Werewolf in Las Vegas (18 page)

“You're throwing me out of your bedroom?”

“Yes. For my sanity and your protection.”

“You're very gallant, Luke.”

“Don't say that yet. Wait until we're both heading down in the elevator. No, not even then. I could stop the elevator and take you before we get to the bottom. Congratulate me when we're in the car headed up into the mountains. I can't very well do you and drive a mountain road at the same time.”

“I suppose not. In any case, thank you for making me feel so desired.”

“If you were any more desired, I'd be in flames.” He stalked into the bedroom and grabbed her suitcase. He had to carry it open because that was the way she'd left it and he didn't want to take the extra time to zip it up. That meant he had to breathe in the light but exotic scent of Giselle. She didn't wear perfume, so it had to be her natural scent. He loved it.

“Thank you!” she called out to him as he deposited the open suitcase in the guest bedroom and made a beeline for the master.

“I'll be ready in twenty minutes.” He shut and locked the door.

“Me, too!” she shouted from her seat at the table.

He stood on the other side of his bedroom door, literally panting from the effort of separating himself from temptation. She'd become such a vital part of his existence so quickly that it scared the shit out of him. If this wasn't soul mate territory, what was?

She liked knowing that she affected him this way. He could see it in her eyes. And she craved their lovemaking as much as he did. That hot kiss at the table had told him so. If he hadn't called a halt, they would have been doing it—in the chair, up against the table, on the floor. And whipped cream would have ended up all over everything.

But he wouldn't have liked himself very much afterward. The woman had announced that she was sore, and unless he had become some sort of brutish cad, that should matter to him. Hell, he was sore, too. Anyone would be who'd had the sex marathon they'd been through.

Sadly, he didn't care about that. He would take a little twinge for the reward of having her again. He wasn't about to make that decision for her, though. When they made love again, and he hoped it would be fairly soon, he needed to know that he was giving her pleasure and not pain.

Therefore, he'd lock himself in the bedroom, take his shower, and get dressed while she performed the same chores in the guest bathroom. He would not think of her stepping into the shower and letting the water slide over her lithe body. He would not think of her lathering up, which would require touching all those intimate places he craved.

Right. He wouldn't think of it at all. Except every damn minute. Stripping down, he walked into the master bath and turned on the jets in the shower they'd shared only hours before. He could do this.

As he stepped into the spray, he was swamped by the erotic memories of Giselle turning to wash all the chocolate from her creamy skin, and of him leading her, with her eyes closed, to the jet that was perfectly positioned to give her a climax. After that . . . He groaned as the potent image of Giselle offering herself turned his cock into an unforgiving steel rod.

Surrendering, he faced the nearest jet, took hold of his problem, and solved it.

Giselle hadn't expected to have alone time, but she planned to make excellent use of it. The minute she'd heard the lock click on Luke's bedroom door, she'd made a dash for the guest room, abandoning the last of her strawberry waffle. That was a crying shame, but she had her priorities.

Once she left Vegas, she never expected to see Luke Dalton again, so while she was here, she wanted to soak up as much of his wonderfulness as possible. But they'd pushed the envelope the night before, and she needed to heal before she could partake again without wincing. That's where being a werewolf came in handy.

She made certain the guest room door was locked. Discovery would mean disaster. Then she pulled off the boxer shorts and T-shirt she'd borrowed from Luke and stretched out on the soft carpet. She hadn't shifted in at least a month because she'd been so busy covering for her brother. As she readied herself, she realized she wasn't as angry with Bryce about his disappearing act as she had been.

Although she still didn't appreciate the way he'd taken off without a word, his defection had brought her to Luke and a whole new appreciation for the sexual act. She also now had a template for what she was looking for in a mate. Unfortunately, Luke might be one of a kind, which would leave her settling for second best, but she couldn't help that. Luke was human.

Closing her eyes, she eased into her shift. Muscles expanded, bones realigned, and in a few short minutes a wolf with green eyes and dark red fur lay on the carpet. Giselle's flanks heaved. She'd like to walk around a little and work out the kinks, but there wasn't time.

A second shift following on the heels of a first one took extra energy, but she didn't mind. Luke was worth it. Her wolf eyes closed as she focused on reversing the process. The air around her seemed charged with electricity. Fur dissolved, facial features changed, and she was in human form again.

She couldn't resist reaching between her legs to test the shift's healing capacity. Her vulva was petal soft and moist with no sign of chafing. She smiled. Luke might not believe that she'd recovered so quickly, but she'd praise the value of Epsom salts. And when he realized he could love her again without restraint, he wouldn't care how or why. He'd simply enjoy.

The time she'd devoted to shifting meant she had to hurry through her shower and hair-washing routine. Luke would be ready before she was, but she knew human males were used to waiting for females to groom themselves. Giselle normally wasn't like that. She didn't believe in taking more time than necessary to dress for any event, whether it was a walk in the woods or a gala ball.

After blow-drying her hair, she dressed in jeans, boots, and a soft white sweater. She found Luke sitting on the leather sofa looking at the picture and the program that had affected him so much last night. He glanced up, and she glimpsed something soft and vulnerable in his expression before he chased it away with a brilliant smile.

“You look great.”

The frank admiration in his blue eyes warmed her in a way that no male gaze had ever done before. Although she'd been complimented on her looks in the past, the praise hadn't meant so much. But one simple comment from Luke made her glow.

She walked over and sat beside him. “That's such a beautiful picture of Cynthia.”

“It is. But the program is what really got to me. I was sitting here wondering why, and I think it was remembering that moment when she dashed up to us and insisted all three of us had to sign it. She must have felt so loved and supported by all of us, and now . . .”

She put her hand on his knee. “You still love her, Luke.”

“Yeah, but what about the support? I thought that's what I was doing, but you've made me rethink everything.”

“I have?” She looked into his eyes, excitement humming through her. “You're going to support her dream?”

“Even better. I'm going to offer her a vice presidency in the corporation.”

Giselle groaned.

“What's wrong with that? You said I should ask her if she wants to be part of the business.”

“I know. But asking her if she wants to do that is a whole other thing from offering her a top job without any prior discussion. It will come out sounding like a bribe.”

“So I shouldn't offer her a job?”

“Maybe eventually, but first you need to let her know you understand her yearning to be a dancer. You can show you understand by hiring her at the Silver Crescent. Then, sometime after that, you can offer her—”

“Can't risk it. Once I give her a job dancing, she's liable to love it so much that she won't want to quit for some desk job.”

If she'd been close to a wall, she would have banged her head against it. Or, better yet, banged his head against it. “Luke, can you hear yourself? If she does love it that much, then that's what she should do! Life's too short not to love your work.”

His jaw tightened. “She might also love being a doctor, or a lawyer, or hell, an astrophysicist. But she'll never know if she goes into dancing instead.”

“There's nothing wrong with that reasoning, except that—”

“Aha! You admit it's valid.”

“I admit it's logical. But that doesn't give you the right to impose your logic on her and try to control her life. If she chooses to throw away a potential career as an astrophysicist so she can shake her booty on the stage of the Silver Crescent, that's her prerogative.”

Folding his arms, he gazed at her with those incredible blue eyes. He didn't even seem particularly angry. In fact, he looked a little smug. “I'll remind you of that speech when you're trying to convince your brother to come home and accept his responsibilities.”

“That's different.”

“Not much. Why come chasing down here after him? Why not let him live his life the way he chooses?”

She hated to admit he had a point. But he didn't know the stakes in this game. He saw a wayward older brother who should be allowed to choose his own path. But she saw a werewolf who could create a political nightmare for the Landry pack if he refused to take over as alpha. That was different . . . wasn't it?

She tried to tell herself he was rebelling against the manipulation of his parents and future in-laws, not the concept of becoming the pack's leader. He'd be excellent in that role.

She handed Luke the photograph of Cynthia. “I realize it looks as if I'm trying to direct Bryce's future.”

Luke nodded as he put the picture back in the envelope. “It does.”

“But there are deeper issues at work.” Most of which she couldn't talk about. “The family dynamic is—”

He laid the envelope on the coffee table. “You want to talk about family dynamics? Try this on for size. Your dying father puts you in charge of his beloved daughter's welfare. I can guarantee that if he hadn't died, she'd be about to graduate from Yale in a few weeks. He would have expected that of her, and she wouldn't have defied him the way she's defying me.”

Giselle believed that. Fathers could have tremendous influence over daughters. Her dad hadn't specifically asked her to come down to Vegas and talk Bryce into accepting his place in the pack hierarchy, but she'd known that's what he and her mother hoped Giselle would accomplish. She was here to please her parents in much the same way Luke was trying to honor his father's wishes.

Taking a deep breath, she drew in a fair amount of humility along with the oxygen. “I owe you an apology. I have no business passing judgment on your behavior. Mine isn't all that different, as you so correctly point out.”

His expression softened. “Thanks for that, Giselle.” He came closer and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I owe you an apology, too, though.” His gaze searched hers. “I was eager for you to help me figure out the situation with Cynthia. You seem to really get her. It's not fair if I turn around and reject your advice.” He kneaded her shoulders with a gentle touch. “Bottom line, I'm glad you're here.”

“Me, too.” She saw the kiss shimmering in his eyes. Letting that happen would be so natural, but they had places to go and booby traps to deal with. One kiss would lead to two, and twenty, and . . . wild monkey sex. “We should go, or we'll never get to that cabin.”

“When you're right, you're right.” With a final squeeze, he stepped back. “Besides, I don't want to hurt you.”

She decided giving him some hints would be okay. “Actually, the Epsom salts did wonders.”

“Oh?” The glint returned to his eyes. “Care to elaborate?”

“No.” She grabbed her leather jacket, which still lay over the back of the sofa. “That's for future reference. Right now we need to drive up to a mountain cabin and see if Cynthia and Bryce have found a way to soak you.”

“And after that?”

She smiled. “Epsom salts work miracles. That's all I'm sayin'.”

•   •   •

Luke dropped his Lexus into third gear as he navigated the winding roads leading to the pine-covered slopes of the mountains. As the desert vegetation gave way to evergreens, he found himself thinking more about Giselle's miraculous recovery than his little sister's rebellious behavior. That wasn't good.

His revved-up libido could take a hike. He needed to concentrate on the problem with his sister, and besides, Giselle might not be as recovered as she claimed. They were driving up here to check out Cynthia's latest message, not to find a suitable spot to get naked.

Giselle put her window down a couple of inches and inhaled. “Smells great out there. I love pines.” Then she shivered and closed the window. “Chilly, though.”

“That's the beauty of living in Vegas. You can go from the warm desert to the cool mountains in no time. Lake Mead's in the other direction, so Vegas has it all.” He sounded like the damned Chamber of Commerce, and he knew exactly why. He wanted to gauge her reaction to the city, in case . . . well, just in case. He was a fool to keep hoping, but every time he looked at her, he was more convinced than ever that she was the one.

And it wasn't all about sex, either. Silly as it sounded, he liked the way they argued without getting nasty about it. She stood up to him, but she fought fair. She had the qualities he looked for in a friend.

“Obviously you're happy living here,” she said.

“I am. It's where I grew up, so that's part of the reason. But I've seen other parts of the country, and Vegas suits me. I like the energy of the city, the mild winters, and the chance to head for the mountains or the lake for a quick change of scenery.”

She nodded. “That's good.”

Although he would have preferred a more enthusiastic response, at least she hadn't disagreed with him about the city's appeal. “Are you happy living in San Francisco?”

“Oh, yeah. The cool air, the fog, sailboats on the bay—love it.”

So it wasn't only her job holding her there. That was discouraging. “Ever considered another part of the country?”

“Nope. Besides the fact that I love the area, my family's there. I'm very family oriented.”

“I used to be.” Whoa, that sounded pathetic. “The plain fact is, most guys would love to be in my shoes. I have plenty of money and the freedom to do what I want if I keep the corporation on an even keel.”

“Sounds like a nice life.”

“Exactly. Of course, Mr. Thatcher is hoping I'll get married and have a bunch of kids so he'll have something to do. I found out this morning he's bored out of his skull.”

“So that's Mr. Thatcher's dream. What do you want?”

You.
But he couldn't say that. “A better relationship with my sister.” He hadn't meant to say that, either, but it was the truth. Now that his mother was in France, Cynthia was the only family he had close by. Fighting with her felt terrible and he wanted it to stop.

“You know the way to get that, right?”

“Yeah, give in.”

“It's not giving in, Luke. It's letting go of your role as the father figure and becoming a brother and a friend.”

The idea beckoned to him like an oasis in the desert. “As I've mentioned before, my dad would roll over in his grave at the thought of her dancing with the Moonbeams instead of finishing her education.”

“Yes, but he's not here,” she said gently. “Expecting you to run the corporation is one thing. Putting you in charge of your sister's future is unfair. Of course she's not going to give you the same respect she gave your dad. If my brother tried to tell me what to do, I'd spit in his eye.”

That made him grin. “I bet you would.” Spotting a street sign ahead, he slowed the car. “There's the turnoff.” The road was gravel, which made him doubly glad he'd brought his car instead of Giselle's rented motorcycle. Patches of snow lay in the shadows created by the tall pines.

No one else was on the road, so he braked the car and pulled out his cell phone. “I'm sure they've left and Owen followed, but let me double-check.” He glanced at his text messages. “They took off about an hour ago. Owen tailed them to . . . the Silver Crescent? Damn it! They're running us around in circles.”

“She's trying to prove a point.”

Luke glared at the text. “Well, she's pissing me off.” His phone chimed. “I'll bet that's her, gloating.” He read the text.
“Game is over. Time to talk. Meet us here at eight o'clock.”

“Eight o'clock tonight? That's ten hours from now.”

“I know. But Cynthia loves the number eight. We used to play Crazy Eights when she was little, and then in junior high she found out that turning an eight on its side was the sign for infinity.”

“And it's the difference in your ages.”

He nodded. “That too. I wonder if they're in the penthouse yet.”

“Oh, dear.”

He looked over at her. “Yeah. She could have a field day. Mr. Thatcher would have waited for my signal before he brought in housekeeping.”