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She smiled. “No.”
She executed a perfect dive into the water. He let out a long, long breath, and for a few minutes he watched her expertly cut through the water, the joy in her movements contagious. He wanted to join her in the worst way, but in a sense it would have been like some fool painting daisies into a Monet. Perfection spoiled. He forced himself onto a patio chair, peeled off his shirt because he was suddenly far too warm and poured coffee instead.
She bobbed up at the side of the pool, folding her arms along the coping. “Hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t resist a quick dip. We have a pool in our apartment building, but it’s indoors.” She wrinkled her nose as though that were a cardinal sin.
“Take all the time you like. I’m enjoying the view.”
She tilted her head. “Not misinterpreting, I hope.”
“I’ll have to admit,” he said, taking a sip of strong black coffee to jolt his mind back up where it belonged, “your…lack of inhibition did take me in a certain direction. I now stand corrected.”
She smiled and lithely hoisted herself from the water and onto the deck in one fluid movement. Like Venus rising from the sea. She padded to the table with water flowing from her lightly tanned skin like drops of molten gold, and reached for his cup. She put it to her lips with eyes closed and long lashes sparkling with water droplets. He had to grip the arms of his chair to keep from surging to his feet to lick them off. Along with the rivulets trickling down her perfect breasts.
He stifled a groan.
She set the cup down on the table. “Give me a minute,” she said. “I’ll get dressed.” Then she disappeared into the cabana.
He cleared his throat, found his voice and called after her, “Don’t bother on my account!”
And he knew then if he hadn’t before—which deep down he had, but up until this very moment had chosen total, blind denial. One thing was for damned certain.
He had to have her.
Really have her. All to himself. For a few days. A week. Maybe even a month. Long enough to explore that chatterbox mouth with its guileless smile, that amazingly sensual body and the wonderfully sassy woman inside it.
Oh, yeah. He’d have her, all right.
He’d find a way to make her want him.
And the sooner the better.
Or he might just go completely out of his mind.
Chapter 8
“I have a proposition for you.”
Vera halted her coffee cup halfway to her mouth and glanced at Conner. “What kind of proposition?” she asked. Like she couldn’t guess.
Frankly, she’d been expecting this. She was actually surprised he’d managed to hold out as long as he had. Nearly a whole hour. While they’d talked of her childhood, his crazy relationship with his famous cousins and what it was like to stare up at the night sky out in the vast desert and see a billion gazillion stars up there and wonder if there was any other life in the universe.
Nevertheless, disappointment sifted through her. For some unfathomable reason, she’d thought he might be different from all the other men who tried to get in her pants. She’d hoped he was different. He’d been lost in thought for the past few minutes, and she’d really believed he was adjusting his perception of her. Starting to see her as a whole person and not just a nude body onstage or an easy seduction in an elevator.
Oh, well.
“More like an exchange of services,” he explained.
“Uh-huh.”
Her expression must have betrayed her skepticism, because he rushed to say, “I’d pay you, of course.”
She set down her cup very, very carefully. “For what, Conner?”
He exhaled. “You know that deal I made with Duncan for your release? Well, there was more to it than just reporting in on Darla’s movements.”
Okay, he’d managed to surprise her. Not that this sounded much better than some kind of sexual favor. “Like what?” she asked cautiously.
“I promised I’d help him find out about the jewel theft ring Darla’s allegedly part of. Try to narrow down suspects for him.”
“I told you I don’t know anything about that.”
“But I’d like your help investigating.”
“Me?”
“I’ve been thinking about how much you look like Darla. It’s obvious you’re her sister. You could get people to talk to you. A lot easier than I could.”
“But I don’t know anyone involved,” she said. “Who would I talk to?”
“That’s what I need your help figuring out. I’ll bet someone from her circle of friends is either in on the jewelry thefts or knows something about the ring of thieves doing them. You’ve met most of her friends, right?”
“Well. Not really. Only the ones who’ve been to parties at our apartment or who we’ve occasionally gone out with together, like to casinos or clubs. But that doesn’t happen very often. And very few know I’m her sister. We’ve mostly passed off our resemblance just as a fun coincidence.”
He tilted his head. “Really? And she didn’t invite you to other people’s parties? Social events? That sort of thing?”
She glanced away. To her credit, Darla had invited her to lots of things. Vera had even gone. Once. And stood in a corner the whole time paralyzed with feelings of inadequacy. “I don’t really fit into her social stratosphere.”
He regarded her for a moment. “Her evaluation or yours?”
“Mine,” she admitted with a shrug. “And my father’s. He threatened to disown Darla if she spread it around that he’d spawned an illegitimate child. He’d make my life hell if it got out.”
“I assume you’re talking about Maximillian St. Giles.”
“Daddy dearest.” She sighed. After twenty-four years, you’d think she’d be used to the hurt. But it still cut like a shard of glass to the heart when she thought about his categorical rejection.
“What could he possibly have against you?” Conner asked, echoing the question she’d asked herself a thousand times. Always with the same answer.
She looked back at Conner. “I take my clothes off for a living. And I suppose I remind him of his vulnerability. Or failings. Or both.”
“And whose fault is all that? Not yours.” He shook his head. “The man’s a dolt. If I had a daughter as smart, gorgeous and determined as you, I’d be showing her off to everyone, not hiding her away like she was something to be ashamed of. I wouldn’t care how she came into the world.”
Vera blinked, blindsided by the sincere indignation in Conner’s voice…on her behalf. No one had ever defended her honor so vehemently. No one.
She swallowed the lump that welled up in her throat. “Thanks. Too bad he’s not quite as broad-minded as you are.”
“That settles it,” Conner said, folding his arms over his chest and surveying her with a resolute smile. “No argument. You’re coming with me.”
Alarm zinged up her spine. “Where?”
“The Lights of Las Vegas Charity Ball on Friday night.”
He had to be kidding. The Lights of Las Vegas Charity Ball was the biggest annual charity fund-raiser in the city; everyone who was anyone went—provided you were a gazillionaire or a famous star of some sort.
“What, me? No! Hell, no. Are you nuts?”
“All of Darla’s friends will be there. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to ask questions. Hey!” he exclaimed with growing excitement. “Maybe the thieves are planning to work the event and we can catch them in the act.”
“One small problem.”
“What’s that?”
“Aside from the fact that I’d never in a million years be able to pull it off, I work Friday. It’s our biggest night.”
He waved a hand in the air dismissively. “I’ll pay you better. Name your fee.”
“And I have nothing to wear that doesn’t fasten with Velcro,” she added wryly.
“With a clothes allowance.”
God, so tempting. He waggled his eyebrows, and for a nanosecond she actually considered it. Then she shook her head. “I can’t. Honestly. I’d be lost at one of those fancy society bashes. I wouldn’t have the faintest idea what to do or how to conduct myself. People would laugh—”
He took her hand in his over the table and gazed intently at her. “Trust me, no one will laugh. Not after I’m done with you.”
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“Ever see My Fair Lady?”
She gave him a withering smile and yanked back her hand. “Yeah, and look what happened to Eliza Doolittle at the horse race. I rest my case.”
He chuckled. “The difference being, you wouldn’t need to change a single thing. Just be yourself as you ask around after Darla. Say she’s disappeared and as her roommate, you’re worried about her.”
“I wouldn’t be lying. I am worried.”
“Good. Then you’ll do it.”
She pushed out a breath, still unconvinced. “What if my father shows up?”
“You leave Maximillian St. Giles to me. C’mon, Vera. Take a chance. Be Cinderella for a night. Hell, you’ve even got the perfect shoes.”
She laughed at his handsome, open face and charmingly amused smile. And felt herself weaken.
She shouldn’t.
God knew, she had no business even pretending to belong at a highbrow event like that. Let alone with a man like Conner Rothchild.
“You’re wrong about Darla,” she said. “If I go to that ball, it’s only for one reason. To prove my sister isn’t a criminal.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “It’s a deal.” He looked at her triumphantly. “So, when can we go shopping?”
Silk. Satin. Lace. Bamboo, for crying out loud. When had they started making clothes out of bamboo, anyway?
Vera had never felt so uncomfortable in her life. Not even the first time she’d gone onstage at that seedy titty bar five years ago and taken off every stitch in front of a pack of drooling men had she felt this vulnerable. At least onstage she was in control.
“Utterly stunning,” the duchesslike boutique owner said with a satisfied smile at her creation. Meaning the slinky, floor-length evening gown clinging to Vera’s every curve. “What do you think, Mr. Rothchild?”
He considered. “I think the neckline could be lower.”
“No way,” Vera muttered. “Any lower and you’d have to call it a waistline.”
“So charming,” the duchess cooed. “Your lady friend’s modesty becomes her, my dear.”
Get me out of here.
“Yes,” he deadpanned. “It’s one of my favorite things about her.”
“I’m standing right here, you know,” she said evenly, shooting him a warning glare.
“Well, which gown do you like best? The blue, the red, the gold or the white?” he asked with an unrepentant smile, motioning with a twirled finger for her to spin around one more time in the blue one she was wearing. She grudgingly obliged.
She’d tried on about a thousand different dresses over the past three hours at a dozen or more trendy boutiques before finding a designer Conner approved of, and he had narrowed it down to four choices. Vera hadn’t dared voice an opinion other than about the ones she didn’t care for, because she had no clue what was expected at the Lights of Las Vegas Charity Ball. Each event on the Vegas social calendar had its own dress code, known only to the city’s Chosen Ones. If you violated the Code, people knew and smirked at you behind your back. Or so she’d surmised from the stories of fashion faux pas Darla had come home telling with a superior air of glee.
“They’re all exquisite,” Vera said. And meant it. “And all far too expensive.” And meant that, too. The dresses in this store were so expensive they didn’t even have price tags. “You should donate the money to the charity instead.”
He signaled the boutique owner to give them a minute alone, then smiled at Vera indulgently. “I’ve already made out the check, and trust me, this wouldn’t even put a dent in it. Besides, I want my assistant to be the most stunning woman there.”
Assistant? Oka-ay.
“You wouldn’t deny me that satisfaction, would you?” he asked.
She ignored the deliberate hint his slight emphasis on the word that carried. “So I take it this isn’t a date,” she casually said.
“Definitely not. I’m paying you,” he said oh-so-reasonably. “I wouldn’t want there to be any…misinterpretations.”
Ha-ha. The man was hilarious. And transparent as glass.
“Good,” she said with a quick smile, not falling for the ploy. “Keeping it business is for the best.” Though that did make her stomach sink a little with disappointment. “And since this is on your dime, boss, you choose which gown you like best.”
“Very well. If you insist.”
He studied her again from head to toe, taking so long she was in danger of melting under his scrutiny. The man had a way of undressing her with those dreamy bedroom eyes that made her toes curl and her mouth go dry. Which was a pretty good trick, considering her profession.
“You are so incredibly beautiful,” he said at last and looked up with a funny little smile.
Surprise washed through her at the heartfelt compliment. “Thank you,” she said, flustered by the admiration lingering in his eyes as he continued to gaze at her. “For everything.” She went up on her tiptoes and gave him a soft kiss on the mouth. “You’re being so generous, I don’t know what to say.”
He smiled and kissed her back—a gentle, easy kiss. Then pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’ve said it. Thank you is plenty.”
“I really do feel like Cinderella getting ready for the ball.”
His smile went roguish. He brushed his knuckles down her bare arms, producing a shower of goose bumps. “So, if you’re Cinderella, who does that make me?”
He was so fishing. “My fairy godmother?” she suggested impishly.
He made a face. “Not exactly what I was going for.”
She grinned, her heart spinning in her chest. “I don’t recall reading anywhere that Cinderella was Prince Charming’s assistant.”
“And I don’t remember her being such a smart-aleck.” He tapped her on the end of the nose. “Get changed and I’ll settle up.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me which dress you chose?”
“Nope. It’ll be a surprise.”
“No fair.”
He winked. “Who said anything about fair?” Then he was gone from the dressing room.
She eased out a long breath to slow her fluttering heart. Who, indeed? Nothing was fair about this whole situation. Not Darla involving her in felony theft. Not having to go to this stupid ball and make a fool of herself. Certainly not the fact that she was falling hard and fast for Conner Rothchild, a man so breathtakingly wrong for her it defied all odds. Talk about a fairy tale! Too bad Cinderella was just a story. The kind that didn’t happen in real life.
She really had to make herself remember that. Because after Conner was finished with her, no longer needed her help to fulfill his obligations to the FBI, she knew darn well the magical bubble she’d been floating in would morph back into a pumpkin. It would leave her standing alone, right back where she’d always been. And the only glass slippers she’d be trying on would be on a stage along with a fake wedding dress.
But in the meantime, she had no choice. She must go through with this. Darla would be the one to suffer if she wimped out and didn’t help prove her sister’s innocence.
No, she was well and truly stuck in this crazy situation. So she may as well try to enjoy the ride as best she could. Prince Charming and all.
She just hoped she could hang on to her heart—and not let Conner Rothchild steal it along the way.
Chapter 9
Traffic was a bitch. Parking was even worse.
“Just drop me off,” Vera told Conner after glancing at the dashboard clock for the tenth time in as many minutes.
He knew she was worried about being late for her shift, convinced her boss was looking for an excuse to fire her after she’d been hauled off by the FBI yesterday. To tell the truth, Conner wished she would get fired. She was better than that job. Did not belong at the Diamond Lounge—or anywhere else she had to bare her breasts to make a decent living.
Oh, she’d told him all about her lack of education and her stepfather’s Alzheimer’s and thus the need to keep him in an assisted-living facility. Conner understood her reasons. He did. He was just unconvinced she had no other recourse. She’d simply had no one tell her about other options.
He planned to. As soon as they’d put this FBI mess behind them, he’d show her how she didn’t have to continue in the same vicious cycle as her mother’d been stuck in. There were ways out. To that end, this afternoon he’d paid the bill for the retirement home for the next month. Call it a bonus for her help. That would give her a few weeks’ breathing room to help him. It was the least he could do.
Actually…it was far more than he should be doing. More than he’d ever done for a client before. He’d always prided himself on staying aloof from the all-too-unfair predicaments life had heaped upon many of his clients…hell, most of his clients. He was a defense attorney. People who did crimes had myriad reasons for committing them, but none of those reasons were fair or happy. Like a doctor with his patients, a good attorney needed to distance himself from the world of hurt he dealt with every day. Treat everyone as a case number, even as he helped them.
But Vera was different. She affected him like no one ever had. As a representative of the law—and as a man. She was incredibly smart, grounded and determined. Not to mention the hottest woman he’d ever met.
He was in deep trouble here.
“Seriously,” she said, “I can walk to the club. It’s just a couple of blocks. It’ll be faster than this mess.”
No doubt correct. Sundown on the Strip was a giant traffic jam. “All right,” he said, though he didn’t like the notion of her being on her own for even a minute. Whoever was stalking the Tears of the Quetzal was still out there. Conner had checked in with Lex Duncan, but no new leads had turned up. “Promise me you’ll go in through the front of the club, not from the alley.”
“You know I have to use the stage door,” she said as she ducked under the car’s gull-wing door as it rose to let her out. “Lecherous Lou will have a fit if I—”
“Tell him you have a new sugar daddy who’s coming to spend lots of money in his club—but only if you walk in through the front entrance.”
She rolled her eyes and pulled her garment bag from the backseat. “Sugar daddy?”
He shrugged with a grin. “Sounds better than fairy godmother. ”
She laughed. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
Yeah, about her. “More so every minute.”
He watched her walk away on the tourist-crowded sidewalk in a simple pencil skirt and blouse, and a pair of sexy, do-me shoes that should be illegal, her hips swaying enticingly. Leaving a trail of turning male heads in her wake.
He wanted to jump out of the car and strangle every one of them for looking at her that way.
Damn, he was in such deep trouble.
Traffic barely inched along, so he fell farther and farther behind her. For a moment he lost sight of her in the moving throng. His pulse jacked up. He didn’t like this. He shouldn’t have let her get out of the car. To his relief, she got stuck at a Do Not Walk sign at the next corner and actually obeyed it. Meanwhile his lane jerked forward half a block so he almost caught up with her. She didn’t know it, though, and he smiled at her impatient foot tapping as she waited.
Suddenly, he noticed someone else watching her. Closely. From the sidewalk just behind her. A man. Tall, muscular, with an olive complexion, thick black hair and a furtive look about him. A familiar furtive look. The guy stepped closer to Vera’s back. Too close. As the man surreptitiously checked the crowd to both sides, Conner saw high cheekbones that gave him an exotic Hispanic or maybe Native American look.
And then it struck him. It was the man who’d been arguing with Darla! In front of police headquarters!
Alarm zinged through Conner’s insides. Just as Vera’s stance went straight and rigid. Slowly, she put her hands out to her sides.
Holy hell! The bastard had a gun to her back!
Conner leaped from the car and barreled down the street to her aid, knocking people aside, apologizing as he ran. It took him about seven seconds flat to reach her. They were the longest seconds of his life.
“Hey!” he yelled just before flinging himself onto the douchebag’s back. “Get away from her!” A mistake. The man was quick. He spun, saw Conner and took off, just missing being tackled. Conner managed to avoid mowing down Vera, but when he veered, he slammed into the streetlight post. Stars burst in his head.
“Conner!” Her voice echoed like he was in a tunnel. “Oh, my God! Conner! Are you okay?”
He gave his head a shake to clear it as well as his hearing. “Did someone catch that guy?” he demanded, scanning the area around them. Concerned tourists looked back at him blankly.
Damn.
“That was him, wasn’t it?” Vera said, obviously totally freaked out. “The guy who broke into my apartment. He had a gun, Conner! He was going to shoot me!”
The circle of tourists glanced nervously in the direction the man had run, and started to back away. Out on the street, car horns started honking.
“Damn. I left the car running down the block.” He grasped her elbow firmly. “Come on. We’re going back home.”
She dug in her heels. “No, Conner,” she protested. “I have to go to work!”
He towed her along unwillingly. “You were nearly mugged, woman! Or worse. How can you even consider—”
“I told you. I don’t have a choice. I need my job. Please, Conner. Let me go. He just wants the ring, and I don’t have it. I’ll be fine.”
Silver had thought she was safe, too. Right before a thousand tons of pipe and wood had crashed down on her. She was still emotionally traumatized by the attack.
Damn it, he didn’t want Vera in danger, too. But that determined look was back in her eyes. He knew he’d lose this argument. “All right. But I don’t care how long it takes. You’re not walking. Get in the car.”
Thankfully she didn’t argue but slid back into the car, if reluctantly.
“Did you get a close look at his face?” Conner asked her once he’d calmed down enough to think rationally. “Would you recognize him again?”
She shook her head. “No. I didn’t dare turn around when he had his gun in my back. I didn’t see his face at all. Did you?”
“Just from a distance, and I only caught a glimpse of it. But I think I’ve seen him before. I’ll have Duncan pull video from the traffic cam.” He pointed to the unobtrusive camera pointed at the intersection. “With luck, it got a good shot of him, and we can identify the bastard once and for all. At least see if he’s the same guy I suspect of taking the Quetzal from police headquarters. ”
And hurting Silver.
And possibly murdering Candace.
“Damn it! I don’t want you going to work tonight,” Conner said, slamming his fist on the steering wheel. “I’ll pay your salary—whatever you would have made.”
She stared at him for a moment, then smiled weakly. “I know you just want to help, but…I can’t do that.”
“I’m not trying to buy you, Vera.”
“I know that. But, no, thanks.”
It took them ten minutes to drive the block and a half to the Diamond Lounge parking lot. By the time they got out of the car and he escorted her to the stage door, she’d composed herself completely. He didn’t know how she could be so calm. Or so stubborn about accepting his help. A man had just tried to kill her!
Since Conner wasn’t an employee of the club, the guard wouldn’t let him in the side entrance.
“Be careful,” he admonished Vera, giving her a worried kiss. “I’ll be in the audience all night. If you need me just yell.”
She smiled and touched his cheek. “My hero.”
He knew it was just teasing, but her endearment made him feel warm all over. Or maybe it was just the hot Las Vegas night wind. People had given him a lot bigger compliments, accompanied by far more substantial rewards than a smile. So why did every little thing this woman do affect him so deeply?