Sarah's throat tightened. Her fingers froze around her glass. The man beside her looked exactly like Diego Castillo, yet he made no move to run, to threaten her, to do anything a criminal on the run should do when faced with the prosecutor who destroyed his family.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," he said, voice low and smooth with just a hint of an accent. He signaled to the bartender. "Macallan, neat." Sarah calculated her options. The casino was crowded. Security cameras everywhere. She wasn't in danger—not physically, at least. "Do I know you?" she asked carefully, deciding to play dumb while reaching for her phone in her clutch. He smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. "I don't think so. I'd remember someone like you." His eyes traveled down her body with lazy appreciation. "I'm D." D. Not Diego. A lie, but one that gave her time to think. "Sarah," she replied, giving her real name before she could stop herself. The bartender slid a whiskey toward him, and he raised it slightly. "To chance meetings, Sarah." She clinked her glass against his, mind racing. Should she call the FBI? Was there a reward for his capture? But the alcohol had already dulled her edges, and curiosity pricked at her. Why was Diego Castillo in Vegas, sitting next to her of all people? Did he know who she was? "What brings you to Vegas... D?" She studied his face for signs of recognition, but his expression remained pleasantly neutral. "Business," he said vaguely. "You?" "Pleasure," Sarah replied, matching his tone. "My first real vacation in years." "Then we should celebrate that." He motioned to the bartender again. "Two shots of tequila." Sarah's responsible side whispered that she should leave, call someone, do anything but share drinks with the brother of the man she'd just sent to prison. But the other side—the side she never let out—was thrilled by the danger, the absurdity of it all. "I don't usually do shots," she said as the bartender placed two small glasses in front of them. Diego—D—raised an eyebrow. "First time for everything, right?" "Right," Sarah agreed, lifting the shot glass. What happens in Vegas... They downed the shots together, and the liquor burned pleasantly down her throat. D watched her with obvious amusement as she fought a grimace. "Another?" he asked. Sarah knew she should say no. Instead, she nodded. The second shot went down easier than the first. The noise of the casino faded to a pleasant hum as they talked. D was charming, intelligent, asking her questions about her life while revealing little about his own. Sarah gave vague answers, creating a fiction about being a corporate consultant, skipping over anything that might reveal her as the prosecutor who had dismantled his family's empire. The bar began to fill with rowdy tourists, pressing them closer together. Sarah could smell his cologne—something expensive and subtle. "Too noisy here," D said, leaning close to her ear. His breath tickled her neck. "There's a lounge upstairs. More private." Warning bells rang distantly in Sarah's mind, but three drinks and two shots had muffled them considerably. Besides, the casino was public. Safe. And she was curious—dangerously, stupidly curious about this man. "Lead the way," she said. The lounge was dim and exclusive, with plush semicircular booths and music quiet enough for conversation. D spoke briefly to the host, who led them to a corner booth with a view of the Strip. A bottle of champagne appeared almost instantly. "You come here often?" Sarah asked as he poured her a glass. "My first time, actually," he replied, settling beside her, close enough that their legs almost touched. "But I know people." Of course he did. The Castillos knew people everywhere. "What do you do, D?" she asked, the champagne bubbles tickling her nose. He considered her question for a moment. "Family business," he finally said. "Though I'm trying to take it in a new direction." "Against family wishes?" Something flashed in his eyes. "You could say that. My brother has... traditional views." A thrill ran through her at this acknowledgment, however veiled. They were playing a game, dancing around the truth, and part of her was enjoying it far too much. "And what about you, Sarah? Family business as well?" She laughed, imagining her father's reaction to her career choice. "God, no. My father wanted me to be a kindergarten teacher. Something nice and safe." "But you chose danger instead?" Sarah nearly choked on her champagne. "What makes you think what I do is dangerous?" D smiled slowly. "Just a feeling. You have the look of someone who's comfortable with risk." He leaned closer. "Am I wrong?" The alcohol had made her bold. "Maybe I'm discovering I like risk more than I thought." His eyes darkened. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, fingers lingering on her cheek. "Want to take another risk tonight?" The music changed, a low throbbing beat that seemed to match her pulse. "What did you have in mind?" "Dance with me." The dance floor was small but crowded with beautiful people. D led her through them, finding a spot in the center, and then his hands were on her waist. Sarah couldn't remember the last time she'd danced with a man—maybe not since law school. But her body remembered, moving against his as if they'd done this a hundred times. She should have been terrified. This was Diego Castillo, brother to a man who would happily have her killed. But in the dim light, with the music pulsing around them and his hands guiding her hips, she felt only exhilaration. "You're full of surprises," he murmured, pulling her closer. "So are you," she replied, arms around his neck. They danced for what felt like hours, drinking champagne between songs, talking in fragments that revealed nothing and everything. The more time passed, the less Sarah cared about who he was, who she was. For the first time in years, she was living purely in the moment. When his lips finally met hers, it felt inevitable. His kiss was confident, demanding, and she responded with equal intensity, fingers threading through his dark hair. "Come upstairs with me," he whispered against her mouth. Every rational part of her brain screamed no. But she was tired of being rational, tired of being careful, tired of denying herself anything that wasn't work. "Yes," she said simply. In the elevator, he pressed her against the wall, his body hard against hers, mouth hungry on her neck. Sarah closed her eyes, giving herself over to sensation. The elevator dinged at his floor—not hers—and they stumbled out, barely breaking contact. His suite was larger than hers, with a massive bed visible through double doors. Sarah had a fleeting thought that she should text Megan her location, but D was already pulling her back into his arms, and all thoughts of safety disappeared in the heat of his touch. "Last chance to change your mind," he said, eyes searching hers. Sarah reached up, tracing his jawline with her fingertips. Tomorrow, she would be responsible again. Tonight belonged to this stranger who wasn't a stranger. "I don't want to change my mind." His smile was wicked as he lifted her, carrying her toward the bedroom. "Good. Neither do I." The last coherent thought Sarah had before giving herself completely to the night was that Vegas had been an excellent idea after all.
