Too Grand for Words (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

Too Grand for Words

Steven Porter’s successes are as rugged and powerful as he is. He owns Hollywood, but no woman has ever owned him. During a business trip to Las Vegas, he becomes lost in Moira’s siren eyes. It’s going to take an ocean full of seduction to get her to see his way.

Moira Viterra is a matriarch of the sea. Working with ship captains and gnarly mariners, she won’t let any man command her. But she can’t control the forces that keep her a recluse.

An evening that begins with sizzling glances across a blackjack table ignites the heat in Steven enough to know Poseidon’s daughter is different. Synchronicity and irony join hands to box him into a corner. Steven tries to hide who he really is from Moira.

When Steven finds out Moira’s hiding her own secret, he’s faced with a decision that endangers his life, not just his heart.

Note: This book contains adult language used as profanity.

Genre:
Contemporary
Length:
100,242 words

TOO GRAND FOR WORDS

Natasza Waters

ROMANCE

www.BookStrand.com

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A SIREN-BOOKSTRAND TITLE

IMPRINT: Romance

TOO GRAND FOR WORDS

Copyright © 2011 by Natasza Waters

E-book ISBN: 1-61034-795-1

First E-book Publication: October 2011

Cover design by Jinger Heaston

All cover art and logo copyright © 2011 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

PUBLISHER

www.BookStrand.com

DEDICATION

Dedicated to the women who watch over and listen for the mariner’s call. Day or night, you respond with calm reassurance and professionalism. All your voices are beautiful.

NATASZA WATERS

Copyright © 2011

Moira Viterra’s hips brushed beneath her little black dress as she crossed the lobby of the Grand Palms Casino, the newest, most “go-to place” on the strip. As she approached the gaming area, two young men stared hungrily at her as they leaned against a couple of slot machines.

With his eyes glued to her legs, one whistled and said, “Bomb—shell,” in a husky voice as she passed by.

Giving them a sideways glance and a sly grin she drawled, “Sex—change.”

“Yeah, right!” He laughed and nudged his buddy.

Men are such assholes
, she thought, stepping from the terrazzo tiles onto the casino’s brightly patterned carpet. She gazed at the sea of people before her. Aftershave and perfume mingled with a hint of smoke. Temptation and excitement hung in the air while cheerful tunes teased from a thousand slot machines surrounding her. Coveting their gaming tables, hopeful gamblers clucked together, exchanging money for chips, looking for lady luck. A smile crossed her lips as she took in the menagerie of people blended together in a palette of low-cut dresses, body parts dripping with jewelry and suits.

Her youngest officers practically vibrated with excitement when they gathered in the lobby of their hotel a half an hour ago. None of them had been to Las Vegas before. The bright lights and overpowering aura of the city had them in its clutches within seconds. Moira remembered her first experience in sin city—awe inspiring, but that was many years ago. Her crew ranged between twenty-one and thirty, but she still worried about them.

“Use your heads. I’m not bailing any of you out of jail,” she’d warned, her words landing on deaf ears, of course.

“Viva Las Vegas, Moira,” they’d chorused back, bulleting from the massive lobby of the Morocco hotel, leaving her to stand alone on the gleaming sea of marble tiles. Obviously, she was on her own tonight.

She scanned the immense playing area of the Grand Palms while the snappy, commandment-crushing advertisement, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” churned in her mind. Five years had passed since she’d last been here, and a few new billion-dollar casinos covered the desert sand, this being one of them.

She joined the colorful portrait of sounds and sights, eager to find a seat, her feet aching already. Against her better judgment, she wore her new shoes. Though she’d stopped wearing sexy high heels and short dresses a long time ago, she hadn’t been able to resist the little black dress. Before they left, she’d purchased it, along with the shoes.

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. She laughed at the thought. These damn shoes were definitely staying, she swore, weaving her way toward the blackjack tables.

Peeking over shoulders and eyeing the different dealers, she kept moving until she found a table with one chair left on the end. Her stomach tightened with excitement, but refusing to show it, she slid onto the cushioned seat ready to take on the blackjack dealer. He gave her a perfunctory nod as she settled in.

She casually checked out her table companions. When her gaze locked with the man sitting in the anchor position, her heart skipped a beat. He watched her with eyes the color of polar ice. Wide shoulders filled the tan suit jacket he wore, and a chocolate brown dress shirt covered his broad, well-defined torso. He was unbelievably handsome. More than noteworthy, he was centerfold worthy.

She gave him a passing smile while wiggling to get comfortable in her chair. Digging in her purse, she plucked five one-hundred dollar bills out, and slid them across the green felt of the table. As the dealer exchanged her money, she took the chance to check out the rest of the table. She gave a friendly nod to the woman next to her. With a bad dye job and breasts popping out of her blouse, the woman trumped her by a few years.

“How ya doin’, honey?” the dye job said with a thick Southern twang.

“Good, thanks. Looks like you’re doing all right, eh?” She noted the pile of chips in front of the woman.

“It’s a struggle. At least the booze is free,” she said, taking a long sip of the syrupy brown liquid in her glass.

A man with a cowboy hat tipped high on his head and fingers that appeared stained by hard work sat in the middle position. “Howdy, ma’am,” he said, “Hope you brought lots of luck with you tonight. We ain’t getting much.”

“Maybe that’ll change,” she said, nodding her thanks to the dealer who pushed three piles of chips her way.

A young couple who looked barely twenty-one took the other two seats. Moira’s gaze drifted toward the anchor position again.
Men are assholes.
That was what she needed to remember.

“The house always wins,” he said. His gaze almost scorched a hole in her, and her chest seemed to constrict into a tight ball.

“Not tonight,” she said calmly.

He picked up his drink and tipped it her way with a nod. “We’ll see,” he replied with a grin. Fingering his pile of chips, he turned his attention to the activity in the pit behind the dealer. The sharp angle of his jaw and the evening growth shadowing his face burned a lasting portrait in her mind. Her eyes strayed to his sizeable hands that lay curled and relaxed, resting on the green felt of the table. This man was a force of nature, a rare one. You could expect to see anything in this town, but she hadn’t expected him.

The snap of the cards caught her attention as the dealer briskly laid them in front of her. She realized she’d been staring, and put her attention back where it should be. Checking her second card, she bet the minimum.

“He’s a friggin’ masterpiece, isn’t he?” the dye job whispered out the side of her mouth without looking up.

Her eyes darted to her neighbor. There was no point in lying. “Yup.”

* * * *

Before she’d brought her crew to Vegas, she’d vowed there would be no restraining herself—monetarily at least—on this trip. The Coast Guard had given her a profession, and she had given them her life. Before she knew it, twenty-three years had blown past since the phone call that said, “You’re hired.” She lived a simple life, working, puttering in her garden, and spending what time she had left on her other hobby.

When the spring bulbs began to pop out of the ground, she’d decided her newest officers needed a vacation as well as a couple of her senior crew. Her wards had worked hard learning their trade. Before the busy summer season started, she wanted to acknowledge their diligence, so she’d arranged the trip to Sin City. The farthest place—without being surrounded by water—they could get to for a reasonable price.

The dealer flipped her second card, and the queen of hearts landed on her seven. She didn’t have a lot of faith in her hand with the dealer showing a ten. Not a good start, she thought. With a snap of precision, the cards landed in front of them. The dealer waited for their hand signals to stay, hit, double down, or split. Her gaze drifted to the end of the table.

Sitting back in his chair, he ran his fingers through his dark blond, almost brown head of hair. A flippant bang hung across his brow, making him appear relaxed, maybe even a bit rebellious. The dealer slipped a two onto his ten—not good. He turned his attention to her while motioning for another card, which busted him. She raised a brow in empathy as his chips were swept away. Forcing her gaze back on the dealer, she tried to ignore him.

The cocktail waitress couldn’t stop herself from returning at least three times to check on his drink in the short time Moira had been there. Balancing the tray on one hand, the young woman lightly touched his shoulder with the other. The girly cadence in her voice punctuated the loud drum of chips clicking together and conversations from the surrounding tables. “How’s your drink, sir?”

As a perfect size two, legs reaching all the way to her armpits, and a globe of bouncy blonde curls surrounding big blue eyes, the waitress joined the ten thousand other beautiful women in Vegas who catered to thirsty men.

Over the years, Moira had developed many skills into second nature, mostly because of her profession. She had a keen ear, and could hear what people really desired, even if the words weren’t saying the same thing. When people are in imminent danger, they can’t think straight. Her profession called for the ability to read the intonations in people’s voices to know if the mayday they were declaring was genuine. But in this case, it was easy to hear what the waitress might as well have been saying, “Man, you’re gorgeous, come get me after my shift so I can screw your brains out.” And he probably would. Heck, she probably would if she were a man.

He nodded politely, and turned his attention back to the table. Although she was trying hard, Moira couldn’t help being attracted to his high cheekbones and rugged jaw. He had to be a model and, no doubt, shallow as a puddle, she surmised.

The waitress continued to take orders. “Excuse me—” Moira gave a quick wave. Maybe the ambient noise was too loud. The girl wrote down someone else’s order, and when she looked up, Moira smiled at her, but she quickly turned her gaze elsewhere. She was beginning to feel parched and pissed off. The waitress came and went three more times, but as she turned away for the fourth time, her hot table companion captured her attention.

“Maybe the beautiful woman at the end of the table would like a drink,” he said, motioning to her, looking straight into Moira’s eyes.

The waitress finally acknowledged her existence with a cool stare.

“Merlot, please.” Good thing this young lady didn’t work for her, because a lecture would be forthcoming on professional—
Wait a minute—did he just say beautiful woman?

The waitress nodded lazily as if bored with her order, and departed with an exaggerated sway of her hips. She gave Mr. Handsome a grateful nod. The girl returned with their drinks a short while later, dodging the throngs of people who wandered about the tables or pushed past each other in the crowded walkways. He tipped generously. She—not so much.

Small talk broke out occasionally, but when the next dealer came on duty, the players brightened with his greeting.

The name “Carlos” had been scrawled in big letters on his nametag. His Latin-American genes had nowhere to hide—betrayed by his swarthy skin, dark eyes, and shiny black hair. Laugh lines trenched deep creases around his mouth and eyes. He probably didn’t look at the world so seriously. Moira knew she could always take a lesson or two from people like that. Her life and her job left no room for comic relief.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Carlos.” He nodded at each of them. “And I’m here to take your money—ahem, I mean good luck.” He gave them a big, toothy grin.

“Nothin’ but twenty-ones for me, honey,” the bad dye job said with her thick Southern drawl.

“Ma’am, ya’ll know I’ll do my best,” he said, mimicking her accent.

Everyone cracked a grin.

Watching the young couple whose lips couldn’t stay unattached when they weren’t playing their hands made Moira smile. The girl swirled her wedding ring around her finger. Always touching it and darting glances at her hand. She guessed they might be on their honeymoon. She’d never known a sweet love like that, but she recognized it.

“Okay, kids—break it up,” Carlos urged. “This lady here can’t stand much more of that,” he said, pointing to her. “She’s going to have to rent an X-rated video and go to bed early tonight if you keep that up.”

Her eyebrows shot up with the comment. “What?” she choked out, laughing as her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “No, I think it’s sweet.” The couple looked at her with pearly grins. “Did you two just get married?” They both nodded. “I hope you have a long, happy life together. Everything good in this world grows from love, and it’s not easy to find.” She smiled warmly at them. “Learning when to say something out loud and when not to is a good idea, too.” She pursed her lips and looked at Carlos.

* * * *

Carlos teased each of them in turn and then started all over again. They laughed so much people couldn’t help but be drawn to their table. At midnight, she and Mr. Handsome remained, he anchored at one end, she at the other. The seats between remained full, but most of the faces had changed as the evening wore on.