I realize that I’m a little too excited about being trapped on a rooftop with a stranger. A man with muscles like that could easily overpower me, yet there’s nothing about this man’s demeanor that makes me feel that way. In fact, it’s the opposite. The way he stands with his hands buried in his front pockets, casual and sweet. I’d expect a guy that looks like him to be cocky and self-possessed. My eyes drop to his crotch, then quickly away. Why did I just do that? I was thinking about being cocky and that made me think of…my eyes lower again to the bulge in his jeans. The alcohol running through my veins apparently gives them free reign to ogle men’s crotches.

“Did I just lock us out here?” I motion to the shut door behind me.

“Nah. I’ve got a key.”

“Oh.” I nod. That should be a relief, yet I’m suddenly disappointed that we aren’t locked out here together. That this isn’t some fated romantic encounter destined for me on my birthday.

“So, we won’t need to lay in each other’s arms to stay warm when the desert temps fall later tonight?”

When I realize what I just said, my cheeks burn with embarrassment, or maybe that’s the champagne warming my skin. The champagne has gone to my head. And this guy’s sexy smile has gone straight to my lady parts.

“Or use our phones to call someone to open the door?” I can hear the teasing in his voice.

“Yeah, that either.” Should I start plotting how I’m going to capture his phone and throw it off the side of the building?

I walk further out onto the roof, taking in the lights from the strip all around us.

“I’m Emma.”

“Griffin.” He’s watching me carefully.

“You okay?” His kind eyes search mine. It’s the strangest feeling. The sudden urge to tell this man everything that has happened tonight. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s loneliness. A feeling that has wrapped its way around my heart long before Alec left his voicemail tonight. I can’t explain it, but I force myself to keep quiet. The last thing this guy wants is to hear about my problems. He’s in Vegas, and like most people, probably out looking for a good time.

“Oh, yeah. I’m not going to throw myself off the roof or anything.”

“Glad to hear.”

“I just needed some air.”

“Me, too.” He takes a few steps forward until he’s in line with me. I can feel his gaze on the side of my face.

“The message you heard me playing. That was the voicemail my boy—ex-boyfriend left me earlier tonight. He was supposed to fly here from New York to come watch my fashion show.”