Vixen in Vegas (Sinful Novellas) by Emma Nichols Page A

lunch, Ben looked at me sadly. “Listen,” he began. “I would love to spend all afternoon showing you around, but I can’t right now. There are some pressing issues that need to be addressed. I’ll give you the quick tour, then I’ll be working in my home office for the remainder of the day. We’ll do dinner at 7pm, if you don’t mind, right here.”
    For some reason, this actually made me feel better. I could acclimate at my leisure. “I think this sounds great. Don’t worry about working. I get it. If you don’t mind, I’ll work, too?” I gave him my most hopeful look.
    “Of course, Sin. Take all the pictures you want. I can’t wait to see them.” He reached out and held my hand over the table. For a moment, he studied our hands intertwined.
    “Come on. Time is precious.” I stood and urged him to get up.
    Looking up at me seriously, he said, “Yes. Yes it is.”

    The mini tour began with the kitchen. Apparently I was allowed free reign of the house and could grab anything I wanted out of the fridge. “How about the counter?” I asked playfully.
    “What about the counter?” He sounded confused.
    “Well, those look like fresh baked brownies on the counter. Do I have free reign there, too?” I gave him my most playful look, to which he responded with a chuckle.
    “Would you like a brownie, babe?” He asked, further proving he would indulge my every whim.
    “Yes, please!” I said as I bounced slightly in place.
    I took that brownie with me and munched it on the rest of the tour. “I figured I’d need fuel for this,” I joked. “This place is huge!”
    Looking as me sideways as we walked down the hall, he commented, “And yet you have no designs on it at all.”
    “Nope. None.” I walked a bit ahead of him. “Bathroom?” I asked.
    “Use the one in our room,” he said and he pointed to the last room on the right.
    Chills had run up and down my spine when he had said, “Our room.” I don’t know if he meant anything by it. He could have called it the master bedroom. He could called it his room. Instead, he used the word ‘our.’ Maybe I just stressed too easily.
    When I walked out of the bathroom, I really studied the room for the first time. It was nice…very neutral, very male, and very sterile. “Hmmm,” I commented.
    With arms crossed over his chest, he questioned me. I could tell he was studying my response, like this was some test. “What do you think?”
    “It doesn’t look like you or feel like you. This room is almost completely devoid of personality and you definitely are not.” I walked around a bit. “Yeah. We should fix this.” Then I realized that I was being stupid, insinuating myself into his life. So I walked back to the door. “Now where to?” Then I stood and waited for him in the hall without ever looking back.
    The tour continued through the main living areas. He had a fireplace in the great room that I swear I could have stood up in. I loved the stone accents everywhere. The travertine tile was lovely and worked well with the hand scraped hardwood floors. The house somehow pulled off a rustic homey look despite the fact that the house I grew up in could have easily fit in in it about ten times.
    Finally, we reached his office, the end of the tour. “So, this is where I will be if you need me. You have my phone number. And…one little present.” He leaned over his desk and picked up a big box from his seat. “These are for you,” he said. “Believe it or not. This is a practical present.”
    “Again?” I joked. “Last time it was sneakers. Now what?”
    When I pushed back the lid, I found cowboy boots. I stared at them. My poor toes. Yet, I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. “Thank you,” I began. “I will treasure them always.”
    Chuckling, he said, “That may be true, but more importantly, when you are walking around near the horses or the vineyards, you will wear them.”
    Without thinking, I had stomped my flip-flopped foot. “Fine,