Secrets and Seduction Las Vegas (Sexy Italian Imports Book 1) (11 page)

“Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

“Anytime.” He stood.

Her hair fanned out on the bedspread, tempting him unmercifully. This time, he would walk away. Next time, it would end much differently.

In the kitchen, he grabbed his beer; the cold brew cooled him down, helped him regain his control. He walked through the foyer and living room to the formal dining room. Big padded chairs surrounded a polished wood table. The chandelier was a Chihuly, the glassmaker whose work hung on the ceiling of the
Bella
gio lobby.

Down the hall, he stuck his head into another room set up as an office. Then the last room, a big home theater with double recliners meant for lovers. He made a mental note to take advantage of them as soon as possible.

He looked in the glass case that held her movies. Quite a variety: horror, Disney, comedy, romance, suspense. Another case held her work-related videos: Freud, Jung, lectures. He noticed one with her name on it. Opening the door, he took it out and saw it was a series of lectures she’d given at local schools about sex, love, and families.

“There you are.” She walked in dressed like a rock diva. Jeans, boots, and a tank top, and she’d braided her hair. “What did you find?”

“Your movie.”

She laughed. “My big film debut. They still show parts of it at the schools and runaway shelters. It’s weird to think of myself as the geeky video in Phys Ed class.”

He put the video back. “You’re quite an improvement over the films they made us watch in school. I imagine a lot of boys have their first crush on you.”

“That just makes me feel old.”

“You’re what, twenty-one?”

“Twenty-
five
. I do have my doctorate, you know.”

“Sorry, Doc. Twenty-five? Isn’t that young to have a doctorate?

She shrugged. “It’s embarrassing, but I was a prodigy. I finished high school at sixteen and finished my doctorate a year ago. I’ve been practicing here in Vegas since.”

“Impressive. You’re young to have accomplished so much.”

“Oh, riiiiight. And you’re…what…twenty-seven?

“Almost twenty-eight.”

“Your books are always on the top ten list. They’ve called you a rising star, a master storyteller.”

Uncomfortable with his public image, he walked a circle around her and changed the subject. “You look damn good in jeans, woman.”

“I can’t wait to ride.”

“Mmmm. I can’t wait to get you on my bike.” He stood in front of her, reached around, and grabbed her bottom with both hands, his beer bottle hanging from one. “You were born to be wild.”

“I’ve seen
Easy Rider
, but it’ll be my first time on a motorcycle, so please be gentle.”

“Really? Never been on a bike before?”

“I rode around a parking lot once at college but not faster than ten miles an hour.”

“Let’s get going, then. I have a lot to show you.”

“Finished your beer?”

He took the last swallow. “Yup.”

“I found a denim jacket. That should work?”

“That’ll be fine. You need to wear glasses, too. Keep the bugs out of your eyes.”

She grabbed a pair from her purse, locked the house and set the alarm, and they walked out to the bike.

“This is beautiful. New?”

He smiled. “Vintage. Restored.”

“Oh. Any instructions?”

“Just hang on, baby. Tight.” He handed her a helmet.

“Great, now I’m getting nervous.”

“Don’t be.” He swung his leg over the seat and turned the key. “I’ve never had a crash.” He jumped up and came down hard on the kick start, and the bike roared to life. He torqued the throttle a few times and looked back at her. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Emotions cross her face. Afraid but excited. She threw one of those long legs over the seat and settled in.

He reached back and pulled out her foot pegs for her. She put her feet on them and wrapped her arms around him. “Ready.”

He cranked the throttle, loving the feel of her arms around him. He sped through her neighborhood then stopped and waited for the exit gate to open. “Okay?” he asked her.

“Absolutely!”

He headed east toward The Strip. He wanted to show her how different the town looked from his bike. They cruised from Sahara down past Tropicana. When they stopped at the light in front of the
Bella
gio, the fountains were shooting into the air, and he turned and kissed her. God, he couldn’t get enough of her.

He drove them out into the desert along a quiet road. After an hour, he pulled over at a scenic overlook and shut off the bike.

“I get off first?” she asked.

“Yup.” He helped her off the bike then got off, too. He put his arm around her shoulders and walked to the railing high above the dark landscape. “How are your legs?”

“A little shaky.”

“Harleys do that. It takes a while to get used to the vibration. Let’s walk, get the blood flowing again.”

“I’m enjoying it, Antonio. Riding…” She looked around. “…and especially being out here. It’s like we’re the only people on the planet.”

“Yeah. It’s quiet.” The moon hung low on the horizon and a thousand stars filled the sky above them.

He stopped walking, hearing the silence broken only by the ticking of his cooling bike engine. He moved behind her, holding her in his arms. “I like to sit here, listen to the voices of the people who’ve been here before us.”

“The spirits of the bodies buried out there?” She shivered.

He chuckled. “Now you’re thinking like a crime writer.”

“I was referring to the indigenous people, but I bet there are a few more recent graves, too.”

“No doubt.”

He turned her to face him. The dry, hot breeze blew strands of hair around her face. Smoothing them back, he tucked them behind her ear and slid his hand onto her warm neck. Her face in the moonlight made him wish he was a poet.

He bent to kiss her. As his lips touched hers, she closed her eyes and let out a sexy squeak. He molded her lips with his, loving their fullness. Craving her taste. His tongue traced the seam of her lips then she opened, let him in. He put his hand on her hip, his fingers through her belt loop, and pulled her to him. Their bodies pressed together. Her hands slid inside his leather jacket, touching him through his shirt, moving on his back, down to his bottom. When she slid her fingers under his waistband he let out a groan.

Against her lips, he warned, “If you wanted to do that, we should have stayed at your place.” He pulled back from her, watched her eyes as a sensuous smile transformed her face.

“Maybe we should have,” she said softly.

“I have one more place to show you before we go back to your house…and upstairs to your bed.”

Her eyes closed as she bit her lip then released it with a sigh.

He kissed her again, quick and hard. “Let’s go.”

They walked back to the bike. He got on and started it, and she jumped on behind him. As they rode, she moved her hands under his jacket, touching his abs then sneaking up as far as she could reach. When she moved her hand lower and put her finger into his belly button, he grabbed her arm.

“You don’t want me to lose control.”

She laughed and stopped her exploring.

They drove a circle through the desert and ended up at a locals’ casino off The Strip.

“We’re going to gamble?” she asked.

“No. Never touch it.” They walked through the casino.

“You live in Vegas, and you never play?”

“There’s a lot more to do here than gamble.”

“What do you do in your spare time?”

“I practice—” He caught himself, almost revealed too much.

“Practice?”

He looked down into her blue eyes. “Practice good hygiene.”

She let out a surprised laugh. “That’s nice, I guess.”

“It’s a lot of work for guys. It doesn’t come naturally, you know.” He smiled. “Especially to us bachelors who never want to settle down.”

“Mmmm. Right. Well, keep up the good work. You haven’t offended me yet with any strange odors.”

He laughed.

“Seriously, Antonio. What are your hobbies?”

He steered them to the food court. “I read, work out, and ride a lot. Nothing interesting. How about you?”

“I like to swim. I read, too.” Her eyes sparkled. “And I invent recipes and enter them in contests.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I won a grill this spring and a set of baking pans last month.”

“That’s wild. Will you cook for me?”

“Anytime.”

He squeezed her bottom. “I’d love to see you in the kitchen with an apron on.” He bent and whispered in her ear, “And nothing else.”

She sucked in a breath. Her eyes gazed into his, murky with desire.

“Ice cream,” he said.

“Ice cream?” she repeated, sounding unfocused.

“Would you like some?” He pointed to the ice cream freezers.

“Um, sure. You come all the way over here for ice cream?”

“There’s something different.” He pointed to the specialty sundaes listed on the wall. “You can eat a Grey Thornton.”

“What? You have a sundae named after you?” She laughed sweetly, and his heart skipped a beat.

“They name them after writers, and I stopped in once and asked them to put me up there.”

“You wild man. You call yourself reclusive, but you go around having food named after you.”

He shrugged. “I thought it would be funny.”    

“Oh, it’s hilarious! Do you have a picture of yourself in front of the menu?”

“No. I always come here alone.”

“Let’s get a Grey Thornton, and I’ll take your picture.”

He ordered, and she made him hold the sundae and stand next to his name on the menu. She used her phone to take the photo, and she laughed as she showed it to him.

“Leather jacket, tight jeans, windblown hair, motorcycle boots…and a bowl of ice cream. This should be on the back cover of your next book.”

“Hey, remember my demographic. Guys. Not chicks.”

“Oh, poor baby. Have I offended your ultra macho-ism?”

“There is no such word as ‘macho-ism,’ and yes, I think you have.” He pretended a glower, and she consoled him with a kiss.

He grabbed two spoons and a napkin. “Come on. I know a place where we can eat this.” He led her to the elevators.

At the top level of the parking ramp, they had a view of The Strip and could see the planes landing and taking off from the airport. They sat on the ledge and shared the ice cream.

“It’s so good.” She licked whipped cream off her lip. “Is this coffee ice cream?”

“Yup. And hot fudge, pecans, and whipped cream, with Oreos on the side.”

“You have good taste.”

“I love nuts.”

She smiled. “So do I.”

“No, wait.” He faked a frown. “Tell me that’s not psychologist humor.”

“No, I was thinking of you.”

“I’m nuts? Or that you love…” He stopped himself, realizing what he almost said.

She looked a little uncomfortable, too. “I love eating Grey Thornton.”

He smiled seductively. “Wait until you get a bite of Antonio Daniato.”

She slowly licked her lip, and wicked desire glowed in her eyes when she purred, “I can’t wait.”

He hopped off the ledge and dumped the rest of the ice cream in a trash can, walked back to her, grabbed her waist, and lifted her down.

Holding her against him, he looked down into her eyes. “We’re leaving.”

“Yes, please.”

His desire kicked up a notch, hearing her breathy demand.

He took her hand, and they rode the elevator to the casino and walked toward the front doors. Half way through, they ran into a group of women walking through the casino.

“Carlos!” one of the women said, pointing to Antonio. “Look, it’s Carlos!”

Oh shit. Antonio tried to go around them, but they swarmed in and blocked his way.

“Remember us?” a busty young woman asked.

“I’m sorry. You’ve mistaken me for someone else. My name is not Carlos.” He pulled Valerie with him.

The women closed ranks in front of him. “You look just like him. Doesn’t he, Melissa?”

“He does. You know, you have an exact double working at—”

“Hey!” Antonio broke in, frantic to keep his secret hidden from Valerie. “Does every foreign man look the same to you? Doesn’t that seem racist?”

The women were clearly startled and apologized. Antonio hauled Valerie along by the wrist.

Those damn women almost gave away his weekend job. Carlos was his stage name. He hated to be rude, but he had no choice. If Valerie heard the name of the strip club, she’d start piecing things together. He didn’t want that. Ever.

They reached his bike, and he turned to gauge her mood. She stared at him like she saw something repulsive.

Chapter Ten

This would not be pleasant. Antonio held Valerie’s hand. “I’m sorry, cara, I just snapped. Can you forgive me?”

“You were intentionally cruel to those women.” Valerie’s voice was quiet but firm. “Why would being mistaken for someone else be so offensive to you?”

He pulled his helmet on. “Can we talk about it at your place?”

“No. I would like to talk now. Your behavior was uncalled for.”

He sighed and looked down at the keys in his hand. “You’re right. I was anxious to get you home, and I wasn’t thinking with my brain.” He looked at her expectantly and smiled, hoping the “all the blood rushed from my brain to my cock” excuse would work.

She shook her head. “You just turn into someone I don’t recognize. Where does that come from?”

“Shit. My life is out of control some days, Valerie. I have a lot of stress. A lot of deadlines. I have anger management issues.” He put his hands on her arms. “Will you help me?”

She recoiled, and he released her. “The best help I can give you would be a referral to a therapist who can work through this with you.”

“No. I want your expertise. I want you to be my woman, Valerie. In every way, including emotional.”

“Antonio.” He heard censure in her voice, saw pain in her eyes.

There seemed to be a lot of people around all of a sudden. “Let’s go. We can finish this at your house.” He started the bike, she got on, and in minutes they were in front of her home. He stopped, put his feet down, and shut the bike off. She hugged him tightly from behind before throwing her leg over and standing.