When I make it to the gate, the airline is getting ready to board passengers. I glance around and find Claire and Chase, but no one else from our party. I greet Chase with a handshake and kiss his soon-to-be wife on the cheek. “Who’s ready for some strippers, huh?”

Claire points a talon at me. “Leo Nass, I swear to god, if there are strippers this weekend, the wedding is off.”

“Promise?”

“Hey, be nice, fuckface,” Chase says, punching my arm.

I wince as if his manicured, delicate little lady hands have the power to actually hurt. “So where the hell is everyone?”

“Well, Rachel and Keith couldn’t make it. And Clara and Justin are catching a later flight after work.”

I nod, biting my tongue to keep from asking after the one woman who drives me nuts, as if speaking her name aloud might summon up the angry demon. It slips out anyway. “And Poppy?”

“Right here,” comes an all too familiar voice from behind me.

I turn and give her an appreciative once-over. Pencil skirt, white blouse that strains just enough against her tits, classic black pumps, and her hair pulled back in a low bun that’s far too severe for her delicate features. We’re going to the City of Sin and she’s dressed like a fucking librarian. A hot librarian. Oh yeah, she’s gonna be screaming my name as her hot pussy milks my cock with her orgasm.

I mentally slap myself in the head. What the fuck? 

“Hey, Pop Tart, wasn’t sure you’d show.”

She frowns. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Of course she was going to show. It’s Vegas, baby,” Claire says. Poppy waves her hands in the air like she just don’t care. She cares though. I can see from her tight smile that she cares an awful lot.

“Right, but aren’t you a little too OCD for that? Did you bring hand sanitizer?” I tease. Her grimace gets deeper. “You did, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. What sane person goes to Vegas without hand sanitizer?”

“The kind who wants to get dirty.” I lean in before I can stop myself. Poppy’s eyes widen, and she takes a step back. I glance at Chase and Claire and they’re both staring at me in disbelief. Fuck.

“Well, I have no desire to get dirty with anyone in a filthy hotel, and I’m not sure there’s enough hand sanitizer in the world for the women of Las Vegas after meeting you.”

Chase chuckles, and it’s my turn to punch him in the arm. I’m not a pussy about it, either. He flinches. “I forgot how entertaining you two are when you get going. This weekend is going to be awesome.”

“Well, thankfully, I won’t be spending any time with him, so I don’t have to throw myself out the plane window,” Poppy says.

“I’m not sure your ass would fit.” I cock my head to the side and stare at the ass in question. It’s a nice ass—a little small for my liking, but there’s certainly enough of it to grab a handful of as she bounces up and down on my cock.

Jesus, fuck. If my goddamn brother had just kept his mouth shut, I wouldn’t be thinking up all the ways to win that bet and get the angry Pop Tart naked. 

“About that,” Claire says. “I cancelled our suite this morning.”

Poppy pales. “What?”

“Well, since Rachel and Keith both can’t make it, and Clara and Justin already booked their own room, I just canceled ours. I thought we could bunk with the boys. Leo booked a suite, so we can double,” she says, as if sharing a suite with the bride is any kind of bachelor party. Goddamn it. I’m going to have to cancel those in-room strippers. “Are you okay, Poppy? You don’t look so good.”

“I think I just hallucinated.”

“Oh, she’s not staying with us,” I say to Chase. “Come on, man. When you said yes, I thought we were having a female-free weekend—I mean aside from the ones we’re throwing dollar bills at.”

Chase rubs the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. He’s obviously chagrinned. “Sorry. The old ball and chain vetoed any guy fun.”

“And you’re just telling me now?”

Poppy turns to Claire. “We’re still doing our own thing though, right? I mean, I did get time off work to throw you a bachelorette party, and I’m sure as hell not spending time alone with him.”

“Like I’d voluntarily spend time with you,” Leo says, “I don’t mind dishing out a good spanking every once in a while, but in no way am I into torture.”

“You two are so cute,” Claire says with a laugh.

I glare. Poppy glares, and Chase—that dumb, pussy-whipped fuck—Chase heads for the plane before I can beat his damn head in surrounded by dear old Dad’s staff, and all these lovely passengers.

***

Once we’re seated, I turn to Poppy. I’d intended to sit next to Chase but—yep, you guessed it—Claire vetoed that shit too. Man, if I’d known we were going to be spending this whole weekend with the preppy pussy pack, I’d have stayed in Manhattan and skipped the whole fucking thing.

Still, there are bonuses to being the son of business magnate and major shareholder of Apollo Air, Leonardo Nass. A six-hour nonstop flight in business class means six hours’ worth of nonstop drinks, and air hostesses who are extra nice to you. Sometimes in tiny bathroom cubicles. What I don’t appreciate are the filthy glares the brunette next to me is giving. To me, to the staff, to my staff when I widen my legs and let my semi poke at the zipper of my trousers. She is so fucking uptight, I have to wonder how Chase ever got into her panties in the first place.

I bet they’re full cotton briefs. Yeah, definitely briefs. She’s far too fucking prissy to wear a thong.

Thinking about her ass in nothing but her underwear causes my dick to harden, but she’s not looking anyway so I guess it doesn’t matter. I let out a puff of air and cover my crotch with my hand, covertly adjusting my dick in the process.

“Listen, junior, I know you own this airline and all, but please tell me you’re not going to play with yourself here.” Poppy says under her breath. She doesn’t look at me, but instead stares out the window at the clouds. Her laptop is open on her tray table and when she’s not admiring the view, she’s tapping away at her computer. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“For a start, I don’t own this airline—my father is the majority shareholder. And secondly . . .” I slam her laptop shut. She barely has time enough to remove her fingers before they get squashed. She gasps, and I smile. “This is a vacation. You’re not supposed to work on vacation.”

“No, this is a distraction,” she whisper-hisses. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“So you didn’t come just to make my life a living hell?” I pick up her laptop, stow it in its case, and hold it above my head.

“Hey, I need that.”

“No, you need a drink.”

I signal for the hostess, who greets me with a wide red-lipped smile. “How can I be of assistance, sir?”

I indicate to my drink. “We’ll take another, sweetheart.”

“Of course,” she says. “Would you like me to stow your laptop for you?”

“I really would, thank you.” I hand her the device in question. She places it in the overhead before wandering off to get Poppy’s drink.

Pop Tart opens her mouth to protest but the woman is already gone. With a drawn-out sigh, she glances at me. “Fine, I’ll have your drink, as long as you agree to get over yourself.”

“Get over myself?” I chuckle. “I already tried—couldn’t do it. I’m just that loveable.”

“You try too hard.”

“Try too hard? Baby, I don’t have to try at anything. Also, you should know I don’t tire easily . . . especially not when it comes to hot, hard fucking.”

“You don’t get tired? Because your lines certainly are.”

I suck in a sharp breath and hold my hand over my heart. “Oh, that was a good one.”

Poppy laughs and then accepts the drink the hostess brings her.

I clink my plastic glass against hers in a toast. “To wild weekends in Vegas.”

“To working the weekend in Vegas,” she says.

“Why, Poppy, you never told me you were an exotic dancer. I should have brought more bills with me.”

“Very funny. Not all of us can afford to live off Daddy’s purse.”

Living off what now? She did not just accuse me of taking handouts from my father. I work damn hard for every cent I’ve ever made. Sure, my dad owns the company, and yes, technically I do answer to him, and a board of six other members, but that doesn’t mean I get special privileges. If anything, I have to work twice as hard just to live up to my old man’s ridiculously high expectations. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Poppy’s gaze snaps toward me. Her eyes widen and a soft pink blush creeps across her cheeks. “I meant that you own the plane that we’re currently travelling on.”

“No, my dad owns a share in this plane. I work for my dad. Sure, that might mean that I had an easier time getting my foot in the door, but you know as well as I do how much he rides me, Pop Tart. I don’t take handouts—not that he’s ever tried to give me one.”

She frowns. “You’re right. That was unfair of me.”

“You really think I have everything handed to me?” I don’t know why her opinion bothers me so much, but it does.

“I don’t think anything about you, Leo. I don’t think about you at all.”

“Oh, you think about me.”

Pop Tart rolls her eyes. “You’re a mind reader now?”

“No, but I’m an expert at reading body language.” I lean in and whisper, “And yours says you’re dying to fuck me.”

“Oh, really? Then tell me, Professor Nass, how exactly does my body language tell you that?”

I chuckle. “Well, first of all, there’s that blush in your cheeks that wasn’t there a minute ago.”

“It’s the alcohol,” she mutters.

I glance at her knees. They’re as tightly closed as The White House after a terror attack. “Right, and the reason you’re squeezing your thighs together is because?”

“You know, you really are a prick.” She gets the cutest little furrow between her brows when she’s angry.

“So you keep telling me, and hey if it helps you sleep at night, you keep on believing that’s all this is. But remember, I’ll be on the other side of the wall, so don’t scream my name too loud when you slide your hand into your little cotton panties to stroke that pussy while you’re fantasizing about me.”

Poppy swallows hard and downs the rest of her drink, slamming the cup on the tray table. She turns her body so she’s leaning against the window as she stares through the plexiglass. “Shut up, Leo.”

Well shit. I think I struck a nerve.

***

“I’m sorry, sir. There’s a slight plumbing issue with the suite you booked, so I’m afraid we’ve relocated your party to two adjoining rooms,” the woman behind the hotel desk says with a contrite smile. “However, you’ll be happy to know that we’ve comped your room for tonight.”

“Okay, great. Thank you.”

“There’s just one small problem. The only adjoining rooms we have left have one king and two twin beds.”

“No problem.”

“Um, no. Not no problem,” Claire says from beside me. “I’m not sleeping in a separate room to Chase.”

“Wait, what?” Poppy screeches.

“Come on, babe, it’s okay,” Chase says. “You and Poppy take the king and Leo and I will share the twins.”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Easier to sneak out.”

Chase, Poppy, and I all turn to stare at Claire, whose face is turning red. Chase sighs and puts his hands on her shoulders. “Okay, we’ll take the king.”

“I’m sorry,” Poppy’s shrill voice echoes through the Bellagio entrance as she turns to Chase. “For a second there I thought you said Leo and I would be sharing a room.”

“That’s exactly what he said,” Claire confirms, then appeals to Chase with wide, pleading eyes. “Baby, I won’t sleep a wink if I’m worrying about you and Leo sneaking out and traipsing all over Vegas in the middle of the night. And you know how I get when I’m tired. I’ll be a mess.”

I have half a mind to tell Chase to run before he marries a psycho bitch from hell. Even Pop Tart looks taken aback. And for some strange reason I want to defend her, but it’s Poppy. She can bitch it up with the best of them.

“Honey, it’s fine. We’ll take the king. I hadn’t planned on sneaking out, but if it will make you feel better—”

“It really will.”

“You don’t mind sharing with Leo, do you, Poppykins?”

“Actually, I—”

“Poppykins doesn’t mind at all, does she?” Claire gives her a snide smile.

I glower at Chase, who apparently handed Claire his ball sack when he gave her a ring. Fantastic. A whole weekend alone with Miss. Safety Poo and no chance of getting my dick wet whatsoever. Just what I fucking need.

Pull it together, Nass, she couldn’t possibly hate you that much. “Don’t worry, Pop Tart. I’ll take real good care of you.”

I approach up to the woman in question and throw my arm around her. She shoves me, hard. I grunt and rub at my ribcage. Clearly I underestimated the level of angry, harpy wench we’re dealing with.

“See? Perfect.” Claire snatches one of the four room cards from my hands.

“Great. I’m going to be spending my weekend with Nass the Ass. Wonderful. Best bachelorette weekend ever.” Poppy’s tone implies otherwise, and she stomps off toward the elevator.

Jesus. If this woman can’t even stand to share a hotel room with me, then Jasper might be right. I may have one hell of a time getting in her little cotton panties. Which means I may soon be homeless. Fuck.

I should have known better than to bet against Poppy Porter.