Perfect Fit (Serendipity's Finest) - By Carly Phillips Page 0,61

times, but I’ve never gotten used to it.” She shook her head and glanced down, her cheeks pink.

“Why didn’t you tell me flying bothered you?” he asked her, touched that she’d offered to join him anyway.

She shrugged.

He grinned. “I know why. You want me to think you’re tough.”

“I am tough,” she said, glaring at him.

He chuckled and reached out, tucking her hair behind her ear. “That you are.”

She lifted her eyes to his, warmth shimmering there at his honest assessment. Then she smiled, her gratitude and emotions there for him to see, socking him unexpectedly in the gut.

“So, where are we staying? I didn’t think to ask.” She changed the subject and he was grateful.

“The Bellagio.” When she’d said she was coming on this trip, he’d changed his reservation from the unassuming MGM to a place she wouldn’t soon forget.

“Really?” she asked, her eyes opening wider. “The hotel from Ocean’s Eleven? The one with the huge waterfalls?”

He’d obviously chosen well. The normally sedate Cara squealed in delight, making him extra glad he’d switched.

“Wait until you see the room,” he said, squeezing her hand and noticing how she’d forgotten all about the turbulence. “And I made a dinner reservation tomorrow night at Delmonico’s in the Venetian.” He wanted to show her what Vegas had to offer, including a gondola ride, something he’d never imagined wanting to go on.

“Are you sure about all this?” A tiny crease formed between her brows as she crinkled her nose in concern. “I know this has to be expensive and—”

He cut her off with a finger over her lips, and her pretty blue eyes dilated to a deeper hue. He was about to remove his hand when she nipped the pad of his finger with her teeth.

“Damn,” he muttered as his cock jumped in his pants, swelling against the rough denim of his jeans. “Unless you want me to make you a member of the mile-high club, I suggest you cut that out.” He pulled his hand back before he jumped her right there in her seat.

She grinned, mighty pleased with herself, making him laugh.

“Behave,” he muttered.

“If you insist.” She eased back into her seat, facing forward, an impish and irresistible smile still on her face.

Mike shifted in his seat, knowing he’d be uncomfortable for the rest of the flight.

“Oh! It’s calm now. Thank you for distracting me,” she murmured, now completely relaxed.

Unlike him, he thought wryly. He hoped he could wait to get to Vegas and check in because he needed stress relief before facing his father.

He needed Cara.

From the moment the plane took off until now, when she stepped into the large suite—not a room, a suite—Cara had been in awe. She didn’t know what it was costing Mike, and to her surprise, she didn’t plan to ask. Instead, she’d decided to let herself enjoy.

And enjoy she did. Mike clearly wanted her, pinning her to the California king in the center of the room as soon as the bellman left them alone. From there, they christened the bed—more than once, at which point it was after midnight, Nevada time.

They spent the next day doing fun things, like taking a tour of Madame Tussauds museum, playing roulette, making love, showering, and heading to dinner. At Delmonico’s, Cara ate the best steak of her life. She and Mike talked about everything and nothing, with the exception of the night ahead and his hoped-for meeting with Rex Bransom.

With Mike, she was at once comfortable and always aroused, enjoying her time with him whether they agreed on the topic at hand or not. He was easy to be with. Too easy, and she had to keep reminding herself she couldn’t get complacent or convince herself Mike was someone who’d be around for long.

After dinner, they returned to the room to change clothes before heading over to Shots. On the ride up in the elevator and then back in the suite, Mike grew increasingly silent, and Cara gave him his space. She’d packed quickly, but she’d deliberately chosen the outfit she’d worn the first time she and Mike were together, a short skirt and her favorite cowboy boots that allowed her to strap on her ankle holster and small Glock. Airline rules allowed them to bring their weapons but not ammo, and they’d bought bullets earlier in the day. Just in case. They both felt more comfortable knowing they were armed.

The television blared the sound from a movie as they dressed without speaking. Cara wriggled into her cropped top