Waking Up in Vegas by Romy Sommer Page A

lay the oldest part of town, cobbled streets that remained relatively free of traffic, with tiny shops and offices below street level and narrow passages that ended in surprising courtyards.
    Claus’s apartment lay at the end of one of those narrow passages. The courtyard was mercifully dark, lit only by the waxing moon. He climbed the rickety wooden staircase behind her, to the first floor apartment that was built right into the town wall.
    The apartment was even smaller than her Vegas motel suite. A single room dominated by an enormous and sturdy-looking wooden bed – he grinned at that – an old-fashioned dresser, a kitchenette area separated from the rest of the room by a pale linen drape and a single door that he presumed led to a bathroom.
    He closed the door behind them and for a moment they both stood, awkward and aware of the silence humming between them.
    She pulled out her hair band and shook her shoulder-length hair loose. Beneath the bright electric light, he noticed that her hair was streaked with a subtle mix of red and blonde highlights, and it had grown out since he’d last seen her. With her shoulders thrown back, and the tight jeans and fitted tee, she looked more than ever like some young rock groupie. Streetwise, savvy, and yet somehow brittle beneath the attitude.
    Phoenix cleared her throat. “Can I get you some coffee? Or wine?”
    He closed the space between them, catching her in his arms. “The only thing I want is you.” He said it like a prayer.
    Then he lowered his head and kissed her. It was a slow burn, a volcano building inside him. The kiss that started gentle grew wild and fevered. Her arms wrapped around his waist, clinging to him and the blood thundered in his veins.
    He’d dreamed of kissing her like this every night for the last two months.
    He slid his hands over the smooth, soft skin beneath her shirt, lifting it up. He broke the kiss only long enough to rip the shirt over her head. She wore a bra of scarlet lace, skimpy enough that he could appreciate her shoulders, which were more tanned than he remembered, with strappy bikini tan lines. Tan lines she’d gotten on some Spanish beach, while she’d been partying it up without him, no doubt.
    A dark, feral emotion gripped him. She was his wife. And he intended to remind her of it in the best way possible.
    He stepped her backwards, then onto her back on the bed and she gasped as he knelt over her, his erection pressing hard and insistent against her thigh. He stripped off his shirt, caught the sharp intake of breath she couldn’t hide and smiled.
    He didn’t bother with niceties and he didn’t bother taking it slow. He peeled off her jeans and slid his fingers into the crotch of her matching lace panties. She writhed against him and he grinned when he saw she was as desperate for this as he was.
    He moved the lace aside and bent his head down, intending to let her feel just a little of the torment she’d put him through these two months.
    When her breath came in short gasps, her skin flushed all over, and she was within moments of finding her release, he withdrew. She cried out in frustration and struggled up on her elbows.
    “Tell me you missed me,” he said.
    “Of course I did.” Her eyes were wide and guileless.
    “Tell me you were a fool to leave without waiting for me. You were a fool to doubt me.”
    “I was a fool. Now get inside me.”
    He grinned, victory tasting as honeyed in his mouth as she had. He stripped off his jeans and boxers and joined her on the bed. As he moved inside her, her tight, hot flesh encased him and he let go of the last of his anger and frustration in the sheer joy of coming home.
    Her eyes fluttered open as he stroked a hand over her hair.
    “Don’t let me sleep,” she mumbled.
    “Why not? You said you were tired.”
    “I’m afraid that if I wake, I’m going to find out this was all a dream. Or worse, that I’ll wake up with no memory of today.”
    He pressed a kiss to her