They’d decided to return to Mon Ami Gabi for dinner, and all through the meal, Brenna tried not to let him affect her. She tried to ignore the way his eyes sparkled when he smiled at her; she tried not to feel the way he’d grown slightly more open and playful with her over the past days.

Of course, beneath her skirt, her pussy wept with wanting him, so the physical part of her quest remained right on target. But damn it—he just kept making her feel so…so girlish, almost even romantic. So some of her rules seemed almost impossible to follow.

The heart wants what the heart wants. Her mother used to say that to her. This wasn’t the first time in her life she’d liked a guy she shouldn’t—starting with her friend Lana’s boyfriend in high school. That’s when her mom had first imparted those words, and they came back to her now.

The truth was—she knew what her heart wanted.

But that still didn’t mean she could have it. Just like she couldn’t have Lana’s boyfriend, either—she’d never gotten him, in fact had never even tried, and Lana had never known. She’d done the right thing back then, and no one had gotten hurt. She only hoped she could be so smart and in control this time around.

“Dinner was quick,” Damon said, checking his watch after he slipped a credit card in the leather binder the waitress had just left. “Too early yet to hit the clubs—we’ve got an hour or so to kill.”

“I can think of a good way to kill an hour,” she flirtatiously replied, unable to resist running the edge of her shoe up his leg under the table.

As usual, those beautiful brown eyes twinkled as he tilted his head and sent her a naughty little grin. “Too bad you like it in private so much, because we don’t have time to go back to the hotel. We’ll have to come up with something more boring.”

After flashing a teasing smirk, she looked around them—at the cars and limos rushing up and down the Strip, at the Bellagio’s fountains across the boulevard, at the Las Vegas night beginning to hum with excitement—and her eyes landed on the Eiffel Tower just a stone’s throw away.

“Let’s go to the top,” she said, pointing.

“I’ve never done that.”

“Oooh—so finally I get to give you a new experience.”

Ten minutes later, Damon had purchased the tickets and they were riding the elevator with an elderly couple and a young family—all 460 feet up, according to the guide, who also pointed out some of the more noticeable landmarks such as Caesars Palace and the Mirage visible from the elevator window.

Stepping onto the viewing platform a moment later, the warm night air hit Brenna like a brick—but somehow she found it more invigorating than oppressive as it came with a hot breeze that, combined with the view, reminded her she’d probably done more real living in the past few days than ever in her life.

“Wow,” she said, stepping up to the railing. Like many tall structures, the platform was surrounded by small bars of crisscrossing steel, a sort of netting to keep people from falling—but every so often, there was a break in it to allow visitors a clear view. In addition to the hotels and casinos lining Las Vegas Boulevard, the tower’s panoramic view afforded a look at the desert valley and, to the west, the last remnants of the sunset shone behind a silhouette of mountains.

Damon stepped up next to her. “The view isn’t nearly as good as from the real one in Paris, but I have to admit, it’s not bad.”

She turned to look at him. “You’ve been to Paris?”

He nodded easily. “A few times.”

What was she thinking? Of course he’d been to Paris. He was Damon-freaking-Andros, after all. At moments, she almost forgot that—she’d finally quit being as starstruck as in the beginning, she supposed. But then, at other moments, it came back to her with startling clarity.

“Why do you suddenly look sad?” he asked.

She felt like a total baby but answered honestly. “Envy, I suppose. I’ve always dreamed of going to Paris. And other than a few beach trips back in college, and then moving to L.A., I’ve hardly been anywhere. I guess seeing the hotel today and now this—even if it’s just an amusement park sort of reproduction—brought my wish back.”

He covered her hand with his. “You’ll get there.”

She tilted her head. “What makes you think so?”

“You’re going brand-new places right now, Brenna—both figuratively and literally. A whole new world is opening up for you. You’ll get to where you want to go.”

He spoke with such confidence that it did something to renew hers. Having reflected earlier—even just briefly—on her deception had begun to make her doubt she was doing the right thing, just a little. Now that she knew him. And liked him so much. And the truth was, watching him walk so self-assuredly up to bartenders and club managers to talk music and business left her feeling a little…intimidated. Like no matter how good an ear she had for music, she’d never be able to do certain parts of this job well, or with comfort. But now, with Damon reminding her of the far-reaching rewards such a job held—travel, luxury—she felt a refreshed energy and determination about it all.

“I suppose you’ve been to Venice, too,” she asked, casting him a sideways glance.

He nodded. “Only once.”

“Only once,” she mimicked, unduly pleased when it made him laugh even as he eased a warm arm around her shoulder. “You’ve ridden in a gondola, too, I’m guessing.”

He shrugged. “No other real way to see the place.”

She rolled her eyes at him, and he kissed her—which pretty much killed her jealousy and reawakened the lust she’d been feeling at dinner.

“Forgive me?” he asked softly, leaning his forehead to touch hers.

“For?”

“Going all the places you want to go.”

She teased and flirted. “Another kiss might help.”

This time, though, the kiss wasn’t the short, quick kind—his warm mouth pressed firm to hers, his tongue snaking moistly between her lips. When her own tongue met his, she gushed with moisture in her panties, and like it or not, the romance of the moment, the night, the warm breeze, took hold of her, and there was little to do but surrender to it.

Which is when he moved behind her, wrapping around her, his arms circling her waist, his solid body pressing against her back, ass, thighs. Having sex with Damon Andros was an experience beyond her wildest dreams, but this—being held by him in the dark, looking down on the Las Vegas Strip, feeling at once as if they were in the center of the universe and at the same time blissfully alone—this held an undeniable magic of its own.

“This is nice,” she whispered over her shoulder.

“You feel pretty damn nice yourself.” His breath came warm on her ear.

Then one of his hands shifted upward to caress the underside of her breast as his other palm slid low on her belly, resting on the flat of her stomach just above her cunt—and “nice” no longer described what was taking place. Biting her lip, she leaned back against him, realizing his cock was getting stiff against her bottom.

That’s when the hand on her belly grazed lower, lower, cupping her through her skirt, and her pussy literally pulsed at the possessive touch.

“Damon,” she whispered.

“Yeah, babe?” His voice had gone shadowy, sexy.

“What are you doing?”

“Touching you.”

“But…” They were situated at the very corner of the tower’s railing, and she glanced to either side. No one was looking at them, and the crowd atop the tower was small, yet despite the sense of solitude, they were hardly alone. “There are people here.”

“They can’t see where my hands are,” he assured her, low and persuasive. “No one is paying any attention to us.”

“Well, they might pay attention if I start moving against your hand.” Her voice went lower now, too, breathy with the passion stealing through her. He molded her breast more fully now, and his erection grew harder and harder at her ass. Her body burned to thrust against his fingers.

She more heard than saw his heated expression in the dark. “That’s what I want, Brenna. I want you to fuck my hand.”

Jesus, was he serious? “Right here? With people here?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

She didn’t state the obvious. That she liked it in private. She knew they were both thinking that. And that this was him urging her to step away from her safety zone a little further than she already had. This was him urging her to take a chance, the chance of getting caught.

She’d heard that could really excite some people, the fear of being caught doing something bad—but it truly didn’t excite her. Moreover, it made her nervous. It brought the notion of sin alive in a whole new way. She’d been a good girl all her life, never doing anything too wild, too left of center—and the idea of being caught fooling around, even by strangers, mortified her.

But Damon’s rigid cock stretching up the center of her ass felt too good to ignore. And now his hand was under her skirt, stroking her through her panties, rubbing her clit in just the right way and reminding her what an expert touch he possessed. Pleasure echoed through her, but at the same time, more beckoned—that overwhelming urge to grind against his fingers, to press back against his erection.

She looked again to the right, to the left. She saw people in shadow but not nearby. And it was dark—getting darker each minute now as the last glimmer of light in the western sky faded to deep purple and then black.

And as Damon pushed aside the bit of silk covering her cunt and sank his fingers into her wet folds, her lust overcame her fear. She gave in and let herself gyrate against his touch.

Oh God, yes. Yes. Relief tore through her at simply responding, meeting his warm fingers in front, his thick cock in back. Up above, he gently, rhythmically pinched her nipple through her top and bra with each hot undulation.

“That’s right, babe,” he whispered in her ear. “Fuck my fingers. Fuck my fingers with that sweet, hot little pussy.”

The words spurred her on, and she prayed he was right, that no one would notice, that no one cared, because she was in too deep now to stop, moving against his hand, feeling how wet she was for him and knowing he felt it, too.

She bit her lip and did what he asked, even more vigorously, wanting to feel everything she could feel, wanting to drink in Damon and the night and all of Sin City. She leaned her head back into his chest, arched her breast deeper into his hand, took in all the pleasure he delivered—her only acquiescence to where they were being that she held in her moans and the Yes, yes, yes! she wanted to scream when her orgasm struck.

It rolled through her in delicious waves of heat, her breath coming harder, Damon’s arm anchoring her to keep her from collapsing, and only when it faded did she remember all over again that they were on top of the Las Vegas Eiffel Tower—with other people!

Letting out one last ragged breath, she rested against him and said, “Please tell me no one is staring at us.”

She sensed the turn of his head to check. “No, babe—we’re fine. And you’re fucking beautiful.”

He dropped a kiss atop her head, and the reprieve of knowing they’d not been seen compelled her to turn in his embrace, lock her arms around his neck, and pull him into a passionate kiss.

“Mmm, your hands,” she sighed, still a bit breathless.

“What about them?” he asked.

She smiled accusingly. “You already know. I know you do. They’re…incredible.”

He shrugged. “Okay, maybe I’ve heard that before.”

She lowered her chin and cast her sexiest grin. “Well, you’re hearing it again now, and…I’m going to reward you.”

Damon arched one brow, looking almost as if he were daring her. “How?”

Brenna could barely understand what had just come over her. But the fact that she’d managed to climax without being noticed, and that the night seemed to grow darker still, and that the elevator had just departed, taking some people away but from the quiet around them apparently not delivering any—it all made her bolder than she’d ever been in her life.

They weren’t totally alone—she could hear the soft echo of two people’s voices from the opposite side of the tower. But she decided they were alone enough. And like before with Damon, she found herself wanting to be wild for him, naughty for him, wanting to be what he wanted her to be—that dirty, dirty girl he’d brought out in her.

The elevator sat on the side of the tower far opposite them, and she prayed the other people would stay there, as well, and that it would take the elevator awhile to arrive again.

She pushed him back against one of the tower’s inner walls—then she dropped to her knees.

When she reached for his belt buckle, Damon gasped, “Jesus God.”

The thrill in his voice was all the encouragement she needed to deftly undo his buckle, unzip his jeans. Spreading them wide, she pressed her palm flat against his sturdy erection.

Mmm, yes—nothing had ever felt better in her hand. Then she lifted the black cotton briefs over his enormous, jutting cock. God, it looked even bigger from this angle. And though she’d never thought she cared about size, that suddenly made her want it more.

She’d never been this up-close with his penis, and despite the darkness, she was able to see the roundness of the head and the straight, bulletlike shape. On impulse, she leaned in to kiss the front of his length. A shuddering breath escaped him, and—oh God, he was so hard…and yet incredibly silky against her lips.

But she had no time for a leisurely perusal, so, grabbing back onto his shaft as the breeze lifted the hair from her neck, she lowered her mouth over the tip, then farther, letting it fill her mouth.

Above, he let out a shaky sigh that told her he was trying his damnedest to stay quiet as she adjusted to the fullness—and then began to move up and down.

She’d never been one to instigate a blow job with a guy—she’d always sort of considered it a duty, an obligation, when she was in a relationship with someone, and it often felt like an intrusion she didn’t particularly enjoy.

But somehow, after Damon had made her come, she’d needed to do this, needed to take him into her in whatever way she could, right here, right now. She’d yearned to pleasure him, deeply.

Accepting as much of his majestic cock as she could handle, she took delight in every move, every sensation. She looked up at him and hoped he could see her well enough in the dimness—even if she looked obscene right now, she wanted to, for him.

And yes, last night in the tub had been wonderful: a leisurely, expansive pleasure with no pressures or worries—she’d told him she liked it in private, and she’d meant it. But clearly he’d opened her to this new, forbidden sort of excitement, this hot thrill of taking sex out of the bedroom, out of any room at all at the moment.

Because the longer she worked over him, the more his large erection stretched her lips, the deeper he gently drove into the recesses of her mouth…the more ensconced in pure joy she became.

She wanted to do this right now more than she wanted to exist.

She didn’t care if they got caught, if anyone saw.

She wanted what she wanted, and nothing else mattered.

The heart wants what the heart wants, but the same was true of the body, and at this moment her body wanted to suck Damon’s cock, hard and deep and thorough, until he came.

That’s when she heard the elevator doors open on the other side of the tower. And then light laughter, voices—more people.

She sucked him, felt his thrust, silently willed him: come, come.

She could tell from his ragged sighs that he was getting close, and he pumped harder between her lips, but she also sensed the new visitors growing nearer, working their way around the tower.

So she released his cock from her mouth, stood up, grabbed onto it, and—in one determined move—yanked her thong aside and mounted him, for once holding in her groan, and being thankful she wore heels high enough to make the angle feasible. “If someone comes,” she breathed, her mouth swollen and stretched, close to his, “we can be still. But this way, it’ll maybe look like we’re just kissing, not fucking.”

He simply nodded, but his eyes blazed with lust as he began to vigorously plunge up into her welcoming moisture. “Jesus, won’t take long,” he murmured against her lips. Then thrust again, and again, until a soft groan escaped him and he pulled her to him tight, driving his shaft in to the hilt—and a young couple holding hands appeared at the corner nearest them.

Brenna and Damon both instinctively went still, but he was coming, and she could feel it—she could actually feel his cock throb inside her, his semen spewing onto her inner walls in three astounding little bursts.

“Oh God,” she whispered, their faces still close.

He said nothing, only angled his mouth over hers and kissed her hard.

She’d thought last night had been intimate. Hell, she’d thought everything they’d done together had been intimate. But nothing compared to this—looking into his eyes in the dark, knowing he was inside her even as other people stood near, knowing he’d just filled her with his hot fluids.

“You never cease to amaze me,” he said softly.

“I guess you just…inspire me.”

He kissed her again, and she reminded herself she wasn’t supposed to be feeling anything emotional here, so she forced herself to move onto an issue of practicality. “I’m afraid we’re…gonna have a problem. A, uh…wet problem.”

Damon, however, didn’t look worried. “Not a problem,” he corrected her.

She scrunched up her nose. “How do you figure?”

His voice dropped even lower. “When those two leave, I’m going to pull out of you. Then I’m gonna rub my come into your pussy and your thighs, and you’re going to feel a little bit sticky all night, in a way that’s gonna make you hot and ready to fuck me again later.”

“Oh.” She felt a little breathless. And like she was becoming a dirtier girl by the minute because his plan sounded so brazenly good to her. “Oh God.”

When finally the couple meandered out of view, Damon eased his cock from her, leaving her to sigh at the loss—then swiftly turned her so that she leaned back against the wall, and knelt before her.

As promised, he used his hands to spread his warm juices over her skin, massaging the wetness into her inner thighs, onto the already soaking wet flesh and curls of her cunt. Despite her recent orgasm, his touch made it impossible to hold in her sighs of pleasure as she gently thrust her pelvis against his palm, tingles of fresh longing trickling all through her.

He concluded the task by delivering a gentle kiss to her clit, extracting a hot gasp from her.

And when he drew the fabric of her skirt back down and rose to kiss her mouth, she was no longer sure if she tasted her pussy or his semen or just plain sex—hot, crazy sex—but she didn’t even care. It all just felt good, tasted good, mixing and melding together.

“By the way,” he whispered, “you may as well lose the panties. They’re pretty messy.”

God, she’d forgotten she was wearing panties—the silk that was meant to stretch between her thighs had obediently stayed shoved to the side throughout their naughty encounter.

She pressed on his shoulders. “Back down you go then. Take them off me.” Given that no one else had ventured to their side of the tower, she felt bolder now than was probably sane.

But Damon didn’t hesitate, dropping back to his knees and reaching smoothly up under her mini to slip his thumbs into the elastic at both her hips. Slowly, sensuously, he peeled the panties all the way to her ankles. Lifting one shoe for him, then the other, she watched as he drew them completely off, aroused still more when the warm night breeze wafted over her pussy, making it feel fluttery and ready for more fun.

When he got back to his feet, she pressed her palms to his chest and spoke low, conspiratorially. “I can’t believe I’m going to walk around all night in a skirt this short with no undies and sticky thighs.”

His naughty grin ignited still more lust in her soul. “Your second outing with no panties, and this time even starting the evening that way. I’m getting another hard-on just thinking about it.”

Her gaze dropped to the red thong dangling from his fingertips. “What’ll we do with those?”

“Were they expensive?”

“Yes, actually.” Kelly had insisted they shop at her favorite overpriced lingerie boutique.

“Well then, I’ll buy you some new ones—because I think we need to leave these behind.”

They did look pretty ruined. But…“Up here?”

“Sure,” he said, and she could only describe his expression as a laidback version of wicked. “Think how it’ll turn people on when they realize somebody fucked up here. Hell, maybe it’ll inspire somebody else to do it, too.” Only then he glanced toward the railing behind them. “Or better yet…”

Taking Brenna’s hand, he drew her to the Eiffel Tower’s edge where a break occurred in the steel net, then without hesitation let the scrap of red fabric drop, sending it wafting down toward Las Vegas Boulevard.

Shocked, Brenna gasped and smacked his chest. “You’re so bad!”

To which he replied by pulling her into his arms, leaning his forehead against hers. “Maybe you inspire me.”