Prince Charming for 1 Night

by Nina Bruhns

  Imagine his surprise when he found Barton standing guard outside the door.

  What the—

  He scowled. Heading him off, Barton jammed a thumb in the direction of the door. “Sorry, sir. She took my BlackBerry. I didn’t want to leave my post to find a phone.”

  Conner ground his teeth. What the freaking hell? “It’s okay. You did the right thing.”

  He rang the buzzer and waited for a long minute until the door was answered. When it finally opened, his worst fears were realized.

  Vera. Wearing red silk lingerie and red satin high heels.

  She looked ready to work. Hell, she looked ready to sin.

  “Hello, Mr. Rothchild,” she said smoothly. “Welcome.”

  The unforeseen development threw him for a total loop. Hadn’t she said she refused to dance at these parties? “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded under his breath.

  “I could ask the same,” she said pleasantly, crooking her arm around his elbow and drawing him inside. Except her arm was stiff and her smile glued on.

  Which was his first clue that she was furious. Really furious.

  Oh.

  Hell.

  Lou must have bragged to her that he was coming tonight. And invited her to join the fun. Damn. He should have anticipated that and told her himself.

  “I can explain,” he said.

  “I’m sure you can,” she said, piercing him with a look that would wither flowers. “Although I could have sworn you told me you’d be working on a lead tonight. You know, lawyer stuff.”

  He glanced around the large, opulent room populated with a dozen well-dressed wealthy men and maybe twenty mostly undressed girls—a couple of whom were not looking happy to be here—making sure they weren’t being overheard. Behind them, the buzzer sounded and another man was ushered in by a different lady.

  “I am working on a lead,” he whispered, starting to get ticked, himself. After what they’d shared together, she should have a little faith.

  She stared at him in abject disbelief.

  Conner raised his wrist, pretending to check his Rolex. “Smile for the camera,” he gritted out under his breath, and pointed the face at her. “Click.”

  At least she had the grace to look taken aback. “But…I thought—”

  “You thought what?” he quietly demanded, leading her to the side of the room. “That I’d go off looking for a good time somewhere else? That I’d betray you like that? That I can’t be trusted?”

  Her suddenly remorseful face said it all. No. She hadn’t trusted him.

  “Great.” He raked his fingers through his hair, not knowing whether to be more hurt or angry. “Thanks for the overwhelming vote of confidence.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered contritely. “I didn’t know. Lou said—”

  “And naturally you believed him, not me. Because he’s so trustworthy.”

  Definitely hurt.

  Her lips turned down unhappily. “I’m sorry, Conner. The men in my life haven’t had the best history for being icons of trust.”

  His heart zinged. Right. How could he forget? Especially after the scene last night with her own father.

  With a monumental effort, he pushed back his anger. Given her background, she had every right to be wary, and he had no right to chastise her for it. With a sigh, he put his arms around her and pulled her into an embrace. “No, I’m sorry, honey. This is my fault. I should have told you the whole truth. I just thought—”

  “You couldn’t trust me?”

  He gave her a sardonic smile. “No, I thought maybe you’d get jealous and want to be here for me, regardless of personal consequences. You know, so I wouldn’t go with another woman.”

  She stared at him, chagrin clouding over her pretty green eyes. “Touché.” Then her gaze darted to the door, where another pair of men had arrived, and back to him. “What lead are you following?”

  He sent her a warning look. “Whatever it is, I can’t do it with you here,” he said in a low voice. “You need to leave.”

  “But I could help.”

  He set his jaw. “I don’t want you involved.”

  “But—”

  “You should go. Now. Unless you want to wind up arrested, or faced with testifying in open court.”

  She shook her head, eyes wide. “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.” He brushed his fingertips down her cheek. “Go home. Wait for me there.” He tilted her chin up and gave her a kiss.

  “Okay, I—”

  “Well, well, well.” They looked up at the nasty tone of an all-too-familiar figure standing next to them. “If it isn’t the little gold-digging stripper again.”

  Conner’s back went right up.

  Maximillian St. Giles. He should have known a reprobate like St. Giles would show up at one of these things.

  Vera’s father continued his harangue of her, barely taking a breath. “What’s the matter? Didn’t find a big enough sucker to leech onto at the ball last night?” He puffed up and tried to look down his nose at Conner but was several inches shorter. He only succeeded in showing off his nose hairs. “Rothchild, isn’t it? Michael’s oldest. I see you’ve met my bastard daughter. Careful, she’ll—”

  Conner couldn’t take another word. “The only bastard around here is you, St. Giles,” he growled, easing Vera protectively behind his body. His hands were literally itching to flatten the jackass. “Tell me, if you’re so high and mighty, why are you here?”

  Maximillian glared. “I have every—”

  Conner knew he shouldn’t draw attention to himself, but he just couldn’t stop from saying, “Not getting it at home? Is that it? The wife finally had enough and cut you off?”

  “Why you—”

  For every syllable Conner uttered, he was getting angrier and angrier. “Maybe you should try being a little less hypocritical, eh? And clean up that mouth of yours around a lady.”

  “How dare you! She’s no lady.”

  “Vera is your daughter,” Conner spat out. “Your own flesh and blood! You should be loving her, taking care of her. Not heaping her with your scorn and two-faced disdain. Forcing her into this lifestyle because you refuse to take responsibility for your own actions. You are one damned poor excuse for a man, St. Giles. You’re not fit to clean this woman’s shoes.”

  He turned to find Vera covering her mouth with both hands, tears brimming over her eyelashes. She looked up at him with such an expression of misery, Conner’s heart broke right in two. “Ah, sweetheart. Forget him. He’s not worth your anguish.” He pulled her close, turned her away from the jerk.

  Another man hurried up to them anxiously. “Mr. St. Giles, are you having a problem with this girl?” The pimp du jour, no doubt. Without waiting for an answer, the pimp discreetly took her arm and urged her toward one of the bedrooms, presumably to get her things. “We can’t have any disruptions. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave immediately, Ms. LaRue.”

  “I understand.” She glanced back at Conner, tears glistening on her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said, her voice cracking, her heart in her eyes.

  “Go on and get your things. I’ll take you home,” Conner said.

  “Oh, but—” She shook her head, wiping her tears, and straightened her shoulders. “No. I’ll be fine. You stay, Mr. Rothchild. I know you were looking forward to a night of pleasure.” She pretended to toss it off and smile carelessly. “Please don’t let this spoil your evening.”

  “Vera, I really—”

  “Here.” To his shock, she reached out and unclasped his Rolex, then took Pimp Man’s wrist and put the watch on him. She gave Conner a meaningful look. “Mr. Black here is in charge of all the night’s entertainment. He’ll see to it you have everything you could ever wish for, Mr. Rothchild. Isn’t that right, Mr. Black?”

  The pimp’s eyes were glued greedily to the expensive Rolex. Thank God it actually still functioned. “Everything and more,” he assured Conner, glancing at a grou
p of girls who were nervously looking on.

  Conner knew what Vera was doing. The vice officer downstairs was probably having an orgasm about now. With the audio-video transmitter on the very man who set the price for every criminal act being committed here tonight, they’d have ample ammunition to make the man testify against the club managers who ran the show, and all the evidence needed to shut down these parties for good.

  But Conner had never been so torn in his life. He had to stay. Make sure nothing went wrong. Set Black up to get the best evidence possible and protect the girls who didn’t want to do the things they were being coerced into doing. But if he stayed, Vera would go home alone and crushed. Again. He’d seen how hard she’d taken her father’s rejection yesterday. He didn’t want to think about the tears she would surely shed tonight if he wasn’t there to help her through the emotional turmoil.

  “Vera—”

  “It’s okay, Mr. Rothchild. We’ll hook up next time.” She went up on her toes and gave him a long, sensual kiss filled with warmth and promise. “And I’ll be sure to thank you properly.”

  He kissed her back, barely able to keep the love and concern spinning around inside him from bursting out of his chest. He whispered, “Promise you’ll go to my place.”

  She nodded and gave him one last hug, then was whisked away by Mr. Black.

  A few moments later, head held high, dressed and carrying her purse, she was escorted out of the suite.

  He turned to see Maximillian St. Giles watching her with a look of guarded unease on his face.

  The bastard.

  Conner couldn’t help himself. He clamped his jaw, pulled back his fist and punched the man as hard as he could.

  Miraculously, Conner’s not-so-little outburst did not cost him the Parker case. For some reason, St. Giles didn’t press charges. In fact, he was strangely docile about the whole thing. He got up, brushed himself off, excused himself with as few words and as much dignity as he could muster and left the hotel.

  After things settled down, for the next several hours Conner walked a tightrope between pretending to be a conscienceless lecher who was interested in the dozen or so women thrust at him by Mr. Black and pretending to drink copious amounts of the champagne they kept filling his glass with. He sure hoped the potted geraniums survived. All the while convincing everyone he really didn’t give a damn about Vera other than her body. That Sensitive New-Age Guy performance earlier? Just him trying to get laid.

  It would have stretched the thespian skills of a seasoned actor, let alone a lawyer whose skills in that direction came solely from the drama of the courtroom.

  Somehow he managed to pull it off, though, and by around three in the morning the officer downstairs had gotten enough evidence to send the Metro vice squad bursting into the suite to take down the whole operation. Everyone got arrested except Conner. But he nevertheless spent the rest of the night arranging bail and deals for the handful of dancers who’d been coerced into working the private party. They’d be good witnesses, and their testimony would corroborate the story of his original client, Suzie Parker, and her prostitution charges would be dismissed.

  All in all, a very good night’s work, but by the time he got out of there, it was almost noon.

  He should be proud, and heading home to a well-deserved night’s…well, midday’s…sleep. Instead, he was breaking all speed limits to get back home to Vera. He was worried about her and couldn’t wait to pull her into his arms and sink down into his bed and just let out a long sigh of relief that she was okay. Maybe get a little sleep before showing her how hard he was falling for her.

  Maybe even telling her.

  Wow. How terrifying was that?

  He was just passing the Luxor when his cell phone rang. It was Barton.

  “Hey, what’s up? Is Vera okay?”

  “She’s fine, Mr. Rothchild. As I texted you, I drove her to your place last night, and your Miss Hildy took good care of her. Put her to bed, and I sat outside her door the whole night. No suspicious activity at all.”

  “Excellent.”

  Barton continued, “But this morning she got a call from Mr. Henry St. Giles and apparently made plans to go out to lunch with him in a few minutes. I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t find out until just now. Do you want me to follow them?”

  Hell’s bells, Barton must be dead on his feet. Conner definitely was, and he’d actually been able to catch a long catnap in an empty LVMPD conference room while everyone was being processed into the system.

  He pushed out a breath. “Where are they going, do you know?” Barton named a small restaurant just off the Strip. “Okay, can you make sure she gets there safely? Then you’re done for the day. I’ll meet you and take over from there.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Rothchild.”

  He thanked the man for his diligence and made a quick right, heading for the restaurant.

  He got to the parking lot before Vera and didn’t see Henry waiting. Which gave Conner time to figure out how to handle this. It would be stupid for him just to sit in his car and stake out the place. Aside from which, he might easily fall asleep. Or something could happen to her inside the restaurant.

  Because to be honest, Conner was a bit concerned about Henry’s motives in courting Vera’s favor. His sudden appearance in her life out of nowhere was more than a little suspicious.

  Conner was not forgetting his assignment for Special Agent Lex Duncan, to narrow down possible suspects in the interstate jewelry theft ring the FBI was trying to crack—the same ring Duncan highly suspected Henry’s sister, Darla, of being part of.

  Vera was hoping Darla was innocent, but Conner wasn’t so sure she was. What would be more natural than a brother-sister team of high-end thieves?

  And if either of them was involved in his cousin Candace’s murder, Vera could be in genuine danger meeting with Henry. Conner’d already seen Darla arguing with the man he was convinced stole the Quetzal from the police—likely the same man who later attacked Silver and then Vera, searching for the illusive diamond after he’d failed to hang on to it while he had it. Duncan was waiting for more concrete evidence, but Conner was convinced that man was the link between the ring and Candace’s murder.

  Would it be such a stretch if Henry somehow had his fingers deep in this mess, too? Even if he didn’t, he was Maximillian St. Giles’s son and heir. What did he want with Vera after all these years? Nothing good, Conner figured.

  Conner decided to let Vera and Henry go into the restaurant after they arrived and got seated; then he’d casually walk in and spot them like his being there was a pure coincidence. Vera would probably twig, but after her quick uptake and play-along last night, he wasn’t worried she’d give him away.

  That way he could simply join them for lunch. Vera would be safe. And he could subtly pump Henry for information while they ate.

  Problem solved.

  Except, unfortunately, that’s not how things worked out.

  Henry arrived first, not unexpectedly. He should have realized something was up when the other man didn’t let the valet park his car. But Conner was distracted by Barton cruising past the McLaren and giving Conner a thumbs-up, indicating Vera was right behind him.

  Henry, leaning against the door of his Lexus, waved to Vera when she drove into the lot and let the valet whisk her Camry away. Conner raised a brow at the touching hug they exchanged, Henry smiling broadly as he then teasingly touched her earlobe. Oh, please. Don’t fall for it, sweetheart. The guy had serious bloodsucking scum written all over him. How could Vera possibly miss that transparently fake smarm?

  Because she was looking for something else in the man. Like acceptance. Affection. Warmth.

  Family.

  But still, Conner was not prepared when Henry went around and opened the passenger door for her and she climbed into the Lexus. With a spin of the wheels, Henry peeled out of the parking lot.

  Whoa! What had just happened? Had they decided to go to a different restaurant? Or was so
mething else going on?

  Conner jackknifed up, gunned the engine and took off after them.

  When Henry made a sharp turn onto an all-too-conveniently-situated freeway ramp onto the I-15 south, the major route heading out of the city, Conner really started to worry. So much so that he pulled out his phone and speed-dialed Duncan and then his cousin Natalie.

  He wanted backup. Just in case.

  Because suddenly, he had a really, really bad feeling about this whole thing.

  Chapter 17

  “Where are we going, again?” Vera glanced around at the downtown area fast disappearing behind them and bit her lip. “I thought you were taking me to lunch.”

  “I am!” Henry grinned over at her. “There is this amazing little bistro up in the mountains above Henderson I want you to try. Very chichi. The food there is so incredible, and the view is spectacular. You can see all the way to Lake Mead.”

  “Okay…” Vera knew Henderson was a growing tourist destination all on its own, but she’d never heard about a fantastic restaurant in the mountains above the Vegas suburb. But Henry—she couldn’t believe she was finally getting to know her brother!—was presumably a lot more dialed into the hideaways of the rich and famous.

  “You’re not in a hurry, are you?” he asked politely, even though he was driving like a speed demon.

  “No, of course not,” she rushed to say. She didn’t want to annoy him the first time they did anything together. Either about his choice of restaurants or his driving habits. She smiled over at him. “I can’t wait.”

  But still…When he bypassed the main exit to Henderson but took a long back road in, she started getting concerned. Not nervous, exactly. More like…uneasy. But he was happily chatting about the Lights of Vegas Charity Ball and how he wished he’d known earlier she was there, and how terribly embarrassed he’d been about his father’s—their father’s, he quickly corrected himself—behavior that night, and how he’d heard so many good things about her from Darla. He seemed so kind and attentive that Vera just couldn’t interrogate him about their destination.