Waking Up in Vegas by Romy Sommer

didn’t mean a thing. She still had no memory of the day they met. Still couldn’t remember her own wedding. How sad was that?
    Frustration boiled over. “Do you think I haven’t tried? I don’t remember! I even went to see a hypnotist in Paris. It didn’t work. I still have no idea what possessed me to marry you.”
    He grinned and for a second she glimpsed the old Max she’d known and loved before the grim, hard exterior reasserted itself.
    She shook her head. There was no point in hanging on to anger. She needed to move on. “So if we can’t get divorced, what do we do now?”
    “Are you going to stick around a while this time?”
    She met his gaze head on and unflinching. “That depends.”
    He arched an eyebrow. “On what?”
    On whether she could resist the temptation to be seduced by him all over again. Even this new, harder, meaner Max was making her pulse jump more erratically than a rock star on speed.
    She sighed. “It’s late and I’m too tired for games. Tell me what you want from me.”
    He stepped close, so close she had to look up to meet his gaze. He placed a hand on the counter top on either side of her, hemming her in. “I want the same things I always wanted.”
    She sucked in a deep breath. His eyes flashed fire, but it was no longer anger that burned him up. Her body responded, with a yearning so strong she had absolutely no say in the matter. Seems when it came to Max, she never had any say in the matter. Her hormones led her all the way.
    She lifted her face to his, ready when his mouth crushed down on hers, and met his hunger with a matching hunger of her own.
    She’d craved this for so long. He tasted as good as she remembered, and his touch was still as compelling. He lifted her up onto the counter, and she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him as close as two bodies could get fully clothed.
    He slid his hands into her hair, angling her head. His tongue penetrated deeper, and she moaned. She’d never wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted this man. Craved him, like a junkie craved drugs.
    Her body throbbed with unmet desire. She grew wet in the juncture of her thighs. Her hands moved beneath the soft fabric of his t-shirt, sliding over skin stretched taut over hard muscle, her nails raking his skin.
    Max broke their kiss and gently pulled away. His eyes were clear again, the hardness almost gone. He held her gaze for a long moment, and then brushed his thumb over her bruised lips.
    “It seems you want the same thing I do.”
    She cast a glance around the compact, clinical kitchen. She still hadn’t finished emptying the dishwasher or made the fresh lemonade for tomorrow. To hell with it. She’d worry about it in the morning. “Your place or mine?”
    Max scooped Phoenix off the counter and set her back on her feet. He couldn’t exactly take her back into the castle the way he’d come. Talk about a passion killer. And there was no way he was going to walk her in through the main gate at this hour, or her name would be all over the papers before breakfast.
    But if she was booked into one of the town’s guest lodges or bed and breakfasts…also not an option.
    He felt like a horny teenager all over again. The one difference was that the French academy where he’d studied had been a whole lot easier to break into unnoticed than a fortified medieval castle that had withstood many sieges. “Where are you staying?”
    “In a little apartment that belongs to Rebekah’s husband. It’s built right into the town wall.”
    Max knew the place. “Definitely your place.”
    He waited in the kitchen while Phoenix locked the café’s front door, then he followed her out the back door into a narrow alley.
    The massive stone walls of the town had once been the castle’s outermost line of defence, and the wide battlemented walkway above was still popular with the tourists. These days the town sprawled beyond the walls and down to the river, but within the encircling walls