Читать книгу Las Vegas: Scandals: Prince Charming for 1 Night - Лорет Энн Уайт, Nina Bruhns - Страница 20

“Babe? Where are you?” Conner jetted out an impatient breath. “Vera, pick up the damn phone!”

Her answering machine clicked on. Conner slammed down his receiver and paced back and forth in frustration. “Damn it!” Where was she? She must be there. Ignoring him.

He knew he’d be in trouble over that freaking date.

He ripped off his bow tie and threw it onto his bed. The bed Vera should be tucked into, waiting for him.

Not that he blamed her, if he were honest. He wouldn’t have been nearly as civilized about it as she was if she’d turned up with a date for the evening. He would have ripped the guy’s throat out.

Or at least kicked him out of the limo onto his damn ass.

He picked up the phone again and dialed the number of the bodyguard he’d hired to follow her tonight.

“Barton.”

“Where is she?” he demanded, not bothering with the niceties.

Barton rattled off the address of her apartment. “Limo dropped her off just over an hour ago. She’s still up there.”

“You sure? She’s not answering her phone.”

Barton was wise enough not to comment. “I’m camped out in the lobby, and I paid the security guy to keep an eye on her, too. I’ll know if she budges.”

“Good. Anything else I should know about tonight?”

“Some guy spoke to her as she was leaving the event.” Conner heard the sound of notebook pages being flipped. “Name of Henry St. Giles. Gave her a business card.”

Darla’s brother? Hell, Vera’s brother. What did he want? “Was it amicable?”

“Seemed to be.”

As opposed to her confrontation with Maximillian. Her own father. “You’ll be there all night?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Good. I’ll expect your full report in the morning.”

“Will do, sir.”

Thoughtfully, Conner put the phone back in its stand. Should he go check on her? Or just let her cool off…He wasn’t too worried about her safety, not with Barton there standing guard all night. And Conner’d hired a cleaning crew to tidy up the apartment after the FBI was done with their evidence collecting, so she didn’t have to deal with that.

But, damn it, he missed her.

He’d been bored stiff all night, stuck at that stuffy ball with his stuffy family and the stultifyingly sophisticated Annabella Pruitt, slowly drinking himself numb. Or trying to. Unfortunately, he’d remained distressingly sober the entire time, despite the copious amounts of alcohol that had passed through his system.

Guilt?

Possibly.

Probably.

He wasn’t proud of the way he’d treated Vera. In fact, he was downright ashamed. What was wrong with him? Was he such a damn wuss that he couldn’t just tell his socially paralyzed father to take a flying leap if he didn’t like Conner’s choice of women?

Not to mention the whole Maximillian St. Giles thing. Conner should have pounded him into the dance floor like a wooden peg. Or at least shamed him into apologizing to his daughter, admitting he was being an ass.

So, why hadn’t he?

Because Conner was an even bigger ass, that’s why.

Setting his lips in a thin line, he strode into the hall. “Hildy!” he yelled. “Get the limo back here! I’m going out again.”

Naturally, Vera refused to answer the intercom. So Conner had to talk the security guard into letting him into the penthouse.

Luckily, he’d been introduced as Vera’s lawyer the other day after the break-in, so he didn’t have too much trouble convincing the man he was worried about his client and wanted to check on her well-being. The C-note deposited discreetly in his uniform pocket didn’t hurt either.

Conner found her in the bathtub. Up to her neck in bubbles, the mirrors steamed up and a dozen scented candles lit. The room smelled like a hothouse filled with damask roses. A bottle of red wine was propped on the edge of the tub. Half-empty. No glass.

The fake Quetzal was sitting on the tub’s front rim, winking in the candlelight like a multicolored disco ball.

“Go away,” she mumbled, not opening her eyes.

“How do you know who it is?” he asked, chagrined that she wasn’t worried and didn’t even check. He could be the thief returning, for all she knew!

“I can smell you,” she said thickly. “The demonic scent of wealth and temptation.”

Had he just been insulted? He made a mental note to change his cologne.

He stepped into the room and closed the door. “Sweetheart—”

“Don’t!” Her hand shot up from the water, fanning out a cascade of droplets. “Don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me, you…”

His eyes widened as she called him a very bad name.

Ho-kay, then. Looked like he wasn’t the only one drinking himself into oblivion. “Been watching reruns of Deadwood?” he muttered. Walking over, he plucked the wine bottle from the tub and deposited it on the marble vanity counter.

“Hey!”

“Any more of that stuff and you’ll drown yourself,” he said.

“Drown you, you mean,” she muttered. Then called him that word again.

Okay, so maybe he deserved the moniker. But he couldn’t help smiling. She was even more beautiful when she was calling him bad names.

“Vera, I’m sorry.”

“Tell it to someone who cares.”

“Look, honey, I know you’re mad, but—”

“Mad? Me?” She cracked an eyelid, gave him a gimlet eye and made a really rude noise.

“I can see you’re not going to make this easy on me.”

“Sure, I am. What part of ‘go away’ don’t you get? I’ll be happy to e’splain it to you.” She hiccupped.

He desperately wanted to chuckle. But he figured it would be the last thing he ever did. So he did the second best thing. Toed off his shoes and socks and climbed into the tub with her. They’d have to cut his tuxedo pants off him, but what the hell, he didn’t like this suit anyway.

“What the—” she sputtered, wheeling her arms to get away from him. But he just grabbed onto her and held tight as he slid down behind her into the water, leaning his back against the end of the oversize spa tub. “You are such a freaking Neanderthal,” she gritted out.

“So sue me. But I warn you, I’ll win.”

Damn, it felt weird taking a bath in his clothes. But she really would have screamed bloody murder if he’d gotten undressed.

Besides, he didn’t want to give her the wrong idea, either. He wasn’t here for sex. He was here for forgiveness. For her.

At least she wasn’t fighting him anymore. With a huff, she let herself fall back against his chest, closed her eyes again and refused to look at him.

Progress.

She sighed. “Conner, what are you doing here?” she asked him, sounding suspiciously uninebriated.

“Apologizing.”

“That’s not what it feels like,” she said dryly.

He realized his hand had unconsciously found its way to her breast and was gently fondling it. Since she hadn’t clawed his eyes out, he didn’t stop.

He kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry, Vera. I acted like a jackass. You have every reason to be angry with me, and I wouldn’t blame you if you never spoke to me again.”

“Good, because I don’t plan to.”

“Which would be a damn shame, because I’d really miss you ordering me around when we’re in bed.”

Instead of snorting and telling him he was the one who did all of the ordering around, as he’d hoped she would, she just sighed again.

“Conner, you and I, we’re not going to work,” she said quietly. “I don’t fit into your world. I’d never be accepted by your family. What’s the point?”

He hugged her closer, leaning his cheek on her head. “Because I don’t want to give you up.”

“You did a pretty damn good imitation of it tonight.”

Guilt assailed him anew. “I know. And I couldn’t be sorrier. I was wrong. It’ll never happen again. I swear.”

“You’re positive?” she asked bleakly. “Because if it came down to a choice between me or Rothchild, Rothchild and Bennigan, I have a feeling I know which way it would go.”

“I’m not so sure.” He fell silent, and for the first time he seriously thought about what would happen to him if he left the family law firm. Or was asked to leave.

Would he be sad? Sure, he would. Would it take a while to regroup and start over? Undoubtedly. But he had more than enough money in the bank never to have to work another day in his life. So would his world fall apart? Definitely not.

The only question was, if it came down to a choice between Vera and his family, which way would that go?

“You’re jousting at windmills,” she murmured.

She sounded tired. And he was totally beat himself.

“Let’s get out of this water,” he said. “And go to bed. We can talk about all this in the morning.”

“Conner…”

He kissed her on the temple. “We don’t have to make love if you don’t want to. Just let me hold you while you sleep.”

She hesitated, then let out a resigned breath. “You’re a real bastard, you know that?”

He’d been upgraded. A good sign. “I’ll take it,” he said, kissing her ear. “As long as I can be with you tonight.”

The next morning Vera got breakfast in bed. It was Saturday, and Conner didn’t have to work.

The sun was streaming through the floor-to-ceiling bedroom windows looking out over the city below and the mountains beyond. The sky was so blue it hurt. A lone hawk rode the thermals that rose off the desert floor, scouting for its morning meal…or maybe just windsurfing for the sheer joy of it.

She had no right to be so happy. She knew the bliss wouldn’t last. Conner was fooling himself if he thought they had a prayer.

But it was enough that he wanted to try.

Or said he did.

That was a miracle in itself.

He’d made no declarations of love, given her no vows of forever. She could live with that. For now. Just having him here with her was more than she’d ever expected.

“Coffee?”

“Mmm.” It smelled delicious. “Who made the French toast?”

“I did,” he said proudly.

She was impressed. “A man of many talents.”

He leaned over and gave her a slow, thorough kiss. “And a woman of rare appetite,” he said in a low rumble.

They’d made love. Of course they had. Like she could take him to her bed and not touch him. Not have him touch her. Impossible.

He’d been so tender it nearly broke her heart. It almost felt like…No, she wasn’t going there.

They’d just nestled together into the propped-up pillows to eat the savory breakfast, when his cell phone rang. He checked the screen.

“It’s the office. Guess I’d better get it.” They rarely called him on weekends, so when they did it was usually important.

“Conner here.”

“It’s your father.”

Hell. “Hi, Dad. What’s up?”

“You got an e-mail about a surveillance from someone named Barton.”

Conner glanced at Vera and smiled. “Yeah?” How the hell had his father gotten hold of that?

“It came in on the general e-mail account,” his dad said, answering the unspoken question. “You’re surveilling Vera Mancuso? What’s that all about?”

Double hell. “Hang on, Dad.” He climbed out of bed, giving Vera a kiss. “Reception’s bad in here. I’m gonna take this outside.” He grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist and trotted out the double sliders to the huge tiled patio that circled the penthouse, closing them firmly behind him.

“I told you about the case she’s helping me on. The whole Quetzal thing. She could be in danger, so I’m making sure she’s safe.”

“From between her sheets? Mike says—”

Anger shot through Conner. He tamped it down. “That’s none of Mike’s business, Dad. Or yours.”

“It is if I think you’re getting personally involved with this woman.”

“Why would that matter?”

“You have the family name to think of.”

“Oh. You mean like Uncle Harold? Or Candace, or Silver?” All stars of the local gossip columns due to their endless “inappropriate” love affairs. Although Silver seemed to have settled down now that she was a newlywed and expecting a baby.