Hearts in Vegas (Harlequin Superromance) (8 page)

To earn her love.

She blinked and the spell was broken.

But from the flush in her cheeks and the way she looked at him—a mix of disbelief and incredulity—he half wondered if she’d felt it, too.

“Let’s get your phone,” she said quietly.

Let’s.
He liked that.

Turning, she headed to her car.

“Let me get your door,” he said, jogging ahead of her.

She pulled out the key and pressed a button. The doors clicked open, and he pulled on the driver’s handle, opening the door for her.

She stood, giving him an expectant look. “Aren’t you going to get your phone? I don’t know where you tossed it.”

He grinned, reached under the seat, found it.

Straightening, he dropped it back into his pocket, then stood next to the door as she eased herself into the driver’s seat. This was going exceptionally well, so much better than he’d hoped. Time to find out more about this mystery lady who’d stolen his heart.

He leaned over and asked, “What’s your name?”

She gave him a Cheshire-cat smile. “Babe.”

The door slammed shut.

Stunned, he watched the car pull out of the lot, caught her wave goodbye before the Benz disappeared down the street.

Whatever mysterious kinship he’d felt just got more mysterious. Maybe she wasn’t head over heels, but she felt
something
for him, and from those last looks he caught in her eyes, she felt more than mere curiosity. She liked him.

Well, there was only way to solve the riddle of the Babe.

Time to give Dmitri a call and let him know he was interested in that job.

CHAPTER FIVE

I
N
1976, B
ENEDICT
M
ORGAN
was hired as a security officer at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, later renamed Bally’s, retiring from there in 2004 as head of its security division. Respected by everyone from union bosses to the housekeeping staff, he had a reputation for being fair, never holding a grudge and quoting sayings, his favorite being, “Courage and a sense of humor is all you need to get by in life.”

When he retired, Bally’s gave his family lifetime discounts to their facilities. Several times a week, Drake and Braxton used that discount to work out at the Bally’s fitness center. This Friday morning, they were grabbing a quick workout before starting their days.

“Let me get this straight,” Drake said, grabbing a hand towel to mop the sweat off his brow, “the first time you met her—yesterday, right?—you said her hair looked like a prim schoolmarm bun?”

“Met her on Thursday,” Braxton concurred, running on a treadmill, “and I said
uptight,
not
prim.
”

“Big difference.” Drake tossed the towel onto a wooden bench. “Let me give you a word of advice, bro. Ladies like to be
complimented,
not insulted.”

“After I catch my breath...remind me to laugh.”

He pointed to his water bottle where he’d left it on the floor. Drake picked it up and handed it to him.

“Like I said...thought you’d set her up...to do that.” Braxton took a swig of water.

“As if I’d waste my money hiring some hot blonde to play out your private-eye fantasy.” Drake took back the bottle and dropped it on the bench on his way to a rack of barbells.

“Did you waste your money...paying the entry fee for the Valentine’s Day auction?”

“I wanted you to get out of the house.”

“To be a...stud muffin?”

Drake, carrying a set of barbells, headed back to his spot on the mat. “You wish.”

Braxton had to smile. Yeah, he wished. Ever since meeting Miss Smoky-Voiced Bacall, he had wanted nothing more than to be her personal bakery item. And when Dmitri called him back and they set up a meeting to discuss this new security position, Braxton would finally find out Babe’s real name.

“What else did you say to this mystery blonde?”

“You don’t wanna know.” Brax tugged up the edge of his T-shirt, using it to wipe a glob of sweat off his chin.

“Try me.”

“Told her she looked...like Frau Farbissina.”

His brother was one of those guys who could keep a straight face in the weirdest situations. The Three Stooges could be running amok in this workout room, giving each other noogies and eye pokes, and Drake would remain stone-faced. Not that it’d be easy, but he could do it.

But at the moment, he had a look on his face as though he’d just downed an entire pack of Warheads Sour Dippers candies.

“Can’t believe your mouth kept going after that bun line.” He straightened, a barbell in each hand. “She’s Dmitri’s associate, eh?”

Braxton nodded.

“Know what she does there?” Drake slowly curled the weights toward his shoulders.

“No idea, but she drives a Benz.”

“Yeah, Grams told me.”

“How’d she know?”

“Thought you told her.” He lowered the weights to his sides.

No, but Brax had mentioned it to Val, who’d obviously shared it with his grandmother. Didn’t these people have anything better to talk about?

Drake gave his brother a knowing look. “You did something to that Benz, didn’t you?”

Sometimes Brax thought the two of them could have their own cable psychic show, except instead of reading other people’s minds, they’d read each other’s.

“Yeah...I did something.” He walked, trying to catch his breath. “Threw my...phone in it.”

Drake rolled his eyes to the heavens as though seeking divine intervention. “I can’t believe how dumb you are. You tracked her to where?”

“Chez Manny.”

“That place still open?”

Braxton nodded.

“What’d you do—walk into the restaurant and ask her out?” Drake kept lifting the barbells, never missing a beat, his biceps bulging.

“I have...more class...than that.”

“Accosted her in the parking lot?”

“
Accosted
...is a...very strong word.”

Drake snorted a laugh. “Please tell me she didn’t call the police.”

Braxton ran hard and panted. “She was...pleased to see me.”

Okay,
pleased
might be pushing it, but it was close.

“But you still don’t know her name.”

“She had...to leave...quickly.”

Drake glanced at the wall clock. “As do I. Hey, Val and I talked last night about that due-diligence report you showed us. If it were a report card, Dmitri would be an A-plus student.” He kept lifting the bells, his breathing even. “He’s got the business chops to help you carve a future. Just be sure you want it for yourself—not because you want to score with this blonde.”

“Eighty percent, self...twenty, the blonde.”

“Called him yet?”

“Left two messages...said I was interested.”

“Good.”

Braxton had been concerned he would be letting Val and Drake down if he left Morgan-LeRoy, but Val reminded him their invitation for him to join the agency as a contractor had always been with the understanding he could come and go as he wished. They’d never said it, but deep down he sensed they’d offered him that desk so he’d have a job to go to every day, a stepping stone to regaining his self-esteem.

At first he’d felt awkward sitting there like some kind of male receptionist. At least he made a damned good pot of coffee, and he liked clients meeting him in a real office instead of some coffee shop, but most of all he liked having a purpose again.

“Gonna miss you guys,” he said.

“Not for long. Remember, you’re our standby sitter after the baby arrives.” He glanced at the wall clock again. “Mind holding down the agency until noon or so? Told Val I’d take her out to breakfast, then we’re going birthday-gift shopping for Grams. Don’t forget—we’re all meeting at eleven-thirty Sunday for her birthday brunch. Cara’s on the ground floor at Sensuelle. Can’t miss it.”

Cara was a new Italian restaurant at Sensuelle, the same casino where the Valentine’s Day auction was taking place. Grams had selected Sensuelle to host this Keep ’Em Rolling auction fund-raiser, then asked for her birthday to be celebrated there, as well.

The auction would inevitably come up at the family get-together.

“After I get home...I’ll tell Grams...I can’t do the auction.”

Drake gave him a look. “Can’t believe you haven’t told her yet.”

Too difficult to talk, walk
and
feel guilt-ridden at the same time. Braxton punched a button to decrease the cardio program speed, and the treadmill started to slow.

“Wanted to the last...few nights, but...she was out.”

“She and Richmond are out
every
night these days.”

And all night, too, but Braxton didn’t want to think about his grandmother having sex. Not that Grams was a fuddy-duddy. When he was ten years old, she’d slipped him a book about the birds and the bees, told him to feel free to ask any questions. He’d opened the book and asked why there were so many pictures of pollywogs swimming. She smiled and said, “Because they’re
very
happy
pollywogs, darling.”

“Told Mom you’re getting your own place?” Pushing out an exhale, Drake raised the weights.

More guilt. “No.”

“Bro, you gotta stop putting off these talks.”

I’m not your kid brother, I’m your twin. Born four minutes before you, by the way.
Which Braxton would say out loud if he didn’t have to pause for breaths every few words.

Pissed him off that his brother could pump iron and talk at the same time.

And that he was right.

Again.

Although, in Braxton’s defense, it wasn’t easy to schedule a face-to-face with his social-butterfly grandmother these days.

But his mom...he didn’t want to tell her he was thinking about getting his own place because it would upset her. They’d spent years not talking, losing time as a family, and she felt as though they were still making up for that loss.

She’d never said that, but he knew it. Because he felt the same way.

“I’m hitting the shower,” Drake said, setting his barbells back in the rack, “then leaving to pick up Val.”

“See you this afternoon.” Brax caught his brother’s look. “Look, I’ll tell them, ’kay?”

After Drake left, Brax continued walking as the machine slowed to a stop, then stepped onto the floor and stood there for a moment, drying his face with a towel.

Coming back into the family fold hadn’t been easy, but now that he was with them, he didn’t want to start leaving again. Leaving Drake and Val at the Morgan-LeRoy agency. Leaving Mom and Grams at his childhood home. Hell, even leaving his grandmother’s damned fund-raising event.

There’d been some lonely years when he had wished he could just hear his mom’s voice. He wasn’t ready to not hear her traipsing down the hall, asking if he’d mind taking out the trash, joking while they cooked dinner, even grumping around in the morning, muttering about the neighbors’ barking dog.

He’d been her prodigal son who’d squandered his money, dirtied his reputation and shamed his family. And then one day, he realized he’d lost his way, lost the people who mattered most.

The night last August when he was finally man enough to return home, he hadn’t known what to expect, only what he hoped for.

Brax headed to the rack of barbells and selected two forty-pounders.

If he wanted to look good at that auction, he needed to shred some muscle.

* * *

O
N
S
UNDAY
,
SHORTLY
after eleven, the taxi pulled into the congested parking area in front of Sensuelle. A fat drop of rain splatted on the windshield.

“Ain’t that sumpthin’,” the cabbie said, looking up at the gray clouds. “Weather guy said rain yesterday, not a drop. Said sunshine today, we’re gettin’ rain.” With a shrug, he turned off the meter. “Twenty-two dollars.”

Braxton gave him twenty-five, tucked his birthday present to Grams under his suit jacket and exited the taxi. Cold drops of rain stung his face as he dashed between cars toward the front doors of the hotel-casino.

Inside the lobby, he paused to shake the moisture from his hair. Outside, thunder rumbled. Just a few hours ago, skies had been clear and blue, barely a cloud in sight. The only thing consistent about Vegas weather this time of year was its unpredictability.

He turned and headed toward the casino, then stopped. A sign—had to be fifteen feet high—hung over the entrance. Underneath a photo of some guy wearing little more than a hey-girl smile were the words:

MAGIC DREAM DATE AUCTION

Ladies, Win a Date with the
Manwich of Your Dreams!

Studs up for Sale, Starting Bids $10

Raise Money for Keep ’Em Rolling!
Highest bid wins a car!

Gritting his teeth, he kept walking, mentally reciting his new mantra.
I’m doing it for Grams
.
I’m doing it for Grams
.

After navigating his way through a small city of clanging, buzzing slot machines and taking a detour around a group of drunk guys wearing baseball caps that read Team Groom, he spied the sparkling green-and-red sign, Cara.

A few minutes later, a perky hostess wearing a name tag that said Sally from Boise, Idaho, ushered him through the restaurant to a large round table in the back, an arrangement of pink roses in the middle. At the table sat a chubby guy with wiry brown hair, nursing a drink with an umbrella. In front of him, an empty bread basket and a paper bag with a bow stapled on it.

Li’l Bit.

A thirtysomething process server who was good friends with Drake, although to Braxton they had about as much in common as Dick Cheney and Adam Sandler. But as Drake explained it, he and Li’l Bit shared a passion for their professions, and they always had each other’s backs.

Braxton’s grandmother and Li’l Bit were also friends after discovering their mutual hero worship of
Inner Sanctum Mysteries,
an old-time radio program that broadcast shows with ghoulish names like “Tempo in Blood” and “The Unforgiving Corpse.” Every week or so, Li’l Bit would drop by the house and listen to a show with Grams while she sipped a martini and puffed her nightly cigarillo. Li’l Bit usually drank a beer or three and, from the occasional whiff of ganja Braxton detected, toked a joint.

“Nice threads, man.” Li’l Bit, his eyes pinker than the roses, nodded approvingly at Braxton’s oxford-gray suit and vest.

Braxton set his gift on the table and took a seat, eyeing the words on Li’l Bit’s T-shirt, Life Goes On, Man.

Seeing Brax check out his T-shirt, Li’l Bit said, “Yeah, it’s from
The Big Lebowski
. That was a killer movie. Jeff Bridges, man, he rocked as The Dude. ‘Life Goes On, Man’ is one of The Dude’s sayings.” Turning somber, he leaned forward, nearly knocking over his umbrella drink. “But it’s more than that. That quote is like a vibe that resonates through time, man, touching people with its energy.”

Braxton nodded, hoping other people would arrive soon. Perhaps someone from this decade.

“Hey, your mom told me you got some new gig. Head of security?”

“Yes,” Braxton answered.

Li’l Bit made a power fist, pumping the air with it a few times. “That’s righteous, dude.”

“Thanks.” Okay, he got that his brother and Grams were pals with Li’l Bit, but with his mom, too? She was so restrained, so conservative, so...un-ganjalike.

“Wonder where that waiter-dude went,” Li’l Bit said, scratching his chin as he looked around the room. “We’re outta bread, and I need a mai tai refiller.”

“What did my mother say about the job?”

When Braxton had first told her about it a few days ago, she’d seemed more taken aback than happy, although she’d quickly recovered and said it sounded like a great opportunity. She had always been like that—preferring to show support for others rather than express her own opinions.