Negligee Behavior (22 page)

“God, I’d love it if you were,” she muttered under her breath as Gordon pushed past her.

“Can you marry us?”

The man stepped out of the shadows. Obviously they’d caught him in the process of getting dressed. His white jumpsuit was half undone and gathered at his waist; a black T-shirt that said
She looked legal
sprawled over his beer belly.

“Now, folks, I done told you we’re closed. There’re plenty of chapels on the Strip, I’m sure—”

“I don’t want any chapel.” Gordon pulled the gun and waved it at the Elvis minister. “I want this one.”

“Well, hey now. Settle down, buddy.” The man took a quick step backward, his hands in the air. “Say, aren’t you that same couple who came in here a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yes,” Gordon snapped.

It
was
the same one who’d tried to marry them before! Brandy groaned and shook her head. Of all the luck.

“Well, didn’t this little lady run out on you once?” the Elvis asked. “Did you change your mind?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

They both answered at the same time.

“It’s irrelevant. She’s going to marry me and you’re going to perform the damn ceremony,” Gordon yelled, spittle flying from his mouth.

“Come on now, son.” The Elvis stared at Gordon’s gun. “Even if I did marry you this marriage will never stand up in court—”

“Uh yeah—tried telling him that already,” she snorted and rolled her finger beside her head to indicate Gordon’s level of craziness. “The man’s obviously not playing with a full deck right now.”

“Damnit,” Gordon screamed. “Don’t
make
me ask again!”

The click of the safety instantaneously transformed Brandy’s frustration into fear. She was certain he would shoot one of them.

Gordon’s face paled and his eyes grew wide as a man suddenly appeared behind him and pressed a gun to the back of his head.

“And who are you?” Brandy hadn’t realized she’d spoken the words aloud until the gigantic man turned his attention to her. Her mouth went dry.

“I’m Gordon’s friend.” He gave her a hard look. “Aren’t I, buddy? I just stopped by to pick up that money you owe me. Now drop your gun.”

Gordon leaned down to set the gun on the floor.

A friend?
Brandy shook her head.

“You’re not a friend, you’re his bookie. I’ve seen enough movies.”

The man didn’t respond to her statement, though she thought she heard him make the tiniest grunt of amusement.

The Elvis minister cleared his throat. “Bookies aren’t actually illegal in Nevada. Though…I’m not sure I’ve even seen them carrying around guns.”

“I’m not a Vegas bookie.”

“Oh, I see.” The Elvis gave a quick nod. “Look, can I leave and just pretend this never happened? You know, what happens in The Hunk-A-Hunk-A Burning Love Chapel stays in the The Hunk-A-Hunk-A Burning Love Chapel.”

The bookie stared at him for a moment. “You remember that slogan and you’ll be just fine. You call the cops and I’m coming for you next. Now get the hell out of here.”

The Elvis minister turned to flee from the building, his jumpsuit still half off his body.

“After repeated attempts to collect the money from you, I’m giving you one last chance to hand it over now, Mr. Perry.”

Brandy swallowed hard. God. Is this how it would all end? Getting shot by a freaking bookie because her ex-boyfriend had a stupid gambling problem?

“I don’t have your money,” Gordon said tightly. His gaze rose to meet hers stoically. “But my fiancée does.”

Still no news from Elena. Which meant the police hadn’t found them yet. Marco shook his head and hoped his only idea would pay off. It was a long shot, though.

Gordon couldn’t possibly be stupid enough to take Brandy back to the chapel he’d first tried to marry her in. That’d be ridiculous.

Even knowing the chances were slim, Marco turned onto the Strip and headed back to the chapel where Brandy had first jumped on his bike.

Ten minutes later he spotted the rundown chapel. Hell, the place ought to have been torn down years ago. What a shithole.

He slowed his bike and turned into the chapel, driving to the back where the parking lot was almost empty. His pulse slowed and then snapped right back up to pound through his veins. Holy hell, the man
was
stupid enough.

Marco pulled alongside the building and killed his engine. Reaching into his pocket he grabbed his cell phone and dialed 911. After relaying the situation and location to an operator, he promised not to go into the building himself.

Fat chance of that happening. He turned off his phone and then climbed off the bike.

Before he could move toward the chapel, the door opened and Brandy stumbled out.

“Marco—” A giant of a man behind her nudged her forward with the barrel of a gun.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on here?” he asked icily, his gaze connecting with the other man’s.

“Look, kid, you don’t want to get involved.” The man gave him a once-over. “Especially since it doesn’t seem to have gone so well for you in the last round you fought. Now move.”

Marco straightened—matching the other man, in height at least. “Let her go. Whatever your issue, it’s with Gordon. She has nothing to do with it.”

“Well, now, I’m going to have to disagree with that. Seeing as she’s the one holding the purse strings.”

Marco narrowed his eyes. So the giant before him had to be related to Gordon’s gambling problem.

And then Gordon stepped outside of the chapel, pale faced as he followed the bookie. His face contorted when he spotted Marco.

“Oh, God. Not you again.”

“My car is over there.” The giant nudged Brandy with the barrel of the gun. “Let’s go, princess.”

Oh,
hell no
. That was his nickname for Brandy, and no one, not even a gun-toting bookie was going to walk in and take it—or his woman–away.

Marco stepped forward and blocked their path.

“I asked you to move.” The giant turned the gun on Marco. “Don’t
make
me ask again.”

Marco saw the flare of anger in Brandy’s eyes. Her lips pursed and she focused on the giant. She was planning something. Sure enough, she let out a war cry worthy of a samurai and drove her elbow back into the giant’s gut and dove out of his way.

“Oomph!” The man doubled over and Marco delivered a swift kick to the wrist that held the man’s gun.

There was a satisfying crunch before the gun skated across the parking lot.

“Ouch. Jesus,
ouch
.” The man gripped his hand, his eyes watering.

Taking the window of opportunity, Marco grabbed Brandy’s hand and raced her away, putting as much distance between her and the bookie as possible.

“I knew you’d show up.” Her fingers tightened around his hand as they sprinted across the parking lot.

A gunshot rang out. They ducked behind a car.

“He’s shooting at us,” she screamed in disbelief. “I can’t believe he’s freaking shooting at us!”

Marco pressed her head back toward the cement and peeked around the tire.

“It’s Gordon. Gordon just shot that other guy.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” She scooted forward and peered around the tire.

“Brandy? Come out, love muffin. I won’t hurt—goddamn it!” Gordon screamed as another gunshot rang out. He fell to the ground, clutching his calf. “Oh God, it hurts.”

Marco shook his head. “It is way too easy to get a gun in this country.”

Sirens blared in the distance.

Brandy gripped his arm. “Please tell me those are for us.”

“They should be.”

He turned to look at her. She stared straight ahead in obvious fascination, watching the two men crawling toward each other screaming threats.

Cheeks flushed and hair all afrizz, Brandy was beautiful. More beautiful than any woman he’d known. And he could admit now that he’d never experienced a deeper connection with a woman. The real question was would she still want him? Knowing he’d withheld the truth about his past. And even still she didn’t quite know everything.

He reached for her hand. “Brandy—”

The police cars bounced into the parking lot, sirens blaring. Doors slammed.

“Drop your weapons! Stay where you are!”

The sound of people running toward them sounded and then two officers appeared at the end of the car they were hiding behind.

“Move away from Miss Summers. Now!”

Move away, what the hell?

“Wait,” Brandy protested. “He’s not—”

“I said now!”

Before they got trigger-happy, he rolled away from her. Rocks bit into his bare arms before he was dragged to his feet and dragged away from Brandy.

They shoved him against the back of the car and out of her reach. He had the perfect view of Gordon and the bookie, still cursing each other out, being read their rights.

From the corner of his eye he watched as three officers helped Brandy up and rushed her toward one of the squad cars. His world shrunk as he watched the car speed off.

Marco closed his eyes, willing the tightness in his chest to fade. Just as quickly as she’d entered his life, she was gone again.

Three days. Three days and there’d been no contact from Brandy. It had been bad enough when some bitchy assistant from her parents had showed up on his doorstep to collect her stuff.

And that’s all she’d done. Took the stuff and left. No message from Brandy, no thank you for your help, nothing. Marco shoved a hand through his hair and kicked his feet up on the desk of the office.

The two day mark was when he’d finally given up on her. He’d realized she had no intention of coming back for him.

The pencil he’d been spinning between his fingers snapped in two.

Maybe it had been because of the fact he’d hid his not so pretty past from her. It was altogether possible. She certainly had seemed upset enough on their last phone call.

Or maybe it was something else entirely. That she’d just been bidding her time with him. Slumming with the boys from the bar and now she’d move on back to her normal life.

Marco pulled his legs from the desk and leaned forward. He dropped his head in his hands.

“How you doing, mate?”

Marco tensed. Sebastian had just seen him in a complete moment of weakness. Christ, he’d held it together pretty well for the most part.

He forced an easygoing shrug. “I’m doing fine. Just a little tired.”

“Don’t bullshit with me.” Sebastian gave him a knowing look and then sat down on the edge of the desk. “Why don’t you just call her?”

“Because she doesn’t want to hear from me.”

“And you know that how?”

“Look,” he sighed. Why the hell put up a pretense with Sebastian? They knew each other too well. “I gave the lady who came to my house a letter to give to Brandy. A letter that pretty much laid out how I felt about her. And I explained why I hadn’t told her about my past.”

“And?”

“What do you think?” he offered a stiff shrug. “I never heard back.”

“Hmm.” His friend frowned and pursed his lips. “That doesn’t sound like Brandy.”

“Yes, but how well did we really know her?”

“Pretty damn well I’d say.”

Marco shook his head, half convinced his friend was just blowing smoke up his ass. The deadpan expression on Sebastian’s face convinced him otherwise.

“Look, I don’t know what happened,” he finally admitted. “I wish to God I knew what was going on in her head. But I don’t.”

“So call her.”

“I don’t have her number.”

“She didn’t fill it out on the application?”

Marco paused. “She put a number that’s no longer in service.”

“So you tried.”

“Of course I did,” he said wearily. “And it’s not like she just advertises her address. All she put was a PO box on the application.”

“Send her another letter—”

“Come on, Sebastian,” his words cracked and his gut twisted with disappointment. “Let’s be real here. She doesn’t respond to my letter, makes no attempt to contact me and disconnects the only number I have for her?”

“It just doesn’t make sense.” Sebastian sighed.

“So how about you?” Marco asked, turning the tables. Wanting to shift the conversation from the source of his current depression. “You gonna see that blonde again that you took home the other night?”

“Not at all.” A look of revulsion swept across Sebastian’s face. “The woman kept screaming ‘
Screw me harder, you dirty Brit.’
I tell you it freaked me out after about the tenth time. Shite, I don’t know why I took her home in the first place.”

“To get fucked?”

“There is that aspect, yes.”

“You’ll find the right girl, buddy. She’s out there.”

Something close to unease flickered in Sebastian’s eyes, before he looked away. “She may be, but I’m not looking right now.” He cleared his throat. “Look, I didn’t come back here to just bring up Brandy, though.”

“No?”

“No. You have some big reporter out front who wants to interview you.”

“Again?” Marco cursed and straightened a stack of papers on his desk.

“Yeah. I don’t think they’re going to leave you be until you give one of the blokes an interview.”

“Well, hell.”

“Just make it clear you’re only giving one and be done with it.”

Marco’s mouth tightened. Damn, this was not going to be pleasant. But Sebastian was right, it needed to be done.

“Okay. Tell them I’ll be out in five minutes.”

Sebastian nodded and left the office again.

Marco attempted to gear up for the godawful questions that were sure to come his way. Questions about why he’d quit his career as a prominent defense attorney on the rise. Questions about why he’d chosen to open a bar.

But those weren’t the questions he dreaded. Not by any means. The worst would be the question about Brandy.

He drew in an unsteady breath and stood up. Now he just had to figure out how the hell he’d answer them.

Brandy snuggled deeper into the couch, curling her legs up under her bottom and cradling the small glass in her hand.

Her mother walked by and covered the mouthpiece on her cell phone, admonishing a quick, “Drink your scotch and soda, honey.”

Wincing, Brandy took another sip. The fiery drink warmed her belly, but did little to ease the numbness in her heart. She set the glass down on her side table and then fiddled with the edge of her T-shirt. Well, not really her shirt, but Marco’s.

She pulled the hem of the shirt outward and stared at the words
Dante’s Place
scrawled across it. She lifted the shirt to her nose and inhaled, hoping to find the scent of him still there. Nothing but her perfume by now.

Tears pricked, but she blinked rapidly to dispel them.

“You need to get out of the house, honey.” Her mother came back into the room and sat down next to her. “You’re so depressed.”

“I’m not depressed.”

“Oh, but you are.” Her mom shook her head. “Ever since you watched that
Entertainment Hollywood
show and saw that bartender you stayed with on there.”

It had already been four days since the show had run, but the interview had been looping in her head repeatedly since it aired.

When Marco had spoken about his new life running a bar, and why he’d left his past career, she’d bawled buckets of tears for him. She’d been struck by the anguish and pain in him that had obviously never healed.

But her tears for him had turned into tears for herself when they’d asked about her.

A pity party? Maybe. But being described as some random woman who’d just happened to turn to him for help kind of hurt a bit. And then when the reporter had probed to find out if there was a romantic connection between them, he’d paused and looked at the camera before saying quietly ‘She’s not really my type’.

Which is what she’d known all along. She wasn’t Marco’s type. Right? She bit back another sniffle.

Good thing she’d seen that show in time. She’d actually had plans to fly back to Vegas the next morning to see him again. To see if he still wanted her. Her chest tightened with immediate pain.

The interview had answered that question well enough. Marco had only been amusing himself with her.

“You really liked that man, didn’t you?”

The question from her mom threw her for a curve.

“I’m sorry?”

“That bartender.”

“He used to be a lawyer, and he actually owns half that bar, you know.”

“I realize that.” Her mother crossed her legs. “And your father used to make pottery.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing, I’m just saying you like the man. Maybe you even loved him?” She cleared her throat. “Or was it all about the sex?”

“Mom!” God, if her mom had any idea how on the spot she was she’d never stop probing. Like a dog with a bone…

“Sorry, honey. Just checking.”

“Yeah, well, check something else please.”

“All right, since you insist.” Her mom stood up and crossed the room to pick up her trendy designer purse. “I have something for you.”

“I don’t need any money,” Brandy protested wearily.

“I’m not offering you money. I’m offering you this.”

Brandy finally noticed the envelope her mother held out.

“What is it?”

“A letter.”

“From who?”

“From the bartender.”

Brandy snatched the letter from her mother’s hands, her mouth suddenly dry. “Where did you get this?”

“I found it this morning while I was sorting through the bag of clothes you left at the bartender’s house. It was at the bottom of the bag.” She sat back down on the couch. “I fired her, you know. My assistant. The very same day I sent her to pick up your stuff. That girl was terribly moody and I caught her stealing some of my silver.”

“That bartender has a name, mom,” Brandy replied in exasperation and opened the letter—which already appeared to have been opened.

“Yes, it’s Marco.”

“Did Marcy read this? It’s open.”

“No, I found it unopened. She must have forgotten to give it to you—or maybe she was just annoyed I canned her butt and decided to let you find it months down the road.” Her mom waved her hand. “In any case, I read it.”

“
You
read it?”

“Yes, and it’s really a rather good letter. You should read it, honey.”

“Oh my God. I can’t believe you read my letter. And I
would
read it if you’d let me.”

She shook her head in disbelief and turned her attention to the letter in her hand. Her hands started to shake after the first line, and by the time she’d finished her vision was blurred with tears.

“How could that bitch of an assistant forget to give me this?” she growled.

“Yes, well, like I said, it may have been deliberate.” Her mom patted her blond coif and cleared her throat. “I can’t say she was too happy about being let go.”

“This letter…” The words died as a flood of tears choked off her ability to speak.

“It’s quite good, right? I mean, he loves you.”

Brandy set the letter down and whispered. “Yes. He does.”

“So that’s why I was asking if you loved him.”

Brandy closed her eyes, her heart pounding as warmth spread to every inch of her body.

That interview he’d done with
Entertainment Hollywood
…when he’d said she wasn’t his type had probably been a lie. Hell, he’d sent this letter a week ago and in his eyes she’d just never replied. What else could he be thinking?

She opened her eyes and leaned back against the couch, relief making her dizzy. “Yes, Mom, I love him.”

“Wonderful! I can’t wait to meet him! You’ll have to bring him by the—”

“Mom, could you let me work some stuff out with him first?” She stood up and stretched.

“Of course! It’s just after your dad read the letter he was a bit anxious to meet him—”

“
Dad
read the letter, too? Oh for fuck’s sake.” She shook her head.

“Brandy! I just adore this new side to you.” Her mom stood and gripped her hands. “You’re really letting loose.”

“Yes, well that needs to curb itself when I start the school year.” She winced and touched her forehead. “The kids will keel over if I come back in miniskirts and cussing like a sailor.”

“Ah, yes, so true.”

Brandy headed toward the bathroom, already debating what to wear.

“Mom?” She turned around before she reached the door.

“Yes, honey?”

“Thank you for being so supportive.” She hesitated. “I’ve always been so proud of you and Dad, and how you built Sugar and Spice up from the ground.”

Brandy saw the flicker of surprise and pleasure in her mom’s eyes, and it made her realize she’d been stingy with the compliments and admitting how proud she was of them.

“And I just want to say…” She drew in another deep breath and then purged on with the other thing that had been weighing heavily in her heart. “that I would very much love to be a part of the company in the future. Not give up my career completely, mind you. I love to teach. But Sugar and Spice started as a family business…and it should stay in the family.”

Her mother’s head bobbed up and down with obvious shock, and Brandy spotted the sheen of tears in her eyes.

“Okay, now I’m off to shower. Because tonight I
will
get my man back.” She clenched her fists and moved out of the room, turning at the door. “Oh, and Mom?”

“Yes, honey?” Her mom’s voice trembled with emotion.

“I think tonight I’ll take you up on that offer to use the plane.”

“I’m locking up.” Sebastian called from the front. “Do you want me to stick around until you finish up, mate?”

“I’ve got it. See you tomorrow. Don’t forget we’re interviewing for a few new waitresses.”

“I’ll be there. You know I love this part of my job.”

“Pervert,” Marco called and plugged in some numbers into the calculator.

“That I am. Good night.”

The door slammed shut. Marco set down the receipts. Christ, he needed a vacation. He needed to get the hell out of Vegas for a while and maybe bury himself in some third world nation. Some place where his shredded heart would be considered a minor issue.

He picked up the receipts again and started tallying them. The door to the bar opened, and a sliver of light spilled on the floor.

“What did you forget, Sebastian?”

There was no reply, only the soft click of footsteps. He saw her pumps first, heels that made her legs look endless, and a short denim skirt that ended midthigh.

He lifted his gaze higher. A familiar purple shirt with a puffy cat on the front stretched over voluptuous curves.

“Hey,” she said softly.

Finally he lifted his gaze fully to meet hers. Brandy was here. She’d actually come back.

“Brandy?”

“Mmm hmm.” She sat down on the edge of the desk and her skirt rose higher. The familiar smell of apples teased his nostrils. “Did you miss me?”

“What are you doing here?” He set the receipts down. He wouldn’t allow himself to be hopeful. Wouldn’t jump to any conclusions until she explained why she’d returned. Especially after she’d blown off his letter.

“What do you think I’m doing here?” She gave a slight shrug and pushed her hair behind her shoulder.

His jaw hardened and several possible reasons hit him at once.