Sucker Bet (6 page)

"I wouldn't like you if you didn't." He popped the lid off his coffee cup and dumped two packets of sugar substitute into it. "Death makes us feel bad. That's normal. When it stops feeling bad, that's when we know we're in trouble."

Maybe that was what had happened to Roberto. He had lost his compassion for the suffering of others. He had learned to take his immortality for granted, and fallen under the mistaken notion that having been granted eternity, he was entitled to use it as he chose.

"So your sister had cancer? How old was she?" she asked softly.

Nate didn't answer right away. He took a sip of his coffee and set it down. Then he met her gaze. The pain there was palpable.

"Kyra was twenty-five. She had leukemia."

"So young? That's just awful." And suddenly it made Gwenna profoundly ashamed. She'd had almost a thousand years of life and what had she done with them? Nothing. She had embroidered and played the harp and pianoforte, hosted dinners for Roberto, and read a vast quantity of books. But she hadn't done anything useful, not like her brother and Alexis. Not like Corbin, who had spent his vampire life engaged in genetic research.

"Yeah, it is awful. It totally sucks, really."

Nate's sister had lived but a whisper in comparison to her, yet Gwenna was ungrateful for her immortality. Or at least she had been. That had changed in recent months, and she should allow herself credit for that.

"I hope you were able to be with her at the end." Gwenna had wanted that with Isabel, had wished she'd had the chance to tell her daughter good-bye.

"Yeah, I was. Kyra, she is… was an amazing girl. She really did go through this whole thing with dignity and grace. I'm in awe of how brave she was. Right until the end."

The tears hung in his eyes again, and he fought them back brutally, clearly determined not to let them fall.

"It's okay to cry, you know," she whispered.

"No, it's not. Not here in the freaking coffee shop." Nate pressed on his forehead. "God, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Gwenna reached for his free hand and slipped it in hers. "And if this isn't the place to let it go, let's find somewhere where you can."

"Like where?"

"My brother's casino. We can find a quiet corner."

"A quiet corner in a casino?" He looked skeptical.

"If you know where to go, absolutely."

She started to stand up but he resisted. "Gwenna, this isn't a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Because the department is going to have to ask you questions still about the online group you belong to. And if that victim is really Slash, there will be more questions. This isn't really even appropriate for us to be talking."

"So you came to the casino to interview me further. That's all. And we have been discussing it. I'm not a suspect, so why does it matter?"

"Everyone is technically a suspect. Especially if you knew the victim."

That honestly hadn't occurred to her. "I was in my hotel suite until nine forty-five. I took the train to the station, and then found him. I can prove I was at home until then because I had a fight with my ex-husband in the hallway right before I left. I'm sure at least someone had to have heard us."

"No one said you had to prove an alibi right now. We're a long way from that. We're just gathering facts right now." He stood up and gathered his trash. "You're right, let's go back to your casino."

"It's not mine." Gwenna picked up her coffee cup and followed him to the garbage, pitching hers after his. "It's Ethan's."

"But you live there, right?"

"Yes." Gwenna stuck her hands in her front pockets, suddenly wondering why it bothered her to admit that. "For now."

"So you moved from England a few months ago?"

"Five months ago."

"And what do you do for a living, Gwenna?"

That was a loaded question, though Nate couldn't possibly know that. "Not a damn thing."

Nate Thomas had parked his car in the casino garage next to Gwenna's reserved spot, and now he was following her into the building, wondering if the reason he'd originally thought she wasn't all that smart was because she was actually incredibly sheltered. Naive as opposed to dimwitted. While she had refused to elaborate, Gwenna had made it sound like she didn't work. She had clearly gotten married at a young age, if she had already been divorced for three years. And she was living inside her brother's pimped-out casino, which was about as far from reality as you could get.

A doorman gave Gwenna a big smile as he swung open the door for her. "Good evening, Ms. Carrick, how are you?"

"Fine, thanks, Reginald. How are you tonight?"

"Oh, can't complain." The doorman was tall and broad and held the door cheerfully for Gwenna. Then he seemed to realize Nate was actually with her as opposed to just randomly walking behind her. "Who's your friend?" he asked, voice dripping with suspicion.

"This is Detective Thomas. He's here to ask me some questions." Gwenna stopped and put her hand on the doorman's sleeve. "I was at the train station and I found some poor man's body. He'd been killed, Reginald. It was horrific."

"What!" Reginald looked outraged. "That's no good, Ms. Carrick. That's just wrong."

"You've hit it exactly."

"Does Mr. Carrick know?"

"No, thank God. And let's not tell him just yet, okay?"

"Sure, whatever you say."

"Thank you, dear."

Maybe it was being British, but sometimes Nate thought Gwenna sounded a hell of a lot like his grandmother. Yet she was young and beautiful, not a wrinkle or orthopedic shoe in sight. The contrast was a curiosity he wanted to explore. There was something totally enigmatic about her. The pieces to the puzzle seemed to jumble more, and none of them fit anywhere that he could find.

"There's a restaurant over here that is only open for breakfast. It's just a little diner thing. We can go in here if you like." She paused in the entrance to the grand lobby, skirting a glass end table. "Oh, wait, I have a better idea. We'll go in the spa. It's closed for the night and it has really lovely velvet couches."

He wanted to suggest they just go up to her place, but he knew that was wrong on a whole lot of levels. One, it would sound like a come-on, which he didn't mean. Not really. Two, he had just lectured her on dangerous behavior. Encouraging her to take a strange guy up to her room—even if was him—would encourage her carelessness. He had to take the high road, even if sitting in a darkened spa sounded way less appealing than just hanging out in her place. She'd said she had a suite, and he was betting it had a killer view of the Strip. But the truth was, the whole fact that he'd followed her in his car to the casino in the first place showed his judgment wasn't all that rock solid at the moment, so he should just let her call the shots. He wasn't even sure what the hell he was doing there.

Maybe that wasn't true. It had to do with Kyra, and the fact that he felt a little sick to his stomach, lonely, sad, and angry. He hadn't wanted to go home, but neither did he want to hang out in the lobby of a busy, crowded casino. Going to Gwenna's suite would probably be a mistake, though, given his shaky frame of mind, so the spa was really the best all-around idea.

And shit, if he lost it and blubbered, at least the lights would be dim.

"Sounds like a plan."

She smiled at him, and Nate felt something he sure in the hell shouldn't. It was a kick of lust, right where it counted. Which scared the crap out of him. The mind was weak at the moment, yet the body still was totally functioning, which made this a bad thing. A stupid idea. This was him with his head up his ass if he went up that elevator with her.

He went.

Which meant he was a total idiot.

But he was on the edge, and he knew it. Everything he felt, everything he'd lost, the hurt, the fear, the bitterness, swirled around inside him and threatened to take him down. He was going to crack, soon, the pressure pulling inside his skull, the lack of sleep, that last phone call to his parents, the indignity of yet another mindless murder on tonight of all nights, pushing and tugging at him.

It was Gwenna Carrick or a bottle of Jack, and she was a hell of lot more attractive than him drunk.

"What floor?" he asked as they stepped into an elevator with a thirty-something couple who were leaning dangerously close to each other.

"Sixteen."

Gwenna glanced over at the pair dressed in cocktail party clothes. Nate watched her eyes widen a little at the fact that the couple were now making out vigorously. With lots of hand, tongue, and leg movement. Well, that was special. Shifting a little to block her view, aware that the guy's hand had just gone up the woman's skirt, Nate tried to think of something inane and conversational to say. "So…"

He had nothing. Especially since Gwenna had moved a little to see around him.

Instead of being appalled at the public fondling, she looked curious. Intrigued. She wet her lips. His own immediate and painful reaction to that was an instant boner. No hesitation, no slow inflate, just up, hard, and ready to go.

Which was more disgusting than the happy gropers behind him. He couldn't understand how he could get an erection on the same night he'd been to a crime scene and watched his sister die. It was like confirmation of everything he'd ever been told by his grandmother—his animalistic male body was totally disconnected from his emotions.

On the other hand, maybe it was just a coping mechanism of some kind. Distract him from the rough stuff with a simple physical response. That sounded right-on with what a therapist would tell him.

But he was starting to think maybe he should have stuck to the Jack Daniels idea, because the last thing he or Gwenna Carrick needed was a one-night stand.

The elevator dinged right as the woman let out an encouraging moan in the small space, and her back slammed against the wall from a particularly aggressive lunge at her breasts by her guy.

"This is our floor," Gwenna said.

Thank God.

They stepped off as Gwenna murmured, "Well, those two are in for a fun night."

"Doesn't feel very fair, does it?" he said, glancing into the empty spa as she used a key card to open the locked door. "They're going up without a care in the world to bang each other's brains out, and here we are. Day from hell for both of us."

She glanced back at him, blue eyes filled with compassion. "I think it's safe to say yours has been worse than mine."

Damn, she really was beautiful. Just pale and soft, all pink lips and shiny hair.

What would she do if he just reached over and kissed her? If he just grabbed on, held tight, and buried himself and all his thoughts inside her?

She'd probably kill him or file a rape report.

God, he was wrecked. He needed to go home. "Maybe I should just go, Gwenna. I'm fucking walking the edge here… I don't think I'm very good company."

"Don't go." Moving in closer to him, her hair brushed along his jaw, her petite hands touching his chest. "I want you to stay."

Then she tilted her head up to look at him, her fair skin stark in the muted glow from the overnight lights.

"Why?" he asked, standing stiffly, aware of how soft she felt, how delicate and feminine, and how much bigger he was than her. The scent of her was delicious—fruity and womanly, with a hint of coffee—and Nate wanted to run his fingers through her pale, silken hair and just let it go, let it all go.

"Because I don't want to be alone," she said simply. "And neither do you."

Then she lifted her mouth and kissed him.

Nate hadn't expected her to do it, not really, even when he'd been considering the same damn thing, but Gwenna didn't hesitate. She just covered his mouth with hers and kissed him with a hell of a lot of passion. She tasted as good as she smelled, and her lips were tiny and soft, maybe a little lacking in finesse, but taking him with confidence and enthusiasm. It was a damn good kiss, one that ended too soon.

When she pulled back, he lifted an eyebrow. "What exactly are we doing here?"

"We're being alive, that's what we're doing."

A part of his brain, the small bit that was still functioning, wondered if she were conning him. If she knew more about the murder than she'd let on, this could be just a way to distract him. Nate thought he was damn good at reading people, though, and he got a different vibe from Gwenna. She didn't come off as savvy enough to be a con or a liar, and that pain in her eyes when she talked about her daughter had been real, and so had her horror when discussing the victim's condition. He'd stake his badge on it that she was legit.

Not that he really cared much at the moment. He suspected he'd take what she was offering anyway, even if she was a boldfaced lying user. It felt too damn good to have her body up against his.

Let it go. That's what he really needed. He just had to let it all go so he didn't completely and totally lose it, and that's what Gwenna was offering him.

Nate buried his hands in her hair on either side of her temples, letting the silky wheat-colored strands slip over his rough, callused skin. "Are you sure?" he asked, giving her a chance to back out. Because he wasn't playing around. If they started, they were damn well going to finish.

Her hands slid around his neck, and she shifted her leg so they had below-the-belt contact. "Absolutely positive."

Good enough for him. Nate gripped her hair tighter and drew her face to him, letting his lips collide with hers in a crushing, take-it-or-leave-it kind of kiss, wanting to touch and taste her with a pounding urgency. Her breath came hot and fast, mouth opening for him with little coaxing. His tongue slid inside, thrusting and dominating, and he pushed his swollen dick against her, frustrated that the awkward shove only made her bounce away from him, breaking contact.

They needed a bed. Or a couch. The wall was closer still, so Nate turned Gwenna and walked her back three feet, pinning her against the wall next to the reception desk. Better. He could get a firm hold on her hair, and grind his hips against hers while he kissed the daylights out of her. It occurred to him that maybe he should ease up, since she was petite, kind of delicate-looking, and a total stranger, but he dismissed that idea. He wasn't being rough, just aggressive, and she was taking it. Her eyes were rolled back, fingernails digging into his back, hips rising up to collide with his in a hard, desperate thrust.