Waking Up in Vegas (5 page)

She stepped into the cab and shut the door firmly in his face. It took all her effort not to look back as the cab pulled out into the traffic.

Phoenix couldn’t wait to get out of her work clothes and into a long hot bath. She’d been on her feet ten hours straight, she was hot, tired, and she couldn’t get a certain roguishly charming winemaker out of her thoughts. Even though he hadn’t returned her call.

Her mouth watered at the delicious, spicy scent wafting down the motel corridor. It made a pleasant change from the heavy fried grease smell from the apartment next door. The smell would have to keep her going until she’d changed out of her work uniform and ordered take-out.

She slipped her key into the latch and opened the door. The scent wafted straight out of her apartment. She blinked in surprise.

Max stood at the stove she never used, stirring a pot of fragrant…she sniffed the air…Thai curry, with coconut. Yum, another favourite.

“You cook?” Silly question considering what he was doing. Why hadn’t she asked the more obvious question of
what are you doing here?
Or better yet:
how did you get in?

He grinned, and as if reading her thoughts, “Your landlady let me in.”

So much for that privacy she’d been promised when she signed the short-term lease.

“Well at least you’ve saved me a trip.” She kicked off her shoes and threw her purse and a large manila envelope onto the white melamine coffee table. “Those are the divorce papers.”

Turns out Khara’s brother was a divorce lawyer. She’d almost suspected a set-up but her friend had seemed truly contrite.

I can’t believe you don’t remember
she’d said.
It was as if you were under some sort of spell. I was so sure this was it: Love with a capital L.

That was the champagne,
she’d replied.

“You shouldn’t have.” Max’s tone was dry. “Have a bath and I’ll pour you some wine.”

Too tired to argue, she headed for the bathroom which wasn’t much bigger than the closet in his fancy hotel suite. She ground to a halt in the bedroom doorway. A large designer label suitcase lay on the bed. It certainly wasn’t hers.

“What the hell is this?” she demanded.

“I told you, I really want us to give this marriage thing a shot and show you that we belong together. Since you don’t want to stay with me in my hotel, I checked out and came here.”

This was verging on stalkerish. She was sure she should care more but all she could think of was…“There’s only one bed.”

And he would never fit on the two-seater sofa.

“There was only one bed in my hotel room but that didn’t seem to matter.”

She wetted her lips. A sane and sensible young woman was not supposed to go weak at the knees at the thought of sharing a bed with her stalker. Nor was she supposed to have fantasies that involved him, her and that same bed.

She pressed her eyes shut.

“You might want to hurry with that bath. Dinner’s nearly ready.”

She shucked off her clothes as she headed to the bathroom. Another surprise awaited her there. Steam clung to the walls and frosted the mirror. He’d already run her a bath. Complete with scented oil, rose petals and candles.

All he had to do was throw in the champagne and she’d be screwed. Literally.

She submerged herself in the rose-scented warmth and closed her eyes. Baths, dinner, wine. She could get used to this. If being married meant being waited on hand and foot, then perhaps it wasn’t so bad.

Who was she kidding? Everyone she’d ever known who’d married had ended up divorced. Those that made it through, like her parents, and Max’s, just landed up with unbearable pain when their partner died. She’d been through that pain twice already and that was more than enough for one lifetime, thank you very much.

When her skin grew wrinkled she finally clambered out the bath. If Max wanted to stick around, then he was about to experience Phoenix as he’d never experienced her before. She grinned as she pulled on her rattiest t-shirt (her father’s souvenir of a Megadeth concert a lifetime ago) and her least flattering pair of drawstring sweat pants.

Max had a glass of crisp white wine ready and waiting for her. She took it straight to the couch in front of the television, flopped down, and began to channel surf, deliberately ignoring the table set out ready and waiting. Complete with the crystal vase of yellow roses she’d left in his hotel room.

If she’d hoped to annoy him, it didn’t work. He brought his own glass of wine to the sofa and sat beside her. Since it wasn’t the largest sofa in the world, his arm slung across the back was as good as slung around her shoulders. She could lean right back into the solid comfort of him…

She shifted as far away as she could.

“If you prefer, we can have dinner on TV trays,” he suggested.

She sighed. It was pointless trying to push him away. He invaded her space, her senses, no matter what she did, and an increasingly large part of her enjoyed it.

“The table will be fine.” She gulped down a mouthful of wine. “Hey, this is good. Another one of yours?”

His mouth quirked. “Not quite, but it’s from my homeland … my father’s homeland.”

“Where is that?”

He shook his head. “You won’t have heard of it. It’s a small independent nation called Westerwald.”

She hadn’t heard of it. “You were born there?”

The television’s flicker reflected in his deep azure eyes. “I was raised there.”

Which would explain that trace of an accent. “Tell me about it.”

He shifted beside her and not entirely coincidentally, his arm slipped around her shoulders. His touch was as good as she remembered.

“The principality is formed around one of Europe’s larger rivers. The modern capital is the city of Neustadt, though of course like everything in Europe it’s not new at all, but a few centuries old. The city is where the government is based, and the major industries, mainly electronics, but the most beautiful part of the countryside is up river. It’s a magical place, rich in folklore and fairy tales, with mountains on either side of the winding river, ancient castles and small medieval towns.”

She was fascinated. His voice had taken on a lyrical quality, and she could tell his love for his homeland ran deep. She could picture the place so clearly. She should definitely add this little country she’d never heard of to her Bucket List. “What language do they speak?”

“Since it sits at the crossroads of Europe, the people speak everything. German, French, Dutch, Flemish, and their own dialect. They even speak English.”

Good, then she would be able to get around on her own. Maybe even get a job and stay a while. “You said it’s a principality. Does that mean there’s a prince?”

“Strictly speaking, it’s an arch duchy ruled by the Arch Duke. But all his sons and grandsons have the title of Prince.” He removed his arm from her shoulders and rose. “We should eat before the food gets cold.”

She followed him to the table.

The curry was delicious. “Are you this good at everything you do?”

Oops. That wasn’t quite what she’d meant to ask, even if it’s what she’d been wondering.

He grinned. “I did a cooking tour of Thailand a few summer’s ago. Aside from Thai food I can just about scramble an egg.”

She laughed. “Then I guess breakfast is my responsibility.”

Another oops.

His grin widened. “Was that an invitation to stay the night?”

“Since I don’t seem to have any say in the matter, you can stay. But you have to promise to keep to your side of the bed.”

“Now where’s the fun in that? I thought you were a whole lot more adventurous.”

With her mind and body, yes. With her heart? Not so much.

After dinner they curled up together on the sofa and watched mind-numbing TV, not usually Phoenix’s entertainment of choice, but it felt surprisingly comforting to just do nothing with Max. Though if he was even half as aware of her as she was of him, then neither of them had a hope in hell of absorbing what they were watching.

Her eyelids began to droop. Two late nights in a row had begun to take their toll.

“Don’t fight it,” Max said gently. He wrapped her arm around his neck and lifted her off the sofa.

“We’re making a bit of a habit of this,” she mumbled, as he carried her across the threshold into her narrow bedroom with its beige walls, navy striped curtains, and the same nondescript framed prints that hung in a thousand motel rooms across the country. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing like the bed we shared the first night. Not that either of us got much sleep, I think.”

“You remember?”

She shook her head wearily against his shoulder. She’d given up trying to remember. It only hurt her head.

He laid her gently on the bed and folded the navy bedspread over her. Then he brushed a kiss across her cheek. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.

For a long while she drifted on the edge of sleep, aware of his movements in the other room as he cleared up the remnants of dinner. But she couldn’t sleep.

When he finally switched off the television and lights and came into the bedroom, she was wide awake again.

And when he undressed and slid under the sheets beside her, sleep was banished completely. Just great. Tomorrow she’d have to drag herself through another ten hours of fake smiles and exhaustion for more measly tips.

She should have taken one of the sedatives she’d been prescribed after her father’s funeral but she no longer trusted them. No longer trusted what she’d do if she took them.

She resolutely turned her back on Max. It made no difference. In the dark, in spite of the television blaring in the apartment on one side and the couple bickering on the other, she was aware of every noise Max made. Of the sound of his breathing, the rustle of sheets as he shifted position, of the creak of the bed when he finally rolled away, giving up on her.

Why was she being such an ass about this? What could it hurt to enjoy having a man in the house? Someone to take care of her and love her.

Someone to make love to her. Her skin prickled at the thought, sending shock waves through her veins.

The answer was out there in the living room, in a thick manila envelope. She had to keep her distance, because she couldn’t risk her heart again. She was already bound to him tighter than she wanted. Until he signed those papers, her will was not hers alone. For that reason she couldn’t give in to him.

She’d continue to push him away no matter how much it hurt her and no matter how much she wanted him.

She’d rebel against the institution, against the legal binding, as she always had against authority. As her parents had done before her.

If only she and Max were simply two strangers out for a good time, expecting to go their separate ways as soon as the going got tough.
That
she could live with.

She squeezed her eyes shut and begged sleep to take her. But it was a very, very long time before it did.

Waking to the solid warmth of another body in the bed, especially a body that was curled around hers, with an arm slung across her hip, was a novel sensation for Phoenix. In all her living memory, she couldn’t remember spooning with anyone. Those rare moments when she lapsed and gave in to her passions, she never hung around long enough to endure the morning after.

Now the morning after didn’t seem quite so terrifying. She rolled over in Max’s arms, contemplating giving in and cuddling up to that smooth, broad, bare chest. His eyelids fluttered briefly but the real indication that he was awake was the wicked smile that curved his mouth.

She tried to wriggle away, but his arm clamped harder around her, holding her close.

“I offered to make breakfast,” she reminded him.

His eyes opened, and she drowned in them. Blue as the sea, infinitely deep, and just as dangerous. “Breakfast can wait. This can’t.”

His mouth crushed hers, his kiss breathlessly intoxicating. Her entire body responded to his touch, instantly awake and needy. She pressed against him, moulding the length of her body against the hardness and solidness of him.

I shouldn’t be doing this. I
really
shouldn’t be doing this.

His tongue slid over her parted lips, and she welcomed him in.

He pinned her down and her arms slipped around him, holding him close as if afraid he’d disappear, like the edge of a dream on waking.

This was bad. Already she was afraid of losing him. Already she wanted to cling to him, as if she were drowning.

But she couldn’t allow herself to hope. Because if he failed, if the water still claimed either one of them, she’d never recover.

With the last shred of sense left in her, she placed her hands on Max’s chest and pushed. Caught unawares, he broke the kiss. But he didn’t let her go.

Confusion darkened his eyes. “You don’t want…?”

“Yes…no…” Of course she wanted. That was the problem. She extricated herself from his embrace. “I need to think.”

“You think too much.”

No one had ever accused her of that before. She wasn’t exactly a look before you leap kind of person. But she also wasn’t the kind of person who was easily led. She made up her own mind and she only ever did what she wanted to do. Which was why her marriage to Max was such a puzzle. She certainly hadn’t married against her will, champagne or not.

He tried to pull her back but she resisted, forcing her brightest smile to her face. “I’ll make coffee.”

She was in the kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee, when he wandered through. He still wore nothing but boxers and she was far too aware of that magnificent chest. His shoulders were broad and those abs … it definitely wasn’t the coffee making her mouth water.

She averted her gaze and kept her hands busy filling the kettle.

“Hey, the drip’s stopped.”

“It just needed a washer replacing.” Max leaned against the doorjamb.

“You fixed the tap?”

He shrugged, as if it was no big deal. But her estimation of him leapt up another notch. She’d never met a rich man who not only knew how to change a washer, but also didn’t mind getting his hands dirty.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. It was real nice having someone take care of her. Even growing up, she’d had to do so much for herself. Dad had been fun and he’d tried hard to make up for the lack of a mother in her life but he was a musician and musos weren’t exactly the most practical people she’d ever met. Even the managers and agents who leeched off them tended to be pie-in-the-sky people.