Las Vegas Layover (4 page)

That should have been
his
family. He damn sure would have taken better care of them.

Sebastian speared a bite of potato with his fork. “I mean, when’s the last time you looked at your paystub? It’s ridiculous. I don’t know how they sleep at night.”

Metal scraped against china with a spine-jarring screech. A charred hunk of beef flew past his face and thudded to the floor. He looked up, thinking to tease her for sending her steak on a flight without a ticket, but stopped dead.

She was no longer staring at him with that you’re-crazy-but-you’re-cute tilt to her lips that she’d worn through most of the meal. In fact, he thought she might stab him with that steak knife, until the sharp red of her cheeks faded to the white of an Alaskan snowstorm. Then he realized she was more likely to be sick.

Her tiny palm flew out and clipped his left cheek. It didn’t hurt, not really. Certainly not as much as the contempt in her eyes.

Everyone in the place—the biddies, the bus boys, even lover-boy’s date, who had miraculously surfaced from beneath the table—stared in silence as the crack of flesh against flesh died.

Clara tried to stand, but he grasped her wrist and pulled her back down beside him. “Whoa there, babe. You’re not going anywhere until we talk about this.”

Her eyes found his, green sparks shimmering through two pools of sorrow. He’d never thought being an outspoken bastard was a truly bad thing until the first tear spilled down her flawless cheek.

Despite the sadness he’d glimpsed, this woman had seemed Spartan in her strength. From the moment he demanded she not barf on him, she’d met him barb for barb with confidence. Now, with her arms stiff at her sides, as if she could make her tears disappear by sheer force of will, Clara looked like steel that had been overworked—hard and dangerously close to shattering.

He’d done that to her.

His stomach lurched. What had he said to set her off? He tried to sift back through the conversation, but he’d been so comfortable with her he’d mostly been thinking out loud.

“To answer your earlier question,” she said in a quiet, unconvincingly even voice, “I haven’t looked at my pay stub in about a year and a half. That was the last time I had one. See, I’ve been sitting on my lazy ass, freeloading.” She spat what was no doubt his horrifically poor choice of words back at him, the strike of them against his ears ten times worse than her slap. “My Medicare-subscribing, fellow freeloader of an aunt was lying on hers, fighting for her life. So I thought, what the hell? Why not give up the career I’d worked so hard for before it began, dump my fiancé—since he didn’t share my love for lounging—and move in with her? I mean, it was the perfect setup, right? I didn’t have to worry about pesky things like shame keeping me up at night, I was sitting at her bedside. Because if the pain in her bones didn’t keep
her
awake, the nausea from the chemotherapy sure did. Not to mention all the fun of watching her wither away, knowing there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.”

“Clara, please—” He scrambled for a way to backpedal, but she wasn’t having it.

Holding up one hand, she closed her eyes and took a long, slow breath. Ninety percent of their audience looked ready to throttle him. The other ten percent were male. They gave him the universal head shake that translated roughly to “Confucius say, closed mouth gather no foot.”

So he just sat there while Clara rallied her strength. He wanted to hold her, but she’d probably set him on fire if he tried. God, he was such an ass.

Clara clutched her little purse to her side and slid out of the booth. “I would say it’s been nice meeting you, but we’d both know that’s a load of horseshit. So thanks for dinner and have a nice life.” She turned on her heel and walked away without looking back.

Pulling two fifty dollar bills from his wallet, he stood, threw the money on the table and chased after her.

Chapter Seven

Happy people sucked ass.

That sour little tidbit flashed through Clara’s mind as she headed for the murmuring of the Venetian’s canal. Light twinkled off the rippling water, the gentle waves the product of the gondolas drifting by with canoodling couples snuggled in their bows.

The whole thing was nauseating.

Sebastian caught up with her in the center of the bridge and pulled her to a stop. She wanted to argue, to put his rant to shame with a full-scale bitch-out of her own, but she was too tired, too worn down and too damned embarrassed to do more than glare at all those happy people.

“Fuck,” he puffed, chest heaving. He didn’t try to meet her eye but stared into the water while he fumbled with his words. “Why…why didn’t you tell me to shut the fuck up?” Her head snapped around and blood pounded in her ears, but he kept going. “It’s just…I go off on these tangents. I’m not really thinking about what I’m saying when I get like that and stupid shit just spews out. I don’t even mean most of it. It’s like a pressure valve, you know? I didn’t think…” Scrubbing his hand through his dark hair, he trailed off, knowing there was nothing he could say or do to remove the sting.

He’d blamed people like her and Betty for everything but global warming. There was no returning from that particular corner of the Asshole Kingdom.

She couldn’t look at him without wanting to slap him again, so she turned her attention to the night sky. In North Carolina the stars always comforted her. There, among the millions of their kind, they shone their brightest, each one complimenting the next. But here, where the bright lights of progress bled the sky to a cobalt blue, there were no constellations, no heavenly families to point the way. Only one weak dot appeared in the haze.

Clara certainly knew how
that
felt.

Sebastian was still studiously avoiding looking at her when a cold breeze whipped her skirt around her legs and made her shiver. Without a word, he yanked his navy blue uniform shirt from his waistband, shrugged out of it, and draped it over her shoulders, leaving him in a plain white muscle shirt.

She thanked him, surprised by his chivalry, but her eyes super-glued themselves to his chest. Not overly broad or remarkably beefy, he was all trim lines and sleek muscle.

While a small part of her still wanted to ream him up one side and down the other, Clara was suddenly angrier with herself. Because the bigger part of her wanted this infuriating, pig-headed pain in the ass to “shut the fuck up,” as he’d so aptly put it, and kiss her silly. And wasn’t that a new level of pathetic?

Clara tugged his shirt closer to block out the chilling wind. The residual heat from his body surrounded her. His smell filled her head and muddled her mind. Her muscles loosened even as tears spilled onto her cheeks. She didn’t bother brushing them away.

Sebastian lifted her chin with his forefinger. “Tell me how to make this right.”

She shook her head, ready to light into him again, but the way he looked at her changed her mind. From the moment they’d met, he’d been playing the part of the seducer. The man gazing down at her now was stripped of that façade. He was awkward and embarrassed and so very sincere that it made her chest ache. So she said nothing at all, because sometimes there simply was no way to make it right.

“Okay,” he whispered, nodding slightly. As if approaching a fragile treasure, he clasped his hands behind his back and leaned forward to brush his lips across her forehead. The simple touch was sweet and much too brief.

He leaned away again, his hands still behind his back. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your room.”

Her eyes widened. He could not be serious.

With a chuckle, Don Juan was back and reading her mind. “Yeah right, Clara. You’ve got to give me more credit than that. I may be an ass, but I’m not a total moron. I know my chances of making your highly coveted screwable list died a violent death about ten minutes ago. But I can’t leave you standing here like this. I just can’t.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he glanced away, apparently watching the crowd.

She laughed, too, but it sounded distorted and wrong.

He could be an opinionated jerk, but there were times, like now, when Sebastian did things so affectionate and seemingly out of character that she was sure the Oscar the Grouch routine was exactly that, a routine to keep everyone securely out of reach. If he didn’t care about anything, if he was really as bitter and unfeeling as his words suggested, he wouldn’t have apologized—she guessed the rambling a moment ago was meant to be an apology—and he certainly wouldn’t have meant it. Then, even though she’d refused to forgive him, he’d offered to be a gentleman and walk her back to her room, knowing full well he wasn’t coming in.

Did wonders never cease?

“No thanks,” Clara replied, surprised when her voice came out even. Eyeing the lights in the near distance, she dried her face with the back of her hand. “I still need to do a couple of things before I leave tomorrow.”

“One day!” Sebastian froze, for all the world looking more stunned than he had when she slapped him.

Geez,
Clara winced. She’d actually slapped him. In front of dozens of people. Her mother had to be turning in her grave.

“Who comes to Vegas for
one day?
” he demanded, panic tingeing his voice.

“I do. My lazy ass has a job interview on Monday.” She shrugged and turned to lean against the stone balustrade. But not before she saw him blanch at her words.

Watching the green water shimmer, she put him out of his misery. “Let’s just call it even, okay? You
are
an ass,” she felt compelled to add, because he looked so very pleased. “The world isn’t black and white. You have to weigh the cost. Yes, there are people who abuse the system. But there are also people like my aunt, good people who can’t get what they need without a little help.”

His jaw ticked, but he nodded, conceding her point. The subject was as personal for him as it was for her, though obviously for very different reasons. Her lips ached to ask him what had happened even as her brain told her it didn’t matter.

She peered up at him—trying to ignore the heat that always crackled between them, tangible and terrifying—and forced out her own sort-of apology. “But I haven’t exactly acted like Miss Manners today. I mean, I actually called you an ape. That was almost as bad as what you said.
Almost.
”

He smiled that slow, sexy smile she’d already come to enjoy. But his rounded cheek also bore the pink imprint of her small hand. That, for her at least, put a big, wet, smelly blanket on the fire in her belly.

“I shouldn’t have hit you like that either,” she whispered, slowly reaching up to caress the mark she’d given him. She forced herself to meet his stormy eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “I’m normally a very sweet person, you know. You just have the craziest knack for finding my buttons and stomping all over them.”

He chuckled, a warm rumbling that made her stomach clench. “You’re not too bad at button stomping yourself. I guess that’s one thing we have in common.”

The air around them thickened. This time the silence wasn’t stiff or angry. As Sebastian shifted closer to her, two hundred forty volts of knock-you-on-your-ass electricity lit her up from the inside out.

He leaned in, his full lips only a breath away. But then he stopped, his eyes locked on hers. His message was clear. He wouldn’t push her, and he wouldn’t let her blame him. If she wanted this, she was going to have to own it and meet him halfway.

“I’m spreading her ashes,” Clara blurted.

He jerked back, and she cringed. She’d wanted to cool the situation long enough to catch a thought, not flash freeze it and ship it to the North Pole. But then, maybe if she told him everything he’d walk away and save her from doing something
really
stupid.

“Betty had cancer for years. My mom took good care of her and the doctors were doing all they could, but we knew she was terminal. Then my parents and my little brothers died in a head-on collision with a semi almost two years ago, right when I was finishing up college.”

Beside her, Sebastian drew in a sharp breath. She barely heard it, consumed by the grief she’d buried for so long.

“After the accident, I moved back home to take care of Betty. She was the only family I had left, so I focused my entire life around her. Then, a few weeks ago, she left me too.” Clara choked on the sob building in her throat. “It’s not right to be so angry with them, but I am. I’m so damned mad at them all for leaving me alone that I can’t stand it.

“Betty had this trip planned out for me for months,
months.
She was determined to shove me out of my comfort zone, make me start living for myself. But do you think she said a thing to me? No. I had to hear it from her lawyer. Which still burns a little, if you want to know the truth.”

She’d almost forgotten she wasn’t alone when Sebastian shook his head and pulled her into his arms.

She landed against his hard chest with a thud. Winding his arms around her, he tucked her head under his chin and hugged her so tightly she could barely breathe. “Damn, sweetheart. You should have slapped me harder.”

She stayed stiff, waiting for him to pull away again. Only he didn’t seem inclined to let her go. And his warmth was just so…intoxicating. She couldn’t afford to really let him comfort her. But that was the great thing about Sebastian in that moment. Some other monumentally moronic thing was bound to pass his lips sooner than later. Then she’d walk away for real and never see him again.

Which made him safe.

Clara stopped wasting time and relaxed against him, resting her head on his shoulder. Just for a minute.

His heat kissed her cheek and made her throat feel itchy and swollen, like she’d eaten something she was mildly allergic to. This was the first time she’d reached out for comfort in far too long. She hadn’t drawn in on herself because seeking solace made her feel vulnerable and naked, or because there was no one left to reach for—though all of that was true. She kept the pain close because it was too much to ask someone to bear for her, even for a little while. But this man, this Patron Saint of Asses, drew in a deep breath that rustled her hair, as if nothing would make him happier than absorbing a piece of her hurt. She melted, letting him.

When Sebastian finally spoke, his voice was a gruff whisper. “I should be a dad.”

Clara tried to look up. He squeezed tighter, holding her head against his chest as if he couldn’t stand to let her see how much this hurt him.

“I was nineteen when I met Pam. We grew up together in a little nowhere town in Missouri. When I got accepted to Lynn State, she came with me. It was only a ninety-minute drive but we were in love, right? So why not? We dated for about a year, and I was determined to marry her the moment I graduated. I thought everything was great until she went to visit family in St. Louis for a week. When she came back, she had some steroid freak lugging her empty suitcases.”

Clara’s heart thumped against his. Bitterness oozed from his every word. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the rest, but she couldn’t bear to make him stop.

“I was so fucking blind,” he snarled. “The only thing I saw was how pale her face was. When I asked what was wrong, she just looked at the thick-necked bastard toting her shit and laughed.

“Then she stared me right in the eye and said, ‘Having an abortion can do that to a girl.’ I didn’t understand for a long minute. So she glances at the other guy and says, ‘I told you he was too stupid to guess I was pregnant.’”

Clara’s blood thudded through her veins, her vision fraying around the edges in her anger. She tried again to meet his eye, but Sebastian still wasn’t ready. He kept her pressed against his chest like a lifeline.

“She’d been about eight weeks along. She said I shouldn’t bother giving her money for my half. She was just glad she could ‘get rid of the thing.’ See, she couldn’t imagine having children with a man who’d never be anything more than a grease monkey.”

New tears pricked at Clara’s eyes. Her own words ran through her head like a haunting litany. She’d called him a monkey, an ape. Though she’d had no idea of his past, her words had been every bit as cruel as his. How he must hate her.

Yet when Sebastian ran his fingers through Clara’s hair, she felt cherished, not despised. And when he spoke, no more anger marred his voice, only pain beyond reckoning. “The kid would have been five years old this month if I could have made her happy. I’ve never forgiven myself for that. The real kicker is that she left me for Muscles because he’d convinced her he was going to make it as a pro wrestler. Now they live in a trailer park five miles from my parents’ house. Neither of them has a job, but they do have two kids. So yeah, I’m a little touchy when it comes to welfare.”

“Sebastian, I’m so sorry. I—”

He squeezed her again to stop her apology. “I didn’t tell you all that to make you feel sorry for me. I just…” He shuddered. “Fuck, I don’t know why I told you. I guess I didn’t want you to think I was just this heartless dick.”

Clara nodded, but before she could say anything else, the phone in Sebastian’s pocket sang an annoying little tune, vibrating between them.

He muttered a few of his favorite expletives as he pulled the device from his pocket. When he drifted away to answer, she shivered. The night felt cold again without his heat, cold and empty. Just that one little star. But then, maybe there were two after all.

“You’re here already?” Sebastian barked in a tone that was surly, even for him.

The other voice sounded too loud and too lewd to be calm.

“Relax,” Sebastian snapped. “I’ll be there in a minute. Hell, I can see the van from where I’m standing.” Throwing his hand up, he aimed an exasperated wave at the street. Without so much as a goodbye, he disconnected the call and stuffed the phone back in his pocket.

“I have to go,” he muttered.

Her stomach sank, the hollow ache returning to her chest. “So I gathered.”

Again the silence waxed dangerously thick as his gray gaze caressed her face.