Copyright
“God, you are beautiful. That red hair, those big green eyes. That amazing body. And those lips. Baby, those lips were made for a man to bite. Can I tell you a secret?”
Nell Bravo had a one-word answer for that one. “No.”
But the handsome guy in the expensive suit wasn’t listening. He leaned extra close, breathing Booker’s Rye—and no, he wasn’t really drunk, only buzzed enough to get pushy. “I don’t usually go for tattoos on a woman.” He eyed the half sleeve of bright ink that swirled over her left arm from shoulder to elbow. “But, in your case, I’m definitely making an exception. I’d like to jump you right here at the bar.”
Nell considered summoning the energy to be offended, but that would be faking it. She’d never minded the brash approach, not as long as she was interested. Too bad she just wasn’t—and hadn’t been for a long time now.
Except for one man.
One man who managed to show up every time she turned around lately, a guy she was not letting close to her ever again, thank you very much—and that did it. That finished it. She’d had enough of the handsome fellow in the pricey suit.
Not only did he refuse to take a hint, he’d gone and made her think of the one person she wanted nothing to do with.
Ever again.
Not even in her mind.
Somewhere behind her, bells and whistles went off as a lucky slot player hit a jackpot. Nell grabbed her clutch, whipped out a twenty and slid it under her cocktail napkin for the bartender. “That’s it for me.”
“Whoa now,” said the guy beside her, whose name was Ron. “Put your money away.”
“Great to meet you, Ron,” she lied. “I’ve got your card and I’ll be in touch.” He owned Ron’s Custom Tile, with five stores in the Bay Area and Los Angeles. Her company, Bravo Construction, ordered a lot of tile. Maybe they could have done some business. Probably not now, though. Ron was just way too interested in looking down her dress. “Good night.” She spun on her stool, lowered her Jimmy Choos to the floor and set off for the lobby area and the elevator up to her room.
But Ron was no quitter. “Hold on a minute.” He was right behind her. “Baby, don’t go...”
Nell stopped in her tracks. When she turned, he almost plowed into her. “Look.” She pinned him with her coldest stare. “I don’t know how much clearer I can make this. I’m not interested in being jumped by you—right there at the bar, or anywhere in else in this hotel. Good night, Ron.”
He started to speak again, but she didn’t hang around to hear it. Instead, she took off, moving faster now, weaving her way past the rows of whizzing, dinging slot machines and on to the never-ending main casino floor. She flew past the gaming tables and more bars and restaurants, her high heels tapping hard over polished floors, ears tuned for the sound of Ron’s footsteps behind her.
Yep. The idiot was following her.
So what? He wasn’t going to catch her. She kept going, never once looking back.
Finally, she reached the blue-lit hotel lobby with its glittering waterfall wall and swirling peacock-colored carpet. As she veered by the concierge desk, she slipped her key card from her clutch.
Entering the marble-lined bank of elevators at last, she pushed the button to go up.
Unfortunately, no car was available.
Crap. Okay, she could just keep on going out the other end of the bay and circle back around, hoping to lose Ron in the process.
Or simply wait.
Screw it. She waited, which gave Ron the chance to catch up with her. When he reached her, she glanced the other way. Maybe ignoring him would do the trick.
Not so much. He grabbed her arm and pulled her around to face him. “Now, just a damn minute here.”
“Ron. You don’t look all that handsome with that mean scowl on your face.”
“I just want to—”
“No, Ron. I said no.”
“There’s no need to be rude, Nell.” He spoke through clenched teeth and he still had a death grip on her arm.
Nell felt a burning need to give Ron the sharp knee in the family jewels he very much deserved. But she kept her cool. “Seriously, Ron? This is going nowhere good. It’s a casino, in case you didn’t notice.” She pointed at the camera mounted up where the wall met the ceiling. “The eye-in-the-sky sees all. I only need to let out a scream and your evening will be downgraded from bad to a whole lot worse.”
His grip on her arm loosened. Before she could congratulate herself for some smooth handling of an iffy situation, she noticed that Ron’s narrowed eyes had widened and shifted upward toward something behind her.
Yanking her arm free, she turned.
Not possible. “Deck?” It couldn’t be.
Oh, but it was. Declan McGrath, all six foot four and two-hundred-plus muscled-up pounds of him, right here in Vegas. At her hotel.
“What a coincidence running into you here,” said Deck in that rough, low, wonderful voice of his.
Nell rolled her eyes so hard she almost fell over. “Coincidence, my ass. Don’t even try to tell me you’re here for the Worldwide Hard Surfaces Trade Show.”
“Okay, I won’t.” The corners of his mouth inched upward in the slow, delicious smile that used to make her life worth living. Years and years ago. Back when she was young and trusting, before he’d dumped her flat—twice. “God, Sparky. You do look good.”
She gave him the same look she’d been giving Ron—a look of ice and steel. “How many times do I have to say it? Don’t call me Sparky.”
“I just can’t help myself.”
“You don’t want to help yourself.”
“That’s right. I never give up. And we both know it’s just a matter of time until you give in and give me a break.”
“You’re delusional.”
“I prefer to call it thinking positive.”
“Hold on just a damn minute,” Ron piped up from behind her. “What the hell is going on here?”
Nell turned to tell the tile man—again—to get lost.
But Deck stepped around her and took Ron’s arm.
Ron flailed. “What the hell, man? Let go of my arm.”
“In a minute.”
