Vegas Two-Step (3 page)

Nellie twisted her hand from the grasp of her dance partner as she finally spied Kate. She stood next to the bar talking to a cute guy in a tight tee, hands fluttering against his chest, teasing him as she flashed him her trademark come-hither smile.

“Let’s go dance some more,” toothy, twenty-something hottie said.

“No, thanks. I see a friend.” Nellie gave him a little apologetic shrug. He looked crushed, but brightened as a petite redhead crooked her finger at him, urging him to join her on the dance floor as a song by Akon cranked up.

Nellie skirted a grouping of chairs occupied by several trendy, martini-wielding club goers. Suddenly an arm snaked around her, tipping her into the lap of a tanned Pro-Am golfer. Mitch had introduced her to the mojito and taught her how to do the old-school, but always fun, electric slide a mere hour ago.

“Come ’ere, sexy lady,” he slurred. “Tell Jace here that I got the moves.”

She laughed, removing the overly friendly Mitch’s wandering hands from her waist as she stood. She gave him a sassy smile. “Well, yeah, if your moves consist of trying to grab my ass every time I get within a foot of you.”

The others laughed and she walked off wondering who in the world she had become.

Oh, yeah. Elle Hughes. And Elle tossed back fruity little cocktails, danced with unbelievably hot guys, and flirted with cute golf pros. Being her alter ego felt weird. As if she was totally someone else. She waded through the throngs of people, knowing the men she passed raked her slim form from head to high heels. And it didn’t matter whether the guys were barely legal or fighting a receding hairline, they all looked.

Embarrassing, yes, but powerful all the same. She could see why some women fed off it.

Kate dangled a frosted martini glass in her direction, handing it off without taking her eyes away from the piece of eye candy murmuring low in her ear.

Nellie didn’t really want to be introduced, so she swung her hips to the rhythm of the music and sipped the sweet concoction. The rum slid smoothly down her throat and uncoiled in the pit of her stomach. Dangerous. She took a bigger sip and licked the sugar off the rim of the glass.

Her sensual move caught the attention of the man flirting with Kate. His cool gray eyes undressed her, assessing her with practiced ease. The guy was a pro. Kate picked up his obvious interest in her friend, so Nellie smiled, lifted her glass in salute and headed to find Billie and Trish, who had table service somewhere in the crush. Maybe she could take a break with them for a minute. Her feet were starting to hurt.

But the place was packed, the music booming, and the dizzying lights had her turned around. She couldn’t remember where Trish said they’d be sitting. She stood for a minute, searching the throbbing crowd, but she had no luck. Her eyes lighted on a lone bar stool at the end of the packed bar. It had her name written all over it, or so her toes shouted. She needed reprieve from the torturous high-heeled sandals, so she headed for the stool and sank onto it with a sigh.

Her toes thanked her.

And no one took notice of her, which was good, because she didn’t want to fight off any random guys or feel obligated to smile and laugh. She just needed a break from the “fun.” It had been years since she’d gone out to clubs, and doing it two nights in a row had her missing the comfy couch in her living room and reruns of
Seinfeld.

But that was stupid. She’d come to Vegas to party. To live it up a little.

Still, she missed home.

And she hoped Mr. McIvy remembered to feed her cat.

He’d sneaked another look at her as she gyrated on the dance floor, watching the lights catch her, enjoying the expression on her face. He’d been intrigued. Mesmerized. Like a child watching a kaleidoscope, the pretty colors drawing him in. But he’d moved on, back to the confines of his office. This was his place of business and his policy was never to date at work.

But he couldn’t seem to help himself. Was it the way she moved, unsure and wobbly in her high-heeled sandals? Or maybe just the way she seemed surprised at the attention paid to her by every male she walked past?

“Hey, Jack. Didn’t know you were up here,” Rick said, entering the office and pulling him from the distraction of the sexy woman moving her hips to the beat of the music. “The margarita machine’s down again.”

Jack didn’t have to turn around. Rick had slipped in for a smoke. Jack suspected his manager had been ducking into the office bathroom and blowing his smoke into the vent rather than taking it outside to the smoking patio. “Did you call Vinnie?”

“Yeah, but it’s the second time this week. Still freezin’ up even though he said he fixed it. Want me to call him again?”

Irritation burned in Jack’s gut. He turned toward Rick. “What do you think? You’re the mana—”

“Whoa, dude. Just askin’.” Rick shoved the pack of cigarettes into his back pocket and lifted his hands defensively.

“Sorry, I’m just…I’ve got things on my mind,” Jack said, setting the half-filled beer he held onto the desk. Normally, he dropped everything for a problem at the club. But tonight, he just didn’t want to deal with the place that had brought him Vegas-style fame and fortune.

Which was so unlike him.

Maybe it was the way his gut churned like a stormy sea. Or the thought of another sleepless night. Or the way he felt so out of control, as if he’d screwed up by agreeing to sell the club and build a dream with his father. Tonight, he wanted to be anywhere but where he stood. “I’ll call Vinnie in the morning.”

Rick saluted and spun back toward the door that led to the loft-style VIP rooms situated above the frenzied dance floor.

Jack felt guilty. He should be taking care of business and not wallowing in his beer, watching some woman like a pervert. “Hell, I’ll just go take a look at it. Maybe I can figure something out.”

He headed down the stairs, sliding past an overweight guy reeking of ten-dollar cologne. The lummox stepped on his foot, causing a bolt of pain to zip up his leg. The man shouted “sorry partner” before lumbering up the stairs balancing four longnecks. Jack grimaced and jogged down to the bottom floor, sidestepping lithe ladies and overeager dudes looking for action. The music sounded louder than normal. Lady Gaga was getting on his nerves. They were playing her way too much.

Jack blew out an exasperated breath. He needed to get out of Agave. Fast. It felt as if the walls were closing in on him.

He made his way to the bar and slid behind the massive neon-lined counter. The frozen drink machines sat like boulders anchoring the ends of the bar. A pitcher of half-melted drink mixture sat to the side, an accident waiting to happen.

“Hey, Jack, the marguerita machine’s down again,” Lewis hollered, popping the lids on three beers before handing them to a guy in a cowboy hat. Quarters hit the tip bottle. Lewis lined up eight shot glasses and started pouring. The club was almost too busy tonight.

“I know. I’m gonna take a look,” Jack yelled, opening a cabinet under the machines and searching for a screwdriver. He knew the action would probably be fruitless. The bartenders never put anything back where it was supposed to go.

He lifted his head to ask Lewis where the screwdriver might possibly be and his eyes landed on the blonde.

She sat directly above him at the end of the bar. Alone. And she seemed to be making some kind of mental list because her eyes were fixed on a bottle of Wild Turkey and her lips silently moved.

A half-finished drink sat in front of her.

He shut the cabinet door and moved towards her. She didn’t look at him. Just kept moving her lips.

“Get you another drink?” he said, bending toward her so she could hear him over the noise of the music.

She couldn’t. Her green eyes didn’t even blink.

He leaned in a bit farther and shouted, “Get you another drink?”

The blonde jumped half a foot off the bar stool and clipped the handle of the pitcher sitting just to his left.

Melted margueritas flew into the air, slopping onto the bar and splashing onto the woman. Her luscious lips fell open and the cleavage spilling out of her bustier jiggled as she leaped upright—an action he couldn’t help but appreciate even though he knew he shouldn’t.

“Ack!” she cried, shoving her stool back into a group of people.

He righted the pitcher and grabbed a white bar towel from the stack sitting beside the register. “Here!”

He tossed the towel to her, but she missed. Instead it landed on the head of a skinny, bald guy before sliding immediately to the floor.

“Sorry,” Jack said to the guy, then widened his gaze to take in the blonde, who was shaking droplets from her bare arms.

The bald guy gave him a “go to hell” look and turned his back, reentering the conversation in which he’d previously been engaged. The man didn’t bother to pick up the towel.

“Oops,” the blonde said, and then started laughing.

Her green eyes met his and he swore his world tilted just a bit. And then an incredible thing happened. For the first time in weeks, Jack laughed.

The irony of the situation didn’t escape her.

But from where she was standing, he had no clue she was the person who’d recently baptized him with her chardonnay. And why should he? She looked way different.

She stooped to pick up the towel just as he slid around the bar and pushed through the crowd surrounding her.

“Here, let me help you,” he shouted, his mouth so close to her ear she could feel the heat of his breath on her bare neck. Her senses sprang to life just as they had at the airport bar. Something about this man made her knees feel like Jell-O and her belly jump as if it were full of frogs.

“No, no, I’m fine—it barely splashed on me,” she called out over the music, dragging the towel along her arm and shoulder, wiping away the remainder of the liquid.

He grasped her elbow, sending a frisson of heat up her arm, and helped her to stand. He shouted some words at her. Something that sounded like “I’m sorry” and then he kept talking, but the music was so loud she couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“What?” she shouted.

He shook his head and leaned closer. To do so, he placed one hand on her hip and tugged her to him. Leaning close, he spoke in her ear. “I’m sorry. I was trying to buy you a drink.”

The heat of his hand seared the flesh that peeked out from between the bustier and low-slung jeans. She flinched, but he didn’t seem to notice.

She inhaled his scent. He smelled faintly like beer, but there was another scent, so masculine and tempting she longed to bury her nose in his trendy blue shirt.

She lifted up on her tiptoes and shouted into his ear, “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Do you want another drink?”

Nellie shook her head. “No, I’m done.”

He pulled back and studied her.

For a moment, she wished she hadn’t come to Vegas. Because standing there talking to this guy was just a fantasy. He was so out of her league. The way he looked at her, with desire radiating from the depths of his blue eyes, was only because she was trussed up like some bimbo Barbie doll. His sudden interest didn’t come from a feeling that could ever be real. It was all pretense, a mirage in the desert sand.

She watched as his eyes moved from hers to her mouth and then dropping lower. Suddenly he looked hungry and it made her stomach feel prickly. He leaned closer and whispered against the sensitive shell of her ear.

“Wanna get out of here?”

She caught her breath.

Did that mean what she thought it meant?

Sex?

She shook her head.

He pulled her to him again. “No. Just outside.”

Just outside? A flare of anticipation died within her. For some reason the thought of him wanting to take her home had excited her. But that was stupid because she was not that kind of girl. No matter what Kate said.

But she needed a breath of fresh air and she couldn’t keep shouting at him. She looked over her shoulder for Kate, but her friend was nowhere to be found. She’d likely gone off with the guy she’d been accidentally brushing against all night.

Jack took the towel from her, tossed it onto the bar and gave her a wolfish smile. She felt his sexy grin right down to her French manicured toes. Her heart leaped in her chest.

Whoa, easy girl,
her mind said, though her body tightened in response.

She nodded to Jack. He grabbed her hand and headed toward the entrance of the club while she tried to wrap her mind around the fact that sex with the nightclub owner had automatically popped into her head. Was she insane? Why would she jump to that conclusion? Sex might not even be on his mind. But he was a guy…sex was always on men’s minds, wasn’t it? So many questions rambled around in her head. She decided to stop thinking and focus on the backside of the man tugging her toward the stainless-steel doors. And his backside was a rather nice view.

Before she could blink or change her mind, they reached the lobby foyer and tumbled into the night.

The hot night air sucked the breath from Nellie’s body, not to mention that as soon as the doors closed behind them, Jack spun her into a kiss.

At the touch of his lips on hers, Nellie forgot to breathe. In fact, she forgot who she really was and who she was supposed to be.

All that existed was the man wrapping his arms around her. There was nothing tentative in his kiss. It was demanding, passionate, and all things Nellie had ever dreamed of in a kiss.

He threaded one hand in her hair and tugged her head back, allowing him to deepen the kiss. His tongue stroked her bottom lip just once before he broke the kiss.

He pulled back and stared down at her, his sapphire eyes a mixture of passion and perplexity. He blinked and gave her a lopsided smile. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

Nellie looked up at him and croaked, “That’s okay.”

He released her and stepped back, nearly clipping the loafer of a fat guy in a Hawaiian shirt pulling on the hand of a frizzy-haired woman.

“Watch it,” the man said.

Jack didn’t say anything. Just stared at her. “I will.”

The street on which they stood was not dark. Not in Vegas. The whole strip lit the night like a department store Christmas tree. Festivity permeated the air. The sidewalks were busy, papered with flyers and discarded cigarettes. Shouts of laughter came from the people lined up behind the red velvet rope to the left of them.

Jack ignored them. Instead his focus was on Nellie. “My name’s Jack. Jack Darby.”

Nellie started to extend her hand, but that felt wrong. They’d just lip-locked in front of all of Vegas. She shoved her hand into her back pocket. “Uh, my name’s Elle.” God, the bogus name felt awkward on her tongue. Elle. What an impostor.

He curled his arm around her, his fingers briefly dipping into the waist of her jeans, stroking her bare hip and causing her stomach to contract as he murmured low in her ear, “Nice to meet you, Elle.”

Nellie swallowed hard. This guy was a professional, just like the one Kate had been with. And as much as the idea of a random hookup appealed to a part of her, she really had no business playing with the fire that was Jack Darby. Plus, the man had ignored her the last time they’d seen each other. He was shallow. Not worthy of the black lace thong she wore.

“Uh, maybe I should go back. I’m with friends and I’m not the kind…” She snapped her mouth shut. What was she saying? Wasn’t this what she wanted when those snippy cheerleaders made fun of her in the library study room? To be different? To open herself up to possibilities? The man with his arm curled around her had to be all the things she’d never experienced, even if he was as shallow as certain gene pools.

So why not?

Carpe diem, right?

“Let me call my friend and tell her I’m with you.” Nellie swallowed again. Mostly because she’d just issued an invitation. Or thought she had. She slid the slim cell phone from the pocket of her jeans. The message screen popped up on her phone. Kate had already texted she would catch up with her at the hotel.

“Get your friend?”

“What? Oh, yeah. I’m gonna meet her later, I guess.”

He smiled. “Much later.”

Nellie swallowed, hesitation rearing its head at his comment. Why was she going off with some guy just because his kiss turned her to pudding? She knew nothing about him.

Well, okay, she knew a lot of stuff from the magazine article. He had a couple of sisters, had gone to USC on a baseball scholarship, and had worked his way up from busboy to owner of three separate multimillion-dollar nightclubs. He had an MBA, a dog named Dutch, one house in Malibu and another in Vegas. He was thirty-two, single and loved taking his nephew to Cardinal games.

So he wasn’t a garden-variety serial killer. She should ignore “Nellie” and instead listen to “Elle.”

Shouldn’t she?

“So now we’ve been introduced, what should we do?” he asked, his fingers still aimlessly stroking the bare flesh between the tight bustier and her jeans. His touch was seriously driving her crazy, making heat flare in strange regions of her body.

What did she want to do? Was it a trick question?

“Um, I don’t know. I’m not from here. Well, I assumed we were going to…your place?”

His eyes widened. “Really?”

Nellie could feel her cheeks redden. Shit. He didn’t want sex. She felt as dumb as a cow. “Oh, I meant…I’m sorry, it’s just you kissed me and…I assumed you wanted…”

Jack smiled at her loss of words. “Well, I can’t lie. I’ve been thinking about getting you naked all night.” He paused, as if he wasn’t sure himself. “But, as much as I want to introduce you to my new sheets, I assumed you wouldn’t be up for that.”

Nellie didn’t know what to say. Had he sensed her inner struggle? “I…”

His eyes found hers. They looked almost tender in the glittering city lights. “I like the thought of getting to know you, Elle.”

“Seriously?” Jack Darby, the consummate Vegas playboy, didn’t want sex? He wanted to get to know her better?

Jack shrugged. “Don’t you ever want to do things a little different?”

Different? She almost laughed. If only he really knew how different she was being. Or maybe he did. “Okay. So what do you want to do? Go to the casino? Grab a drink?”

A funny light appeared in Jack’s eyes. “I’ve got the perfect place.” He looked over at a valet lolling at his stand. “Hey, Sammy, get my car.”

“You got it, Jack,” the valet said, hurrying into the fluorescent-lit garage to their left.

Before Nellie could blink, the red car from the magazine spread appeared in front of them. She had no idea what kind of car it was, but it looked sexy and fast. Kind of like the man beside her.

The valet hopped out, leaving the car roaring. Jack handed him a crisp bill and pulled open the low-slung door for her. She slid into the leather interior, noting the car humming beneath her, a sensual reminder of the power of the man sliding behind the wheel. Before she could blink, they pulled away from the curb and onto the busy Vegas strip.

She sneaked a glance at Jack Darby. He had one hand draped over the steering wheel, his dark hair ruffled by the breeze. He looked like a movie star, had that sort of luminous quality that made her long to reach out and touch him, just get close to him. She shivered despite the warm air blowing through the open windows.

Even though she thought she knew the kind of man Jack Darby was, she realized she’d just done something her grandmother had told her to never do.

She’d just gotten into a car with a strange man.