Secrets and Seduction Las Vegas (Sexy Italian Imports Book 1) (20 page)

“Then tell me the truth! Stop hiding yourself from me. All I want is honesty from you.”

His face closed off, his eyes shuttered. He understood she was now talking about something more important than the book outline. She wanted him to tell her about the demons he kept concealed in the dark shadows of his life.

A tear ran down her cheek, and she pleaded softly, “I don’t ask for anything but honesty.”

He ran his fingers through his hair and looked away. “That’s the one thing I can’t give you right now, Valerie.”

Her heart contracted with pain. “Why?”

When he finally looked at her, his face was hard, his eyes were soulless. “I wish I could tell you. But I swear…” He reached out to her, and she jerked back. “…I never would have nor will I ever write this story.”

He took the papers to the fireplace and switched it on, opened the glass doors, and threw the papers on the flames. They silently watched them disappear into ash.

His words and actions reassured her, and the manic fog of the last few minutes gave way to jittery calm then to headache and fatigue. She looked at his back as he stared into the fire. Embarrassment at blowing into a panic attack in front of him, and the sense that she would never see him again because of it, weighed heavily on her heart. “Forgive me for reading your work.”

She walked on shaky legs out of the room, into the kitchen for her purse then to the elevator. The doors opened instantly. She stepped in and pushed “G” for garage. The swift ride down did nothing to pacify her frayed nerves. She overreacted, but once panic took over, she was lost. When she’d accused him, she’d hurt him, made him defensive, and he verbally attacked her.

“Damn it!” she cried, wanting to scream her anguish, but the elevator doors opened, and she swallowed the bubble of hysteria and walked to her car. Damn him for making
her
feel guilty.
He
wrote that story about her and her sister. How did he twist it around to make it
her
fault?

She stopped. They were both wrong. She walked back to the elevator. She’d leave the decision up to him. He could choose to see her again or not. She pressed the code, the doors opened, and she gave him back the only thing he’d ever given her.

Chapter Seventeen

What was Joe thinking? Monica sat back on her heels, kneeling in her rose garden, pulling weeds. They spent the weekend together—in separate beds—but every moment seemed like they were a perfect fit.

Now, four days later, he hadn’t answered her calls or responded to her text messages.

Had she only imagined the connection? She shook her head. He had to be a damn good actor to pull off a whole weekend of romantic touches, soul melting kisses, and sweet, sexy innuendos.

She pulled off her gardening gloves and stood, arching backward to stretch her stiff muscles. Roses were the only plant she grew, mainly because they did well in the sandy soil of the valley without a lot of attention, and heaven knew she ignored them for weeks at a time.

Her pool cleaner knelt at the edge, testing the water. If she was alone, she would peel off her clothes and jump in. She smiled as she looked around her home. She bought the place from the family of a 1990s Vegas showman who died on stage in his eighties. The property was over four acres and surrounded by a high brick wall. The elaborate wrought iron gate at the front entrance was from the glory days of big name Vegas showrooms—and made her feel safe.

She smelled a pink princess bloom. Joe had given her a perfect yellow rose at a winery in Temecula. How could she be falling for a guy who ignored her ninety percent of the time? A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. Working off her frustration over Joe’s inaccessibility helped, but she’d stayed outside too long. Since a skinny dip wasn’t an option, an ice cold beer was the perfect excuse to head into the air conditioning.

In the kitchen, she turned on her tiny television and watched a sitcom she’d never seen before while she made a salad of greens and cold chicken.

She sat at her kitchen table and ate, laughing at the young couples trying to muddle their way through the dating obstacle course. When her phone rang, she saw it was Joe and quickly answered, talking around the piece of chicken in her mouth.

“Hello!”

“Hi, Monica. How are you?”

His voice sounded remote, as if he was in a room full of people.

“I’m fine. You?”

“Good.” He cleared his throat.

She waited, but all she heard was breathing. She teased, “Well, now that the tough part is out of the way…”

He attempted a laugh, but it came out more like a groan. “I’m sorry. This is really difficult for me.”

Oh, crap. He’s breaking up with me on the phone. She grabbed her beer and swilled half of it.

“Monica, something’s happened at the hospital.”

“Like?” All she could imagine was that he met some sexy young nurse.

“A review board has asked to meet with you to go over some improprieties from your work here last month.”

She jumped up, slamming her beer bottle on the table. “What? Improprieties? Are you friggin’ kidding me?”

“No, I’m not. I’m really sorry.”

“What kind of improprieties?” She slowly deflated back into her chair, a band of panic squeezing her heart.

He was silent.

“Joe, come on. This is my career we’re talking about!”

“I know. It’s just that…some vials of painkiller went missing during the hours you were here.”

“You’re not serious.” She put her hand on her forehead to stop her brain from exploding. “They think I stole pain meds?”

“It’s difficult to talk about it over the phone. You’ll actually be getting a FedEx package tomorrow with all the information you and your attorney will need to—”

Her hand slapped onto the table. “Attorney! You’re suggesting I hire an attorney?”

“Monica, the evidence points overwhelmingly to you.”

“No. Joe, this can’t be happening.” Her voice came out pathetic, whiney. “I’m not that type of person.”

“I realize that, but…listen, I’d better go. I’ve said too much already.”

“Wait.” She could tell by his voice there was something else, something he didn’t want to say. “Who found all this evidence? Who reported me?”

Silence.

“Joe? Who?”

“It was me. Monica, I’m sorry, I wish I’d—”

She disconnected the call.

****

Antonio heard Valerie leave. He wanted her to go. God, he hated women who did bizarre scenes. He had no room in his life for someone like that. “Shit.”

He remembered her yelling at him, “Do you want to crucify me?”

“Crazy shit.” At least they hadn’t been in public. He would have walked away and left her.

Switching off the fireplace, he braced his arms on the mantle. No, that wasn’t true.

He would have helped her through her anxiety attack.

He’d have to do some research online. Find out what the hell happened to her. For those five minutes, she was not the woman he knew and…

The end of that phrase was “loved,” but that couldn’t be true. He walked to the bathroom and glanced at his watch. Time to go to work. He peeled off his shirt and took the temporary tattoos out of the drawer. He’d done this so many times before, he didn’t have to concentrate. Instead, he went over everything Valerie’d said, everything he’d said. Was that the end? Were they through? He greased his hair back, used a leather strip and tied it at his neck. He threw on a loose shirt, a pair of sandals, and put his “Carlos” wallet containing his fake ID and a strip of condoms in his jeans pocket. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a new pair of tear-away shorts and package of extra-tight T-shirts and stuffed them into a gym bag. Walking by the kitchen, he smelled the fish stew going to waste. The night sure as hell didn’t turn out anything like he planned.

Right this moment, he should be carrying Valerie to his bed, peeling off her clothes, and kissing every inch of her fantastic body.

“Shit.” He grabbed his car keys and pressed the elevator button. The mess in the kitchen could wait for his housekeeper.

He got in the elevator and, on the ride down, noticed one of his business cards on the floor. He picked it up and saw it was the one he’d given Valerie with the codes to his place. Damn her.
She
freaked out, not him.

How the hell should he have reacted?

He laughed humorlessly. Were they through? He held the answer in his hand. It was over.

He slipped the card into his pocket. Willing, beautiful ladies were prevalent in Las Vegas, and it would be easy to get back into his normal routine. Tonight, he’d let a sexy young thing slip her hotel keycard into his hand. A hot hour or two with an out-of-town beauty, and Valerie Kane would be gone from his memory.

Seven hours later, he stood outside a suite at the Mirage holding the card Libby—or was it Laurie?—from Montana had given him at the strip club. She’d written her room number on it with some kind of makeup pencil and told him she expected him any time after two in the morning—and it was two-fifteen.

Why was he wasting time? All he had to do was slide the card in the lock, walk in, and take what he wanted from her, for as long as he wanted. No screaming panic attack, no psychoanalysis. Just mindless sex. He smeared the makeup numbers around on the card.

“Shit.” He sat on his heels and slid the card under the door, stood, and walked down the hall to the exit. He opened his phone, made a call, it went right to voicemail.

“Jarrodd, it’s Antonio. I need to talk. Call me.”

He’d make it work. Valerie meant more to him than anything else in his life, and the realization made
him
panic.

****

Valerie woke mid-afternoon and called Dan, her therapist. He’d been planning to head out of town but agreed to see her after his last appointment today.

She hadn’t regressed into an anxiety attack in two years, and the one that had hit her last night had been severe.

Her appointment wasn’t for another three hours, and she lay down again, looking out her bedroom window at Antonio’s building.

She smiled cheerlessly, remembering her manic raving. How badly did she scare him? The smile left her face. What would his reaction be when he saw the business card in the elevator?

She pulled the covers over her head. She assumed it was over. Not many men would be able to forget that performance. Did she really accuse him of being the blackmailer? Christ, how stupid. He was a writer. He was just outlining a plot based loosely on his own life.

Without an anxiety attack misfiring her synapses, she would have calmly discussed the outline, and they would have agreed it should never be published. She wouldn’t have started in on him to reveal his secrets; she wouldn’t have begged him to bare his soul to her.

Frustrated with her pity party, she dragged herself out of bed and trudged into the shower. She might as well look as good as possible. Now that she was unattached again, Jules and Monica would be throwing men at her. As the warm spray hit her face, her tears started again. It would take her a long time to forget the man she just threw away.

****

Thursday after work, Valerie headed to San Diego to visit Sloan. The drive went fast in the Thunderbird. She loved how people looked at her car as they passed her or, better yet, as she passed them.

Whenever she spotted a motorcycle, she thought of Antonio. She hadn’t heard from him and assumed it was over. She hoped he understood it was the panic talking, but she thought it best to leave things as they were instead of trying to apologize and explain.

Dan’s help made the difference. He squeezed in two more appointments for her during the week. God willing, she would never succumb to an anxiety attack again. She laughed and said it out loud with a southern accent, sounding like Scarlet O’Hara doing positive affirmations.

Jules had taken her out to Omnia for a couple drinks. Her friend had even had a man lined up to call her next week, and Jules’ cousin had just moved back to town and wanted to meet her.

She drove through miles of uninviting desert, loving the Death Valley directional signs, watching people taking the exit. She would never forget the evening she and Antonio spent riding his motorcycle through barren landscape.

Driving past the wine region of Temecula, she thought of Monica and her Dr. Joe. She hadn’t heard from her sister in a week. What was going on in her life?

She took the San Diego turnoff to the Gas Lamp District and Sloan’s condo. Lugging her bags up three flights of stairs, she knocked on the door and heard her friend screech with delight. The door opened, and Sloan flung herself at Valerie with all her contagious exuberance.

“Valerie, I can’t believe you’re finally here!” She helped haul the bags into the condo. “I have so much fun planned for us. We’re meeting Andrew for dinner in an hour then we can cruise the Gas Lamp District and get toasted.”

Valerie felt like taking a nap, but for friendship she would rally her energy. “Let me freshen up and have a cup of coffee, and I’ll be ready to go.”

In the guest bedroom, Valerie hung up her clothes while Sloan sat cross-legged on the bed and chatted about Andrew. They were seriously talking marriage and family.

“I can’t wait to see him. I remember him from when you two dated in college, but we didn’t hang out much.”

“You didn’t hang out with anyone,” Sloan reminded her. “You were all about studying.”

“I was, but I’ve changed in the last year. I’ve been dating a little lately.” Valerie hung up the outfit she worn to Omnia earlier in the week. She would try playing the seductress one night and see if she met anyone.

“Fun. And maybe, when we’re out at the bars, we’ll run into a friend or two of Andrew’s who you might like.”

The way Sloan phrased it made Valerie stop and look at her. “You’ve set something up, haven’t you?”

Sloan wouldn’t meet her eyes and sat smoothing the fabric of the quilt. “We just mentioned—to a couple of really nice guys—where we’d be.”

“Sloan, you didn’t.” She took the “seductress” outfit off the hanger and packed it back into her suitcase. Evidently, she was already well situated for dates.