Hell on Heels (14 page)

She wasn't about to confess that eighty percent of her wardrobe was comprised of the traditional male hues of black, navy, and charcoal.

“What the hell happened to my key?” she demanded. “It worked just fine this morning.”

“We need the room for a VIP, so I had it rekeyed.”

“Just like that?” She snapped her finger. “You lock me out without even telling me?”

“Didn't have much choice. We're booked solid, and I have to have
that
room.”

“Where the hell am I supposed to go?” she demanded.

“I'm taking you to my place.”

“
Your place
? And where might that be?”

“I have a house about twenty minutes west of town. It's plenty big—three bedrooms and as many baths. You'll be comfortable.”

“That's rather presumptuous. What if I don't want to go?”

“It seemed the most sensible option. Since you are a sensible woman, I didn't see any reason for you to object.”

She could hardly argue when he posed it like that. “Aren't you breaking your rule about taking women home?”

“It's not like
that
between us now, is it,
Ms. Brandt
?” He pinned her with a meaningful stare. “We're only business associates, right? So there's nothing to worry about, but if you feel uncomfortable with the arrangement, you'll have a built-in chaperone in Rosa.”

“Rosa won't be there.”

“What do you mean? She's staying at my place, remember? I took her there last night. I was on my way back to The Oasis to pick her up when I got the call from Gus.”

“Rosa won't be going back with you, Ty. Tom wants her to remain with him. I arranged it with the director today, and Rosa agreed. She'll be staying at The Oasis now.”

He arched a brow. “Well, that makes the situation all the more interesting now, doesn't it?”

Monica jutted her chin. “Then I'll make it a whole lot less
interesting
. I'm checking back into the Skylofts.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” he said. “My place is comfortable, and it's free. What's the real problem, Monica? Afraid you'll succumb to temptation again?”

“Hardly. I got the sexual frustration out of my system last night. I shouldn't need another fix for weeks.”

“Weeks, eh? I was better than I thought.”

“Don't get too pumped up about it,” she rebutted. “I won't say I didn't enjoy it, but you were really nothing more than a means to an end, Ty. Any port in a storm, right?”

“That so?” The gleam in his eye told her he didn't believe a word. “We'll just see about that, won't we? Now, c'mon.” He snatched the carton out of her hands. “Let's get out of here and get some real food.”

 

Ty didn't know what possessed him to offer her dinner when he'd sworn off Monica Brandt. Maybe he couldn't stand the guilt of seeing her eating cold noodles out of a take-out carton while sitting on a luggage trolley. It was a shitty thing to lock her out like he had without notice. She deserved better than what he'd dished out to her.

Instead of hitting a burger joint and heading west out of town to his place, as he'd originally intended, he drove her up The Strip, pointing out all the best sights—the Eiffel Tower at Paris Las Vegas, Caesar's, the dancing fountains of the Bellagio—all the while trying to defrost her, but she remained beside him in a stony, lip-locked silence.

Shit.
This wasn't any good at all. They needed to get back on level ground . . . or maybe not. Suddenly inspired, he asked, “How are you with heights?”

“Heights?” she repeated blankly.

“Yeah, you aren't acrophobic, are you?”

“Not at all. As a matter of fact, I love rock climbing and zip lining.”

Her remark took him aback. “You?”

“Yes, me. There's a lot we don't know about each other, Ty.”

“There's an easy remedy for that, you know.”

“What's that?” she asked.

“It's called conversation,” he quipped, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “You should try it sometime.”

Her mouth twitched. A small triumph, but at least he'd cracked the outer layer. It was enough encouragement to move forward with his idea. He whipped out his phone. She watched him with a scowl as he made the call.

“John? Hey! It's Ty Morgan. I need a table for two. Can you squeeze me in? I'm ten minutes out. Yeah? Great. Thanks, buddy. I owe you big.” He stashed the phone and turned off Las Vegas Boulevard at the Stratosphere.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “I like zip lining, Ty. I never said anything about jumping off eight-hundred-foot skyscrapers.”

“The amusement rides are not why I brought you here, but if you change your mind after dinner, knock yourself out.”

“Dinner? Oh.”

“Yeah, this place has a revolving restaurant that offers the second-best view in the whole Las Vegas Valley.”

“Only the
second
best? Don't I rate high enough to get the best?”

“The place with the very best view is a closely guarded secret, Ms. Brandt, but if you can stay on your good behavior tonight, maybe I'll show you that one, too.”

“Friends in high places?”

“A few,” he remarked. “Or at least in the
right
places. I generally try to cultivate more friends than enemies.”

“I know someone who could take a few lessons from that playbook,” Monica said dryly.

“Yeah? Who's that?”

“My ex-fiancé,” she replied. “He has a great deal of influence in New York, but mostly because people are afraid of him.”

“We have plenty of that kind out here, too. The city was built by the Mob.” He slanted another sidelong glance at her. “I find it hard to believe you were involved with someone like that.”

“He's not a mobster! Evan's more of a corporate raider type.”

“Is there really much difference?” Ty grinned back at her as he put the truck in
PARK
. “I think you're splitting hairs.” He actually got a full blown laugh out of her that time. Score another for Ty.

“Maybe so.” Her smile suddenly faded, replaced by a frown.

“Something on your mind?” he asked.

“Yes, actually. I got a text from him earlier. He's in Vegas.”

“Your
ex
is here?”

“Yes. Said he wants to see me.”

“He's not some crazed stalker type, is he?”

“No, not a stalker,” she replied. “Just a bullying bastard.”

“You aren't going to see him, are you?”

“I don't know yet,” she replied, her gaze narrowing. “Why should you care?”

He shrugged. “It's your life. You can see whoever you want. I just know exes can be a royal pain in the ass.”

“And how would you know that, Mr. I–Don't-Do-Relationships?”

He reached for his door. “Perhaps you've heard the expression ‘Once bitten. twice shy,' Ms. Brandt? Try getting bitten by a rattler. That'll make you real damn shy.”

 

Ty's bitterness rendered her speechless. He didn't seem inclined to elaborate any further, and she didn't press, but whatever it was in his past was obviously the reason he balked at anything even
hinting
at emotional intimacy.

He opened her door and handed her down from his truck, following with a light, guiding hand on the small of her back. It was the first time he'd touched her since last night, and her body responded with warm tingles that she wished she could ignore.

In addition to their undeniable physical chemistry, Ty really was a truly entertaining companion and too damned likable for Monica's good. There was an easiness about him that allowed him to sneak effortlessly through her best defenses. He made her laugh despite her best attempts not to. She told herself there was no harm in enjoying dinner with him as long as they kept the tone light and friendly.

The Top of the World was much better than Monica had expected. Ty had made several recommendations, starting with the Tower Trio appetizer, a combination of foie gras with berry
gastrique
and roasted pears, the jumbo lump crab cake with green papaya salad, and seared sea scallops with southwestern spices, all surprisingly good. He'd also ordered a decent bottle of wine, all proving that her cowboy was far more cultured than his appearance let on.

“You aren't having any wine?” she asked.

“Already had a couple of beers today. Two drinks is my limit.”

“Limit?” she looked her question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that alcohol and I don't always mix real well. A beer or two is fine or a couple of glasses of wine on occasion, but other than that I try to keep a tight rein on drinking.”

“Are you saying you're an alcoholic, Ty?”

“Didn't say that at all.” His jaw visibly tightened. “Just said booze and me don't mix. How's your soup?”

“Excellent, actually. I love lobster bisque. Want to try it?” She paused with her spoon halfway to her lips to offer it up to his instead.

“Sharing your spoon with me, Ms. Brandt?” He cocked a brow with a smirk.

She grinned back at him. “I figure we already swapped enough germs. A few more can't hurt anything.”

“You know what it means if I accept this?”

“No, what?”

“It means you'll have to let me feed you something.”

“Really? And what would that be?” Even as the words spilled from her mouth, Monica wished she could take them back.

Their gazes connected as the innuendo rose, electrifying the air. Monica licked her lips and dropped her spoon.

“Full already?” he asked softly. “Or maybe you have an appetite for something else?”

“Stop it, Ty,” she hissed.

“Once more, I'm not the one who started it. You do that a lot, Monica.”

“What do you mean? I do what a lot?”

“Make a challenge and then panic when things get too hot for you to handle.”

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do. How about last night? You were a brazen seductress one minute and then got cold feet the next. And the day I was going to resign. You were all bluff then, too. When I called, you instantly folded. Don't ever play poker, Sugar. You'd really suck at it.”

They sat in a sexually charged silence as the waiter brought the next course. Ty had told her when they were seated that the restaurant revolved every eighty minutes, offering a full three-hundred-sixty-degree vista of the entire Las Vegas Valley. At this rate, she didn't think she'd last long enough to see it all. Grappling for safety, she changed the subject. “You never told me what brought you out here to Vegas, Ty.”

He took a sip of water, his lips hinting at a smile. “You never asked me.”

“I'm asking now.”

He slumped back in his chair. “It's a long story that I don't particularly like to tell.”

“Then how about just the short version?” she softly suggested. “I'd like to know you better, Ty. We really don't know much about each other at all.”

“All right.” He considered her as if trying to decide how much to share. “The short version is that I was pretty fucked up for a while. My life had strayed way off track. I needed a change, and Tom needed someone he could trust. It seemed worth the gamble for both of us.”

“I heard about your predecessor,” she said.

“Unfortunately, the son of a bitch stole over a million before he got caught.”

“So what did you do before running the hotel?”

“I was involved with rodeo. I contracted stock and rode bulls.”

“Like your father did? Didn't you say he was killed by a bull?”

“Yup. And I followed square in my ol' man's footsteps, even though I'd sworn to myself I never would. My story probably would have ended exactly the same way, too, if not for Tom. And that's about all I'm inclined to say about it, Ms. Brandt.” Ty spoke casually, but she saw the strain in the lines around his mouth and the flicker of pain in his eyes. “What about you?” he asked. “Tom told me how you never even knew him until you were grown.”

Monica licked her lips, realizing she didn't relish digging up her past any more than he had. “The abbreviated version?” she suggested.

He raised his water glass with a nod. “Whatever version suits you to tell.”

“Okay.” She took a sip of wine while composing her thoughts. “My mother's family is from Connecticut. Old money. The kind that vacation in the Hamptons and winter in Palm Beach. Maybe you know the type?”

He inclined his head. “Yeah, I know the sort, all right.”

“You know how my mother and Tom met?”

“I've heard Tom's version of the story a few times,” Ty replied dryly.

“When Vivian, that's my mother, returned from Vegas, she never even told her parents that she'd married Tom. She just quietly hired a lawyer and filed for divorce. When she discovered she was pregnant, they all assumed it was illegitimate and hid her away. When I was born, I was put straight into the care of a nanny, like a dirty little secret, while Vivian went back to her old life.” She traced rings on the lip of her wineglass as she spoke.

“You're kidding.”

“No I'm not. She finished college and then made her social debut, as if I didn't exist. She eventually wed a high-powered New York attorney and moved to Manhattan. I was five years old by then, but she never even told my stepfather about me. I was shipped off to boarding school and only came home on holidays.”