The One Who Got Away (12 page)

Steve's posture changed, relaxed a little, but she could see he wasn't thrilled about the conversation. He squeezed her hand. “I remember.”

“See you later.”

He nodded, then walked away from her. She stared after him until she lost him, then turned back to her own path. She should sleep, just for a bit. Then she'd face Ben and tell him about the pills. She wouldn't tell him about the rest of her morning, though. Not about the way she felt. Not about what she wanted. Because she didn't know.

B
EN CLOSED HIS EYES
on the way up to the fourteenth floor. The elevator wasn't too crowded, just two teenagers checking themselves out in the mirror, giving him the occasional glance, hence the closed eyes. He didn't want to smile or act nice. He wanted to figure out what the hell was going on with him and Taylor. He wanted to sleep. He didn't know what the hell he wanted.

The doors opened, and he walked out. There, standing in front of the second elevator, was Taylor. She noticed him with a start.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

They both just stood there, staring at one another, until both elevators closed and went on their way. They were alone in the carpeted hallway, and he could cut the tension with a knife. This wasn't how he'd pictured seeing her again. Hell, he'd expected to see her next to him in bed. The note had been simple but terse, and his suspicions had been aroused. Then to see her at the pool… The night had been one of the best of his life, and then he'd gone down the rabbit hole into some parallel universe where Taylor was
with some strange blond guy and he didn't know what to say.

“I was just, uh…” She nodded in the direction of their rooms.

“Me, too.”

“Great.” She started walking first, and he followed, slightly behind her. He could see the tension in her posture, the way her bathing suit was still damp so her white cover-up clung enticingly to her behind. Despite his concern over what happened, his libido seemed to be in fine working order. His gaze traveled down to her bare legs, slightly tan, perfectly formed, and he wanted to run his tongue down her thighs to taste the chlorine and what lay beneath. He was so engrossed in his trip down erotic lane, that he almost bumped into her when she stopped at her room.

He did something to her because her towel dropped to the carpet with a clunk. A clunk? Then he saw her laptop peeking from beneath the terry cloth.

He bent to get it, and when he rose again, he noticed the blush on her cheeks. He hadn't said anything about wanting to lick her thighs, had he? No. This was about something else. And he had a damn good idea what.

He held out the computer and towel. And before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “So, who was he?”

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened. The blush deepened and went right down to her neck.

He silently cursed himself. That wasn't the way he'd planned to bring the whole thing up. And now she was on the defensive, which was the exact
opposite reaction he'd been going for. Damn, damn, damn.

“Who?”

He blinked. Who? Was she kidding? “The guy at the pool.” Hell, he'd gone this far already, no use backtracking now.

“Oh, yeah.” She turned to the door, struggled with her key card. “You want to come in?”

“Sure,” he said, although the thought of running away held great appeal.

 

T
AYLOR FINALLY
got the door open, and led him inside the room. He'd seen her kiss Cade. Oh, God. Of all the things she hadn't prepared for, that was the biggie. Her cheeks were aflame, she didn't know where to look, her hands shook, and all she wanted was to blink like Jeannie and disappear into a bottle. Any bottle. Instead, she dumped her towel and computer on the couch and made the quickest getaway she could. “Let me go change. I'm still wet. I'll be back in a minute.” She inched her way to the bedroom. “Get something from the minibar. Or room service. Or whatever. I won't be long. I—” Then she was inside the bedroom and she shut the door.

She leaned against the door, cursing her bad luck, her stupidity, her lack of magical disappearing skills. He'd seen her!

She had to tell him something. Anything. Heading to the closet, she picked out a summer dress, this one sea-foam green, with wisps of pale blue that she'd gotten on sale at Nordstrom's for a steal. To add to her luck, she'd found perfectly matching sandals at a
completely different store, days apart. It seemed obvious she'd reached her luck quota with this dress, so she'd be damned if she didn't wear it until it shredded.

Next, she got a pair of panties from her drawer, blue, to go with the dress. Not that anyone was going to see her color coordination, as Ben would now discover that she was a blatant slut that didn't deserve anything but his pity.

She went into the bathroom and took off her clothes, stepped into the shower to rinse off the chlorine and tried to come up with a lie.

Any lie.

Okay, she could say that Cade was someone she knew from San Francisco. Just a friend. A pal. A buddy. No one important or sexual. And the kiss? Ha, ha. That was just a friendly hi. No big deal. So how about them Yankees?

She scrubbed her skin with the hotel soap, hand-milled and smelling like lemons. So if not a buddy, then what? An ex-boyfriend? So why would she kiss an old boyfriend? Because he was dying, that's why.

Yeah, Cade looked like a guy on his last legs.
Come on, girl. You can do better than this.

He couldn't be a dying ex. But the friend thing wasn't too bad. Lots of friends kiss. They don't usually use tongue, but how close would Ben have had to be to see Cade's tongue in her mouth.

The friend thing would work. It would. As long as she told him in a completely casual fashion. No drama. No blushing! Of course, she was well known for her terrible lying skills. Her boss had caught on
quite early, and made sure she was never in any kind of position where she had to so much as fib.

Besides, lying to Ben felt like hell. Worse. He didn't deserve it. All he'd been was wonderful and truthful. And last night was one of the most glorious nights of her life. How did she repay him? By kissing a stranger at the pool the next morning.

Maybe slut was too kind. What was worse than a slut? She didn't want to know, although she was sure that's what she was.

God, Ben. Wonderful Ben, who had the audacity to turn her little fantasy into a world of confusion.

She rinsed off, stepped out and got dry in a flash. Her hair, which she should have washed, she simply left in the ponytail. So what if it was wet. As for makeup? Forget it. He deserved to see her for who she truly was. She wasn't good enough for mascara.

On with her panties, then the dress. Damn, but it was a great dress. Perfect lines, silky material, and it really made her look tan. Which wasn't the point. The point was Ben. Waiting. Deserving so much more than her.

She slipped on her shoes, straightened her back and headed out for the lie-fest in the living room.

 

B
EN CLOSED
the minibar door. Opened it again. Nothing new tempted him. He slammed it shut, making the whole shelf tremble. Cute trick of hers to disappear like that. She had plenty of time to work out a believable alibi, and here he was wandering around like a schmuck, waiting. He should go.

He walked to the door. Opened it. Shut it. This was
Taylor, for God's sake. She wouldn't lie to him. Why would she need to? They'd made love. So what? So it was the best he'd ever experienced in his life, but hadn't that been the deal? A week of hoppin' and boppin' and adios, amigo. So what if she had a little tongue action out at the pool. This was Las Vegas! Sin City! He could be getting a lap dance right this second, if he wanted one.

But that was just it. He didn't want one. He didn't have the slightest desire to kiss another woman. He wanted Taylor. More of her. Lots more. And right this second, he was terribly afraid the fun was over.

What had he done wrong? Everything had seemed so right. Almost too right. Like that made sense.

The bedroom door opened, and he froze, as if she'd caught him going through her purse or something. He struggled for a smile, but the struggle was short-lived as he watched her walk into the sitting room.

She was a vision in a pale green dress. Fresh-faced, her hair back in a simple ponytail, completely unadorned, and looking so beautiful it made him want to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. He didn't give a damn that he had no idea what he should be forgiven for. He just wanted her.

His gaze moved down over the curves of her breast to the incline of her waist. Then the flair of her hips did something to his groin that wasn't exactly on the agenda.

“Sorry,” she said. “I just hate that feeling of chlorine after swimming.”

He nodded, although he couldn't remember the last time he'd been in a public pool. He liked water, but
not that much of it. “You're probably tired,” he said. “I should get going. Maybe grab some lunch or something.”

“No, it's okay. I, uh, you asked about…”

He shook his head as he walked toward her. “Forget it. It's none of my business. Man, you look so beautiful in that. It's a knockout.”

She smiled, the first genuine expression except for fear and guilt he'd seen today. “Thank you.”

He looked down at his jeans and his vintage Island shirt. It was covered with pineapples and old Chevys for some unknown reason, but he loved the damn thing. Didn't get a chance to wear it often. Next to Taylor, he felt like a little match boy.

He stepped closer to her, wanting to touch her, maybe her arm, her shoulder, before he left. Maybe get a hint of her scent to carry with him.

She touched his arm instead. “Ben, listen.”

He hated sentences that started that way. He put his hand up to stop her, but she didn't even notice.

“That guy at the pool? He wasn't anybody. I mean, he was a really nice guy. Sweet. Cute. And he came over to, I don't know, try to pick me up or something.”

“You don't have to tell me this.”

“Believe me,” she said. “I hadn't planned to. Now, I think I have to.”

He nodded, not sure he wanted to hear the rest. But if she needed to talk, he'd listen.

“I was really confused about a lot of things. And he was just there. And when he leaned over—”

Ben coughed. That thing about listening if she
needed to talk? Bullshit. No way. “Hey, you know what? I really am hungrier than I thought.” Walking backward, he prayed he was heading for the door. “I'm gonna go get one of those famous foot-long hot dogs. On the Strip. I saw a whole show about them on the Food Channel. They're supposed to be great.”

“Wait.”

“Really hungry.”

She took a step toward him. “It's about Steve.”

He stopped. This he could hear. “What about him?”

“I saw him down in the casino. And he took some pills.”

“Pills? Steve?”

She nodded, concern all over her gorgeous face.

“That's weird. What were they?”

“He wouldn't tell me. Actually he said they were vitamins.”

“That's a load of crap.”

“Which is what I told him.”

“And?”

She turned toward the window, to the brilliant sunshine just outside. The searing heat that was just a mirage inside the cool hotel room. “He wouldn't give it up. Although I asked him if Lisa knew he was taking vitamins, and he said yes.”

“Vitamins.”

“I think it has something to do with all this.”

“Knowing his pill-phobia, I have to concur. It doesn't look good.”

“I don't want to say anything to Mom. She'd just get worried, and I'm doing that for both of us.”

He walked over to her side, put a hand around her shoulder. It was easier now, because he was talking to Steve's baby sister. Who needed his help. “I'll find out what's going on.”

“He's not going to be thrilled I told you.”

“I'd be shocked if he didn't expect it. For God's sake, we're his family.”

“I know. I said that to him. But you know how stubborn he can be.”

“Yeah, ask him who got to sleep in the big tent four summers in a row.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Just know, I'll get to him. Before the wedding.”

She faced him now, just Taylor. No swimming-pool men, no embarrassed blushes. His Taylor. “Thank you.”

He kissed her then. Those sweet peach lips. The soft honey of her breath. Her scent, unique in all the world. He kissed her and wanted nothing more than to be around her. To feel her skin from time to time. To hear her voice.

“I gotta go,” he said, not wanting the moment to be spoiled. “But I'll call you later, okay? See what you're up to?”

“I'd like that a lot,” she said.

He believed her. It was enough.

“But I want to—”

He put his lips back on hers, then inched away to whisper, “Shh. Later.”

And because he'd been very, very good, she kissed him back. Kissed him like she was his and his alone.

 

B
EN WALKED
past Caesar's Palace, marveling at the statues and the huge sign for the Celine Dion show. She must be raking it in. He heard it was one of the better shows on the Strip. He'd wanted to see O, too. But he didn't think he'd have time. Maybe he could catch something, a comedian or a magic show. He'd like to take Taylor to see Lance Burton. That was one he'd seen before, and it was a trip.

But he didn't see the sign for the giant hot dogs, and besides, he wasn't really that hungry. He was definitely hot, though.

He stepped inside a small casino, one he didn't recognize. It was cooler by a whole hell of a lot, and for that he was grateful. But it was loud. Really loud.

In some of the bigger hotels, they made sure the slot machines were demure, hushed. In here, it was every bell and whistle they could find to drum up business.

He wandered, his gaze moving from one gambler to the next, their faces blurring into one another. He walked all the way toward the reception desk area where the noise abated to a manageable level.

There, a big red couch sat unencumbered and inviting, so he sat down, sinking into the leather cushion. He took his time looking about. The two people behind the desk, a man and a woman both wearing red blazers with nametags, seemed older than the folks employed at the bigger hotels. He was glad they had work. And that they were laughing.