“Mmmmm, this is so good. Shannon, you need to try this.”
“The only penis Shannon needs in her mouth is mine,” Declan declares, grabbing my arm. Before I pivot, I see Mom’s face flaming in the dim light. Finally.
Finally, someone actually embarrassed her.
Too bad it had to involve embarrassing me, too.
“Did you have to say that?” I hiss. Cowboy looks at Declan, and shakes his head slowly, whistling some country tune as he decides I’m off limits, giving Mom a looksy, making faces of approval until Dad gives him a cold look.
Get along, little dogie.
“Yes, I did have to say that,” Declan replies.
“Why?”
“Because I can.”
“Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.”
“I’m taking you out of this sexual device orgy and doing you. Upstairs. Now,” he whispers.
I pause and look at Declan, realizing I’ve mistaken his stony demeanor for anger. He’s hiding arousal. Whoa. My heart hammers in my chest, the sound of the slots behind us and murmurs and shouts a reminder of the social element of waste and outrageous, boundary-blasting behavior.
“I retract my earlier statement.” We walk through the crowds, my heels wobbling on the thick carpet that runs in a wide line between marbled tiles. Declan’s reassuring hand on my elbow helps. He finds the private double doors and the secret elevator. As he presses the button for our floor, he looks at me, giving a speculative sigh.
“Three-foot chocolate penis?”
“What? That was Mom. Not me.”
His voice lowers. “If you could go back in that exhibit hall right now and pick out any item from all the displays, what would you pick?”
Oh. We’re going there, are we? While sex with Declan is fantastically orgasmic and amazingly tender, rough and ready and ripe as it needs to be when we have it, we’ve never, um, headed into this territory.
I blush like a bride on her wedding night.
Which is utterly appropriate.
“I wouldn’t pick a thing,” I admit, his body going slack with released tension. Mischief courses through me as I add, “I’d pick a person.”
“You’d what? Who? Was it some hot dancer in there? That guy your mom was oiling up with the chocolate mint oil that hooks up to the wristband thing and lets you track his boners with a smartphone app?”
Blink.
Declan paid far more attention to that exhibit hall than I’ve realized.
Setting aside what he’s just said—there’s an app for that?—I give him a bashful smile. Not sure why I’m suddenly shy, but I am.
“No,” I say, reaching for his arm. The wool suit jacket is wrinkled, his white shirt cuff poking out, the hair on his wrist making a web of patterns that is easier to focus on than him. “You. You are the only thing in that room I would pick.”
A dazzling smile, eyes brimming with lust and love, greets me. A quick tug and I’m in his arms, the tickle of his warm breath making me shiver and break out into a sweat at the same time.
“While that’s a lovely sentiment, I’ve ordered an assortment of, shall we say....tester items. They’re being delivered to our room as we speak.”
I laugh. “No, you haven’t.” The elevator arrives and we get on.
“No, I didn’t,” he admits. “Can’t fool you.”
“Why would you want to?”
He gives me a look of appraisal, then leans his head against the back of the elevator, letting out a long breath.
“Why, indeed, would I?”
“Especially when it comes to putting something edible in my mouth.” Those words ring out nice and loud as the elevator doors open and reveal James McCormick, standing next to Amanda’s mom, Pam.
Holding a three-foot chocolate dong.
“Dad!” Declan booms.
“Pam?” I didn’t know she followed us to Vegas. She and James take a step away from each other, her arm weighted down by her handbag. Spritzy’s face pops out, pink tongue poking between little teeth too cute to cause damage.
Hmmm.
“Hi.” James plays it cool and casual. Declan’s practically apoplectic, and he grabs the box, turning it so the clear plastic display front is hidden.
“What are you doing?” Pam asks, her voice curious. There’s challenge to it. Given the fact that Pam can’t talk about tampons without needing smelling salts, this is quite a turn of events.
“Why are you walking around our resort carrying a giant chocolate penis?” Declan asks James, his voice loud enough for Pam to hear.
Sure enough, she goes weak in the knees, her face beet red in a flash, and I have to grab her elbow before poor Spritzy gets dumped on the floor.
“What?” James asks, recoiling. He snatches the box back from Declan’s hands and turns it around.
“The Eiffel Tower,” the box reads.
“We were across the street at that fake Eiffel Tower restaurant. Pam wanted a souvenir. I was carrying it for her.”
“Oh. Not a penis?” Declan asks stupidly.
“Why would I carry my own penis for her?”
Pam’s eyelids flutter and she starts to breathe erratically. I take the handbag off her arm and patiently stroke Spritzy’s little bow-covered head, because this could be a while. Two McCormick men talking about penises usually involves more than a minute.
“Would you two cut the peen talk?” I snap before I realize I’ve said it.
They both wince. “Please don’t use the phrase ‘cut the peen,’ Shannon.” James and Declan both fold inward a tiny bit.