My cousin was now married.

It was kind of hard to believe.

Angel was a mom and now she was married.

An hour married, to be exact.

She made a beautiful bride.

I sipped my champagne as LeVan got up to make a toast, trying not to look at the man who’d been seated next to me for the sit-down dinner they’d elected to have in lieu of a reception.

Angel had said, “We’ll have a big party or something once I’m able to drink, but while I’m nursing…? Nope. You don’t party without me, girl.”

I’d laughed and promised to drink extra champagne for her. I was probably going to do it, too, because they’d sat Sly next to me and his presence made me nervous.

Especially because he wasn’t exactly…being Sly.

At least, not the Sly I’d come to expect.

The Sly I’d come to expect since moving to Las Vegas was all sharp wit and sharp edges, with a biting sense of humor. I was surprised people didn’t spontaneously start to bleed around him. Even his shows were laced with that dangerous edge—I knew because three days ago, I’d found myself accepting Mac’s offer for free tickets to see any of the shows, whenever I wanted. The shows were always sold out, but Mac had told me they always kept a couple tickets set aside and since I’d already seen LeVan, and Mac was taking a break until after the wedding, I’d elected to go ahead and see Sly.

I’d been blown away. His show was a mix of humor and heat, with a sexy edge that made the show almost not quite family friendly. He stayed just shy of that line throughout the entire performance and the show ended with me holding my breath, half expecting him to do or say the one thing that would cross the line.

Apparently he saved all the dirtier innuendoes for offstage.

I’d heard several of them tonight, mostly directed at Mac and Angel, although he’d fired a few shots at Thea and LeVan.

He’d been almost…polite to me.

And that was why I was so nervous.

LeVan finished his toast and held up his glass. “To my brother at heart, Mac, and my new sister, Angel. May this new step in your life be a wonderful one.”

People whooped and held up their glasses, echoing his toast with shorter versions or simply, “Cheers.”

I did the same as Sly shifted next to me as Tamika, Angel’s maid of honor, rose and made her toast. It was short and sweet and everybody broke out laughing.

Sly was next.

He pushed back in his chair and as he did so, his thigh brushed against mine and through his tuxedo pants, I felt the heat of him.

It hit me like a silk-swathed fist in the belly, knocking the breath out of me.

Oh, no…

His gaze slid to me.

Had I said that out loud?

“Are you okay?” he murmured, leaning in.

“I’m fine.” I nodded at the glass he held in his hand. “It’s your turn to make your toast.”

My throat was dry—he needed to make that damn toast so I could take a drink of my damn champagne.

My heart was racing now.

Had he ever touched me before?

Why in the hell was my heart racing like this?

Champagne.

I clutched my flute in my hand as he stood up, his eyes seeming to assess the level of bubbly in my glass.

It had to be the champagne.

Had to be.

But my body opposed that idea and the lust-filled sensation of need which had been dormant ever since everything started in Branson, began to rear its ugly head.

No…no…no…

Sly started to speak.

His words didn’t make much sense and that sort of sucked because he was such a jerk. I was almost positive that if I could’ve tuned in to what he was saying, I’d be able to find something that would turn off the switch he’d somehow managed to flip on inside me.

And he’d barely touched me.

Hormones, I told myself as he lowered himself back into his seat. Hormones, nerves, champagne, and you’re at a fucking wedding. You just need to do the smart thing…and keep your distance.

* * *

I’d never been very good at keeping my distance or doing the smart thing.

But I’d been determined to try. It helped that that larger part of me was insisting that Sly was annoying.

It didn’t help that I saw him blush as he kissed Angel on the cheek as the reception dinner really kicked in, nor did it help that when he hauled Mac against him in a hug, his eyes almost looked…well, kind of shiny. Liked maybe they were damp.

Did guys feel that funny flip in their belly at a wedding, too?

Sure, nobody ever talked about a mad scrabble and dash to grab the garter belt when it was thrown, at least not like they did with the wedding bouquet—that tradition could be hazardous.

But even though I didn’t see myself as a die-hard romantic, even I got a little misty-eyed at weddings.

Of course, plenty of people would laugh at the idea of me not considering myself a romantic. Leaning against a wall, listening to the music and watching people as they danced, I brooded into my champagne as I thought that over.

I wasn’t a romantic.

Not really.

Me being a virgin at the age of twenty-five had little to do with romance and more to do with…personal hang-ups and decisions I’d made as a teenager after dealing with the revolving door of men who had entered my mother’s bedroom for most of my young life.

I had no idea who my father was.

Whether or not my mother knew, I had no idea and I’d finally given up trying to drag an answer out of her back when I’d hit my early twenties. But one thing I hadn’t been able to let go of was my own personal hang-ups about sex.

You’re twenty-five, Emmy. It’s time to get over it, a part of me whispered, watching as one couple slunk off the dance floor, clearly making their way to the exit.

Angel and Mac had already left, although I suspected their early retreat had as much to do with the new mama being tired as anything else.

The couple who’d left just now would be the first of many, I imagined.

What would it be like to just stop worrying about everything that seemed to overtake my brain when it came to things like this?

And how did one just stop worrying?

Especially considering all the shit I had in my head to worry about. It wasn’t even just the lingering memories of things from being a kid, but everything else.

Everything else involving the bastard who had started hassling me almost a year ago and had stepped up his harassment to outright stalking and threats of physical violence. How could I think about normal things when I worried who was on the phone every time it rang?

It had been a few days since he’d tried, and I didn’t know whether to feel good about that or not.

Part of me worried about the silence, but another part of me hoped he’d given up. He couldn’t find me, could he?

But another part of me reminded me how easily he’d found my home and how easily he’d gotten inside. How he’d rigged it to burn and if—

“Shit,” I whispered, lifting the champagne to my lips with a shaking hand and tossing it back. I wanted it to burn like cheap whiskey, something that would distract me from the memories of flames and heat as it scorched over my skin, but no such luck.

I’d find something that would, then. Plan in mind, I turned.

And walked straight into Sly O’Malley.

If it wasn’t for those nimble hands, the champagne flute would’ve fallen to the floor and shattered into a thousand tiny shards of crystal. As it was, he caught it and set on a nearby table with one hand, the other going to my arm.

Shocking heat seemed to explode between us but it was likely all on my part.

It seemed like I was the only one who reacted.

Sly stood there, face unreadable as he stared down at me.

Seconds ticked by and he said nothing.

My heart hammered inside my chest.

Finally, he spoke. “Did I scare you?”

“No. I just…okay, a little,” I admitted. “I thought most everybody was either at the bar or out on the dance floor.”

“Why aren’t you?”

His thumb stroked up my arm.

For a brief moment, my thoughts fizzled to a screeching halt. Then he did it again and my brain reengaged. “I’m on my way.”

“To the dance floor?” Red brows arched up almost to his hairline. “By yourself?”

“No. To the bar. And yes.” I told myself to step back, but I couldn’t make myself do it.

He was so warm, heat emanating from him and reaching out to me even through his tux and the strapless sheath I wore as my bridesmaid dress.

“On your way to the bar by yourself?” he clarified. He took my hand and slid it into the crook of his arm. “I’ll go with you. I’m pretty fed up with champagne. I want a real drink.”

My feet were moving without any real permission from my brain, and we were halfway to the bar before I realized we’d managed to be in each other’s company for all of five minutes without barbed comments being exchanged—again. We’d sat together at the dinner hardly speaking, but there hadn’t been any insults thrown either.

I’d told myself I’d be on good behavior for the wedding.

Maybe he’d done the same.

“What’s your poison?” he asked as he shouldered his way to the bar, paying little attention to the people waiting. Once we got to the counter, he left me standing there alone, feeling a little self-conscious at the looks we’d gotten. I felt even more self-conscious when he slipped behind the bar and stood there waiting, clearly planning on getting the drink himself.

“You serve drinks and do magic. Multitalented, I see,” I said, striving for a light tone. I could tell he had no plans to abandon his post until I gave in, so I nodded at a familiar green bottle. “I like scotch.”

A quicksilver grin flashed across his face. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Miss Yoga.”

My face heated at the reminder of how we’d met, but I met his gaze full on. “Jury’s still out on you, Mr. Magic.”

To my surprise, he laughed. He grabbed the bottle and nodded at the two people working there behind the bar. He leaned in and spoke to one of them, a few words exchanged by both parties, then what looked like money—a tip, I supposed. But Sly took the entire bottle and two glasses.

I guess when one owned the hotel where the party was taking place, liberties could be taken.

He rejoined me on the other side of the bar and flashed that quicksilver grin at the people waiting in line. “This way, nobody has to wait on us.”

People had obviously recognized him and nobody said much of anything as the two of us left, Sly offering me his arm. I accepted, wondering why I was doing this. Just being near him unsettled me and I’d long since figured out the why of it—my racing heart should’ve been the only clue I needed, but my aching nipples had sort of clued me in too.

It had been a while since I’d actually been interested in anyone, but I was sure as hell curious about this mouthy, wisecracking smart-ass who looked at everybody with eyes that were even less trusting than mine.

He made me ache.

It had been a long, long time since a particular man had made me ache.

I’d longed for sex and had satisfied those urges with a toy that probably would’ve made Mama proud. God, the humiliation of that moment was still enough to make me wish the ground would open up and swallow me, but I’d gotten past it enough that I could shop for my own needs, thank you very much.

But the sexual urges that were a part of me had been just that—urges.

Need hadn’t ever had a face before.

It did now.

A face, a voice, a scent, a sly, certain smile…

We ended up on the balcony of the elegant room that had been reserved for the reception, a floor near the top level of Casino Torrid. Las Vegas spread around us like a night-dark carpet, sparkling with diamonds lit from within. We were too far up to be able to see anyone below us, but the headlights from cars and buses shined like little fireflies as I peered over the railing.

“Not afraid of heights, are you?” Sly asked.

“Not a bit,” I said, shooting him a wide smile. The wind was up, teasing at my hair and without thinking about it, I reached up to free it, removing the clip that held it confined, tugging away the few pins that had been used to secure the heavy mass.

An odd noise sounded behind me, but I didn’t turn to look. “You going to hoard the scotch or can I have some?”

“I probably need the whole damn bottle,” he said, voice lower than it had been.

I glanced at him, but his gaze was averted, focused on the bottle in his hands.

Turning back to him, I waited as he tore the foil, then twisted off the top. A moment later, I held a glass of fine scotch in my hand and I lifted it to my nose, breathing in the scent of it.

“I didn’t think to go for ice,” he said, pouring himself a glass—and about twice as much as he’d poured me.

I should’ve known he’d hoard it.

“Only a fool ruins good scotch with ice,” I said easily, lifting it to my lips and taking a sip. I’d had only a glass and a half of champagne and that had been a while ago, so I wasn’t worried about mixing the two liquors. Besides, after the year I’d had, my tolerance for alcohol had risen considerably.

Not really anything to be proud of, I thought sardonically.

But maybe if I got good and drunk, I could silence the throaty little hussy that seemed to have awakened inside me.

“I heard about your problem.”

I stilled, the glass halfway to my lips for another sip. Over the glass, I stared at Sly, mind racing. I had no doubt what he was talking about, but for a minute, I couldn’t understand how he had figured out there was a problem—then I remembered the phone call from a month earlier. Swallowing the knot in my throat, I forced myself to take another small sip before lowering the glass. “You talked to Mac. You asked about the phone call.”

He inclined his head in response.

Blowing out a controlled breath, I looked away. “I suppose I can understand. Mac’s got to be aware that he may well come here looking for me. That could involve all of you if it happens. Do you want me to leave?”

“Hell, no,” Sly snapped, sounding more like the ass who’d barged in on me when I was doing yoga in the nude.

Whipping my head around, I met his eyes. The wind blew my hair into my face and I shoved it back impatiently. “Why not? It’s not your problem.”

“It shouldn’t be yours either.” His voice was softer now.

I think I fell for him a little bit, right then and there.

The foolish thought circled through my head and desperate, I tossed the scotch back, feeling it burn all the way down my throat. “Lots of things shouldn’t be, but they are anyway. That doesn’t mean you have to go looking for trouble.”

“Trouble finds me anyway. If Mac hasn’t told you that, you’ll figure it out fast enough on your own.”

The wind slapped my hair into my face again but this time, Sly was the one to reach up, catching a heavy lock of it and brushing it behind my ear.

Startled, I looked up and met his eyes.

He was closer now.

Heart hammering in my throat, I clutched my scotch tighter, wondering if I should guzzle it or slam the glass against his chest and take off running. Or maybe guzzle, then slam.

I decided to guzzle…then wait.

Lowering the now-empty glass, I fought the urge to look away from the snapping, intense green of his eyes, but it was a battle. Those eyes looked at me like he could see clear through me, and I don’t mean just the sexy, navy blue number with embellishments along the side that emphasized every last curve I had.

The material sparkled under the chiffon overlay, so it echoed what the sky must look like away from all the city lights, a thousand stars tucked away in the blue.

I looked good and I knew it.

Judging by the way he was eying me, he agreed.

Judging by the way he was eying me, there were thoughts going on in his head that I wasn’t sure I was ready to handle.

But I still didn’t take off running.

I was a virgin at twenty-five because there hadn’t ever been a guy who made me really want him.

Even the few sorta serious boyfriends had only made me curious and the promise I’d made to myself back in the house with the revolving sexual door had nothing to do with curiosity and everything to do with real want, real need. I’d wanted sex to be like it was in the silly books I’d read. No, I wasn’t a romantic, but I wanted to feel like I was the center of someone’s universe and if I couldn’t have it for something like this, then when would I ever?

Only now that someone was looking at me with hot, intent eyes, it was a little…nerve-wracking.

Sly reached up and cupped my cheek, stroking one thumb across my lower lip. “You look so nervous, Emmy. Why is that?”

It was the first time I’d ever heard him say my name.

I knew, right then and there, I didn’t want it to be the last.