Secrets and Seduction Las Vegas (Sexy Italian Imports Book 1) (27 page)

“Really.”

Scott laughed. “He said he thought he saw you driving an old Toyota.”

Damn. Had the distributor seen him dressed as Carlos? “I have the Ferrari and a Harley.” He didn’t really lie, just evaded.

Scott nodded. “I told him he had to be mistaken. He’s seen you in the Ferrari, so he was surprised to see you get in that Toyota. He didn’t recognize you at first with your hair in a ponytail, but he swore it was you.”

Valerie choked, her blue eyes wide, staring at Antonio. She coughed a few times and grabbed her water glass. Shit. Now she knew something else he didn’t want her to know. His strip club car.

“I must have a twin.” He looked at Valerie, who was still clearing her throat but giving him a solemn look. Antonio looked at Scott. “What’s the distributor’s name?”

“Brendan Mainright. Works for Signature Woodcraft. Do you know him?”

Antonio shook his head. “No.” Could he be somehow tied to the blackmailers? Why else would he be asking questions about him? He turned to Valerie. “Does that name sound familiar to you?”

She furrowed her brows, “No, I…oh. No. It doesn’t.” She looked at him with sudden understanding, catching his implication that the name might be on Betina’s list of possible stalkers.

Scott stood, patting his belly. “Antonio, do you smoke cigars?”

“No you don’t.” Dena cut in. “You’re not going to lock yourselves in the den and smoke.”

Scott squeezed his wife’s shoulder. “Sure we are, good for the digestion. C’mon, Antonio. Let’s leave the women-folk to clean up.”

Antonio looked at Valerie.

She gave him a forced smile. “Go ahead. He’s got some nice cigars.”

He stood and felt the room tilt slightly. “Ladies.” He followed Scott to the den.

“Scotch or brandy?”

“No.” He held up his hand. “No more for me. I’m done.”

“Ach.” Scott splashed an inch of brandy in two snifters. “You’ve got to have something to cool the cigar.”

He handed the snifter to Antonio, snipped two cigars, and gave one to him with a lighter. “Cuban. Cohibas.”

Antonio lit his, puffing out the smoothest smoke he’d ever tasted. “Where do you get these?”

“One of our contractors. I don’t ask how he gets them.”

He drew on the cigar and blew out a smoke ring. “Fantastic.”

Scott sat in the chair next to him. “Here’s to surviving another dinner with she-wolf.” They touched glasses.

“She’s not that bad.”

“Keep thinking that, but watch your back.”

They laughed and talked about sports, land development, and crime novels. After an hour and two more glasses of brandy, Valerie knocked on the door and peeked in. “May I come in?”

“Shure, girlie.” Scott slurred. “We’re just about done with all the male bonding.”

“Good. It’s getting late. Ready to go, dear?”

Antonio smiled, liking that she called him dear. “Of course.” He stood clumsily and followed her to the foyer. “You don’t mind driving, do you?” His voice sounded guilty, even to his own ears.

Valerie raised a brow and huffed out a breath. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Scott smacked Antonio on the back. “Nice. You’ve got a designated driver.” He looked at his wife, who stood by the door giving the two inebriated men the evil eye. “Dena won’t drive after dark, so I have to get drunk at home.”

Dena tsked. “How do you manage to get every man who comes through that door stumbling drunk?”

Antonio shrugged. “He’s hard to say no to.”

Scott shook Antonio’s hand. “I like this guy, Valerie. You hang on to him.”

Antonio grinned. “Thank you, Scott. I intend to let her.”

The men laughed, and Valerie tugged Antonio’s arm. “Let’s go before you two regress to hugs and kisses.”

She hugged her parents, and Antonio shook Dena’s hand. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

Dena’s smile seemed insincere. “You’re welcome any time.” She glanced at her daughter. “Drive safe, Valerie. And call me when you get home.”

He caught the insinuation that Valerie was in danger being with him.

Valerie took his arm as they walked to her car. Did she think he was too sloshed to walk? “Baby, I’m fine. I’ve been able to perform exceedingly well in this condition.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her and grabbed her for a kiss.

“Yuck!” She cringed. “Cigars and liquor. Not sexy, baby.”

“Are you making fun of me—baby?”

“Yes, idiot. Get in the car. I’m taking you home.” She tried to smother a smile.

“I’m sorry I let your dad liquor me up.”

“You’re a big boy, Antonio.” She got into the driver’s seat and backed out of the driveway. “You could have said ‘no’.”

“I’ll try next time.”

“Thanks.”

He turned on the radio, connected to an oldies station, and laid his head back on the seat. When Rob Thomas’ “Lonely No More” came on, he sang along. The song hit him hard, the words ringing true. “I don’t want to be angry no more.” He looked at Valerie. “I don’t want to be lonely anymore.”

She looked at him then reached over and took his hand.

He wanted to say something profound, to tell her how he felt, but she’d think it was the liquor talking.

She took her hand from his and downshifted then turned into his parking garage. She walked around the hood and opened his car door for him.

“You’re a real gentleman, Valerie.” He laughed and put his arm around her shoulders. They rode the elevator up, and she stopped in the foyer.

By the look in her eyes, he could tell something was wrong. He took her purse and set it on the table. “I’ve got to piss. Don’t go anywhere, we should talk.”

When he came back into the living room, he found her standing at the glass wall, looking out at The Strip. He tested his breath—he’d brushed and used mouthwash, slapped on aftershave while in the bathroom. He walked up behind her, put his hands on her shoulders, and ran them slowly down her arms. He wrapped his arms around under her breasts and bent to kiss her neck.

“My sweet. I want you.” He pressed himself against her bottom, proving it to her.

When he felt a drop of water on his forearm, he froze. Was she crying?

He turned her gently to face him. She wouldn’t look into his eyes. He put his hands softly on her face and tipped her head up.

“God, no, baby. I’m sorry.” He wiped her tears away with his thumbs.

“What are you sorry for?” Her voice came out too small, too quiet.

“For getting smashed?”

“That’s not why I’m unhappy, Antonio.”

“What is it, baby? What have I done?” He was a complete ass for…whatever it was he did this time.

“I don’t understand what you do on weekends. Why do you have another car?”

He shook his head. “What should I drive down to The Strip? The Ferrari? Or the Harley?”

She tensed up.

That must have come off as angry.

Valerie sucked in an uneven breath. “If I’m prying, you can tell me to go to hell. I’m just so uncertain right now, it’s scaring me.”

“Come here.” He led her to the couch and sat with his arm around her. “What’s scaring you?”

“That your weekends are spent doing things you won’t tell me about.”

Now would be the time to confess. He sighed and dropped his head back. But even with all the liquor in him, he didn’t have the courage. His eyes wouldn’t focus correctly and he felt himself drifting off.

She stood, probably taking his silence for unwillingness. “I have an early day tomorrow. I’m going to take off.”

“I want you to stay.” It came out like more of a demand than he’d intended.

“We don’t always get what we want, do we, Antonio.”

“You always run away from me when…” He gestured roughly toward the elevator with his fist, bringing it across his body—just as she bent to kiss him goodbye. He was stunned when his knuckles connected with her soft cheek. Hard.

Chapter Twenty Three

“No!” Valerie cried and stumbled back. She put her hand on her face and looked at Antonio with horror.

He jumped up and touched the hand she held on her cheek. He suddenly felt horribly sober. “Valerie, angel, I’m so sorry. I would never intentionally hurt you.” His voice was a high whine.

Her chin quivered, and her eyes filled with tears that ran down her cheeks. “I’ve never been hit before,” she whispered.

He couldn’t follow her thought pattern. Was she in shock? “Sit down, sweetheart. Let me get you an ice pack.”

She stepped back from him, pushing his hand away. “I think I need to go.”

“Please. You believe me, don’t you? I was just—” He made the same motion with his arm, and she flinched. “I was just gesturing in response to your comment.”

“I know. It’s okay.” She ran her tongue on the inside of her mouth and winced.

Damn, he’d really smacked her.

She walked to the elevator.

“Will you call me when you get home?”

“Sure. Right after I call my mother.” She grabbed her purse. “Everyone is so damned concerned for my safety.”

“Please call me. I want to make sure you’re okay. That we’re okay.”

She stepped into the elevator, and the light showed an angry red mark that would bruise. Her lip already looked swollen. She wouldn’t meet his eye. “I’ll call you. Get some sleep.”

The doors closed. He hung his head, ran his fingers through his hair. He stunk like cigar, booze, and shame. He brought his phone into the bathroom and showered.

She’d never been hit before. He’d never hit a woman before.

He bent forward and braced his hands on his thighs. He was going to be sick.

He lay in bed waiting for a half hour, but she never called. He made the mistake of calling her.

****

Valerie drove home in a semi-shocked state. She went over the conversation leading up to the hit.

She’d told him, “Your weekends are spent doing things you won’t tell me about.” When he hadn’t answered, she’d said, “I have an early meeting tomorrow. I’m going to go.”

He’d demanded, “I want you to stay.”

She’d replied angrily, “We don’t always get what we want, do we, Antonio.”

She remembered looking into his eyes as she bent to kiss him. Then he’d struck her, but was it just delayed reaction because of the alcohol? She didn’t believe he was abusive but painfully felt the evidence as she touched her tongue to the lacerated flesh of her inner cheek. When he’d connected with her face, her teeth ripped flesh. In the elevator, she put a tissue in her mouth to stop the bleeding, but it didn’t help. She stuffed more in and pressed. It was painful. She needed to get ice on this quickly or it would bruise and swell.

She was just turning onto her street when her cell phone rang. She would return the call from home. Pulling into her driveway, she saw her sister’s car by her garages.

Monica walked up to the passenger side of her car. “I just tried to call you. We were driving by, and I thought you might like to meet Joe.” Joe got out of the car.

“Mon, right now isn’t a good time.”

Her sister looked down at the wad of bloody tissues on the floor mat. “What’s the blood about, Val?”

She looked away. “Let me pull into the garage.”

Monica and Joe followed her in, and she got out of her car.

In the bright garage lights, Monica gasped. “What the hell happened to you?”

“It was an accident.”

“An accident my ass. He hit you!”

Joe stepped forward and bent down to take a look. “Good to meet you, Valerie. Let’s get some ice on this.”

She tried to smile, but it hurt too much. “Sorry about the drama, Joe. It’s nice to meet you too.”

Monica looked at Joe. “That’s from a fist, isn’t it?”

Valerie pushed past her sister and went into the house. “It was an accident. I bent down as he swung his arm. Seriously, just an accident.”

They followed her into the kitchen. Monica pulled out a stool. “Sit. Let me look.”

She frowned. She didn’t want all this attention.

“I’m a doctor, for cryssake. Now sit!”

She sat on the tall barstool. Monica looked at Joe. “Would you please find an icepack?”

He went to the refrigerator while Monica dug a flashlight out of the junk drawer and shined it in Valerie’s mouth. “You’re still bleeding. You might need stitches. It’s pretty deep. Joe, look at this.”

“No. It’s fine, really.” She hated when Monica fussed.

Joe came and bent, looking into Valerie’s mouth. “No stitches needed. Just keep pressure on it. Do you have gauze?”

She nodded. “Upstairs.”

Joe handed her the cold pack wrapped in a kitchen towel. Monica looked at the outside of Valerie’s cheek and lip then looked into her eyes. “Put the ice on the outside, and let’s go upstairs. We’re going to talk.”

“Sounds like a blast.” Her sarcasm dripping from her words.

Joe’s eyebrows shot up. “I’ll just—”

Valerie pointed. “I have a media room at that end of the house. Feel free to—”

“Say no more.” He turned and walked a few feet then looked back at the women. “But let me know if there’s anything I can do, Valerie.”

“Thank you, Joe. I hope to see you again soon, under better circumstances.”

He winked and left the room.

Valerie dug in her purse for her cell phone. “I’ve got to call Mom.” She made the call while Monica poured a glass of water and found a straw. Then she made a call to another psychologist who worked at the runaway shelter and asked her to cover for her the next day. She couldn’t make it ‘‘for health reasons,” she told her, and saw Monica give her a look. Valerie would wait to call Antonio until she had some privacy.

But until then, Valerie had to deal with her protective older sister. “Let’s go up.”

****

Monica set the glass on the bedside table while her sister went into the bathroom and closed the door. Valerie didn’t hear when her cell phone rang, so Monica picked it up and saw the caller I.D. Antonio. She took the phone out to the hall and answered it. “You bastard.”

There was a moment of silence. “Valerie, I’m so sorry. It was an accident. Please—”

“It’s Monica, and I’m ready to call the police and file a domestic violence report on you.”

“Monica.” That one word conveyed a world of anxiety. “You’ve got to believe me, it was completely unintentional.”