“Then find some investors to back you,” she suggested. “There are plenty of REITs looking to pick up hotel properties.”
“REITs?” he repeated blankly.
“You know, real estate investment trusts.”
He set his jaw. “Tom and I were partners. I’m not going into business with a bunch of strangers. And I’m sure as shit not going to answer to a board of bean counters.”
She rolled her eyes. “Where are you from? The freaking stone age?”
“Maybe I just have a different outlook on things.”
“I can see how well that’s worked for you,” she scoffed. “Why don’t we take a look at your books, shall we?” She strode to the desk, flipped open a file, and scanned the printed columns with her index finger. “Let’s see now . . . how about we start with all the room comps?”
His mouth compressed. “Tom and I agreed to comp the rodeo cowboys. They always draw family members and the like.”
“Not enough of ‘the like.’ Your largesse cost you fifty thousand last year. And that’s not even counting their food and beverage credits.”
He shrugged. “What’s a few beers?”
“A few?” she snorted. “It looks here like your cowboys must bathe in beer.”
“Told you I’m not into bean counting, Ms. Brandt.”
“Don’t you have any financial sense at all?” she asked. “I would have thought Tom at least—”
The line between his brows deepened. “I told you we have a different way of doing business.”
“You call this business?” She laughed outright.
“We did just fine ’til South Point opened a few years back. That place is brand-spanking new and even has a full-size events arena. How can we compete with that?”
“Look, Ty, even if you did rebuild, you’d be in no better shape the way you run things. Do yourself a favor and sell. The property is worth something. A great deal probably. You could walk away with more than enough to buy yourself a ranch back in . . .” Where the hell was he from?
“Oklahoma,” he supplied. “And for the record, I already have one.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. Five thousand acres. Near Tom. It was my grandfather’s place.”
“I don’t get it. If you have a ranch, what do you want with a hotel in Las Vegas?”
“That’s a personal question that I ain’t inclined to answer.”
His reply was quick and defensive. Interesting. The cowboy had something to hide from his past. She wondered what he’d run from. Maybe his face was pasted all over wanted signs back in Oklahoma.
“Tell you what, Ty, since you’re so hell-bent on keeping the hotel, I’ll make you a deal.”
“What kinda deal?’ he asked warily.
“I’ll give you sixty days to buy me out. Fair market value less two and a half percent. I’ll cut you that break, but I’m not about to lose my ass on this. If you haven’t found financing by that time, I’m selling to the highest bidder. In the meantime, you have to agree to keep the place running.”
“What about the bonus you offered?”
Her gaze was level with his chin, requiring her to crane her neck. She hated the advantage his height gave him. It was the reason she always wore heels—to level the playing field. She was five foot seven. Her stilettos made her close to six feet, which allowed her to stand nose to nose with most men and even gave her a slight advantage over Evan, who was only four inches taller than she was, but Ty had her by half a head.
“The twenty grand you refused?”
“No, the ten I accepted along with the—”
“Okay,” she blurted. “You already called my bluff. I’ll give you the twenty. Half now and the rest in two months. I’m being square with you here, Ty. Let’s make this happen.” She almost groaned as Evan’s favorite words spilled from her mouth. She’d been his protégé for five years. It would probably take as many for the stink to wear off.
Ty cocked his head in thought.
She waited, fighting the urge to tap her heel.
“All right,” he said at last. “I can accept that deal . . . with the provision that I still have the last word on operations.”
“Absolutely not! I’ll make all the final decisions.”
“That ain’t gonna fly with me, Sugar. Tom let me have free rein. If you want me to stay, you’ve got to let me handle things my way.”
“Equal say,” she countered. “Partners. Just like you and Tom.”
He shook his head. “Tom and I are like-minded, but you and me? We’re never going to see eye to eye on anything.”
“Probably not,” she agreed.
“Look, Ms. Brandt, one of us has to wear the pants in this relationship.”
“Wear the pants? What chauvinistic bullshit! I can’t even believe you said that!”
“Told you I’m old-fashioned. ’Sides,” his gazed roved slowly and suggestively down her body, “you look mighty fine in a skirt.”
She fought a ridiculous surge of satisfaction that he’d taken notice. “Don’t you know I could call you out for sexual harassment?”
“Could you now?” He stepped into her space. “Maybe you need a bit of sexual harassment, Ms. Brandt,” his voice was suddenly low and smooth as silk. “As a matter of fact, I think you need a whole lot of it.” She retreated a step. He advanced two. “You see,” he continued, backing her up to the desk, “I was raised in the belief that anything worth doing is worth doing right.”
His hands came down on the desk, braced on either side of her. His musky masculine scent washed over her, sucking the air out of her lungs. Evan wore outrageously expensive Clive Christian 1872. Ty Morgan wore “pure cowboy” vintage 1982—earthy, tangy, and tantalizing.
“I don’t understand,” her voice came out breathless. He was way too close, not just invading but dominating her personal space. “You’re not making any sense.”
He smirked. “Then I guess I need to couch this in terms you’re sure to comprehend. The way I see it, Ms. Brandt, we’re now negotiating a merger.”
“A merger?” she repeated dumbly. Then understanding kicked her brain into gear. “Let me go, Ty.”
A taunting grin slowly stretched his mouth. “But I’m not touching you, Ms. Brandt.” That part was true. His body loomed over hers, but he wasn’t actually touching her. He held her only by his sheer, seductive force of will. “That’s not to say I don’t want to touch you,” he continued lazily, his face hovering inches from hers.
“This is unprofessional.” Her breath hitched as he wedged a denim-clad knee between her thighs.
“Yup. Sure is.” He released a hand from the desktop and slid it into the space he’d created between her thighs. His gaze held hers as he ran it slowly up her leg. Evan had smooth, meticulously manicured hands. Ty’s were big, callused, and rough on her skin.
“No pantyhose, Ms. Brandt?”
“It’s too damned hot for them here,” she murmured, her heart pounding as if she’d run the New York Marathon. She shut her eyes on the sensation of his fingers inching slowly upward. She should push him away, but for some inexplicable reason, she couldn’t bring herself to move. What the hell was happening?
“It’s hot, all right.” His voice rumbled low in her ear, sending an echo of ripples down her spine. His fingertip traced the lace edge of her panties and then skimmed lower. She squirmed with a little moan. “How long has it been?” he asked.
Her eyes snapped open. “My sex life is none of your damn business.”
His fascinating green and gold-flecked eyes held hers captive as he teased and stroked her silk-covered mons. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve decided to make it my business.”
“You need to stop this. Now,” she gasped, growing almost frantic.
“Is that really what you want?” He slipped his hand beneath her panties. He slid his fingers fully into her wetness, stroking, circling, and caressing. “Evidence suggests otherwise, Ms. Brandt.”
She bit
her lip, trying to stifle her sounds of pleasure as her world spiraled out of control. She was damned close to coming and he hadn’t even kissed her!
“I know exactly what you need.” A wide swipe of his arm cleared the desk. He slid his other hand under her skirt to remove her panties and lifted her onto the top of it. Gripping her hips, he dragged her to the edge of the desktop, then stepped between her thighs. He brought her hand down between them, closing it over his very large erection.
“Getting straight down to business? Aren’t you at least going to kiss me?”
Her annoyance only seemed to amuse him.
His mouth stretched into a slow, wicked grin. “Oh, I intend to do that all right. Where I come from it’s considered ungentlemanly to fuck a woman senseless without kissing her first.”
CHAPTER SIX
Ty’s taunting smile died on his lips at the sight of her sprawled on the desk. Her hair had come down in a tangle of silk. Her face was flushed and her gray eyes had darkened to slate. The vision of her looking soft and utterly fuckable sent a rush of blood straight to his dick.
He’d told himself from the start that she wasn’t his type, that she was far too aggressive and hard-hitting for his taste, but right now she was all women and his jeans were uncomfortably tight. He tried to blame it on his extended period of celibacy, but deep down it was more than that. At some point in their verbal clash, his antagonism for Monica had morphed into something else that he couldn’t even put a name to.
Her breath came in short pants, her back arched, and her hips surged upward under his hands. He could feel her reaching, growing desperate for release. For a few agonizing seconds, he debated fucking her into next Wednesday, but he quickly stifled that urge. He might be aching to get inside her, but he wasn’t about to allow her the advantage of knowing that. She’d exploit any show of weakness in a heartbeat.
If sexual frustration was the chink in her armor, he’d show her no mercy. He backed off.
“You bastard!” she hissed. “You started this, now finish it!”
He gifted her with a self-satisfied smirk. “You wanted to be equal partners, sweetheart. You’ll get yours when I get mine.”
“Now, Ty.” She grabbed his shirt collar. “I want you inside me. Now.”
He’d planned on torturing her a whole lot longer, but this was more than he could take. His self-control snapped. “Far be it for me to deny a lady.” He unzipped, took himself in hand, his eyes shuttering in anticipation of sliding himself into her wet folds.
“Protection?” she asked with a needy whimper.
He froze on a long stream of hissed curses. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She sat up, face contorted with frustration. “You don’t have any?”
He let out a bark of dry laughter. “Having sex with you was the very last thing on my mind when I walked in here, Ms. Brandt.”
“My purse,” she hissed. “In the desk.” She yanked on the drawer. It slid completely off the track and crashed on the floor, spilling the contents. “Shit!”
“I’ve got it.” Ty stepped back to scoop up her handbag.
She snatched it from his hands, rifled, then gave up, dumping it unceremoniously on the desk—wallet, lipstick, keys, feminine products, and other miscellaneous items spilled out, but no prophylactics. “Nothing, damn it!” She exhaled a long and shaky breath. “I can’t believe this!”
“It’s all right, darlin’. I’ll still get you off.” The situation was laughable but still salvageable. If he did the oral honors, maybe she’d return the favor.
“No, Ty.” She sat up and pushed against his chest. “My moment of madness has run its course.” Sliding off the desk, she tugged at her skirt and scooped up her lost panties, throwing them into her purse with a weak laugh. “I don’t know what the hell possessed me. Maybe this whole thing was just some twisted manifestation of mutual aggression?”
“Is that all you think it was?” he drawled. He’d love to believe it too, but now he wasn’t so sure. He’d never experienced anything like this with any woman. Their sparring match had excited the hell out of him. And he was still hard as a post.
“Of course,” she insisted. “What else could it be? We don’t even like each other.”
“True enough.” He didn’t like her, but it was still an effort to zip back into his jeans. “So what now?” he asked. “You change your mind about the deal, too?”
“Why would you jump to that conclusion? Business is business, Ty. It would be stupid to let this get in the way when there’s millions on the line.”
He shook his head. He’d never understand this woman. He thought he had her number before, but now he didn’t know what the hell to make of her. “So you think we can just move on like nothing happened?”
“I certainly can. What almost happened has nothing to do with our arrangement. Do you have a problem with it?” she asked.
“Nope,” he replied, “not if that’s the way you want to play this.”
“I do,” she asserted confidently. “It’s done now and won’t happen again. As of this moment we’re business partners, Ty. Nothing else.”
He reached out to graze the pad of his thumb over her lips. “I wouldn’t be so certain about that, Sugar.”
***
Monica managed to hold her breath until the door closed behind him. She then exhaled a long gush of air and collapsed into the chair. Her legs still felt like jelly. She’d never acted so recklessly before, but thankfully the condom dilemma had jolted her out of a lust-induced lapse of reason before it was too late. She consoled herself that the damage wasn’t irreversible as long as she kept things under control from this point forward, but feared that might be more easily said than done.
He might be gone, but she couldn’t deny that a powerful attraction remained. Maybe Ty lacked Evan’s urbane polish, but he had undeniable charisma—not to mention impressive physical attributes. She quickly shoved that dangerous recollection from her mind, but not before her inner muscles gave a squeeze of protest.
Her initial antipathy toward Ty had been rooted in the belief that he was an opportunist who’d caused Tom’s stroke, but her preliminary review of the accounts revealed no evidence of wrongdoing and nothing to warrant a full audit.
Perhaps she’d misjudged him. She was emotionally vulnerable when he’d walked into the hospital room—angry and bitter about Evan, and in a state of despair over almost losing Tom. Lashing out at Ty had been a knee-jerk reaction. It wasn’t her finest moment, but she was used to being in control and had looked for someone to blame. The cowboy had presented an easy target.
Her feelings were now completely muddled where Ty was concerned. She wasn’t starting to like him, was she? She couldn’t deny the attraction even if she wanted to, but she’d just have to find a way to deal with it, even if it meant resorting to something with batteries—though finding one Ty-sized might present a challenge.
***
Ty left Tom’s, or rather Monica’s, office feeling like a loaded gun. He couldn’t even recall the last time he’d had a case of blue balls—probably nigh on twenty years. Although he knew any number of women who’d be more than willing to take care of his problem, a couple of them even in the hotel, it might be best to just take matters into his own hand. Deciding that option was the safest one, he headed down the hall toward the owner’s suite.
The elevator dinged as he passed, the doors opening to a pair of shapely legs. His gaze tracked appreciatively upward over-generous feminine curves until it finally rested on Cassie Alexander’s familiar face. She was a voluptuous brunette with big, brown, bedroom eyes. She liked dirty talk and noisy sex. She also happened to be on his shortlist of women who’d be happy to solve his problem. He was quick to stomp that dangerous thought.
“Ty!” she gushed with a bright smile. “I was hoping to catch you. You didn’t answer my text. I’ve been waiting in the lobby for over thirty minutes. Did another meeting run late?”
He whipped out his phone to discover
the last message he’d thought was from Monica was actually from Cassie. Shit. He’d forgotten the appointment he’d made with her right after his fateful lunch with Tom. The stroke had immediately followed the phone call, and he hadn’t thought of it, or her, since.
Her smile wavered. “You didn’t forget about me, did you?”
Shit. He’d done exactly that. “Ah, hell. I’m sorry, Cassie. I’ve been real preoccupied. Some unexpected complications came up.” He laid a hand on her arm. “I apologize that I didn’t call you—”
“It’s no problem, Ty. Really. These things happen. But if it would ease your conscience, I’ll let you make it up to me with dinner. How about we talk about it over the rib eye at Carnevino? They claim it’s the best in town.” She glanced beyond his shoulder and her eyes widened. “Or did you already have other plans?”
Ty didn’t have to turn around to know it was Monica, but he did anyway. She swept a quick gaze over Cassie. He’d seen that look a dozen times before, a woman assessing the threat of another woman. She might claim their relationship was pure business, but under it all she was still a woman. And women always tried to stake a claim to any man they got sexually involved with. He might have been amused by the hint of jealousy in her eyes if he hadn’t found himself in the middle of what could easily become a messy situation. It’d be best to handle it upfront before it became something ugly and festering.
“Excuse me, Ms. Brandt, there’s someone here you should meet.”
“Oh?” She approached with a pasted-on smile.
He made the introduction. “This is Cassie Alexander of Adams & Alexander Architects. She’s one of the up-and-coming architectural designers in Las Vegas. Cassie, this is Monica Brandt, the new CEO of Brandt Morgan Entertainment.”
Cassie’s brows lifted. “But isn’t Tom—”
“My father recently suffered a stroke,” Monica volunteered.
“I’m so sorry,” Cassie offered sympathetically. “How is he doing?”
“Not well, I’m afraid, which puts me in charge of his business affairs for the foreseeable future.”
Sin City Cowboy Page 5
