Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Tom
O nce Paisley and I detangle ourselves, I hail a cab and get us back to the hotel in record time. Someone might even mistake me for a man who knows where he’s going.
Of course, they would be wrong.
The sun is just beginning to set, and the night is ready to welcome those pursuing all the sins this city has to offer—Paisley and me included. We stumble into the lobby, ready to tear across the entrance, only to find our way blocked by a fascinated crowd.
There, smack bang in the middle of the room, stands a bloody magician. Magic wand and everything. Cards shoot around the room, scarves arching through the air, all punctuated by an exaggerated swish of a heavy cape. Either the enraptured crowd is under a spell, or they’re waiting to see what hammed-up trick the old man will pull off next.
If I have one night with Paisley, this is not how I intend to spend it. So, I grab her hand and start a convoluted path through the throng.
“I need a volunteer from the audience,” the magician bellows, and to my horror, his gaze lands on us. The compelled crowd immediately parts for him, and Paisley shrinks against my chest.
“Ah, a beautiful assistant.” The magician extends his hand to Paisley, who looks at the outstretched appendage like one might a venomous snake.
I wait a few seconds to see if she’ll tell him to shove it on her own, but it seems she’s caught a case of pre-emptive stage fright.
“Sorry to disappoint, but we’ve just got engaged,” I announce loudly to the crowd. “I’m afraid I’ll have to steal my fiancée away.”
Apparently, my tiny brain hasn’t considered the repercussions of my proud declaration because the audience bursts into raucous applause and excited catcalls, some so lewd that even my cheeks turn pink.
The magician stoops into a dramatic bow, and I take that as our cue to make our getaway. With an awkward wave to the far-too-invested crowd, I drag my relieved date across the lobby.
There’s magic to be had in Vegas tonight, I’m sure of it. Just not at the hands of a caped-up old wizard in a top hat…
PAISLEY
I can’t decide if the silence in the elevator is comforting or deafening. Wrapped in Tom’s arms, with my back against his chest, I could easily purr with contentment. Yet, the mental space afforded to me by this quiet anticipation has allowed my more intrusive thoughts to rear their ugly head.
This feels scandalous, likely because the last time I invited someone new into my bed, I was a literal schoolgirl. I keep reminding myself that this isn’t a big deal. People have one-night stands all the time. But that fact doesn’t help my racing heart.
This is a mistake, right? Completely reckless. Inviting a man to your room whom you’ve known for less than a day sounds like the start of a true crime documentary. And worst of all, I’m trying to remember if I tidied up after my wardrobe meltdown this morning. What if I left my pants on the bed? What if I left the toilet seat up?
Tom doesn’t even know I’m a divorcee. He doesn’t know about Mason! Would he even be here if he knew I was a single mum? Is this deception? Fraud? Is there some kind of law against luring hot P.E. teachers to one’s bedroom under false pretences?
Gosh, this lift is hot.
“Relax, Paisley.” I feel the chuckle rumbling in Tom’s chest. “It’s just an elevator ride, not a trip to the gallows.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, twisting to peer up at him. “I don’t really do things like this.”
“I figured. Just know that you’re in charge tonight. Nothing happens that you don’t want to. You say this is just a holiday fling, fine. I’ll take whatever you’ll give me. I’m in if you want to order room service and watch a movie. If you want something more, I’m there. You say stop, and I’ll be out the door quicker than you can blink. Don’t worry, Paisley. The ball’s in your court.”
Tom looks so earnest, so sincere, that my stomach flutters with something other than nerves. “So, if I said I wanted to spend the night watching Harry Potter, you’d be okay with that?” I ask innocently.
“As long as it’s not the first one, I’m all for it.”
“So, The Chamber of Secrets, then?”
“I’ve never heard it called that before,” Tom says, loud enough that the man beside us snorts. “But you’re on.”
And with that terrible pun, the elevator doors open, and I lead Tom to my room, where I’ve no intention of watching anything but the man beside me.