“Lily, wake up.”

She swatted away the hand the first time it touched her cheek The second time, she was aware enough to crack her eyes open a little and look up at Gabriel, who was leaning over her where she had snuggled into the big comfy seat and fallen asleep.

“Hey,” she said, and reached up to touch his hand where it rested on her face. Whatever else she had been about to say went right out of her head; the feel of his skin under her fingers and the feel of his fingers against her cheek sent a crackling bolt of something that felt a lot like electricity right through her.

He felt it, too; she saw his eyes narrow and he kept his hand where it was just a moment longer. Then, with something that looked very much like reluctance in his eyes, he straightened up and stepped back. “We’re here,” he said.

She struggled a little to sit up; he reached out a hand, but she ignored it, looking instead out the window. Outside, there was nothing but desert as far as she could see.

“Why aren’t we at the airport?” she asked, confused.

“We’re at a little airport just outside of Vegas.”

“But why?”

“There wasn’t room for us to land.”

She looked around the plane, pointedly. It wasn’t that big.

“Too many planes already there,” he said. “Everyone’s in town for the fight, I guess.”

“There were too many planes at the airport?” she said. “I don’t think that’s even a thing.”

“Private planes,” he clarified. “There’s a limit to how much room they have to park private planes, so we had to come out here.”

She couldn’t help it; she started to laugh, and the look on his face only made her laugh harder.

“What?” he demanded.

“Hashtag—” She busted out laughing again.

“What?” he said again.

“Hashtag,” she said, getting herself under control, “richguyproblems.”

He laughed then, a genuine laugh, and she had to stop herself from preening under his attention. Somehow making him laugh was more flattering than making him want to jump her bones.

Maybe because it didn’t appear she had to do much for that. All they had to do was touch.

Unless Miri and Matthew were right.

She’d turned down his offer of a drink when they’d boarded the plane, and remembering that made her thirsty. “Is there any bottled water here?” she asked.

“There is.” He stepped into the galley, then came back a moment later with a bottle of water.

She checked to see that it was unopened, then broke the seal and took a sip.

“Thanks,” she said, and looked up to find him looking at her strangely. “What?”

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

She nodded. It wasn’t a lie, not with a question so vague; she was neurotic, not insane. Of course not everything was okay. She’d lost her job. The world was at war. People were starving. What a dumb thing to ask.

“The Dramamine made me a little groggy,” she said, and that was the unvarnished truth. Her head would be slightly muzzy for hours.

Still beat spending the flight in the lavatory, though.

“They let us bring the limo right onto the apron,” he said, “so it’s not far. Do you need help?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“Then grab your purse and let’s go.”

The pilot was loading her equipment into the trunk of the limo as she came down the stairs, and she turned to Gabriel. “Should I be taking pictures, or—”

“Let’s leave it till morning,” he said. “I’ll try to look presentable.” And he smiled that smile, the one that warmed her all the way to her toes.

“Okay,” she said, weakly.

“Let’s head to the hotel. We can order room service, since you’re not feeling right?”

They were staying at the Bellagio—of course, she thought—and Gabriel’s name made all the usual check-in rigamarole disappear. An express elevator whisked them up to their floor, and a very earnest concierge showed her around the suite while she tried not to goggle at things like the solarium, or the conference room. Or the two contained waterfalls that created a sort of moat in the foyer.

Or the view: the fountains, the half-scale Eiffel Tower at Paris Las Vegas. It was breathtaking. Lily wasn’t sure what she’d expected—maybe something like New York or Boston in the desert—but Las Vegas was unlike anyplace she’d ever seen. She couldn’t wait to go out exploring in the morning.

When the concierge finally left them to their own devices, Gabriel called down for room service while she unpacked her things and put her clothes away in the dresser and closet. She left the cameras and other equipment packed for now, and shoved them under the bed.

“What are you doing?” Gabriel asked from the doorway.

“I’m unpacking,” she said, not sure how that was unclear.

“We’re only staying one night,” he said.

She turned and looked at him, couldn’t help grinning. “Such a guy,” she said. “All the money in the world doesn’t affect that Y chromosome, does it?”

“How so?” He didn’t look offended, only amused again.

“What do you suppose the closet is for? The dresser? And look at this nice fancy bowl, for my keys and change and stuff.”

“It’s called a valet,” he said.

She flushed a little. “It’s called a valet when it’s all manly and made of leather. This is a fancy bowl.”

“Is that the technical term?”

“My point is, I’m putting my damn stuff away. You might not understand—because, again, guy—but clearly the staff at the Bellagio knows. Civilized people unpack.”

He looked at the closet and she could see him nodding his head almost imperceptibly as he counted. “Do civilized people bring six dresses for an overnight stay, too?” he asked.

“Good thing you can’t see what’s in the drawers,” she replied. “How am I supposed to know what I’ll want to wear?”

“I’ll be damned if I know,” he said, but he was smiling, and she found she liked him like this. Easy, relaxed, and … across the room, where he couldn’t scramble her senses.

Dinner was delicious, and they watched the sky go dark outside the enormous windows in the dining area while they ate. Gabriel talked about their plans for the next day: some touristy things, the fight, and of course gambling, which she said she couldn’t afford. He assured her the hotel would supply them with some chips so she could at least try it out. She forgot for a little while about being unemployed and about how weird everything felt when she was around him, and just enjoyed herself.

Then she came back from the bathroom and found him refilling her water glass.

She barely flinched, hoped he wouldn’t notice. But of course he did.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, sat down.

He sighed and put his napkin down beside his plate, leaned back in his chair. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“With what?” she asked, not at all liking where this was going, and trying desperately to think of a way to deflect a direct question.

“Everything has been quite nice, and then, just now, something made you just … shut off.” He tilted his head. “What did I do to upset you?”

Well, shit. She looked away from him, tried to think of anything to say that wouldn’t be a lie. There was nothing. She could stand up and walk out without saying anything, but she literally could not tell him she wasn’t upset, or prevaricate about why. I should have agreed when Dr. Nussbaum suggested we meet more than once a month.

He said nothing, just waited for her answer.

“I didn’t want you pouring me a drink,” she said.

His eyebrows shot up. “I don’t think that was even on the list of things I imagined you’d say,” he said. “Why on earth should it bother you if I top off your glass?”

“Because I’m afraid you’ve been doing something to me,” she said. “I’ve been behaving in a way that’s not like me, and every time, it’s been after I drank something you gave me.”

He blinked at her. Just sat there and blinked at her, his face gone still and cold.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“You should be,” he replied, with ice in his voice. “I assure you, I’ve not tampered with your beverages in some ploy to get you into bed, Lily.”

She flushed. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

“I didn’t even have access to your drink the first night,” he said.

“The bartender did.”

He didn’t even deign to answer that one, which was just as well; as soon as she said it, she realized how ridiculous and paranoid it sounded. Gabriel hadn’t even noticed her until after she’d been served. “And your coworker was with me the entire time that next day, unless you think he didn’t mind watching me drug your water bottle?”

“Of course not,” she said. “No, it was just—”

“Just what?”

“Just a thought,” she said, knowing how incredibly stupid it sounded even as she was saying it.

“A disgusting, offensive thought,” he said. “I did nothing to you that day at the club, other than find you appealing and act on that—with no objection from you.” His tone was curt, but she thought there was some genuine disappointment underneath that.

The idea that he would be disappointed in her for thinking badly of him grated on her last nerve.

“What was I supposed to think?” she demanded. “The way I’ve been acting around you—it’s abnormal. It’s not how I am, it’s not how I’ve ever been, and I don’t like it. What was I supposed to think?”

“I’ve no idea what you were supposed to think,” he said. “But I might suggest not jumping to conclusions about someone you’ve only just met, who’s given you no reason not to trust him.”

“You’ve given me no reason to trust you, either,” she said.

“So that’s your default position, then?” he asked. “Assuming the worst and acting from there?”

“I’m confused,” she said. “I’m confused, and I don’t know … I don’t know what to do with the way you make me feel, okay?”

“That’s not my problem to solve, Lily,” he said, which made her even more furious.

“Fine.” She pushed her plate away and stood up. “I guess I’m not your problem either.”

“That’s not—”

“I’m going for a walk,” she said.

“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “This suite is big enough for an army. Just go into the solarium, if you need some alone time—or your room, for that matter. There’s no reason to go traipsing around Las Vegas.”

“I need some fresh air,” she said, stubborn and hating herself for it.

He sighed. “If you go, I’m not going to follow you and beg you to come back.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Sit and finish your dinner.”

He stood, stepped over to the bar—A full-service, six-seat wet bar in the middle of the suite, she thought. What am I even doing here?—and brought back a bottle of water.

“You can open it yourself,” he said, and set it on the table in front of her as he took his seat again.

His voice was kind, but somehow it was the worst thing he could have said. Without another word, she stood and fled, out of the suite and down the fire stairs, rather than wait for the elevator and risk him changing his mind and coming after her.