I'd have recognized those eyes anywhere. And right now, they’re even wider and more startled than they'd been last night. Not only have I never run into a woman that I've danced for—or with, or against, or on; however, you want to spin it—after a show, but I've also never remembered or given a second thought to any of the women from a show either.

This one, though? I recognize her immediately. She’s even prettier than I remember, more alluring than I'd originally realized…

And she’s pissed.

At least, she was, until my name passed her lips. Now, it’s hard to determine what the look on her face really means, whether she wants to get closer to me or just drown me in the pool.

I’m not even sure I have it in me to play it off nonchalantly, but I try, despite the fact that the sight of her has rooted me in place. “You remembered my name,” I say with a sheepish grin. “Fancy meeting you here.” I pull my hands through my hair, letting the excess chlorinated water splash down onto the concrete behind me.

She stares a moment longer, evidently uncertain what to do next. Then, she gives me a curt nod. “Yeah, fancy that.”

She turns around and immediately stalks over to the other side of her lounge chair, plucking the bag from the ground and shoving her book and other belongings back into it.

Shit, she's leaving.

“Hey, wait.” There’s a desperation in my voice that I don't understand, but at least it’s enough to halt her movements and give me the chance I need. “I'm sorry,” I say. “For splashing you. And getting your book all wet.” Even from here, I can see the pages are wet and will need to be spread out to let the air dry them.

Little Miss Jet Black Hair snaps her gaze up to meet mine, and the fire in her eyes this time isn't the heat of desire I'd seen the night before. Her eyes now hold only one emotion—fury.

“Of all the things you could apologize for, that's what you choose?” She sounds incredulous, like what I’m saying doesn't make an ounce of sense.

I arch an eyebrow, surprised at the venom in her voice. “And what exactly is it that you want me to apologize for?”

She finishes tossing her things back into the bag and slings it up onto her shoulder, looking defiant. “Oh, I don't know, how about for completely humiliating me last night in front of my friends and a whole room full of absolute strangers, or for putting your hands on me when you had no right to manhandle me the way you did, or—”

“You're going to have to excuse me for not agreeing, seeing as you willingly went there knowing what you were getting into.” I’m trying to keep my voice down, especially since this black-haired beauty in front of me is doing anything but, and the handful of other people sprawled out around the perimeter of the pool are beginning to stare, even if they are trying to pretend they're not. If I’m not careful, her demands for an apology are going to sound like something they aren't, like I did something I didn’t, so I need to diffuse the situation. Fast.

I let out an exasperated breath. “We’re getting off on the wrong foot,” I say through slightly clenched teeth. “I never meant to offend you, really. I was just doing my job.”

“You were just…” She scoffs, shaking her head so hard that a few of the tied-up strands come loose, cascading down onto her bare shoulders. “Geez, you can't possibly believe that.”

“You're right, I don't.”

“Smartest thing you've said yet, Derek.” She spits my name out like a curse word, turning away from me to head back toward the gate that leads toward the hotel rooms.

I watch her leave, mesmerized by the sway of her hips. “Don't you want to know what I do believe?” My voice matches the edge in hers, and it's enough to stop her in her tracks. She doesn't turn around, though.

After a beat, I hear, “Enlighten me.”

Her tone emboldens me, and I pull my towel from the nearby lounge chair before closing the distance between us in a few wide steps. The pool water has dripped off my shorts enough by the time I speak that there's a small puddle beginning around my feet. “I believe,” I start, ducking my head down to force her to look at me. “That something happened last night. That, while it started out as me simply dancing to the beat of a really great fucking song, it quickly became something that neither of us quite know how to handle.”

She juts her chin out, narrowing her eyes. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“I call bullshit.”

“You can call whatever you want, but that doesn't mean I have to agree with you. It also doesn't mean that I have to stand here and listen to the lies you’re telling yourself, and essentially trying to tell me.”

She sidesteps around me again, and this time I'm prepared to let her leave. But, in my own true fashion, I make sure that I'm going to have the last word.

“If you think I'm lying, then prove it.”

“Look, I just want to get through this weekend, then go back home to Ohio and pretend I never met you.” Her hand is on the gate latch, and despite her frigid words, I feel a wave of smug satisfaction when she stops again, turning to glare at me icily. She rolls her eyes. “Fine. I can't even imagine what you're going to suggest this time.”

But she doesn't look away, and she doesn't push the gate open. It's a small victory, but a victory, nonetheless.

I offer her a crooked grin, and take a slow, hesitant step forward, feeling as though I'm dealing with a skittish wild animal that could be spooked at any moment. “Tell me your name,” I instruct her.

“That's it?” Her forehead crinkles in confusion, and it's an expression that I find surprisingly adorable given the circumstances.

“It's a start.”

She doesn't speak for a moment, obviously wondering what my game plan is, but finally the answer to the question that's been weighing on my mind since last evening is finally answered. “Josie,” she says. “My name is Josie.”

“Well, hey, Josie. It's good to formally meet you.”

She immediately scoffs again, and whirls around back toward the gate.

I'm afraid I've lost her this time, and in a moment of sheer panic, I blurt out, “Go out with me, Josie.”

The bright-eyed, black-haired woman before me stops mid step again, her book bag banging haphazardly against her hip with each jerky movement. “You cannot be serious,” she exclaims.

“Serious as a heart attack, Josie.” I quickly realize that, now that I know it, I can't seem to get enough of having her name roll off my tongue. “Just once,” I add. “That's all I ask. And if I'm wrong, and there's nothing between us like the chemistry I'm so convinced played a role during last night's little dance number, then you can chalk it up as one of those things that happens in Sin City that you never have to speak of again.”

Not for the first time, she looks like there's a war battling within her, trying to decide whether to give in to me or slap me for such a suggestion. “Unfortunately, your little stunt last night is something that I'll never live down because my friends were there to witness the whole damn thing.” There's obvious disdain in her voice as she explains. “Not to mention, I don't date strippers, not even in Vegas.”

It's my turn to wrinkle my forehead, narrowing my eyes as I match her defensive stance. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but that sounded just a little bit judgemental to me.”

“Call it what you want,” she snaps. “I just call it like I see it.”

“What you see and what the truth really is are almost never one and the same,” I bite out.

The sudden edge in my tone catches her off-guard. She at least has the decency to look ashamed, even if only slightly. “I'm sorry,” she says. “I wasn't looking to offend you, but—”

“Don't worry about it. It seems that I offended you last night, and you've done your best to offend me today. Let's just call it even.”

I have to admit that it stings a bit knowing she sees me as nothing more than a man who takes off his clothes for money, which actually isn't quite the truth, but her blatant disgust for my choice of profession only makes me want to prove her wrong about me even more.

“Good seeing you, Derek,” she mutters over her shoulder as she pushes through the gate.

I reach out for the wrought iron door before it latches, giving Josie a wicked grin. “So, what time should I pick you up?”

I reach out and let my fingers touch her bare forearm, letting them linger there a moment longer than I need to. Josie's gaze lowers to the spot where our skin collides, then back up to meet my own stare.

“You really aren't going to give up, are you?”

It might be the wrong response, but a light chuckle escapes my throat, and I shrug. “Seeing as your eyes are betraying that you feel that electricity between us the same way I can right now, no, Josie, I have no intention of letting you get away that easily, especially when I know you're tucked away in one of these hotel suites, too close for comfort.”

We don’t blink. I'm not sure she realizes she's biting down on her bottom lip, but it does something to me.

“Humor me,” I whisper. “One night, that's all I ask, Josie.”

She looks unable to get adequate air into her lungs, and her chest has stopped rising and falling with the anger she'd possessed only moments before. When her eyes meet mine again, there’s a faint hint of uncertainty in them, but what stares back at me makes my heart pound faster—desire.

“I'm in Room 703. Be there at 8 o'clock.” She takes a step back, pulling away from my touch. “And Derek? Don't be late.”