Winter Blockbuster 2012 (26 page)

This was about business.

Not about Laurel’s perfume. Not about the pleasure that her company brought. Hard to believe he’d only met her yesterday. It had been tough to convince her to come away today. Once she’d accepted his invitation, she’d immediately tried to buy time. She’d suggested the following weekend. Rakin couldn’t risk her changing her mind. He’d pushed until she’d capitulated. He’d won. She’d agreed to two days. He had two days in which to convince her to marry him—and secure his position in Gifts of Gold, the company of which he’d been appointed CEO.

Two days…

He feared it wouldn’t be enough. He’d have to tempt her to play longer.

Once they’d completed the brief check-in formalities for the penthouse suite he’d reserved, Rakin wasted no time setting his plan of attack into action. Bending his head, he murmured, “I thought we might go exploring.”

Laurel had taken her sunglasses off, and without the shielding screen her green eyes sparkled up at him. “Sounds great—I can’t wait.”

Some of her joyous enthusiasm appeared to be rubbing off on him because Rakin couldn’t stop himself from smiling back at her. “Then there’s no time to waste.”

Laurel very soon discovered that Las Vegas did indeed have spectacular sights.

In fact, her mind was quite boggled by the end of the first hour. The interior of the Luxor hotel was concealed in an immense black glass pyramid guarded by a giant crouching sphinx. But inside, instead of the treasures of ancient Egypt, Laurel was amazed to find the reconstructed bow of the giant Titanic complete with a lifeboat. As she and Rakin
wandered through the installations, Laurel was moved by the stories of the last hours of the crew and passengers on the ship’s tragic maiden voyage.

The Liberace Museum, by contrast, with its collection of resplendent, unashamed kitsch, made her giggle. The glittering mirror-tiled piano and the rhinestone-covered grand were wonderfully over the top. On catching sight of Rakin’s appalled expression as he inspected the famed red, white and blue hot-pants suit, a mischievous impulse overtook her.

She eyed the black jeans and dazzling white T-shirt he wore, then leaned close to whisper, “I think your wardrobe should include one of those outfits.”

“It would cause quite a stir in Diyafa if I ever wore such a garment. A national disaster, in fact. There are still some conservative elements who would never recover from the sight of Prince Ahmeer Al-Abdellah’s grandson sporting hot pants.” Across the narrow space separating them, their eyes met, and for one charged moment a connection pulsed between them.?… Then it passed and hilarity broke.

“Enough of museums,” said Rakin, reaching for her hand when they’d sufficiently regained their composure. “I think we need a little more action.”

A shock of surprise rushed through her as his hand closed around hers. The clasp was warm and firm. Rakin showed no sign that the gesture had affected him to the same extent—he was striding purposefully forward, seemingly unaware that they were holding hands like a pair of lovers.

She was making too much of it.

Rakin was treating her with the kind of warm friendship she craved. So why spoil it by imagining intimacies that didn’t exist? She should take the gesture at face value and go with the flow. No need to overanalyze the camaraderie
that was developing between them. That, too, was part of breaking free.

Easier said than done.

Laurel couldn’t dampen her awareness of their linked hands, and she finally slid her hand out of his and came to a stop when a familiar skyline materialized ahead.

“New York?” The Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building were interspersed with other landmark buildings. This was his idea of more action? But she had to admit the replica skyscrapers were impressive. “Oh, wow, there’s the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“The buildings are about a third of actual life size,” Rakin informed her. “But it’s not the sight of the buildings that will give you the adrenaline rush I promised.”

“New York–New York? A rollercoaster?” she gasped moments later.

“Why not?” He shot her a taunting look. “Scared?”

Even if she had been, his all-too-male I-dare-you expression would have forced her to bite her lip. She’d told him that she craved adventure, so there was no way she was going to back down now.

She stuck up her chin. “Of course not. I love rides.”

Love was a slight exaggeration. She hadn’t been on a ride in years. A quick calculation left Laurel astonished by exactly how long it had been since she’d last experienced such a ride. Where had the years gone? And, more to the point, where had her sense of fun gone? When had she let herself become so staid… so boring? When had she forgotten that there was a world out there beyond the confines of her family and the demands of public relations for The Kincaid Group?

“At least I did love them once upon a time,” she added a little more dubiously, hoping that her youthful infatuation
with roller coasters would return by the time they reached the start.

“The track twists between the skyscrapers—” Rakin jerked a thumb in the direction of the buildings “—rising to two hundred feet between the buildings.”

“Thanks! That’s very comforting to know.”

“It reaches speeds of over sixty-five miles per hour—and there’s a place where the train drops a hundred and forty-four feet.”

The last snippet of information gave her pause. “Are you deliberately trying to frighten me?”

“I’d never do such a thing.” But the twitch of his lips gave him away.

Humor rushed through her like champagne bubbles rising. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

“Any adventure needs a good case of butterflies to start it off—dread heightens anticipation.”

That sealed it. “You are trying to scare me—wicked man!”

She advanced on him, brandishing her purse.

Rakin grabbed her wrists before she could take a swing at him, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “Are you having fun?”

She stilled. Lowering her purse, she glanced quickly around. How quickly she’d forgotten to behave with the dignity that befitted the eldest Kincaid daughter. Embarrassment swept over her; then she banished it. Who amongst the hordes knew her? And who would even care? Freedom followed in a dizzying burst.

With wonder she said, “Yes, I’m having a fantastic time.”

She skipped into line beside Rakin.

“The trains look like yellow New York taxicabs—complete with hoods and headlights.” She thought they looked delightful, and not at all frightening.

“We’re in luck, we’re going to get front seats,” said Rakin, as an attendant ushered them forward.

Once seated in the front row with the restraints securely fastened, Laurel’s enthusiasm waned at the unobstructed view of the red track ahead. Luck? Maybe not. As the train started forward her heart rose into her throat. “Rakin, what recklessness possessed me to do this?”

“You’re going to love it.” Rakin’s eyes gleamed with humor.

But Laurel was no longer so sure. Ahead of them the track climbed to the height of Everest. The train chugged up, and with each foot they progressed the butterflies that Rakin had stirred up broke free of their chrysalis in Laurel’s stomach and started to flutter madly.

They crested the top of the rise.

Laurel caught a glimpse of the Las Vegas skyline laid out in front of them. In the distance, hills undulated in a long curve.

The train gathered momentum.

“Oh, my heavens!”

Rakin’s hand closed around hers. Before she could catch her breath, they were hurtling down. Then they were rising.?… The next plunge downward left Laurel’s stomach somewhere in the sky above them. Air left her lungs in a silent scream. She could hear Rakin laughing beside her.

Ahead, high above, she glimpsed a complete loop of red track.

“Noooo…” she moaned.

She gripped Rakin’s hand until her fingers hurt.

The train swooped into the upward curve of the loop. Tension, tight and terrifying, clawed at her body. Laurel could hear screams behind her. For a disconcerting instant the world turned over, hovered, blue sky flashing below them in a spinning blur; then everything righted itself. They sped down into a series of tight heart-hammering curves that pressed her thigh up against Rakin’s.

A wild euphoria exploded inside her.

The Statue of Liberty flashed past, and Laurel found herself laughing. Moments later the train shot into womb-like darkness.

Rakin murmured something beside her, but the sound of her heart hammering in her head drowned it out. Her hand was still gripping his, and Laurel realized her nails must be digging into his palm. Hot, awkward embarrassment flooded her.

“Sorry,” she muttered, letting go.

“It didn’t worry me.”

“I appreciated the loan,” she said lightly, and Rakin chuckled in response.

Gradually her eyes adjusted until she was able to make out lights and shapes of an underground station. Noise surrounded her—the attendant’s cheery greeting as he freed her from the safety restraint, the clatter of trains on the track.

When they emerged from the front seats Laurel’s legs felt like Jell-O. But sheer exhilaration propelled her forward.

“You were right, I loved it!”

Laurel didn’t care that she sounded breathless as she spun around to grin giddily at Rakin through the cloud of hair that had whipped around her face during the thrill ride. Right now she felt high on joy—prepared to take on the world. Anything he wanted to throw at her, she was game for. The surge of strength—the feeling that she could do whatever she wanted—was supremely empowering. Getting a life…

Yet Rakin wasn’t even breathing hard. And, what’s more, not even one dark hair had strayed out of place. A wicked urge to see him look a little rumpled stole through her.

“Again,” she challenged. “I want to do it again.”

It was evening, and the observation deck on the fiftieth floor of Paris Las Vegas’s Eiffel Tower was deserted.

Rakin felt Laurel go still beneath the hand he’d placed across her back to usher her from the glass elevator.

“How beautiful,” she breathed, and gestured to the warm, dusky light that turned the observation deck to burnished bronze. “It’s like being in a capsule of gold.”

He watched indulgently as she picked her way along the observation deck, her high heels tapping against the steel, to take in the dramatic view of the city stretching to the purpling mountains in the distance.

Laurel came to a stop and the fiery glow of the sinking rays lit the hair piled on top of her head, throwing the elegant black strapless dress she wore into sharp relief. Against the backdrop of the sunset she looked like a goddess waiting to be summoned back from earth.

“It has been the most extraordinary day,” she said breaking the spell that held him entranced. “Recklessness drove me to accept your invitation.”

His gaze fixed on her, he said, “Recklessness?”

“I gave in to the temptation to break the Winthrop ban on gambling.” She spread her arms wide to embrace the view. “But I didn’t expect this. I’ve no idea how you’ll intend to keep the action—and the surprises—rolling tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry, there’s plenty more to see,” Rakin told her, and closed the gap between them. “Dolphins. Sharks. Lions. We haven’t even started on the animal encounters.”

The sideways glance she gave him held a very human glint of mischief. “Or we could try the thrill rides at the Stratosphere Tower.”

Rakin groaned. “I’ve created a monster. Three rides on New York-New York, not to mention braving the Speed roller
coaster at NASCAR Cafe this afternoon—and you still crave more?”

“I never realized what I was missing out on—I should’ve put
Ride a roller coaster
on my list.”

“You made a list of things to do in Vegas?” Had he left anything out?

But before he could ask, Laurel colored and averted her gaze. A gust of wind blew a tendril of hair that had escaped across her cheek, and she brushed it back. “It’s not exactly about Vegas.”

“But you have a list?” he pressed.

Laurel gave a small nod.

Her reticence intrigued him. “So what’s on it?”

“I can’t remember,” she mumbled and her flush turned a deep shade of crimson.

Laurel Kincaid was a terrible liar.

“Now you’ve woken my curiosity.”

She muttered something. Then she pointed. “Look, isn’t that pretty?”

Rakin allowed himself to be distracted. Far below, the Strip was starting to light up as Las Vegas prepared for the coming night like a showgirl dressing for an after-dark performance.

“Oh, and look there!”

Rakin’s followed her finger. Three rings of fountains had leapt out from the lake in front of the Bellagio, the high plumes illuminated by bright light.

A glance at Laurel revealed that she was transfixed.

“We’ll see the fountains from closer up during dinner.” He’d booked a table at Picasso specifically so Laurel could enjoy the display.

“From up here it gives another perspective. This tower looks like every picture I’ve seen of the real Eiffel Tower. It’s amazing.”

Rakin hadn’t moved his attention from her face. Her changing expressions revealed every emotion she experienced. Wonder. Excitement.

For one wild moment he considered what her features would look like taut with desire, her dark-red hair spread loose across his pillow.?…

He shut his eyes to block out the tantalizing vision.

“So have you ever visited Paris or Venice? I’d love to visit both.”

To his relief her voice interrupted his torrid imaginings. “Not Venice,” he said, his voice hoarser than normal. “But I’ve been to Paris often—my mother loved Paris. She attended the école Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts on the Left Bank across from the Louvre.”

“She’s an artist?”

Rakin nodded. “She was—she died.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to reopen—”

The remorse on Laurel’s face made him say quickly, “Don’t worry. Talking about her doesn’t upset me. She’s been gone a long time. Most people avoid mentioning her—it makes them uncomfortable.” It ran contrary to his own need to talk about his mother, to remember her as she’d been. Talented. Mercurial. Loving. “My father died, too.”