Secrets and Seduction Las Vegas (Sexy Italian Imports Book 1) (10 page)

****

Sunday morning, Valerie had a session with a patient in his hotel suite at Paris Casino. After, she headed outside instead of going to the parking garage. Walking down The Strip, she counted three recently opened casinos, each more opulent than the last. After a few blocks, she crossed a footbridge over the eight lanes of Las Vegas Boulevard and headed south.

She walked by a homeless man with a sign asking for spare change and dropped a few dollars in his bucket. The smell he gave off made her gag, and she wished she could do more for him. There were so many people who could use her help. Vegas was a manic place to live. A psychologist’s dream and nightmare. She never doubted the profession she chose, but she sometimes questioned the direction she took with it.

Her sister started referring her famous but flawed patients to Valerie when she’d moved back to Las Vegas, and the word of her expertise spread in celebrity circles. The advantage was that she only worked a few days a week, which allowed her to spend a day volunteering at the runaway shelter.

She stopped in front of the
Bella
gio, leaned on the cement balustrade, and looked into the lake. The casino reminded her of a trip she’d taken to Italy with her family years ago. Why did Antonio refuse to go back to Italy? And why did he choose Thursday through Sunday as his days to write?

She shook her head. She was analyzing again. Everyone had their quirks. Like her friend Jules—she would never date anyone whose name started with a “J” because she thought it would sound silly, two people with “J” names dating.

She tossed a coin over her shoulder into the lake and whispered, “For luck with Antonio.” Where would he take her tonight on their first date? He’d thrilled her when he’d said, “I’ll pick you up” instead of, “I’m coming over to finish what we started.” She smiled as she walked back to Paris to get her car. This could be the night—she’d be ready for him. She hoped he was ready for her.

****

Antonio pulled up to her community’s gate. The guard eyed him, evidently not used to seeing many motorcycles in this neighborhood. “Antonio Daniato. I’m here to see Dr. Valerie Kane.”

The guard seemed surprised to see the name pop up on the computer. “Unlimited access.” He pointed. “Last house on the right.”

Antonio smiled as he rode through the gates and headed toward her house. She was too trusting, allowing him 24/7 access. And he planned to take full advantage of it.

He pulled into her driveway. She owned a big house, two stories, tan—like every other house in Vegas. But it had a Mediterranean quality, with windows shaded by colorful awnings, small balconies with iron railings, and tall palm trees. It reminded him of home. By strength of will, he overrode the tremor of homesickness that threatened him.

He rang the doorbell and watched her approach through the sidelight window. She opened the door wide and smiled. “Hello.”

“Hello, gorgeous. You look fantastic.” She wore a short, sexy skirt, sandals with skinny heels, and a slinky top that made him want to cup her full breasts, test their weight. Her legs were as long as he imagined and as silky looking as he fantasized. She curled her shiny black hair, and it hung loose and wild down her back.

She looked past him to the motorcycle in the driveway. “I guess I’ll change.”

“I forgot to mention the motorcycle?” He should have been more considerate. But he wouldn’t have passed up the chance to see her legs in that short skirt for anything.

He wanted to touch her so badly, his hands were in fists.

“Come in.”

“We can take your car, if you’d rather.” He closed the door behind him, gave in to the urge, and took the skirt in his hand. “I’d hate to make you change out of this.”

He lifted her skirt an inch and brushed his fingers on her leg. He’d loved the feel of her skin at the restaurant and wanted to replay that scene, but with a mutually satisfying ending. He put his hands on her back and pulled her close.

She touched his jacket. “I don’t have one of these, is that okay?”

“Any jacket is fine.” He looked down at her. Her beautiful blue eyes were warm, hazy. He should reign himself in, prove he could be a gentleman. But she was too close, his blood was too hot, his body too impatient. Her perfume invaded his mind and made him hungry for her. He tipped his head forward—

But she stepped back. “Is it hot in here?” She unzipped his jacket, gave him a silly smile, and batted her eyelashes.

He laughed. At least
she
had self-control. “I know I’m feeling hot.” He shrugged his jacket off and reached into the pocket.

“Here. My last two books.” He handed her two paperbacks.

“Thank you. Now I’ll have something to do on the nights you’re working.”

“Besides dating the big jock?” Damn, he didn’t intend to bring up the quarterback right away.

She hesitated a second, set the books down on the entryway table, and looked back at him. “He’s not here tonight, so I’m all yours.”

That stung. He swallowed a surge of anger and tossed his jacket on a chair. “I didn’t mean it that way. What I wanted to ask is, are you still seeing him?”

“No. I talked to him Friday.”

Antonio nodded. “How did it go?”

She looked down. “He didn’t understand.” Her voice came out quiet. “He seemed to be completely unaware of how incompatible we were.”

“Did he blame me?”

Valerie shrugged one shoulder. “Of course.”

He grinned. “Is he coming after me? Am I going to have to fight him for you?”

She looked at him. “I hope not. I like your teeth right where they are, pretty boy.”

He looked into her eyes and saw the dark color of a stormy sky. “I wish I could have been there with you.”

“Thank you, but it was something I needed to work through by myself.” She toyed with her necklace. “That night was one of the most depressing of my life. I felt so alone.”

“
Cara mia
.” He hurt for her. “Come here.” God, she was sexy.

She walked slowly toward him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

His fingers twisted in her long curls. “I like knowing you’re only thinking about me.”

“Just you.” She slowly, torturously, slid her hands up his sides, over his chest and shoulders to the back of his neck. She ran her fingers through the ends of his hair.

He locked his gaze on hers, her eyes communicating her emotions as if she spoke aloud. Quietly, he asked, “And what are you imagining I’m doing to you when you think of me?”

She looked at him for a second then bit her lower lip and released it. He wanted to bite that full lip of hers then bite a path down her body. He wanted to make her his woman. Oh, hell, where did that come from?

The blue of her irises grew dark, her lids drooped heavily.

“Valerie.” He kissed her gently, her lips soft and hot, tasting like lip gloss. She opened to him, his tongue touched hers, their breaths mingled. He explored her mouth, tasted her sweetness. Softly biting her lower lip, he shuddered then ran his tongue over the bite.

She moaned and flicked her tongue over his teeth. Then the kiss was no longer gentle. He took, she gave. He put his hand in her hair, feeling the silky weight. Then she bit his lip, sucked it, teased it with her tongue.

He growled, “I want you.” He slowed, gentled the kiss, looked into her eyes. “Would you rather stay in tonight?”

His words sent a flush of color to her cheeks. He let her make the choice, wanted her to know he wasn’t here for just one thing.

“If you don’t mind too much, I’d like to take a ride on your motorcycle.”

“I can’t think of anything I’d like more.” His wiggled his eyebrows. “Well, maybe a few things, but we can get to those later.”

“Later,” she whispered, and took a deep breath, visually composing herself.

She was an enigma. Hot and sexy then blushing and unsure. He needed to take it slow.

She stepped back. “I’ll show you the house and then I’ll change.”

“Can I watch?”

“I don’t think so.” Her smile was sultry, but her cheeks were pink. “Or I’ll never get to ride on the Harley.” She took his hand and led him to a large white room with a high ceiling. “Living room.”

He looked at her big red couch, loveseat, and chairs arranged around a blonde wood coffee table. He envisioned the two of them on the colorful rug in front of a roaring fire in the marble fireplace.

Glancing out the windows, he gave a low whistle. “Fantastic view.” They stepped out onto the patio and looked over the city. “Your parents are the developers of this project?”

“Yes, that’s how I could afford this prime lot.” They walked past the pool to the railing at the end of the patio.

Looking down, he saw a steep drop-off ending at a golf course that spread over the landscape. The sprinklers were on, and he smelled the earthy scent of grass and soil. “This is a great spot. And the house? You live here alone?”

“Yes, I know it’s big, but I wanted room for a family…” Her eyes shot to his, a guilty expression on her face.

He laughed. “You can’t scare me away that easily, cara.”

Her cheeks turned pink. “Sorry. It’s funny how all the psych classes teach us not to stereotype, but I find myself doing it all the time.”

“So, the stereotype for reclusive, Harley-riding writers…”

“The stereotype is never wanting to settle down. Just be a playboy for the rest of your life.”

“Hm.”

She smiled. “I’m not sure if that means you agree or not. But…” She put her hand over her heart. “…my stereotype—young urban professional—is a woman looking for a man to be a husband to her and a father to her children.”

“You’re saying we’re opposites.”

“Yes, but those are just labels. I won’t be ready to settle down for years.” She looked at him, waiting.

No, he wasn’t going to admit that he might be ready to settle down. “The stereotype fits me perfectly. You’ve got me figured out.” He looked down at his boots.

As if sensing his withdrawal, she said brightly, “Okay. Enough of my self-analysis. The bar is over there.” She pointed to the outdoor kitchen. “Have a beer or whatever you’d like and look around the house. I’ll run upstairs and change.”

He tried to inject some life into his voice. “Sounds good.”

“I’ll just be a few minutes.” She took a few steps then turned back. “You’re okay?”

He forced a smile. “Always.” Did she think he might bolt—race out the front door, jump on his bike, and take off? Damn.

She walked into the house, and he appreciated the sexy swing of her hips. Grabbing a cold beer from the refrigerator under the bar, he went back to the railing and leaned against it, listening to the sprinklers and the crickets and watching the lights of The Strip.

He had to shake off the black mood that settled on him. What the hell was he thinking? Contemplating more than just an affair with Valerie, when he couldn’t even manage a weekend away from the strip club? He reminded himself to keep it simple, just physical.

Looking up at the second floor, he saw her bedroom light was on. She walked past a king size bed, and he could visualize himself on it with her. And it would happen tonight. He smiled, and his attitude shifted. He felt her desire just as he felt his own. It was like they were magnets, the closer they moved toward each other, the stronger the pull.

When she disappeared into a closet, he took a swig of the bitter ale and walked through the door into the kitchen. Big, modern, and comfortable. She had a pizza oven, a faucet over the stove for filling pots, and an island with barstools around it. He could have fun cooking here with her. The refrigerator was huge. He looked in and saw how neat she kept it. His was that way too, for a couple days after the housekeeper came in.

He opened a carved wooden door that reminded him of his parents’ vineyard in Italy. He flicked on the light and saw stairs leading down to a wine cellar but only got down the first few steps before he heard a scream from upstairs.

Chapter Nine

“Valerie? Everything okay?” Antonio set his beer down and ran. Halfway up to the second floor, he heard her laughter.

He followed her voice into the bedroom and looked around. Bed, side tables, dressers, closet doors open, bathroom door, and two big stuffed chairs, but no one in the room.

He heard her laugh from the closet. “Valerie?”

She walked out, giggling, wearing jeans and holding a shirt over her front to cover—he swallowed hard—her bra.

“I heard a scream.”

She was still laughing. “I’m sorry, I was startled.” She held up what looked like a tarantula and tossed it at him. “I found this in my boot.”

He caught the spider. Rubber. “Someone playing a joke on you?”

“It had to be Ryan. He’s always doing things like this. I just wonder how long it’s been in there.”

He walked toward her, feeling like a spider advancing on an unsuspecting butterfly. “Since we’re up here…”

Her eyes changed from laughing to serious. He ran his hand through her long, silky hair then up her back to the nape of her neck. “Kiss me.”

She let out a breath, leaned in to him, and pressed her lips to his. One hand held her shirt over her breasts, the other fisted in his T-shirt and pulled him closer. Her tongue teased his lips. He opened for her, and their tongues played.

He walked her backward, lowered her to the bed, and lay half on top of her, kissing her deeply, slowly. Her tan silk bedspread was a sensual glide against his skin. He ran his fingers over her ribs; her skin felt even more enticing.

Pressing his thigh between her legs, he rubbed erotically. His tongue on hers kept the same rhythm. She was perfect under him, more passionate than he imagined, sweeter than anything he tasted.

He should stop. She wanted to ride—but on his bike not his hard cock. Shit. He promised himself he’d be a gentleman tonight, and he was damn close to seducing her.

Removing his leg, he slowed the kiss. Looking into her eyes, he saw need as hot as his own, but her hand still held the shirt across her breasts. A sure sign she didn’t want him to go further.

He sat up. “I’ll go downstairs and let you get dressed.”