A shrill ding sounded in Jen’s ears. Her wireless headphones were synced to her phone, so the text notification came in loud and clear. She whooshed a relieved breath when seeing the message was from Tess, not Sam. He’d gone radio silent since last night, when she’d bolted like a chickenshit from the Scene’s heavenly hidey-hole, whether from anger or respect, she didn’t know—and shouldn’t care.

But she did.

More than she wanted to admit.

With more pain than she thought she’d still be feeling.

Wasn’t that what she got here, in return for the humiliation of leaving him like she had? For hurting him in the name of preserving them both? That was how this worked, right?

Her heart had no answer. Her intuition, which she’d thought was the mastermind behind that impulsive flight, had also gone silent. She was a ship in uncharted waters. Nothing about being in this abominably deep sea, with a man likely descended from a freaking god of Atlantis, was familiar or predictable or easy.

She just had to hope, by the time she saw him at the wedding, that her head got screwed back on better than this. That she’d know what to say…or not to say. That she’d be able to keep her shit together better than she had last night, when raw fear and an undeniable survival instinct had kicked in.

Because falling further for Sam Mackenna wasn’t anything close to survival.

It was stepping in line for the emotional chopping block. A one-way ticket to complete emotional annihilation.

A death she couldn’t imagine being any sweeter…

Tess’s cyber-shriek brought a smile down at her phone screen, though Jen paused her thumb over the keyboard before replying. How to convey the right mix of reassurance and humor that would help her friend—and steer clear of any references to the chance meeting with Tess and Dan at Scene last night? Turned out that the couple’s “naughty getaway” in the play room had been fortuitously timed, since Tess texted three hours ago to say the salon they’d picked for the wedding—the same one everybody had already rehearsed in—had been destroyed by a herd of rampaging llamas that morning. The gaming company holding its annual stockholder meeting in the main ballroom had rented the twelve animals, who had somehow found their way into the freight elevator and finally been corralled in the salon. Tess had texted, begging for moral support in figuring out a backup plan. It was the perfect diversion from Jen’s sappy self-pity fest.

At once, the little trio of hang-on-I’m-typing dots started dancing.

“The roof?” But repeating the words didn’t change the instructions. That was really what it said. “Oh my God.”

Maybe the play date hadn’t helped with enough of Tess’s edge—though hell, despite all the heartsickness, Jen had gotten home last night and felt like a soggy noodle. No wonder submissives needed lots of aftercare for more intense scenes. If Tess really had any anxiety left after how Dan clearly intended to work her over, Jen seriously had to get the name of whatever vitamins the woman was popping.

For now, she rushed to the elevators faster than a mob of French Revolutionaries storming the Bastille. She got to the vanilla crystal ones first and wasted no time jumping in. But before that, taking heed of the dead spot she’d likely encounter in the lift, she replied with racing thumbs.

At once, another response appeared from her friend.

“Huh?” As she blurted the confusion, it occurred that her own message might have been as baffling to Tess—but it’d be easier to explain herself to a harried bride than lament not saying enough to her stressed-out friend. In a strange way, it also helped to funnel her anxiety from last night into a more useful purpose than simple hand-wringing.

The car couldn’t seem to climb fast enough. Finally, the overhead display glowed with a bright 60.

“What the hell?”

She’d punched the 61 button. The lift itself filled in the answer to that, verbally prompting her to punch a special code into the high-tech keyboard appearing on the lift’s embedded touch screen. Suddenly, Tess’s gobbledygook of numbers made sense. And though the explanation for the necessity did as well—not every visitor to the Nyte could be allowed to just stroll around on the roof—she also questioned the hotel’s wisdom in giving out the access code to people like brides who’d slogged through llama poop in their wedding salon just ninety hours before their big day.

The code was accepted. The car lurched back to life and then came to a rest at the higher floor.

Jen walked out into a glass-enclosed lobby. Like everything about the Nyte, it was decorated sumptuously, but the décor couldn’t surpass the view. The entire valley sprawled before her, awesome even beyond the city’s parameters. To the left, the cliffs of Red Rock were dramatic against a thousand stars. Her head dropped back, following the twinkling carpet through the glass roof over her head. Up here, the light pollution was diminished to a dull roar, turning the stars into a light show in their own right.

A second of the awe was all she allowed herself, though. She had to get to Tess—

“Miss Thorne?”

She jumped. She hadn’t expected anyone up here besides Tess, but the pixie-sized brunette, dressed in a stylish black pantsuit and toting a flashing smart pad similar to the one Leggy had toted last night, smiled like she greeted paranoid strangers every day.

But not complete strangers. The woman knew her name. How? Why?

“Yes?” Next to the beauty, who floated more than walked and smelled like a newly minted angel, Jen felt like a hobo. Didn’t matter that she was in her cutest pair of ankle boots along with a pair of trendy, cuffed peg pants and a flowy blouse; she’d been in the outfit all day and probably looked as wrung-out as she felt.

“Hello. I’m Francesca, the hotel’s lead concierge.”

“Lovely to meet you, but I’m up here to meet someone, and—”

“Yes.” The girl smiled. Seriously, how could so much flawless bone structure be stuffed into one teeny person? “I know.”

“You do?” Her heart lightened. Maybe Tess wasn’t really out there walking on a windswept ledge, like she’d imagined. If the concierge desk was involved here too, maybe this really was just a minor detail about the wedding. “Awesome. So where is she?”

“Ahhhh…” Francesca peered a little harder at her. “You do mean where is he, yeah?”

“He?”

But the question mark in her tone didn’t seem to matter now. “Ah,” she repeated, this time clipping the word with confidence. “He says it’s all ready.”

“He? He who? Where’s Tess?”

“Tess?”

“Lesange?”

“Oh.” It was better than Ah, or so Jen hoped. She wasn’t sure, since Francesca the Concierge seemed dually comfortable but nonplussed by her demand. “The Lesange of the Lesange-Colton wedding for this Saturday?”

“Yes.”

Francesca blinked with maddening innocence. “Hmmm. Yes. She’s a lovely woman.”

“I agree.” More blank blinks. “Do you know where she is?”

“Right at the moment?”

“Yes.” It took a huge inhalation not to scream the word.

“Sorry, Miss Thorne. I’m afraid I do not.”

“But she just—”

“Right this way, Miss Thorne. Everything’s ready.”

“Everything for what?” But the woman was so pristine and polite, which piqued Jen’s curiosity even more. Besides that, it would give her a chance to tap—translation, slam—out a message to Tess, asking what the hell was—

As soon as she followed Francesca out the glass doors and around the corner, she paused her fingers somewhere between Where the hell and are you.

She stood at the edge of a huge rooftop helipad.

Where, indeed, a sleek black helicopter was parked.

With its cockpit door open and waiting.

Where, standing in front of that portal, wind whipping his hair and a black T-shirt and jeans turning him into sin on two feet, was the beautiful bastard who’d been torturing her with radio silence and the MIA treatment all damn day. On freaking purpose. Because he’d been plotting, planning, and then implementing.

This.

Because of her. For her.

She didn’t know how to react—mostly because she didn’t know what she felt.

She’d left him last night with his dick in hand—damn near literally—because of a freak-out she still couldn’t quite explain, even to herself. She’d told herself it was the right thing to do, especially after breaking so many of her protocols to be with him like that, but once she’d realized the only right thing here was him, she’d been out the door, down the hall, and feeling a thousand kinds of utterly stupid. Men like Sam Mackenna didn’t suffer fools, even dorky bookworms they fancied themselves in love with. She’d sobbed half the night away, believing she’d really hammered in the final nail on her coffin with the man.

Now, she was damn sure she’d sob half this night away—for a billion different reasons.

And the hugest one of them was standing there, looking pleased as a sexy swami about it. Because damn, had the man already read her mind. Backward and forward. Remembered words even she’d forgotten: the claim she’d uttered to him last night in the bar, before they’d gone into the play room.

That’s another fantasy of mine, you know. To know what it’s like to fly with you…

And after they were sated and half-naked, he’d lounged in that big bed and begged her for more of her fantasies—despite how she’d already given him the answer. And now, she realized, even enlisted Tess in his cause. She envisioned her friend now, giggling as Sam explained his plot, totally agreeing to send that text on his behalf. A glance around the deck confirmed it. No Tess in sight.

Okay, so she should’ve been a little pissed about at least that—but even her best efforts couldn’t summon the ire. Simply put, she just didn’t want to be angry. She wanted to give in to this moment instead. The giddy leap of her stomach at beholding the powerful lines of the helicopter. The girlish flip of her heart at taking in the majestic man next to it. The tender squeeze of her soul when he beckoned to her, palm turned up, long fingers extended.

Still, she shifted on both feet. Twisted her hands around her purse strap. Chewed the inside of her cheek into hamburger.

If she took his hand, she’d be asking for the pain. In her heart. In every corner and crevice of her soul.

But maybe not all of it.

Clearly, he planned on piloting the flight, meaning he’d be focused on keeping the helo in the air instead of touching her. They’d be having an adventure in the skies above, not in the sheets below. And a true bonus: she’d be able to watch his beautiful fingers as they flipped switches and mastered controls. She’d marvel at the power in his hands as he handled the stick, guiding them through the stars. No way could he even attempt to spike her lust…

So maybe…this was doable.

What was the harm in letting him give her this? In agreeing to share this exciting adventure with him? They were still friends, after all—and this was one fantasy he could grant to her without fucking her…

She shook her head. Rolled her eyes. Split a huge grin. Then made her way across the pavement, toward the man who outshone every light around and below with the joy of his barely tamped delight.

It was better than she’d ever dreamed.

More sweeping, more spectacular, more shriek-worthy—a fact she emphasized many times over, just to make sure Sam got the point. Perhaps the way he answered her screams, with a smile that turned his dimples deeper than the Grand Canyon and his grin more resplendent than the Luxor’s light beam, made it a little easier to cut loose. All the reasons weren’t important right now. The feelings were. The freedom of having the sky to themselves. The thrill of the wind whipping at the cockpit’s windows. And the awe, turning her into a kid at an amusement park for the first time. From up here, Vegas wasn’t a city anymore. It was a wonderland of lights and color and textures, from the bold blues, purples, reds, and greens illuminating the Strip’s many icons, to the urban fairyland of gold and white beyond.

But all those belly twists didn’t compare to the buzz of watching Sam in his element. He was confident and calm, focused and watchful, though he spared a few glances her way that made even her casual clothes feel tight and hot. Thank God for well-made bras with padded cups, though her nipples were only the start of her body’s refreshed need. Observing the man’s command of this complicated machine only made her remember how he’d controlled every one of her personal “buttons” and “switches”…and did they absolutely have to position the throttle between the pilot’s legs? With a hand gripping the thing like that, his elbow resting on one massive thigh, her thoughts repopulated with a fantasy much different than this one. In it, those stunning fingers were wrapped around his cock. He stroked every lean, glistening inch of his erection, getting ready to feed that mesmerizing length into her eager mouth…

She pushed the thought aside with a pointed cough—though not fast enough to evade Sam’s notice. His jaw clenched. His nostrils flared. His stare heated.

Before a hail over the radio came.

“Night wing two, this is McCarran Tower. Do you copy?”

Thank you, thank you, thank you, McCarran Tower.

“Copy that, McCarran,” Sam responded. “Is course alteration clear and approved?”

“Affirmative,” replied the woman on the other end. “Weather is clear. Enjoy your trip.”

He gave the appropriate sign-off, but Jen didn’t care about the words. The secretive quirk of his lips, along with the steady turn he gave the helo, were another matter.

“Course alteration?” she enunciated through locked teeth.

Sam didn’t look at her, let alone answer. The better part of a minute went by. He flipped switches, checked headings, even sang softly. “Sing me a song…say, could that lad be I…”

“Sam?”

“Merry of soul, he sailed on a—yes, mouse?”

Because of the headsets, he could issue the murmur with the slight growl that spoke straight to the tissues between her thighs. Still, she was able to maintain her glare. “Course alteration?” she demanded again.

More long seconds. Finally, one side of his mouth ticked up. “Jenny?”

Annnnd more of the damn growl. “What?” She squirmed—and mentally smacked herself for thinking the man couldn’t arouse her without touching her.

“Do you trust me?”

She huffed. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither was you showin’ up dressed like that, all glowy and sweaty and delectable, but I invited you for the ride anyway, did I not?”

Well, there went the huff. And a lot of everything behind it too. Now she could only laugh. First because the man was clearly, certifiably insane. Second because she didn’t know if she wanted him any other way.

Third because she realized that he was guiding the helicopter toward the vast darkness of the desert beyond the Vegas city limits—and that their next landing very well might not be back on the rooftop of the Nyte at all.

And that despite every damn vow she’d made herself about resisting him again, she couldn’t wait to learn what surprise he had in store now.