Around five in the morning, I stepped out onto the central balcony of the penthouse and sighed. The outdoor heaters warmed the space, keeping the cold at bay long enough to enjoy the giant terrace.

Decembers in Vegas got cold. Not New York City cold, but cold.

My body ached from head to toes, and all I wanted to do was sleep for a few hours. The last of the cleaning crew had left, and the suite was clear of any evidence connected to the poker club.

I drank down the glass of water I held before setting it on a nearby table.

Yawning, I stretched my arms above my head. I’d better get in a few hours of sleep before my eleven a.m. flight to New York.

I’d sent Penny home to Hagen right after the games ended, a little after two, to head off the explosion that was his temper from learning our plane landed in New York without us. And I’d called my family to calm them down.

Then there was Simon.

Thinking of his name sent a shiver down my spine.

I’d called him, but couldn’t get hold of him, and he hadn’t responded to any of my texts. Which only meant he either learned before Hagen that we’d never gotten on the flight or about the game and was pissed to holy hell.

I’d try calling him one more time before I crashed.

That was when I heard the distinct sound of ice in a tumbler, and I froze.

Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I turned slowly and locked eyes with piercing green ones.

Shit.

Of course, he’d gotten into the penthouse without me knowing. What the hell was the point of having the best security if everyone was scared of him?

He leaned against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket as the other swirled his drink.

He wore dark denim jeans and a fitted long-sleeve Henley shirt that accentuated the muscled body underneath. His hair looked as if he’d run his fingers through it a few times, a sharp contrast to how he wore it on a normal basis, but it looked stylish and made him seem young and almost approachable. That was until you studied his eyes and saw danger and calculation.

The very eyes trained on me and telling me without words that I was in so much trouble.

And instead of being terrified as any normal person would be, my nipples beaded, and I had the urge to squeeze my thighs together.

His lips quirked at the side as if he’d read my body’s reaction.

The pull toward him was visceral and had pissed me off in the beginning. Now, I accepted it.

He loved playing up his devil-in-the-dark reputation of showing up to exact his wrath when someone least expected it. Now, it seemed it was my turn.