Werewolf in Las Vegas (24 page)

Bryce had described the total humiliation very well. Luke gazed at her. “Where did you learn to play like that?”

“As I said, I hung out with math majors. This is a game of geometry and physics. Once you understand the principles involved, all you have to do is execute.”

“Okay, I accept defeat. But before we go back to the table, isn't there anything else you can tell me?”

“I know he's really happy about you selling the bar back to Benedict Cartwright. He mentioned that several times.”

“Why does he care about that so much?”

“I'm not sure, but he kept talking about the Cartwright family tradition as if that mattered to him. He'd said all that before, when we were pulling our pranks on you, which was why I decided you should sell the bar. But . . .” She looked at him across the pool table. “Do you ever get the feeling that there's some secret society in town?”

“Yes! Have you ever tried to walk into the lobby of Illusions, the Cartwrights' new hotel?”

“No, why?”

“The doorman won't let you in unless you're a registered guest. You can't even enter the lobby
with
a registered guest. Giselle tried to get me in there, and the doorman flatly refused.”

“That's weird. Could it be some top secret headquarters?”

“I don't know, but that's a ridiculous level of security, no matter who's staying there. Who restricts access to the damned
lobby
?”

Cynthia rolled the cue ball back and forth in front of her and she seemed lost in thought. “It does make you wonder.”

“And there's some kind of connection between Mr. Thatcher and the two Landrys. Maybe they all belong to a secret organization and maybe not, but the three of them have something in common. I don't know what it is, but it's there.”

“I absolutely agree. Maybe if you find out what that connection is, you'll find out what's standing between you and Giselle.”

“How will I find out?”

“Keep a watch on your lady friend.” Cynthia rolled the cue ball across the table in his direction. “By the way, I've invited Bryce to spend the night in my apartment at the Silver Crescent.”

“Don't tell me that you're finally going to get chummy with the guy.”

“No. He gave up his hotel room once we set off on this adventure together, so now he needs a place to crash and it seems silly for him to book another room. We get along, but he's still hung up on his ex, and although he's sweet, he doesn't do it for me, either. I'm just saying that I'll be able to keep an eye on him. That leaves only Mr. Thatcher. I think he's a piece of the puzzle, too, but I'm not willing to camp outside his door tonight to find out.”

Luke rolled the cue ball back across the table in her direction. “You realize we're both talking like we're paranoid.”

She smiled. “I know. But that doesn't mean we're wrong.”

“But you don't think we're crazy, do you?”

“No, I don't. And whatever's going on, I agree that Giselle's involved in it, so stay alert.”

“Do you still think she's the one for me? I mean, all this mystery and intrigue doesn't sound promising, does it?”

“No.” Cynthia hesitated. “But I looked over at you two when you were dancing. You move together as if you've been doing it forever. As a dancer, I know how rare that is.”

“I'm not a dancer, but I know what you're talking about. We've been able to catch each other's rhythm without really trying.”

“Luke, do you believe in soul mates?”

“I . . . I'm not sure.”

“Me, either. But if there is such a thing, then she's yours.”

During Luke and Cynthia's pool game, the three Weres had a chance to discuss their plans.

Mr. Thatcher leaned forward. “I don't know how long before Benedict will have legal access to the playground, but shutting it down was such a rushed affair. I feel it's most important to get in there and make sure there are no problems that could prove disastrous.”

“It hasn't been that long since the crews left,” Giselle said. “It's probably okay.”

“But I understand what Mr. Thatcher means,” Bryce said. “This is a situation where a little problem could turn into a big one really fast. I really want to take a look at the place, but I just agreed to stay with Cynthia tonight. She offered, and turning her down would seem strange to her after all this.”

“You're staying with Cynthia?” Giselle pinned him with a look. “Are you involved with her, after all?”

He sighed. “Not only do you know that I'm not interested in her like that, but it seems that your fascination with Luke is the real problem here.”

Giselle recognized that he'd made a direct hit. “You're right. Sorry.”

“Cynthia and I are that rare phenomenon—heterosexual friends of opposite genders.” A hint of vulnerability flickered in his blue eyes. “And if you must know, I can't seem to forget Miranda.”

Giselle felt sorry for him, but he'd done it to himself, and she didn't want to give him false hope. “I'm in no position to comment, but—”

“But you will.”

She hesitated, but she was his sister, after all, and sisters were obligated to say the hard things to brothers. “You really screwed up that relationship. I don't know if you can ever salvage it.”

He nodded. “I realize that. But she hasn't hooked up with anyone else yet. I checked.”

Giselle didn't know if that meant he was willing to return and move into the alpha role or not. She emptied her mind of all expectations as she turned to him and asked.

He put his hand over hers. “I've done a lot of soul-searching in the weeks I've been gone. I had to get some perspective on the situation before I could decide if it was what I wanted or what everyone else wanted for me.”

“Before you tell me your decision, let me say that I'll support you whatever it might be.”

He grinned at her. “Picked up a few tips from the Luke and Cynthia mess, did you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. So have I. What I learned about myself is that family is important to me, too. And tradition. I'm ready to be the alpha.”

Giselle took a deep breath and sandwiched his hand between both of hers. “I'm happy that you decided that. Selfishly, I wanted you to, but I meant what I said. I would have been behind you either way.”

“That's terrific to hear.” He hesitated. “And if Miranda can ever forgive me, I want her to be by my side.”

“It's encouraging that she hasn't found another,” Mr. Thatcher said. “For both your sakes, I'll hold a good thought.”

“Thanks.” Bryce glanced at the butler. “As I started to say before, I can probably still go with you tonight. I'm sleeping in a spare room, so if I'm careful, Cynthia doesn't have to know I'm gone.”

Giselle shook her head. “I wouldn't risk it, Bryce.”

“I'm scheduled to meet Benedict at precisely two,” Mr. Thatcher said. “We won't be able to wait for you.”

“I understand. If I think there's any chance Cynthia would catch me, I won't do it.” He looked over at Giselle. “Sure you won't come with us?”

“I'd like to. But I can't.”

“I know. Just teasing you. Enjoy your last hurrah.”

“Right.” Heat rose in her cheeks. He
would
have to say something in front of Mr. Thatcher. But she also realized he'd kept his comment relatively tame. He could have made it ten times more suggestive.

As luck would have it, Cynthia and Luke returned to the table before she'd regained her composure.

Luke looked at her and raised his eyebrows.

She fanned her face. “Bryce and his jokes. My brother knows how to make me blush.”

“It's a talent.” Bryce stretched his arms over his head. “I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm ready to call it a night.”

Mr. Thatcher pushed back his chair. “So am I. But I've certainly enjoyed the evening.”

“You and I will do this again sometime,” Luke said. “Maybe not in this particular setting, though. I expect to be persona non grata around here very soon.”

Bryce stood. “You might be more welcome than you think. I have a hunch Benedict Cartwright will be happy to have you as an honored customer after you turn over the deed.”

“He might, at that.” Giselle liked the idea of her brother being a key player in potentially ending the feud between the Cartwrights and the Daltons. His time in Vegas had turned out to be more valuable than she ever would have dreamed.

“I just had an idea, although I don't know if Benedict will go along with it. What if Vaughn thinks Benedict talked me into selling the Moon back to him? Would that get him out of the doghouse and restore some family harmony?”

“That's a compassionate plan,” Giselle said. “It's worth a try.” But she had a sudden image of a wolf in a doghouse, and she made the mistake of looking at Bryce. Judging from the sparkle in his green eyes, he'd thought the same thing. She quickly glanced away and pressed her lips together. Laughing at this private joke would be a very bad idea.

She would have loved to share the joke with Luke, but she couldn't, and that made her sad. They'd become close in so many ways, yet they still were separated by an enormous gulf. Her heart longed to bridge that chasm and be one with him in all ways, but that was selfish thinking.

“I guess we're all ready to leave, then.” Luke took out his wallet and left several bills on the table.

“Hey, are we paying?” Bryce reached in his hip pocket for his wallet. “I assumed it was on the house, but I'll toss in something if it's not.”

“The drinks are free, but the server still needs her tips.”

“Got it.” Bryce threw more money on top of Luke's already large tip. “She didn't have much business tonight, so this should help.”

Giselle smiled. Luke and her brother had a similar generosity of spirit. If she thought about it, she might find other traits they had in common. Mentally listing them and imagining a friendship between the two was a pointless exercise, though.

She took out some money she'd tucked in the pocket of her jeans before she'd walked over there and added it to the pile on the table.

“Goodness, I can see where this is headed.” Cynthia dug out some crumpled bills and put them on top of the growing stash. “I'm not about to be the cheapskate in the bunch.”

“Nor am I.” Mr. Thatcher produced a crisp hundred-dollar bill and balanced it carefully on the mound of cash.

Cynthia let out a whoop. “Way to trump us all, Mr. Thatcher!”

The butler smiled. “I always take pleasure in tipping well. Shall we go?”

As before, Mr. Thatcher led the way back to the Silver Crescent's service entrance as if he were the patriarch of the group. For the most part, he filled the role beautifully.

But he wasn't a big-picture kind of guy. He'd focused on the immediate problem—Luke's unhappiness when Giselle left in the morning. He'd serve Luke far better by visualizing the disastrous long-term effects if she brought Luke into her world.

The cheerful group piled on the private elevator together. Mr. Thatcher got off on his floor, and a quick glance passed between him and Bryce before the doors slid closed. When Bryce and Cynthia got off, Bryce winked at Giselle, and true to form, she blushed.

“They beat the cleaning crew up to the suite.” Luke tucked his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

“I know they did.” She gazed up at him. “Bryce is threatening to blackmail me with the pictures on his phone.”

Luke grinned. “I trust you have your own blackmail material stored somewhere?”

“Absolutely. He won't show those pictures to anyone, especially if he wants to get back with Miranda. I'll be a key player in that effort. He won't mess with me.”

The doors opened, and he kept his arm around her waist as they walked toward the double doors of the suite. “I doubt anyone messes with you, Harley girl. Which reminds me. You never showed me how to ride that hog.”

She looked into blue eyes filled with warmth . . . and regret. “Anyone can teach you. If you buy one, they'll be happy to arrange for lessons. You'll pick it up in no time.”

“You know I won't do that,” he said softly, holding her gaze. “Every time I got on the damn thing I'd think of you.”

Her throat tightened.

“Hey, I'm sorry. I swore I wouldn't get all mushy and sentimental tonight, and now I've made you look very sad.”

“I am sad,” she said in a husky voice.

“Not for long.” He tightened his grip around her waist and smiled. “Come with me, little girl. The big bad wolf is going to eat you up.”

It was the wrong teasing remark, and the tears she'd vowed not to cry began to fall.

“Well, damn.” He hustled her through the double doors. “I thought that might make you laugh, but apparently not.”

She covered her face with both hands. “I'll . . . I'll be . . . okay.” She choked back a sob. “Give me . . . a minute.”

“I'd give you the rest of my life if I could.” He gathered her close. “And I didn't plan to say
that
, either.”

His words only made her cry harder. What a fool she'd been to think she could have a fun romp with this funny, gorgeous, generous, stubborn, and thoroughly loveable
man.

“I'll bet you wish you'd never started this.” He nestled her head against his broad chest and rubbed her back.

“No!” Her voice was clogged with tears. “I'm
glad
we've had this.” She took a shaky breath. “It's just . . .”

“Yeah. It's always tough when the party's over.”

“Are you sorry?”

“Hell, no. I've always figured you'd leave. There was a point when I thought . . . Well, it doesn't matter.” He leaned down and rested his cheek on her hair. “But you're not gone yet. I vote we make the most of the time we have left.”

She gave a watery chuckle. “As opposed to having me cry the whole blessed time?”

“Something like that. Unless Bryce and Cynthia told you to as a final way to get me wet.”

“Oh, Luke.” She was half laughing and half crying, but that was better than totally crying. She drew back and swiped at her eyes. “Can I interest you in a trip to the bedroom?”

He gazed down at her. “You can, but I have no idea what we'll find there. As you recall, I ordered a cleaning crew, not a housekeeper. They might have stripped the bed and left with the evidence.”

“At least it won't be a leaky water bed.”

“Good point.” He hooked an arm around her shoulders. “Let's go investigate our options.”

When they reached the bedroom, Giselle's tears gave way to helpless laughter.

Luke released her to go stand at the foot of the bed and stare in disbelief. “It's the
same.
Still effing
white.
”

Giselle stifled her giggles. “If you didn't tell them not to, then . . .”

“But you'd think, after seeing that god-awful mess we made, they'd have asked me if I wanted to keep everything the same.” He glanced at her. “Wouldn't you have asked me, if you were them?”

“Maybe they tried.”

“Oh.” He pulled his phone out of his coat pocket and grimaced. “Three messages. I didn't hear my phone. Did you hear my phone?”

She shook her head. “But I wasn't listening for a phone. I was involved in other things.”

He looked up from his phone and his gaze locked with hers. “Me, too.” Maintaining eye contact, he shoved his phone back in his pocket as he walked back to her. “And I intend to be involved with those things again. Who gives a damn what color the bedding is?”

“I don't.”

“Neither do I.” He cupped her face in both hands and leaned down. “We'll be too busy to notice.” And he kissed her with the certainty of a man who knew that his passion was returned.

They undressed each other this time, and it didn't take long. Soon they were rolling naked on the pristine white sheets. They stroked and fondled with the confidence of lovers who've learned which caresses bring the most pleasure.

Giselle banished melancholy thoughts as she reveled in the wonder of loving and being loved by Luke. Sex between them had been good from the beginning, but it had grown richer with each encounter. Tonight she treasured every moment as they writhed on the bed—skin to skin, mouth to mouth, breath to breath. At last they sought the deepest connection, the one they craved most of all.

Each thrust, each tremor, each moan brought them closer to total surrender. As Giselle's body gathered itself, poised for the coming explosion, she looked up into eyes blazing with the same fire burning within her. She could no longer hold back her truth. “I love you, Luke Dalton.”

He drew in a quick breath. “Ah, Giselle.” His eyes darkened. “I know you do. I know.” And he drove home with a triumphant cry, the moment of his orgasm matching hers. They held on tight and rode the whirlwind. Long after the storm subsided, they stayed wrapped in each other's arms.

She would have loved to drift off to sleep that way, but her mind was filled with thoughts of leaving. Sleep wouldn't come. The thought of never seeing Luke again tore her apart.

In spite of all her misgivings, she wanted to be with him. Mr. Thatcher thought they belonged together. Bryce thought they belonged together. She trusted their insights, but . . . what if they were wrong? What if she revealed her secret and Luke was thoroughly repulsed?