she’d believed him indifferent to her she might have chafed at the behavior, but his too-warm gaze and awareness during the moments he was present told a different story.
And then there was his touch. Hot as a brand and twice as powerful. Evangeline had never felt anything like it. Or been as tempted to let the fierce need that had settled in her chest have free rein.
She wanted him.
A simple emotion with the most complicated set of outcomes.
He was her boss.
He was a wealthy, powerful man who could have anything he wanted.
And he was hiding something.
The first two might be overcome or even ignored in the pursuit of pleasure, but the last was what held her back. She hated secrets, equating them to the same lack of power and control that had ruled her childhood.
She’d vowed to herself long ago never to be that helpless again. Her choices had made for a quiet life, full of a solitude she’d never planned on, but at least she was safe. Protected.
And if that protection had also become something of a cocoon, well, then, she’d live with that.
She didn’t do secrets. Or omission. And she’d be damned if she was going to accept a bald-faced lie.
Rafe might be charming, but he’d continually denied answering her questions about the burning man on the property. And lest he think a few hours in the spa and a fancy dinner would erase what she knew she’d seen, she now had to figure out a way to get answers.
But first, she’d play the role of ingenue for the evening and flirt a bit with the temptress routine. Stone-cold bitch certainly hadn’t done the trick.
“This is quite a place you and your family have built.”
“Thank you.”
When he said nothing more, she pressed on. “This hotel isn’t more than a decade old, yet your father and grandfather have legendary reputations in Las Vegas.”
Something almost imperceptible flashed in his gaze and if she weren’t watching him so closely she’d surely have missed it. “We purchased this property years ago but this end of the Strip wasn’t nearly developed enough for our needs. The original Archangel was over on Fremont and the Stavros family managed joint ownership or backing in other properties here on the Strip until we were able to bring our vision fully to life.”
“That’s all rather patient of you.”
“A trait my family has in spades.”
The sommelier arrived, effectively pausing their conversation and Evangeline took a small, unobtrusive pull of air through her nose.
Patience? Planning? Perhaps bit of world domination tossed in for good measure?
Who did she work for?
She’d taken the job on a whim, circumstance driving the decision more than an overt hunt for employment. She’d seen a need—the poorly managed grounds—and had pushed and poked her way into the Archangel. When she’d seemingly been accepted at face value, she hadn’t questioned her good fortune.
So why was she now?
A small, predatory light filled Rafe’s gaze, perhaps indicative of her sudden discomfort and uneasiness.
Their sommelier departed, two glasses of red wine left behind in his wake, and Evangeline lifted her goblet in response to Rafe.
“To patience.” Rafe clinked his glass against hers. “And all the dividends it inevitably pays.”
“Cheers.”
She took a sip of the wine, an exquisite explosion of taste on her tongue as she drank the rich red. The spa. The dress. Now the dinner. Rafael Stavros did nothing by half measure.
“Lovely.”
“As are you.” Rafe inclined his head before he settled his glass on the table. “What about you, Miss Kennedy? Are you a Las Vegas native?”
“I think so.”
The words were out so fast there was no way to retrieve them, even as the answer was far more honest than she’d ever have intended. While Rafe waited for her to continue, she weighed the merits of sharing her past.
How did one share the details of a wretched childhood that began in an abusive home and ended in the cold, airless confines of foster care?
And why did she even care?
“My pedigree isn’t nearly as well established as yours.”
Rafe’s eyebrows did lift at that, a mix of humor and affront painting those gray depths. “Are you suggesting I’m some sort of purebred dog?”
“No, but I definitely have strains of mongrel.” She took a sip of her wine, fortifying herself with the burst of flavor and obvious quality of the drink. While certainly not necessary, it did make the telling a bit sweeter.
“My parents were rather poor at their jobs. Both had drug problems, my father especially.”
Where she’d braced for sympathy, something more akin to anger morphed in the swirling depths of his gaze. Oddly, the unexpected reaction encouraged her, allowing her to push on. “The tale’s not new, but Vegas certainly doesn’t provide a helpful backdrop for those battling addiction.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“I was young at the time, so there’s quite a bit I don’t remember. But one day my father just stopped coming home. My mother ranted and railed about it for months, falling deeper and deeper into her own abyss and then one day, it all stopped and she was gone, too.”
“You remember?”
“Some days.”
“And others?”
“I remember how I survived. Learning places to hide. Understanding how to read moods and body language and whatever else went on in a room. And finding my own solace in the small patches of dirt outside our apartment, the hardscrabble something I could make beauty out of.”
“A flower in the desert.”
“Perhaps.”
“There’s no perhaps about it. You clearly found a way to triumph over unfair circumstances no child should ever have to experience.”
“It’s why, you know.”
“Why what?”
She’d never been one to avoid or evade when she could simply go for what she wanted. It had been like that in foster care and she’d carried the trait on into adulthood. Hell, it had earned her a place at the Archangel.
Yet in this moment—at this time—she nearly backed down. Almost walked away in the light of that anger that still burned in his gaze.
Anger
