It’s after midnight, and that means it’s time for him to go back to his own place. I’m wishing he could just stay the night, but … it is what it is. There’s no way I’m going to do something to jeopardize the great thing we’ve got going on together.

“Bye, Slade.” I sigh, leaning against the doorway.

We’ve been saying good-bye for the last ten minutes but keep derailing his departure with kisses.

His mouth presses against mine before he says, “Tomorrow night?” Kiss. “Let’s do something.” Kiss.

The man is a flood. Once I opened the gate, he found his way into every part of me.

“What kind of something?” I ask excitedly, grabbing his shirt and hoping that he has some plan for us.

I know our time is limited, and it makes me want to spend every available moment with him. Sure, I haven’t forgotten the other darker side. But it seems that, so long as I don’t cross any of his boundary lines, he’ll stay in his natural state—cool, calm, controlled, and sexy as hell.

“I can take you to a nice spot for dinner.”

“Okay. Well, what should I wear?” I bite my lower lip, trying not to appear too eager.

“The less, the better.” He winks. “I’ll be back to pick you up at nine.” He pulls out his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and scrolls through something. “I’ve got a meeting that should end around eight thirty.”

“Okay. That sounds good.”

He backs up away from my mouth, and I sigh again, dazed.

The next day is perfect pool weather, so I spend it again just lounging and answering e-mails. Around five o’clock, I look down at my nails and sigh. So many chips in my polish. After heading back into my room, I dial the spa and make an appointment in thirty minutes for a manicure. Jumping back into the shower to actually wash my hair, I do a quick shampoo. The conditioner sits in my tresses as I shave from my ankles upward. I typically prefer to wax, but there’s no time for that. After blow-drying my hair in waves, I run downstairs to take care of my nails.

“What color would you like, miss?” The manicurist smiles, her white uniform perfectly pressed. With beautiful, long black hair braided like a rope down her back and high cheekbones, she is a true Native American beauty.

I feel a surge of pride for Vincent, whose hotel and casino has employed so many tribal members.

I’m scanning the rows of colors, like I’ve done millions of times before, but nothing is feeling right. “Actually, no color. I just want all of my polish removed and my nails buffed.”

“Are you sure?” Her eyes widen in surprise. “Not even something simple like Ballet Slippers or Marshmallow?”

I smile. “Absolutely sure. I’m Lauren, by the way.” I take a seat in the cream-colored swivel chair as she fills a small green bowl with warm water from the sink behind her.