Hell on Heels (15 page)

“Home?” he asked. “Where was that?”

“My grandparents' house,” she clarified. “They hired another nanny for when I was home, but when I got older I usually spent holidays with friends or traveled abroad. That's how I was raised, for the most part. Tom was the first person in my life who ever actually wanted me.” She paused. “Aside from Evan, that is.”

“The ex-fiancé?”

“Yes. Maybe that's why I agreed to marry him.”

“You didn't love him?”

“I was infatuated with him. I was an impressionable intern at his company when we met. He was rich, powerful, good-looking . . . and he took notice of me.”

“I'm sure there were lots of men who took notice of you, Ms. Brandt.”

She gave a soft snort. “If they did, I didn't notice them. I didn't have time for any of that. I was out to prove myself.”

“That's quite a chip to carry,” he remarked softly.

“It was.” She added softly, “It still is.”

“So why'd you and Evan split?”

She answered with a tight smile, “Because I finally saw him for what he is—a manipulative, self-serving bastard.”

“And now he's here in Vegas? What does he want?”

“He says he misses me and wants to see me.” She was reluctant to bring up the part about the hotel. Now just didn't seem the right time to talk about business.

“Does he now?” His expression darkened. “Are you going to see him?”

“I don't know.” She shrugged. “I haven't decided yet.”

She didn't know how she felt about seeing Evan again, the man she'd once thought she'd spend her life with. She wondered now what kind of life that would have been. When together, they'd both put in sixty- to seventy-hour workweeks. They ate out at all the most popular places. Even then, they weren't relaxing, but networking.

Evan was always on the prowl for the next deal, and having social connections with the right people was a huge part of that. Power, prestige, success. That's what her life with Evan would have been about. Romance and passion were never part of that equation. Evan's passion was reserved for the deals he made. At one time she'd believed that was enough. But not anymore.

His gaze held hers. “Let it go, Monica. You don't need him. You don't have to
prove
anything to your family or to anyone else.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You only got engaged to him because you wanted your family's approval.”

“That's not it at all!”

“Sure it is. You said yourself you didn't love him. You were just using him to buy your way into your family's good graces.”

“Me using Evan?” She gave a derisive laugh. “Don't be ridiculous!”

“Am I? Seems obvious to me.”

She stared at him in utter disbelief. Was it true? Was that the reason she still hadn't told her family about the breakup?

“They say blood is thicker than water, but that's nothing but bullshit,” Ty continued. “Tom is more of a father to me than mine ever was, and we aren't even kin. Do you know what he did when that bull killed my father?”

“No. What happened, Ty?”

“Tom showed up the next day and drove me out to his ranch. He walked me out to where he had the bull penned and handed me a loaded rifle. That bull was Tom's pride and joy and was intended to be his new herd sire. Hell, it wasn't even the bull's fault. He was just doing what he was bred to do—what he was born to do—but Tom nodded at the bull and said to me, ‘Do whatcha gotta do, son.' I climbed inside that pen, stared the bull straight in the eye, and pulled the trigger. I shot the sonofabitch four times, but it didn't bring my ol' man back.”

“Oh my God.” She covered her mouth. “You were only a kid. How awful.”

“It was, but my point is that Tom stepped in and has been there for me ever since. He's the real deal, Monica. He loves you. Screw the rest of 'em. Live your own life.”

“Yeah, well, independence isn't all it's cracked up to be,” she replied softly. Why did only Tom find her worthy of love?

Looking for a distraction, Monica stared out at the vista almost nine hundred feet below. The sun had started to dip, painting the mountains in the distance in soft shades of red, gold, and purple while the city came to life below in all its gaudy and glimmering glory. It was breathtaking, enough for her to lose herself for a time. “The view up here is incredible,” she murmured.

“It's still only the second-best view,” Ty's voice softly rumbled back.

“And the first?” she asked.

“If you really want to know, it's watching the sunrise over Red Rock Canyon . . . from my bedroom window.” The invitation for something far more than the view glittered in his eyes.

Monica's pulse raced with panic. She ached to see that sunrise but didn't know how she could ever survive it unscathed. She should check into another hotel or, better yet, one of the condos at the Aria just down The Strip—anything but another night with Ty.

It would be so easy to succumb to temptation, but self-preservation prevailed. A moment later, she excused herself and slipped away to the ladies' room to make some calls.

When she returned, Ty stood to pull out her chair. Monica sat down to the main course, only to find her appetite gone. “You're folding again, aren't you?” Ty easily read her thoughts. “I can see it in your eyes.”

She drew a long breath and forced her lips to form the right words. “Yes. Frankie's already on his way to pick me up.” She laid her napkin down and stood on wobbly legs. “I'll be staying at the Aria if you need me. Could you please send my things over?”

“Sure.” He said nothing further, but she registered the flicker of disappointment in his eyes.

Unable to suppress the urge, she laid her hand lightly on his. “Thank you for the dinner, Ty. I truly did enjoy it.”

Ty watched her leave, cursing himself. Why the hell did he keep setting himself up like this? He'd never been uncertain of himself where a woman was concerned, but Monica wouldn't let him rest easy. Every time he thought he was on solid footing, it seemed to move beneath his boots, like shifting desert sand. He never knew quite where he stood.

He'd heard the hitch of her breath, had felt the sexual tension in her body, had seen the flare of desire in her eyes. His senses were long attuned to all those signs. There was nothing mixed about any of those signals, but she'd still walked out on him. She'd rejected him again.

He reminded himself that he'd be seeing Cassie tomorrow night. But it wasn't any good pretending anymore. He didn't want Cassie. Or any other woman. He wanted Monica.

M
onica forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, telling herself that leaving Ty at dinner had been the right thing. The smart thing. She never could have resisted him if she hadn't. He made her feel far too much like a junkie needing a fix. Sleeping with him the first time had been a big mistake. She couldn't afford to make that error again. She wasn't a fool. She recognized her feelings as more than infatuation, and it was only going to get harder to keep up the pretense.

Tonight she'd seen Ty in an entirely new light. And every new revelation about him only increased his appeal. She'd underestimated him in so many ways. Ty was fiercely loyal to Tom. She'd been dead wrong to ever think otherwise. He was also intelligent, funny, and amazingly intuitive. He'd cut straight to the core of her relationships with her family and with Evan, with an insight she'd never gotten from three high-priced psychotherapists.

Staring up from the base of the Stratosphere at the last of the jumpers, she breathed a shaky sigh of relief that she'd narrowly escaped such a fall. She knew she was already teetering on the edge of it, but where Ty was concerned she didn't have the protection of a safely harness.

Just as Frankie pulled up with the limo, she was startled by the contact of a warm hand on her shoulder. Her pulse racing as if in a free fall, she turned to find Ty. “Tell him you've changed your mind.”

“I—I can't.”

“Yes you can, Monica.” His gaze locked with hers, refusing to let her go. “You're coming home with me. I promised to show you the view.”

“But I thought it was supposed to be your closely guarded secret.”

“Some secrets are meant to be shared.”

She swallowed hard and tried again. “What about your standing rule about taking women home?”

His mouth twitched. “I've lived my whole life breaking other people's rules. Maybe it's time to break one of mine.”

“I don't think this is a good idea. Not for me. Not for either of us.”

“I've said it before, Monica. You think too much.”

Frankie opened her door with an expectant look.

Just as she turned toward the limo, Ty's hands anchored on her waist. He dipped his head, his lips passing over her skin, traveling slowly from neck to ear. She froze in her tracks.

“I
want
you to come home with me tonight, Monica.” His words pushed her over the edge. “I want you in my bed tonight, and I want to wake up buried deep inside you.”

Her gaze never breaking from Ty's, she sucked in a breath and dismissed her driver. “I don't need the ride after all, Frankie. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?'

“Sure thing, Ms. Brandt,” Frankie flashed Ty a knowing grin and closed the car door.

 

For twenty minutes Monica sat tense in the passenger seat while Ty darted periodic looks in her direction. As if in tacit agreement, neither made any effort to break the silence. The passing minutes only ramped the tension—and the anticipation that coiled low and deep in her belly. There was no question about what was going to happen between them. Only the when . . . and the how.

It was dark when they pulled into his drive, but security lighting revealed an adobe-style villa surrounded by a xeriscape of flagstones and flowering cacti. Ty helped her down from the truck and then grabbed her bags.

“Wow! It's not at all what I expected,” she said.

“Oh yeah? And how's that?”

She laughed. “It's so . . . so . . . pink.”

“It's adobe actually, but real men aren't threatened by pastels,” he quipped back. “C'mon inside.” Ty punched a security code into a keypad and opened double doors into a spacious great room. In contrast with the exterior, the slate floors, wood-beamed ceiling, and dark leather furniture were entirely masculine.

Ty carried her bags into what she presumed must be the bedroom while she explored the house. The great room led to a dining room that opened into a large kitchen that could have been featured in a home-décor magazine. It was a beautiful house. She marveled that he would choose to spend most of his nights at the hotel—and then considered the obvious reason why.

He didn't bring women to his home, a thought she was quick to dismiss.

Ty came from behind and spun her around. “How fortunate that I found you in here.” His husky voice dripped with honey.

“In the kitchen? Why's that?” she asked.

“Because you deprived me of something I wanted at dinner.” He backed her slowly up to the counter, his eyes glimmering with a predatory look that made her a little breathless.

“Oh? And that was . . . ?”

Her sex pulsed with her beating heart as he hoisted her onto the breakfast bar and dragged her ass to the edge of the cold, hard granite. His mouth was hot and hungry on hers, his tongue a dangerous distraction as his hands crept under her skirt to remove her panties. Her legs quivered as he spread her wide. His lips twitched as he finally answered, “Dessert.”

His mouth was on her before she could utter her next breath, licking and sucking like a hungry cat devouring cream. Within seconds he had her bucking, writhing, and pleading. “Please Ty,” she sobbed. “I want . . . I need . . .
pleeease.
”

“Please what? Finish you or fuck you? The choice is yours, sweetheart.”

“I want you to fuck me, Ty,” she panted with a needy ache that only Ty had ever inspired.

“Good answer.” He abruptly stood and lifted her from the counter.

“B-but aren't you . . . aren't we?”

“Not here.” He shook his head with a grin. “I'm a real traditional kinda guy. I like to
eat
in my kitchen. I like to
fuck
in a bed.” Wrapping her legs around his waist, he carried her to the bedroom, where he dropped her on the mattress. He quickly toed off his boots and went to work on his clothes. “Your turn,” he said. “Take it all off.”

She watched him watching her, as she removed her white blouse and lacy bra, and then shimmied out of her skirt. She then lay back on the pillows, lust smoldering deep in her belly as he stroked his cock and sheathed himself in latex.

Arching her back and jutting her breasts, she smiled in invitation. “Whatcha waiting for? C'mon, cowboy, gimme all you've got.”

 

Her eyes, glittering with lust, and her playful come-hither smile were almost too much for Ty. He didn't understand why Monica was so different, but every time with her he felt something brand-new. His mind was almost exploding with all the things he still wanted to do to her, but he liked her show of boldness and wondered what she'd do if he let her take the lead.

He dropped onto the bed beside her and then surprised her by rolling her on top.

“Since you prefer it on top,” he answered her questioning look, “let's see if you can ride me cowgirl style.”

 

Monica stirred awake at the feel of Ty's bristled face nuzzling her neck and his erection prodding between the cheeks of her ass. Still floating in a half-conscious haze, she wriggled into him and hooked her leg over his thigh, purring with contentment as he pushed inside.

He set a lazy rhythm of deep and slow thrusts while his expert fingers played music on her. God, how she loved the feel of him. It was heaven to wake up like this and even better to climax together. It all felt utterly perfect, as if for these few sweet moments the universe was in absolute harmony.

Ty rolled over with a groan. “C'mon. Gotta get up now, sleepyhead, so I can show it to you.”

“Show me what?” she asked, her brain still fuzzy with the afterglow of lovemaking.

“What I brought you out here for. Hurry up. The show doesn't last long.”

“Gee, Ty,” she grinned. “With all the sex I forgot your
real
purpose in bringing me out here.”

He chuckled and dragged her across the bed, pushing her to her feet and guiding her to a set of French doors.

“Wait!” she protested. “I'm not even dressed.”

He ripped off the bed sheet with an exasperated sound and threw it over her. Monica wrapped it around herself toga-style and followed Ty out onto the flagstone-covered terrace.

Looking out over the expanse of desert, she almost forgot to breathe. The first rays of dawn had begun to spread fingers of light toward the distant horizon, slowly dispersing the lingering shadows. Painted by the sun in soft hues of orange and pink, the copper-stained canyons stood in stark contrast against the backdrop of purple sky. Ty came from behind, wrapping his arms around her and murmuring in her ear. “Told you it was better than anything on The Strip.”

“Thank you for sharing it with me.” She shut her eyes on a blissful sigh, wishing she could remain forever cloaked in his warm body and his scent. What would it be like to do this every day? To wake up making love and then watch the sunrise with a man she . . .

Her heart gave a painful contraction. She refused to continue that thought, to define the feeling that suddenly welled up in her chest.

Ty dropped his hands from her shoulders as the sun crested. “Show's over now. Hungry?”

“Starving,” she answered.

“I make a mean Spanish omelet.”

“You cook?” she asked in surprise.

“I manage,” he replied. “But don't expect much. My repertoire is strictly limited to skillet foods.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Wanna join me in the shower first?”

He shook his head with a grin. “We both know where that would lead.”

“And you have a
problem
with that?”

“Far from it, Sugar, but as much as I'd love to stay here and laze in bed with you all day, I can't. I've got some important things to take care of.”

“Oh? Like what?” she asked. “What's so urgent?”

“Business, Ms. Brandt.” He unhooked her arms. “Important business.”

“Hotel business?”

“Maybe.”

“Then that involves me too, don't you think?”

“Nope,” his mouth compressed. “Not at this juncture anyway.”

Why was he being so evasive? She felt as if he'd suddenly shut her out. Monica took a quick shower while he made breakfast. Donning his bathrobe, she padded out to the kitchen to find Ty already dressed in pressed jeans and starched shirt. She noted his wet hair. “So you showered after all?

“Yup. Used the guest bath.” He handed her a huge stoneware mug filled with steaming coffee. “Hope you like it black. It's that or the powdered stuff. I'm not here often enough to keep dairy products in the fridge.”

“Thanks. Black is fine.” She took a sip as he scooped their food from the iron skillet onto two stoneware plates and gestured for her to sit.

“It smells great, Ty.”

“Don't expect too much. I had to make do with the ingredients on hand.” He produced a large bottle of ketchup, setting it down in front of her with a grin. “In case you don't like my cooking. My feelings won't be hurt.”

Monica took a bite of egg, onion, and potato. It wasn't bad at all, but she found herself too distracted to enjoy it.

“If you want a lift back into the city you can ride with me,” he said, “But I won't be back until late tonight.”

“No thanks. I'll just call Frankie.”

“Then I'll give you the key code. Feel free to make yourself comfortable here.”

“I'm not staying at your place again tonight, Ty.”

His brows met in a frown. “Why not?”

“Because it's not practical for me. I need to be closer to Tom and to the hotel.”

“It's only twenty minutes away. It's not a bad drive. We just need to see about getting you a car.”

“A car?”

“Yes. Aren't you tired of having to call a driver all the time?”

“I don't have much choice, Ty. I don't drive.”

His frown deepened. “What do you mean you don't
drive
?”

“Exactly what I said. I don't have a license. In Manhattan I never needed a car. They really aren't necessary there, and even if you have one, it's impossible to find parking. So you see? Staying with you just doesn't work for me. I need a place on The Strip. That's why I was going to the Aria last night.”

“If that's what you really want,” he shrugged, “suit yourself.”

His blithe response hit her like a bucket of ice water. It was also a wake-up call.

“What was all this about? Why did you bring me out here?”

“Told you why.” He inclined his head toward the window.

“I'm serious, Ty. I need to know where this is going.”

“Going?” he repeated blankly. “That question seems to imply an end point of some kind. I don't like to think in those kinds of terms.”

“But I do. The very nature of a relationship is a progression, Ty. It's how it works.”

His gaze narrowed. “Then maybe that's why relationships don't
work
for me.”

“I see.” Her stomach dropped.

“Look, Monica, I was straight with you from the start. I thought we were having a good time together. Why does it have to be more than that? Why can't we just live today and let tomorrow take care of itself?”

“I'm sorry, Ty, but playing fast and loose doesn't work for me.” She could never tell him the rest—that she was desperately afraid of falling in love with someone who wouldn't love her back.