Vegas here I come. Sin City. I’m so ready to start this assignment. I’m even more excited to gamble a few bills away.

I’m not a huge gambler, but when in Vegas…

I check into the Bellagio where Falcon Publications has us booked through the weekend with one day of constant shooting and then one ‘free day.’

To do as we please.

Which won’t be Chelsea.

I mean, come on, can’t say I haven’t thought about it.

The one thing I’m not looking forward to is Wayne’s hands all over her during this photo shoot.

I want to punch him in his model-perfect face. Who cares if he has big muscles and twenty-four pack abs. Or if the women ‘swoon’ over his smile. Please, the guy’s a complete tool. Besides, big muscles equals tiny dick, everyone knows this. Speak of the devil, Wayne brushes past me on the way to his room. “I’m getting fucked up,” he shouts, heading down the hall.

Shooting starts at eight a.m., so, I head up to my own room, wheel my suitcase through the corridor, and spot Chelsea.

“Hey, Jonah,” she says.

“Hey, is that your room?” I ask as I get closer.

“Yep.” She holds up the keycard in her hand. “Looks like we’re neighbors.”

“I just can’t seem to get away from you,” I joke. “I’m sure this place is snake free.”

She smiles and unlocks her door. “Yeah, let’s hope. See you tomorrow.”

Although, I kind of wish there were. I wish someone would unleash a fury of snakes in her room. Like Snakes On A Plane, only this time, snakes in her room.

And I could rescue her.

I should have kissed her the other night. Lying in that bed with her. I should have fucking kissed her. But, I resisted.

And now, she’s still as tempting as ever…right across the hall.

* * *

The next morning, my alarm blares entirely too loud for my liking. I slam the snooze. Fuck. I hate mornings. They should be illegal.

Days should start at the crack of noon. Think about how many happier people would be in the world. Sure, Starbucks sales would be down, but I don’t drink coffee anyways. Or believe in the hype.

What’s the hype? The belief that coffee is needed to function. I know. I know. Don’t throw your mocha latte in my face. But, honestly, is coffee really the cure-all for mornings?

I hit snooze again.

Finally, before the third snooze sounds, I crawl out of bed, shower, and throw on some jeans and a black t-shirt.

We’re set to meet in one of the penthouse suites, so I grab my equipment and hustle to the top floor.

When I enter, it takes me all of ten minutes to set everything up with Randall’s assistance. The poor kid gleams with excitement.

I gotta admit, I’m pretty damn stoked too to get this day rolling.

Garcia steps out of the bathroom. “Sin City meet Siiincock.”

“Damn,” Randall says as Chelsea exits the bathroom. She has Garcia’s assistant following her, applying some make-up as she heads closer to the bed.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

She’s not in a swimsuit. No, she’s in some white-and-pink, lacy lingerie thing. It’s practically see through. Who allowed this?

Doesn’t matter.

“Fuck is right,” Randall whispers close to my ear.

I snap to attention. “Keep your eyes off her.”

He laughs, but I’m not joking.

For some reason, I’ve staked a claim over her.

“I’ll kill him,” Glenda threatens, rushing into the room. “The executives will be here soon. Listen up everyone,” she calls out to the room. “Anyone know where the ever-loving fuck Wayne is?”

Oh shit. There’s an awkward silence.

Everyone’s eyes bounce around to one another and back to Glenda. I swear her head’s about to explode.

“Did he say anything?” she asks, drawing out each word.

“Just that he was drinking last night,” I offer.

Wrong thing to say. Fire is definitely in her eyes, and they’re aimed right at me. “And you didn’t try to stop him?”

I shrug. “Not my place.”

She huffs a little. But, I get it. Wayne is sort of fucking us all over.

Glenda pinches the bridge of her nose. “The people organizing this entire thing, the one’s fronting this whole bill, the ones who want to see this company act in a professional manner will be here.” She glimpses at her watch. “Half an hour. I want Wayne found.”

The door opens and all heads turn. An intern by the name of Brandon steps inside. He shakes his head. “Got the manager to open his hotel room, and he’s not in there.”

My gaze meets Chelsea’s, and I shrug. The disappointment in her eyes isn’t lost on me. We all know this is huge. If we have to cancel the shoot, we won’t be asked to reschedule.

The proverbial light bulb goes off over Chelsea’s head. “Glenda,” she says in a quiet voice. “I don’t know if this is doable, but,” she hesitates, “Jonah could fill in.”

“Uh, no. I can’t.” I shake my head.

“Yes, you can. Take off your shirt,” Chelsea prompts, stepping closer to me.

“I’m not taking off my shirt.” I swat her hand away when she tries to lift the side of my tee.

“Go on, take it off, Jonah,” Glenda demands.

“Are you kidding? Who would take the pictures?” This idea is the dumbest one I’ve ever heard.

“You,” Glenda snaps her fingers, then points at Randall, “what’s your name? You’re his assistant? You take pictures, right?”

Randall turns beet red and lets out a little, nervous laugh. “Yeah,” he pipes out.

“Jonah, shirt off. Randall, can you handle taking pictures?”

This is insane. My eyes meet Chelsea’s hopeful ones. I shake my head, and she steeples her hands together in a little plea. “Please? This can work,” she whispers to me.

Sometimes you just have to say fuck it. I yank my shirt over my head.

Glenda sizes me up. Actually, everyone in the room stares. And I’ve never felt more mortified.

“Nice body. You’ll do.” Glenda barks out orders, and three ladies approach me, spraying something on my chest and rubbing it in.

I can’t believe this fucking shit.

I step over to Randall. “Listen, man. You got this. Just remember everything I’ve ever taught you.” I pass my camera to him, and his eyes are bigger than anything I’ve ever seen.

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.”

“Like I need you to grow a set of balls and take charge. Got it?” I ask.

He nods, again and again, as he takes the camera from my hands. “Got it. Balls. Yes. I have them.”

Glenda gives me a pep talk, Chelsea too. Even Randall offers some terrifying words of wisdom…’don’t get hard, dude.’ None of the little chats work. I don’t know what I’m fucking doing.

“Am I wearing jeans?” I ask to anyone who’s listening.

“Yes,” Glenda answers back. She grabs me by the arm, leading me toward the bed. “You and Chelsea will start out near the bed. Then, if the client wants it, you might get under the covers and do some light holding and such. Remember, be sexy.”

I nod. “Right.”

Sounds easy. Not really sure what being sexy is. I mean, sure I’ve got a certain je ne sais quoi. But, I don’t know how to harness it and make it available for picture taking. Or if it’s even harnessable—it’s just that powerful. I kid. I’m nervous as hell.

Just as I’m about to ask how to be sexy on film, the door opens and a few men wearing business suits that probably cost more than my Jeep, step inside.

The room fills up quick. It’s stuffy, and I can’t breathe.

This is all surreal.

Chelsea fluffs her hair and steps closer. “You look great. Ready?”

“Uh, no. Not really sure what I’m doing.”

“You’ve taken pictures for how long? You know where and how you want your models to look. Where you want them to stand to get the best possible light. You do know what you’re doing. But instead of being behind the lens, well, now you’re out here…with me.”

Her words sink in. “You’re right.” I do know what I’m doing. I know what makes a great picture.

Now, instead of trying to get my vision clear through the models, I can just do it.

She smiles. Fuck, Declan would murder me in my sleep if he caught wind of any of this.

After the introductions are over, Glenda gets everyone into position.

And here we go.

Randall snaps a few practice shots and nods to me. It’s showtime.

I wrap an arm around Chelsea’s waist, pulling her in. This is awkward.

“Wait, stop,” Glenda says, coming over to us. “Jonah, you’re very stiff. Loosen up.”

“I’m trying.”

“Pretend no one’s here,” Chelsea says. “This is the art of acting. Pretend you’re in love.”

I close my eyes for a moment. After opening them, I say, “I’m ready.”

I relax all my muscles and grab Chelsea around her tiny waist again. I pull her close. Too close. Randall snaps the shot.

She looks up at me. Her eyes really are unique. They aren’t just blue, that's too ordinary. No, they’re the color of the summer sky, with a soft sunshine band of yellow wrapping around her pupil.

I study them and move in closer to her lips.

And then, the room fades away.

I no longer hear the cues coming from Randall...I’m on autopilot.

I trace her jaw, skimming the soft skin with my thumb. My body heats, and I couldn’t cool it off if I tried.

I’m too in the moment with her. Exploring while I have the chance.

I run my fingers through her long locks. Rub the soft skin along her collarbone. She moans.

The sound is an aphrodisiac, and I step her closer to the bed. I want to kiss her. But, I don’t. Our lips hover inches apart, and my heartrate races double-time.

“Break,” Glenda says.

“Break already?” Dazed, I step back from Chelsea and roll the tension away from my shoulders.

“We’ve been at this for an hour,” Glenda points out.

It didn’t feel that long.

“Everyone take fifteen,” Tim says, and I head over to my water bottle and down almost the entire thing.

“How do they look?” I ask Randall, stepping over to him.

“You two had insane chemistry. I think they came out killer.” He pulls up the images on the laptop, and he’s right.

I lean closer. “Great pics, Randy.” I ruffle his hair, like a father does to their son.

When we’re ready to begin again, Glenda informs us that we will indeed be getting under the covers, and I’m not sure if my cock can handle it.

“You can stay in your jeans, Jonah, since you’ll be under the covers.” She smiles. “Chelsea we want you on top, like you’re riding him.”

Oh, fuck me.