. I’ll be Clooney.” He certainly had the grace and charm of that actor. They didn’t look alike, and he was probably half the man’s age, but it would work.
“I guess that makes me Brad Pitt.” I smirked, drawing a chuckle out of him as he pressed his forehead to mine.
“I think you’re more of a Julia,” he countered, though I looked nothing like the redheaded actress.
Julia Roberts and George Clooney. Two strangers, eschewing the confines of our true identities, who desperately needed another kiss.
But damn it, he stepped back, and his hands disappeared into his pockets. That was the opposite of what I wanted. “Do you want to go somewhere and talk? Take a walk? I’d like to get to know you, Julia.”
“I don’t talk about myself,” I warned, reaching for my drink. “Besides, doesn’t that defeat the purpose of an alias?” I shifted to the side, accidentally touching some big guy next to me, drawing his immediate attention.
“Hello, hello.” The man’s eyes became laser-focused on my cleavage. “How much are you?”
Yeah, wrong movie, asshole. I wasn’t playing Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, and this guy was two seconds away from meeting my fist, but Clooney reprieved his role of the prince, setting a hand to the big guy’s arm as he stepped alongside me.
“Apologize and back off,” Clooney growled, eyeing the guy with sharp confidence even though the man looked to be a professional weightlifter.
“Thank you,” I said to Clooney, “but I can handle myself.” Remember? I lifted my chin and pinned my gaze to the idiot. “How about you take the cash you saved up for this little trip to Vegas that you were probably planning to spend on blow or poker, maybe both, and—”
“I’d rather fuck you.” The stupid asshat kissed the air and circled his hand around my wrist.
I closed my eyes, warning myself not to strike him and draw attention. Chanel is in town.
But at the sound of a thud and the Irishman rasping a curse, my eyes flew open as Clooney drew his fist back from the man’s jaw.
Jason had security on us in a flash before the scene turned into a brawl.
“I need air.” Snatching my clutch from the bar top, I strode in search of Chanel, who was now making out with the man she’d been dancing with earlier, clueless to what had just happened.
“Be right back,” I told her after she came up for air.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I informed Clooney once we were in the hall outside the club. “Let me see your hand.” I turned and faced him. “I thought you weren’t a fan of fighting.” I held his clenched fist between my palms. His knuckles were red, but the skin wasn’t broken.
“You heard me say that?”
I lifted my eyes to meet his, and his intense blue gaze had me forgetting why we were standing out in the hall. The memory of his lips on mine spontaneously painted a picture in my mind of all the other places on my body I’d like to feel his mouth.
“If you don’t like fighting, why’d you nearly start one back there?” I let go of his hand and took a few slow steps forward, tucking my clutch under my arm.
“My brother.” He surprised me with a response after a few quiet minutes of taking in the scene as we strolled through the massive hotel and casino. When MGM first opened its doors, it was the largest hotel complex in the world. It was also originally decorated in an Emerald City à la Wizard of Oz theme. The hotel was going through another round of renovations, but for the most part, the newest Hollywood theme was draped in Christmas from end to end.