“Whoa,” Damon said when she answered the door that night at six sharp. His long once-over made her breasts tingle and her cunt pulse.

She bit her lip, feeling both sexy and sophisticated. “You like?”

“Babe,” he said, as if it were a ridiculous question. “That dress is…amazing. The way you look, I’ll be damn lucky if I can do our business before our pleasure.”

The black satin dress hugged her curves perfectly and revealed more of her body than anything she’d ever worn, with molded underwire cups that held her breasts in place of a bra, leaving much of them exposed. The hem dropped to mid-thigh, but a slit on one side made the short length even racier.

Kelly had insisted Brenna buy the dress, but she’d left the tags on, thinking she might return it—until Damon’s wardrobe instructions earlier, after which she’d known it was perfect for a night out in Vegas on the arm of the hottest guy alive.

She’d completed the outfit with strappy black heels featuring a bit of rhinestone bling across the toes and the dangly diamond earrings she’d worn at her wedding. In retrospect, this seemed like a better use for them.

Damon had dressed up, too—more than she’d ever seen him before—wearing a crisp white shirt, untucked, under a carmel-colored leather jacket, with his usual jeans below. As always, his grandma’s cross rested near his throat, visible between open buttons. “You look good, too,” she told him, offering the same bold perusal he’d used on her and not hesitating to let her gaze linger on his crotch, where—even without an erection—a very pleasant bulge appeared.

An enormous gilt-framed mirror hung on the wall next to the elevator and as they waited, Brenna couldn’t help checking them both out and thinking that tonight, more than ever before, she looked like she belonged with him, like she was someone fabulous heading out for a night of glamorous fun—and the best part was, at the moment, it was all true.

Damon took her to Bouchon, a French restaurant at the Venetian, where they were seated on a beautiful tiled patio near the pool. After dinner, they shared a chocolate mousse in an atmosphere of soft music, clinking glasses, and elegant stone columns and archways. And Brenna tried very hard not to feel the romance of it all, but it was difficult to ignore.

On one hand, she knew Damon was a man of the world, and a lover of women, so that, for him, taking someone to a terribly romantic restaurant was surely no more than a respectful measure of affection, a good meal with someone whose company he enjoyed.

But when she looked into his eyes…did she see more?

Or was she just imagining that?

At times, she could have sworn Damon was falling for her, too. But then…a guy like Damon was just so naturally personable, so skilled at making someone feel special, that she knew it probably meant nothing.

And that’s okay, she reminded herself. This is only an affair, and that’s exactly what you wanted it to be. No-strings-attached sex.

From dinner, it was out for an evening on the Strip. Tonight, Damon explained, they were going to see performers who all happened to work in the mega-resorts that lined Las Vegas Boulevard.

And it hit her—oh, that’s why he told me to dress up. This promised to be more of a real “night on the town” than any they’d shared thus far, and it made her don’t-get-too-attached-to-the-bed surprise all the more a mystery.

Their first stop: one of the few traditional Vegas shows still remaining, complete with topless showgirls sporting tons of feathers and sequins. It was a variety mix of entertainment, and Damon pointed out the singer they’d come to see, recommended by a bartender he’d spoken to earlier in the week. But Damon quickly declared that the guy had “more of a Broadway sound,” with which Brenna agreed, and after that, she simply sat back and enjoyed the gaudy spectacle of it all, marveling at the number of bared breasts on the stage.

Afterward, as they were filing out with other theater-goers, Damon said, “Sorry if that was kind of cheesy, but the guy I talked to made that vocalist sound spectacular, so I thought it was worth checking out.”

Brenna let her eyes go wide. “Are you kidding? I loved it! It’s so totally classic Vegas. I had a great time.” And she had. Given that most of the “showgirl shows” were dead and gone now, it pleased her to have seen a little slice of the old Sin City.

Damon just smiled, then wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her to him for a kiss. “Do you know how cute you are?”

She lowered her chin and cast a playful grin. “I thought I was hot.”

“You’re cute and hot,” he assured her. “And if you haven’t noticed, every guy we’ve passed tonight has had his eyes all over you.”

Actually, she had noticed. And she’d been caught between feeling sexy and exciting and carefree…and wondering if they sized her up as a slut, wearing a dress so revealing. Surely, if all those men could see the things she’d done the past few days, they’d believe the latter, but only she knew that she could only have indulged in such behavior with Damon—nobody else.

And as he led her by the hand back out through the casino and onto the street, the hot night air filling her senses, she knew, undeniably, that she was falling in love with him.

But also, of course, that the whole situation remained impossible, no matter how she viewed it.

And that meant she had to get as much of him as she could now, tonight, and in the nights to come. She had to soak him up, absorb him, his body, his mind, those beautiful, beautiful eyes—all of him.

So as they climbed into a cab and Damon instructed the driver to take them to Caesars Palace, she lifted her hand to his face and kissed him, bold, passionate, and unapologetic, without a care if the driver watched in his rearview mirror. Now that it was accompanied with love, her lust for him took on a fresh new urgency that she feared knew no bounds or limits.

“Nice,” he said when the kiss ended.

In reply, she boldly lowered her hand to his thigh, then inward, onto his cock, which grew stiff for her within mere seconds.

His gaze was half amused, half aroused. “You must be looking forward to your surprise.”

“Very much,” she admitted.

At Caesars Palace, they made their way through the casino to a stylish theme bar called Cleopatra’s Barge, crossing a small wooden bridge to step into the floating, boat-shaped club. Darkness had fallen, and it was prime dance time—lights swirled across the floor where twenty- and thirty-somethings moved to a band playing Top 40 hits.

“This is who we’re here to see,” Damon told her as they squeezed through the crowd to reach the bar. “They’re called Razor’s Edge.”

The band was fronted by a pretty blonde, the only female in the group. Over glasses of wine, they watched and listened, and Brenna stayed aware of all the male attention she garnered—and if she wasn’t mistaken, even a few females cast admiring glances. She was starting to think she should wear such daring clothes more often and reminded herself to thank Kelly for making her buy the dress.

Actually, it reminded her again that she had a lot to thank Kelly for—not just shopping help and a hair appointment but the whole concept of seducing Damon. Maybe it would have happened anyway, but somehow she felt as if Kelly’s various forms of prodding had helped bring all this into being.

After half an hour, Brenna set her empty glass on the bar and leaned up to tell Damon over the sound of the music, “I don’t know—they seem like a good bar band, but there’s nothing fresh about them. I know we haven’t heard their original music, but something about them feels very…nineties to me. Am I off the mark?”

Damon drained his own glass and shook his head. “Right on the mark, in fact. I’ve been standing here waiting for them to wow me, but it’s not happening. Good ear, babe.”

After leaving Cleopatra’s Barge hand in hand, they took a cab up the Strip to another of the large mega-hotels—Brenna didn’t even know which. Given all their whirlwind stops on this and previous nights, she forgot to pay attention.

Wandering through yet another casino where slot machines whirred and jingled and roulette wheels spun, Damon led her to a dark, quiet club where her eyes were drawn instantly to the young man on the stage, who sat on a stool, singing and playing a simple wood guitar. With slightly shaggy hair and a smooth, olive complexion, he couldn’t have been more than seventeen, but his voice and instrument proclaimed otherwise, sounding as if they belonged to an old soul. The sound was pop alternative—catchy but hip, clever but stroked with meaning—and after only a few seconds, Damon and Brenna gave each other a look that silently said: This guy’s good.

“I’m blown away,” Damon said.

In response, Brenna fell into her new habit of making comparisons with an eye toward marketing. “He’s like…a young John Mayer, but with major teen idol appeal. Every high school girl is going to swoon for him.”

“The CD cover will be a close-up of his face,” Damon mused, eyes on the stage, clearly thinking ahead. “With only his name above it. Austin Cole.”

“Back in the days of albums,” Brenna said, “we could have put a poster of him inside.”

Damon wasn’t dissuaded. “We can still work with that idea. That’s what websites are for. We could offer a free poster to the first thousand people to send in their CD receipt, something like that.”

“How old is he?” Brenna asked.

“Not old enough to get in here—just old enough to perform here,” he explained. “He sent me a CD a few months ago, and I knew he was good, but I didn’t know he was this good, or I would have dropped everything and gotten my ass over here faster.”

From there, they found a table, ordered a bottle of wine, and simply sat back and enjoyed Austin Cole’s soulful, heartfelt music. Until he took a break. After which Brenna got to see, once again, the fun side of this job—watching the boy’s face light up when Damon introduced himself and told him how impressed he was.

They set up a meeting with Austin and his mother for the next day, but Damon made it a lunch meeting instead of breakfast, “because,” he explained to Brenna with a wink as they left the club, “we’re gonna be out late tonight.”

She grinned. “This involves my surprise, of course.”

He gave a succinct nod.

“And just when do I get this surprise?”

“Our next stop.”

Despite herself, Brenna’s pussy trembled with anticipation. Of course, having so many lustful eyes on her as the night had progressed had kept her in a fairly aroused state all evening, as had the provocative topless show, and merely just being with Damon. So it wasn’t only the promise of what was to come that had her excited. It was everything—everything Damon and Sin City had to offer.

And she was more than ready for whatever the night held.