The One Who Got Away (9 page)

“I don't know…”

“What's wrong?”

“Wait.”

There was a considerable silence. Finally, Steve cleared his throat. “Okay. The girls are shopping. Give me forty-five minutes. I'm gonna need it.”

“You have something for your head?”

“I'll have some coffee.”

“You know, an aspirin won't kill you, buddy.”

“I don't like them.”

“It's your funeral. Later.” Ben hung up, and pondered his next move. The girls were shopping. He assumed Taylor was involved, which would explain her not answering the phone.

Just the thought of her stirred him. God, he wanted today to pass quickly so he could get to tonight. He hadn't been this attracted to anyone in years. Even in the beginning with Alyson, there had never been a major physical thing between them. Sure, they'd made love, and it had been great, but there hadn't been a lot of passion. He'd respected her mind, liked her sense of humor, and she tolerated him better than almost anyone. About a year into the relationship, it was clear she wanted more, so he'd asked her to marry him. It seemed like the next logical step. He'd been so damn preoccupied by his work, and she'd been completely into hers, that they didn't see each other all that frequently. And then things started to slip. He'd tried to make things right with her, but it hadn't worked. Of course, when she finally told him
there was someone else, it had hurt like a mother. But things he hadn't even been aware of fell into place.

They were still friends, and he liked it that way. She seemed happy with her lady, and she encouraged him to try again. He wasn't so sure about that.

Marriage had been tough for him. Even if Alyson hadn't discovered her preference for women, he doubted it would have worked out. His focus, especially back then, was too much about the job to be fair to a mate. He couldn't count how many cops had lousy marriages. Forget about other private investigators. Only one gut came to mind, Frank Rebar, who had a great marriage, good kids, all the trimmings. So while he'd had to deal with some loneliness and a definite lack of getting some, he figured it was better this way.

Although being around Taylor made the lack of getting some feel a hell of a lot more acute. Damn, imagine having her to come home to.

He walked back to the window. Staring at the bizarre skyline, he realized it was the city talking. Vegas was Neverland for adults. It wasn't the real world, with the stresses and strains of daily life. She had a life in San Francisco, a job she liked a lot. His life was far from normal, with odd hours, dangerous people, nothing like stability.

He turned away abruptly, angry at himself for even thinking such stupid thoughts. This was a week of indulgence, that's all. It would make a hell of a memory, but it wasn't going outside the city limits. He didn't even want it to.

His life worked just the way it was. The important thing now was to make sure Steve wasn't getting himself in hot water. That's all that mattered.

That, and rocking Taylor's world.

“H
EY
. Y
OU'RE NOT THERE
. Oh, well. I thought… Oh, I know. You're out winning a couple million, right? Try not to forget your humble roots. Uh, well, give me a buzz when you come back.”

Taylor pressed the button to repeat the message, smiling stupidly as she listened to Ben's silly little message. It was goofy and sweet and wonderful. She fell straight back on her bed, spreading her arms wide, then tossed her flip-flops across the bedroom. Shopping was over, she had no plans to meet anyone from her family until tomorrow, which meant she was free-free-free to play with Ben to her heart's content. “Yipee,” she whispered, not that anyone could hear her.

The phone rang and she bolted upright, grabbing the receiver before the ring finished. “Hello?”

“So, how did shopping go?”

Her spirits sank, but just a bit. “Hi, Mom. It went fine. I got a really beautiful pink dress, a bathing suit and an incredible deal on shoes and a purse.”

“I'm delighted, Taylor, but I was actually more interested in how it went with Lisa.”

“Oh, yeah. You know, the thing is, she was really nice.”

“I didn't think your brother would pick out a shrew.”

“No, but I'm still not convinced he's doing the right thing. Last night I got the impression that the whole reason for this Vegas deal was so Steve couldn't get away.”

Her mother was silent for a long beat. “I know. So what's next? Do we leave it alone? Let him make what might not be a mistake?”

“At this point, I'd just be happy if they would delay things. Give him a chance to think this through.”

“See what you can do, sweetie.” Her mother sighed. “I'm just going to try to avoid Mimi. At least until dinner tomorrow night.”

“Right.”

“Do you have plans for dinner?”

Taylor winced. She should eat with her mother, it was the right thing to do. “Yep. I'm booked. I'm meeting Ben and we're going to strategize.”

“Is that what you call it these days?”

“Mother!”

“Be careful, Taylor. I don't want to worry about two children.”

“Everything's peachy with me, Mom. You order something decadent from room service and watch in-room movies. Or better yet, why don't you go over to the Palace Station and play bingo?”

“I just might. And I suppose I should mention that Ben and Steve are downstairs throwing perfectly good money down the toilet at the craps tables.”

“Thanks. Talk to you later.” Taylor hung up. She should probably leave Ben and Steve alone.

Fat chance.

 

B
EN SHOOK
the dice in two hands, resisting the urge to blow on them and say “Papa needs a new pair of shoes.” Instead, he threw the dice toward the back rail of the craps table and rolled boxcars.

Steve pumped his arm twice. “Awesome.”

Ben got the dice back, and rolled again. In fact, he rolled seven times before he crapped out. Both men, and several of the others standing around the table, made out like bandits. Then it was someone else's turn to roll, and Ben started gathering his chips.

“Hey, what do you think you're doing?”

“I thought I'd check up on Taylor.”

“Are you kidding? They're shopping. They'll be at it 'til the cows come home.”

Ben wasn't so sure about that, but he didn't mind hanging out a little longer with Steve. They could still be young and stupid together, which he missed. Back in New York he was serious all the damn time. Except for his weekly pickup game at the Y, he didn't do squat to have fun.

He let go of his chips and took advantage of the nearby cocktail waitress, ordering a soda for himself and a beer for Steve.

When he turned back, Steve had been joined by a woman who wasn't Lisa. Joined was maybe stretching it. The woman had come up next to him and turned in a hundred dollar bill for chips. She was a tiny little thing, just over five feet, but perfectly put together. Blond spiky hair looked great with her black rectangular glasses. Ben wasn't a fashion maven by any means, but he knew chic and trendy when he saw
it. She had on this really tight white shirt that had no sleeves, but was a turtleneck, and blue cropped pants. The way she looked at Steve made it real clear why she'd stood right there. Then the woman, girl, whatever, looked at him, but only for a second. Her gaze moved to his left. Ben had to look. Next to him was another woman who looked to be the same age and type as the woman next to Steve.

She smiled at him with dazzling white teeth. No glasses, the same clear, pale skin. A brunette, she had squared off bangs and a blunt hair cut that reminded him of Theda Bara, the movie star from the twenties. Another beauty, and he wondered what they did for a living. He'd have said modeling, but Steve's gal was too short.

“You seem to know what you're doing,” the brunette said to him. “I don't have a clue.”

“That's a pretty good formula for losing your shirt.”

Her smile took on a wicked gleam. “Maybe that wouldn't be so bad.”

“Oh, my,” Ben said. “I'll show you the little I know about craps, but as far as losing shirts or any other articles of clothing…”

“All right, fine. I'll play nice.” She stuck out a manicured hand. “Melinda.”

“I'm Ben. And this is my friend, Steve.”

She reached across him, making sure to brush her breast across his shoulder. Her perfume was Obsession. “That's Gwinn, we're from L.A.”

After the introductions were over, Ben placed his
bet, conservative, and sent a guarded look Steve's way. Steve wasn't looking back. He was deep in a conversation with Gwinn, who was eating up his every word.

Not at all like last night, when Steve had turned away the babe in the bar. This was more like watching the old Steve in action. God, he'd been a terror. Not that he was one of those dicks who go through women like tissues, but he'd always had his choice of the finest ladies. Ben had done real well, too, and he figured it was just overflow because he never did as well on his own.

But the truth was, Melinda, as beautiful as she was, had nothing he wanted. Taylor was somewhere in Las Vegas, and eventually, tonight, she'd be with him. Everything else was just hang time.

Steve laughed, loudly, then the waitress came by with their drinks. Melinda and Gwinn both ordered Bloody Marys.

“So what do you do?” Melinda asked.

He hated this part. Usually made up some wild story, but it seemed like too much trouble. “P.I. out of New York.”

“P.I. as in Private Eye?”

He nodded. “And my buddy here owns a fleet of ships.”

Her eyes widened as her gaze moved to Steve. Aha, a clue. Perhaps owning a fleet of ships made one automatically more attractive. Perhaps most people knew how being a private investigator was not necessarily the most direct method to millions. Go figure.

“No, like this.”

Ben watched the maestro in action: Steve put his arms around Gwinn, bent her over the rail and helped her shake the dice before she threw. Totally unnecessary. Completely flirting. Undoubtedly trouble.

“Ben?”

He smiled at Melinda as she touched his shoulder. “Would you excuse me?” Then he turned to face a very perplexed Taylor Hanson.

 

T
AYLOR COULDN'T BELIEVE
how badly she wanted to slap the dark-haired bitch. But she simply smiled. Waiting to see how this little drama would play out. Her gaze moved over to her brother as he unwrapped his arms from the blonde. She'd never seen a darker blush on Steve's face. Not even when she'd walked in on him in his bedroom when he was fourteen and definitely “in flagrante.”

“Taylor,” he said. “Uh, hi.”

“Hello, Steven. Your fiancé is in your room, lucky for you. But I'm quite certain she'd love to see you.”

“Yeah, right.” He gave a guilty smile to blondie, then after quickly scooping up his chips, dashed toward the elevator. The women gathered their meager winnings and skulked away, leaving her with Ben and a table full of anxious gamblers.

“Hang on,” he said, stuffing chips in his pockets until he looked like a very successful thief. Then he put his arm around her and led her in the direction of the Pink Taco. “Did you have fun shopping?”

“It was heaven on earth. Who was that?”

“Her name was Melinda, and she was hitting on me.”

“That much I gathered.”

He smiled angelically. “She wasn't succeeding.”

“I should hope not.”

“A bit more worrisome about Steve, though. Last night, same scenario and he was true blue without a blink. Today, he was the old hound dog we've come to know and love.”

“I don't get it. He's the one who's been so hot on Lisa. And you know what's funny? She was great today. Funny and nice and I was actually going to talk to you about forgetting this whole thing.”

“I think, given this minor incident, the very least we should try is to get Steve to postpone, yes?”

She nodded, then looking away from Ben realized they were at the Nouveau Mexican restaurant. “What's this?”

“Food.”

She looked at her watch. Four-fifteen. “Early, isn't it?”

He nodded. “I have plans later.”

Her face heated, and she imagined she looked a great deal like her brother, only for very different reasons.

Ben leaned over and nipped her earlobe. “If I'm going to ravish you, I need sustenance. So do you.”

A whole different shade of red must be making her face look clownlike and awful. “Food. Yes. Good.”

“Unless you'd rather have something else. At the coffee shop perhaps?”

She thought about her fave Mexican dishes. All of them had beans. “Yes, actually. I would.” She took his hand and led him back where they'd come from.
Then, instead of heading toward the café, she turned toward the elevator.

His brows rose in question.

“Room service,” she said.

He pulled her to a stop next to a cashier's cage and put both hands on either side of her face. “Brilliant,” he whispered. Then he kissed her, sucked her tongue straight into his mouth.

She nearly lost it right there. No more time to waste. Pulling back, she nipped his lower lip. “I don't want to be down here a moment longer.”

“Yes, right.” He grinned, then ran. Flat-out ran. With her running right behind him.

 

I
NSTEAD OF HER ROOM
, they went to his. He'd insisted, although he wouldn't say why. As soon as they walked through the door, he put the Do Not Disturb sign out, then segued into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, and leaving her a bit in the lurch. But, as she'd seen quite often in the past few days, Ben was full of surprises, and that was much more fun than steady and predictable.

His room was virtually identical to her own, so there wasn't much to explore, but she did find the room service menu and gave that a quick peruse.

Before she could make up her mind, Ben was behind her, his hands on her hips, his lips on the back of her neck. “Did you miss me?” he whispered, his warm breath tickling in just the right way.

“Oh, were you gone? I hadn't noticed.”

“God, you're cute. Mean, but cute.”

She spun around, pleased that he didn't let go of
her. “It's true, you know. I am mean. But only when I don't get what I want.”

His brown eyes steadied on hers. “What do you want, Taylor? What do you need?”

She grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him tight against her, answering with a searing kiss.

Ben rubbed against her, letting her feel his erection. He kept rubbing, pushing her backward until she was up against the wall.

They stood next to the wet bar, and she had a splendid view of the city out the window, although she had no eyes for anything but the man holding her wrists with both hands.

He yanked them up high on the wall and while she gasped he kicked her legs apart until her dress was tight and high on her thighs.

“Is this what you want?”

If she'd been able to speak she would have said yes, but his mouth was on hers, and she had to explain everything with her lips, her tongue, her body.

Kiss, then gone, then kiss, gone. Teasing, testing, grasping her wrists so tight that it would have hurt if she hadn't been so pumped full of adrenaline, among other things. “Stop,” she said, but the word was cut off by his lips. A second later, he was gone again, just that brief taste, that quick lick with his darting tongue.

“Stay,” she said.

He shook his head. Then he licked the underside of her arm, one long stroke, making her shiver and gasp. God, he was good at making her do that.

“Tell me what you want first,” he said, that mercurial tongue of his rimming the shell of her ear.

“A kiss,” she said. “A long one.”

“No, try again.”

“That's not fair.”

“I never said it would be fair.”

“You were in control last time.”

“I like being in control.”

“So do I.”

“You like this, too.”

She turned her head, knocking him on the chin. “Let me go and I'll show you how much you'll like being on the bottom.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Try again.”

“Why should I?”

He smiled real slow. “Because I'm going to make you lose your mind.”

“Too late.”

He laughed. She watched his Adam's apple bob, and it was sexier than Elvis on Ed Sullivan.

She lifted her leg, snaking along the inside of his until her knee hit pay dirt. Not hard, of course, because she didn't want to hurt anything of value; just enough for him to understand that while he might have her hands captured, she wasn't without resources.

“Ahhh.”

“So, where's my kiss?”

“You want to play rough, is that it?”

“Rough is good. Sometimes.”