Secrets and Seduction Las Vegas (Sexy Italian Imports Book 1) (25 page)

“Yes, actually I have nothing to hide.” She reached in her jacket pocket. “And I want you to have this.” She handed him her house key.

His brows drew together. “I don’t deserve you.” He kissed her, his lips gentle.

Against his mouth, she murmured, “You made me bacon. You do deserve me.”

He squeezed her bottom. “Pour the coffee. Let’s eat.”

****

After she left, Antonio cleaned the kitchen, put the eggs and bacon away. This was what it would be like to live with Valerie. He’d be a househusband. She’d work her days, he’d write and—would he still go down to The Strip as “Carlos” on weekends?

Now that he had Valerie, he shouldn’t feel the need for his weekend work any longer. But he did. He still planned to go tonight. And tomorrow night, and Saturday night. He ran his fingers through his hair. He had another appointment with Jarrodd next week. Although he hated it, he’d discuss his “emotions” with him, see if there was a way out.

Antonio looked at the key sitting on the counter. She trusted him. A huge change, inviting him into her life. He wanted to live up to her image of him. He laughed. “If she only knew.” About his secret life, his demon. She should have handed him a restraining order instead of a key.

He climbed the stairs. She’d already pulled the bed back together. He smiled.

He’d been surprised to see her red sheets. The whole room had been done in tans, and he’d expected the same of her bedding.

It was a good metaphor for Valerie—calm and purposeful on the outside, but inside, vibrant. More alive than anyone he’d ever met.

He showered and dressed then looked in her closet. Her pink panties sat on top of her laundry basket. He picked them out and sat in one of the chairs, smelled them, and became aroused at her scent. God, she was hot. He never thought any woman could capture his attention the way she did. In bed and out.

He sat for a long time watching The Strip. He closed his eyes and saw her lying under him, her beautiful blue eyes looking at him with trust and passion.

He got up and stood at the window. How did he end up here, in Vegas, a millionaire-stripper with a shrink for a girlfriend? He stuffed her panties into his pocket. The sun arched across the valley. The temperature today would be over 100. A good day to lay around the pool, but not much fun alone. He found a notepad and pen on the bedside table and left a note on her pillow.

He jogged downstairs to the living room and looked through her music collection. A lot of Prince. He put on a favorite and cranked it up. Amazing stereo, speakers in every room of the house and out at the pool. The song was “3121,” and he got into the beat, found himself dancing one of his older routines. Halfway through, he stopped.

What a crazy fucker.

Chapter Twenty One

Valerie didn’t get home until after nine Thursday night. Her last patient at the shelter needed a lot of time, but she felt gratified that she’d been able to make a difference for her.

She heated soup and ate while reading the newspaper on her tablet. Looking at her horoscope, she remembered Antonio’s birthday was this weekend. She would surprise him.

Exhausted from too little sleep, thanks to Antonio and a long day at the shelter, she plodded upstairs and undressed, did her evening routine, and was sliding into bed when she noticed a piece of paper on her pillow. She looked at it and laughed.

A multi-million selling author, on the bestseller lists. He was called one of today’s most imaginative writers. And what did he leave her? A heart with “V + A” in it. He was a surprise. She walked to the window and spotted his building. Her workaholic man, sitting at his desk, busy writing on a Friday night in Las Vegas. She could learn a lot from the incredible discipline he imposed on himself.

****

First thing Saturday morning, she baked a cake. She had no idea what his favorite was, so she went with a yellow cake and buttercream frosting. She decorated it and wrote “Happy Birthday Antonio” in deep blue icing then put it in a cake carrier. The decorating class she and Jules took last fall was finally paying off.

She waited until noon to drive over. She didn’t want to disturb him, so she’d just leave the cake and card in his kitchen for him.

As she exited the elevator, she squinted in the dim light. The shades were drawn over the windows. Stepping quietly into the foyer, she headed into the dark living room and was walking toward the kitchen when a voice sounded from the couch. She stopped, not sure what she was hearing.

“Hello?” She whispered the word, hoping it was just the television or radio left on.

The dark outline of a man sat up. “What the f…” Sounding groggy, he looked at her, but she didn’t recognize him. He stood, rubbing the heel of his hand over one closed. Greased back hair in a ponytail, a sleeveless undershirt and boxers, a barbed wire tattoo circling his upper arm, and another tattoo darkening his other bicep… Was he the housekeeper?

She backed up a couple steps. “I’m sorry, I was dropping off a couple of things for Antonio.”

He stood completely still and looked at her. “Valerie? Shit. What are you doing here?”

She recognized the voice. “Antonio?” She almost dropped the cake. She stepped toward him. “Is that you? What are you doing in that disguise?”

“We talked about this, Valerie.” His voice came at her, angry and clipped. “I need my weekends to myself.”

She’d really messed up this time. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Really, I didn’t. I brought a…” A stupid cake. How horrible, disregarding his request and invading his privacy for a stupid cake. She stepped to a side table and set down the cake and the card with shaking hands. “I’m so sorry. I’m leaving. It won’t happen again.”

He didn’t move, and she slipped into the elevator, pressed the button which closed the doors, then rode down to the garage, not sure if what she’d seen was real. What was the disguise about? She pressed her fingers to her lips, worry creasing her brow. Oh, God, did the disguise have something to do with the blackmailers?

She shook her head. No, he was not the blackmailer. She knew it. She trusted him, but his odd behavior on weekends, his privacy issues, his anger…so mysterious, it kept doubt constantly resurfacing.

She got into her convertible and sat a minute, calming her jittery nerves.

“Valerie!” His voice called across the parking garage. “Wait!”

She startled at his yell, but she wasn’t going to run, wasn’t going anywhere. Not until she heard what he had to say. He opened the passenger door and sat. He now wore a shirt and jeans, but his hair was still slicked back. It was a handsome look on him, but she’d never seen him like this before.

“Valerie, I didn’t mean to chase you out. I wrote all morning, and I just fell asleep before you got here. I was dazed.”

She looked into his eyes, trying to detect if it was the truth this time. “I thought I could sneak in and out without disturbing you.”

He smiled. “Thank you for the cake. Did you make it?”

“Yes, it’s from a real recipe book. Not something I made up.” She hated how her voice quavered. “You should be safe eating it.”

“Thank you, baby. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Happy Birthday.”

He leaned over, took her face in his hand, and kissed her. “You are too sweet.”

“No. I’m too curious.” She had to tackle this head-on, right now, or it would eat away at her all day. “Will you tell me about the hair and the tattoos?”

He sat back in the seat, let out a heavy sigh, and stared straight ahead. “Sometimes when I do research, I need to be on the streets, talking to the criminals that fill my books.”

Valerie shook her head. “That seems dangerous.”

He turned to her. “Worried about me?”

“Of course I am.”

“That’s why I’ve kept you away on weekends. I don’t want you knowing what I’m doing.”

She could tell he wasn’t lying. But she couldn’t conceive of his roaming the streets and interacting with drug dealers and murderers. Was he some kind of danger thrill seeker? Were his real life and his cop-hero character melding into one? This was unnerving. She took a deep breath. She wasn’t his psychologist, Jarrodd was. She needed to slip back into girlfriend mode, or she’d say something she would regret.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Five years.”

“And you’ve never had any run-ins?”

“No.” His smile was cocky. “I know how to stay away from real trouble.”

She took in the bloodshot eyes, the dark circles under them. “You look exhausted. Go back up and get some sleep.”

“Are we still on for tomorrow?”

“We are. My place? I’ll cook.”

“I’ll bring the wine. My parents sent me a case for my birthday.”

“That’s so nice of them.”

“We have dinner with your parents this week. I’ll bring some along.” He lifted a brow. “Do you think they’ll let me in the door after the whole Monica mess?”

“I’m sure they will. Monica is just an alarmist, and my parents know it. They’ll see you and me together, get to know you better, and they’ll love you just as much as—” She stopped, realizing she was about to say “I do.” She smiled. “Just as much as birthday cake.”

He looked at her strangely but seemed too tired to think straight. “Thanks again for the cake. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll talk then, okay?”

“Okay.” They kissed, and he got out of the car. She waved as she drove off, watching him in her rearview mirror, standing there with his hands shoved in his front pockets. She blasted onto the street from the dark garage, the hot sun blinding her for a moment. “Perfect analogy.” Her first contact with Antonio was like being blinded by a bright light. But now that she was starting to see more of his personality, she realized how dark his demons were.

Her first real relationship with a man. Was she in too deep?

****

Antonio watched her drive away. That was too close.

He worked at the strip club until two, came home, and wrote until he fell asleep on the couch. When he heard the elevator door open, he knew it was her. She was the only person who had access.

He’d forgotten he hadn’t showered or he would have stayed quiet until she’d left. When she asked about his disguise, he realized he was still dressed as “Carlos.”

He rode the elevator back upstairs. Short of telling her never to come to his home on weekends, how was he going to keep her from walking in on him? He’d be more careful, shower immediately when he got home. But what if she showed up some night at nine and he didn’t get home until three? She would be furious.

The elevator doors opened, and he grabbed the cake off the table. An envelope dropped to the floor. He picked it up and brought it with him into the kitchen. The cake smelled delicious, and he hadn't eaten lunch yet. He cut a piece and sat at the counter to eat. The envelope had his name on it with a little heart dotting the
i
. The card read,
Happy Birthday to the man in my life.
The inside was printed,
Every birthday wish you make, count on me to fulfill.

“Wow.” It sounded exactly like something she would say. She signed it,
Yours always, Valerie.

“She’s mine always.” He set the card on the counter. She almost said the words to him in her car five minutes ago. “My parents will love you as much as—” He shook his head. He couldn’t imagine her loving him. She was too smart to be pulled in by someone like him. He was a mess, emotionally. But he wanted her, wanted a life with her. And babies. Beautiful, black-haired, blue-eyed babies, cradled in her arms, feeding from her breast.

“Shit, Daniato, you’re tired—and delusional.”

He covered the cake, went to the bedroom, took off his clothes, and got in the shower. Until he gave up his weekend job, it was pointless to think about a future with her. How much longer could he keep it a secret? What would she do if she found out on her own? Wouldn’t it be better to tell her? Get it out in the open and see if they could work it out?

One more night, Saturday night, his birthday. He’d be spending it down on The Strip as “Carlos” instead of in the arms of the woman who meant everything to him. He pounded a fist on the tiles on the shower wall. Sometimes he hated himself.

****

Monica worked a half day Wednesday then took the afternoon to work from home. She sat in her living room reading the latest medical journal when her gate buzzer sounded.

She looked out her front window and spotted Joe in the driver’s seat of a 1950s Cadillac convertible. She blinked twice, jumped up, and walked to the window, not believing what she was seeing. It looked so incongruous to what she thought she knew about him: methodical, ultramodern, and efficient.

She hadn’t heard from him since the day at the hospital—she closed her eyes as shame flooded her—the day she’d acted like a drama queen. No, make that a
trampy
drama queen.

Joe got out of his car. He wore a Hawaiian print shirt and shorts, sandals on his feet. He pressed the button on the security box again. “I can see you standing there, Monica.”

The box was old, from the ’80s, and had a “talk” button, which he was using.

He reached into the back seat and pulled out a bouquet of flowers. Her speaker hummed with his voice again. “I brought you a dozen roses, but…” He gestured to her rose plants. “I didn’t realize you had your own garden.”

What now? Let him in, or ignore him? She wasn’t the type of woman who ignored her problems.

He reached into the back seat again and pulled out a paperback. “Monica, I had a feeling you might not let me in…right away. So I brought a book.” He held it up for her to see. “It’s one of Grey Thornton’s.” He shrugged. “I figured, if he would be my relative someday, I should get to know his work.”

That threw her like being shot out of a cannon. Relative? He was standing in her driveway talking about their future as if she didn’t make a complete ass out of herself days ago? She sighed and swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. What kind of saint was this man?

“I’ll read it to you” He looked up at the clear blue sky. “While I stand out here in the scorching sun with no shade or water.” He opened the book and cleared his throat. “‘Chapter One. Detective Rourke called the killer by the nickname the press gave him: Chip. Presumably because he left hundred dollar casino chips on the bodies of the women he slaughtered’.”