“But you won’t see me. That’s the idea behind being a showgirl. The audience isn’t supposed to see us, really. We’re background. They’re focused on the star.”

He swallowed another sip. “Yes, yes. I’ve seen Las Vegas shows before. I’d just like to come. Perhaps I could take you to dinner afterward?”

“I’m usually beat afterward. Two shows a night and all.”

“You’re not making this easy,” he said under his breath.

“Making what easy?”

“Nothing. Just talking to myself.” He polished off his bourbon just as the limo pulled up at my building.

I touched the door handle. “Well…thank you again.”

“I’ll walk you up.”

“You don’t have to.” Please don’t.

“You’re my date,” he said again.

Right. He had to see me home. Except my home was a tiny apartment with three roommates.

So…best way to keep him from seeing my place?

“I’m not feeling very good,” I said. “Please, just let me go up.”

“If you’re sick, all the more reason to have someone make sure you get up there safely.”

I was fighting a losing battle. I wasn’t embarrassed about my living situation, I was just… This was Reid Wolfe. A freaking billionaire.

The driver opened the car door, and Reid slid out. He offered me his hand.

A slight shiver slid through me as our hands touched.

Odd. I didn’t normally react that way to men. Not since…

Well, since the incident in the Wolfe building.

I stepped out of the cab, and—

“Oh!” One of my heels caught in a grate, and I stumbled.

Reid caught me, and in an instant our bodies were melted together.

I looked up into his blue eyes.

His gaze was so intense, I almost felt I should close my eyes against it. At the same time, I couldn’t look away. As the lights from the strip flickered in the background, his blue eyes outshone even the brightest neon.

“Easy,” he said. “I got you.”

He held onto me as I broke free from the grate. Except—

“Crap. Really?”

“What?” he asked.

Warmth spread over my cheeks. The heel to my shoe had broken off and was still stuck in the grate.

I let out a harried sigh. “Nothing. Just my best pair of shoes.” I pointed.

“I’m sorry. You okay on your feet?”

“Yeah.”

He steadied me, and then he knelt down and pulled my broken stiletto out of the grate. “I know a good cobbler who can fix this.”

“Please. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried.”

Then I gasped as he hoisted me into his arms. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t let you stumble up to your apartment.” He laughed. “You’re light as a feather!”