by Robyn Thomas
He stared at her, taking a moment to decide his next play. “If my mother was here, she’d lecture you.” He winked then adopted a snooty tone. “When choosing a new look it’s important to envisage how practical it will be at 7 a.m. on a weekday. Can you replicate it without assistance? How well will it be received in the office or fit in at the weekend farmers market?” He stopped teasing when Sara’s face paled. He’d offended her. Again. Curving his hand around her waist, he guided her inside the salon. “Let’s see what they recommend for you.”
Ethan paced the sidewalk in front of the salon. He knew how long beauty treatments could take, but this was the first one he’d ever stressed over. Hair like Sara’s would take years to grow, and seconds to destroy. He’d bribed the manager to give Sara the experience of a full makeover, without making any irreversible changes. As time passed, his faith in the manager dwindled.
A young woman in a fifties style floral dress poked her head out of the salon door, hot pink curls bouncing wildly. “Are you Ethan?”
He blinked at her makeup, wondering if she’d applied it in the dark. “Yeah.”
“We want to dress Sara for dinner. Where are you taking her?” She sighed dramatically. “What’s the dress code, darling?”
“Ah, there isn’t one.” He felt sick. Vegas had never held an ounce of stress for him before today. He’d come here ahead of his parents’ upcoming divorce to soak up the atmosphere of greed and excess. Vegas was a city that supported his core belief: people only cared about themselves. Like his parents before him, he was self-serving to a degree that offended most people. Instead of apologizing, he embraced it. He lived alone, avoiding entanglements, aside from necessary ones within the work place. The freedom to always put himself first was worth the sacrifice of personal relationships.
He hadn’t expected to have his views challenged by a wide-eyed country girl in hippie style clothing. Her opinions and behavior shouldn’t matter, but somehow they did. He swiped his palm over his face and contemplated walking away. The only thing Vegas had to offer him tonight was inside the salon, though. He’d rather play tour guide than hit a bar or drive back to LA alone.
A vice-like grip on his upper arm snapped him back to reality. The woman with fairy floss hair led him inside the salon. “Come and sit down. How long since you ate?”
“I’m fine,” he said, and then checked himself as he caught sight of Sara. He might never be fine again. The passably pretty woman he’d arrived with had been transformed into this stunning creature with bronzed, bee-stung lips, and legs worthy of a cheerleader. The simple halter neck dress had probably looked modest on the hanger, but it highlighted her curves as if it had been designed for her alone. Frothy layers of fabric swirled around her knees as she walked, sparkling beads danced over her breasts, and the delicate bow resting on her collarbone made it look as if the dress would slide off with one slight tug. His fingers itched to put it to the test. Her hair was loose and fell in soft, glossy waves that he felt compelled to bury his hands in. Long legs, amazing cleavage, a tiny waist, stunning hair, and plump lips just made for—
One of the stylists stage-whispered, but he was so deep in his contemplation of Sara that he didn’t register the words. The reason her ex had put such an expensive bauble on her finger was suddenly clear. This woman warranted such a ridiculous gesture.
Sara stared at him, gulping in a breath that threatened to dislodge the top of her dress. His heart skipped and stuttered as her jubilant expression faded and her gaze slid away from his.
“Ready for dinner?” Was that gravelly sound actually his voice? Why was he blabbering about food instead of complimenting her? He found himself inches away from her and couldn’t remember getting there. It was good, though; he needed to touch her. He reached for her hands, his thumb zeroing in on the indentation her engagement ring had left. “You look beautiful. Infinitely better than the bald chick on the poster.”
Sara laughed in delight, her delicate fingers slipping between his as if holding his hand was second nature to her. “I’m starving. Please tell me we’re going somewhere with decent sized meals and an obscenely late closing time.”
He almost invited her up to his suite. Then reality kicked in. Food was what she wanted, what she thought he was offering. “The PepperMill never closes. If we’re still there for breakfast, I’ll be a happy man.”
…
Sara pushed her empty plate aside and blushed for what felt like the hundredth time. She kept forgetting herself, staring at Ethan’s jaw, wondering what it would be like to press her lips to the cleft in his chin. It was a good thing he liked to argue. Every time her mind started to wander he redirected her thoughts. He’d just reopened their marriage versus singledom debate. “You’re wrong,” she said. “I could prove it, but it would only embarrass you.”
He smirked and gestured to a passing waitress for a coffee refill.
“Do you really want me to spell it out? You’ve never been married or engaged, and you profit from other people’s misery. Being a divorce lawyer disqualifies you to argue for marriage because your livelihood depends on its dissolution. You bank on broken dreams.”
Ethan raised his empty coffee cup and tilted it as if awarding her a point. “Nicely put, but perhaps I believe these disenchanted people deserve an advocate? I can’t restore the happiness they once had, but I can ensure their property settlement gives them a fighting chance at another go-round.”
Sara bit her lip then smiled weakly at their waitress when she arrived with a fresh pot of coffee. The debate-winning glass of champagne she’d planned to order no longer seemed appropriate. Ethan’s career was the type she despised, yet he didn’t appear to be heartless or mercenary. The way he told it, his clients were needy and turned to him for help.
“Would you like to see the dessert menu?”
Sara said yes at the same time Ethan said no. The waitress laughed and Sara amended her answer. “I don’t need to see the menu. We’ll have a banana split with two spoons, please.”
Ethan swore so softly she couldn’t be sure she’d heard him right. “That settles it,” he said. “You may not know it, but you’re already open to the idea of another relationship. It’s only a matter of time until you meet a new man, fall for him, and plan another wedding.”
Needing something to do with her hands, Sara reached for Ethan’s coffee and took a sip of the black, sugarless brew. It should have steadied her, but all it did was make her head swim. “What makes you think that?”
His smile widened. “The ink’s not even dry on the pawn ticket, yet you’re having dinner with a man who’s into you.” He ignored her squeak of alarm, his gaze lingering on her mouth so long that she began to imagine him kissing her.
“Ethan?” Stop looking at me like that. I’m going to pass out if I don’t breathe soon.
His gaze finally shifted, but the longing it generated intensified. Her lips seemed to have developed independent thought. They wanted to play over his. Could one glass of wine really lower her inhibitions that much? She’d better sit back and drink the rest of his coffee.
“I can understand adding an extra layer of polish to your look and dressing for Vegas,” he said, “but letting hair like yours down gives a man all sorts of ideas.”
“Hey—”
“But the biggest clue of all—”
The blood pounding through her head was so loud she couldn’t hear him. Whatever he thought he saw, he was wrong. She would have told him that if the waitress hadn’t shown up right then with their banana split. Ethan took charge of it, smiling as he accepted both spoons. He slid around the booth until the left side of his body warmed her right. He loaded a spoon with strawberry ice cream, her favorite, and then held it in front of her mouth. No pressure, just an offer of perfection for her to accept if she wished. Who could resist?
He reloaded the spoon several times, watching her with an indulgent expression as she ate from it. When he chose chocolate ice cream she shook her head and sl
ipped her fingers around his wrist. “Uh-uh, that’s for you.”
Something dangerous sparked in his deep blue eyes, darkening his irises until they looked almost black. “That, right there, is the biggest clue of all. You cater for two. Every thought you have strikes a balance between your needs and someone else’s.” He focused on her lips again. “Mine.”
My lips are yours? Liking the sound of that a little too much, she scrambled to come up with a reply. “I’m not thinking about you.”
“Yes, you are,” he said softly. “I’ve been on enough dates to recognize when one’s wildly different.” He must have felt her stiffen because his lips twitched. “It’s a compliment, Sara. I can feel you taking cues from me. And there’s an expectation I’ll respond.”
Good grief, the man was lethal. He seemed to know that staring at her mouth while talking about cues, expectations, and responsiveness would have this effect. Her earlier mantra repeated in her head. Surely, this was her chance to be recklessly, drunkenly single? Heart pounding, she leaned closer to Ethan and pressed a hasty kiss almost squarely on his lips.
He stilled, surprise etched on his features as he watched her. Then he moved, setting the spoon down and tugging loose the bow that held up her dress. He held both ends of fabric together, his dark blue eyes issuing a silent challenge. “Again.”
She’d never been rewarded for bad behavior before. He didn’t need to ask twice. She brushed her lips across his cleft chin, exploring the slight dip as if he’d invited her to do whatever she liked. When she snuck a glance at him, his features were relaxed and his eyes were closed. Her inhibitions melted away as she sank against his hard body and covered his lips with hers.
Chapter Three
Damn, Sara was sweet. She kissed like she was in junior high, yet he sensed that would change with the slightest encouragement from him. If he plunged his tongue between her lips she’d match him stroke for stroke, but it wouldn’t be long before they were hauled into custody on indecent exposure charges. She’d probably expect a commitment after sharing a jail cell for the night. It might just be worth it.
He smiled against her mouth, knowing she wouldn’t let it get out of hand. He opened his eyes so he could watch her realize what she was doing and draw away.
She pulled back slowly, a dazed expression clouding her flushed features. “I’m s—”
“Sara,” he said. “I know.” He re-tied her dress and pulled her to her feet before she had time to think. “Ready to see more of Vegas? What’s your game: poker, blackjack, roulette?”
“I was planning to watch.”
He grinned. “Plans change. We’ll start with blackjack. Pick a casino. What’s the first one that springs to mind?”
The wheels turning in her head were interesting to watch.
“Your choice, my choice,” she said slowly. “I can’t argue with that. Can we go to The Mirage?”
He nodded, expecting to be badgered with questions, but aside from insisting on paying for dinner, she didn’t say a word. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and guided her outdoors and into a taxi. His tension ratcheted higher when she didn’t seem to notice his fingertips playing over her upper arm. Back in the pawnshop she’d been hyper aware of him, and suspicious of his motives. Her sudden acceptance made him uncomfortable. If she’d acclimated to him already then he’d pegged her wrong right from the beginning. Mistakes like that were for amateurs. With the most important case of his career looming, he couldn’t afford for his instincts to falter now.
He studied her as she stared out the taxi window, seeming to drink in the cosmopolitan atmosphere. She said something he didn’t catch. Cupping her bare shoulder, he squeezed lightly. “Did you say something?”
She glanced at him then blushed. “Yeah, bright lights, big city. It’s part of the mantra that got me here.”
Why are you blushing? “Tell me the rest.”
“Um?” She hesitated. “I don’t remember. Something about being anonymous and single.”
“And picking up a stranger for the night?” His smile widened when she didn’t respond. “Two strangers?”
“No!” The color in her cheeks intensified and she tried to shield them from view. “I kind of promised myself I’d get drunk and act irresponsibly.”
“Things you rarely do?” His breath hitched in his throat when her guileless green eyes met his.
“I kissed you.”
That said it all. Kissing him so sweetly tonight was the only thing she’d ever done without weighing all of the pros and cons first. Holy crap, in his line of work he’d have sworn he’d encountered everything human nature had to offer, but Sara was a law unto herself. Sensing that his response mattered to her, he offered an easy smile. “Dating and gambling on the same night might be overkill for you,” he said. “We’d better slow down and find a wholesome activity, something familiar and virtuous.”
“Really?” Her excitement caught him off guard. “I know the perfect thing. I want you to take me to the tackiest wedding chapel you can find. We can sit back and watch people we don’t know making the biggest decision of their lives on a whim.” She tilted her head to one side and gnawed on her luscious lower lip. “You can predict which ones will become future clients. It’ll be fun.”
It sounded destructive. He could steer her toward a safer choice, but she wanted an ill-advised evening. She could have it if she agreed to hang with him for a few days. He had tickets to a ball at the Masquerade Hotel on Saturday night, the kind that would probably be a once in a lifetime event for her. He hadn’t planned on going, but the promise of attending might be enough to keep her in Vegas. “Sure,” he said. “Weddings tonight, gambling tomorrow, drinking the next day, and a masquerade ball on Saturday. What do you say, Sara? Do you want to extend your stay in Vegas until the weekend?”
Sara blinked. “No, I can’t. I have to—”
“Lie to me if you need to, but be honest with yourself. Your schedule is free because you no longer have a wedding to prepare for.” Way to be sensitive, idiot. Skip to a safer topic. “What about work? Anything pending? I might be able to get you a leave pass if partying will put your job in jeopardy.”
“I work for myself,” she said softly.
She didn’t look like any entrepreneur he’d ever seen. “Doing what?” His voice had been sharper than he’d intended, but her answering smile was smug. Her attitude was strangely intoxicating. For such a gentle person she really knew how to hold her own against him.
“If you take me to a wedding chapel, I’ll tell you.”
He motioned for their driver to pull over. Fresh air would help if he and Sara were going to get into another debate. He wasn’t accustomed to arguing with women. He usually dated the kind who sniffed out men with deep pockets then did their utmost to empty them. Sara was different. She didn’t play by his rules. As if to emphasize that fact, she handed a bill to the taxi driver along with a smile and a cheery thank you.
Ethan’s mental acrobatics as he climbed out of the cab were enough to cause a headache. Someone had jilted this woman? He’d never met anyone more suited to marriage. She had qualities that were categorically absent in all of his clients. A few hours ago he’d have said that marriage was the biggest scam and no one should enter into it. That was before he’d met Sara.
When she rubbed her arms, he slipped his jacket off and settled it over her shoulders, trying not to notice her little hum of contentment as it warmed her. He gestured toward the flashing signs of two different chapels. “Pick one, and then tell me what you do for a living.”
She turned to assess the chapels. When she looked at him again, her gaze was direct and unwavering. “I’m a lingerie designer.”
Inside his head he swore. The way she said it told him she was accustomed to defending her choice of career. Hell, what kind of people did she usually hang out with? “Do you”—think before you say something offensive—“have a label or do you specialize in one-off pieces?”
Her smile put
the neon around them to shame. “I knew I liked you. You’re the first man to ever simply accept what I do.” She snuggled inside his jacket, making him wish he still wore it and she was cuddling up to him. “I prefer to work one on one and design a complete range of lingerie for a woman, often a bride, but I take on other projects when they appeal.”
He swallowed, trying to ignore the multitude of images storming through his mind, not the least of which was Sara’s own lingerie. It was lucky he’d had the foresight to cover her up before this conversation began. “Business must be good if you can afford to be choosy.”
She laughed and started toward the closest chapel. “All that practice in the courtroom is paying off. Your ability to think one thing and say another is fascinating.”
He didn’t respond. Knowing when to keep quiet was another of his skills.
…
Sara’s conscience rarely slacked off, but as she watched Ethan pace the foyer of the chapel, his phone pressed against his ear, she realized she’d taken advantage of his company. He was clearly a busy man. She was certain he had better things to do on his mini break than babysit her. She tried to picture what he’d be doing if he hadn’t met her, and blushed at the clarity of her imagination.
Ethan, naked on satin sheets, wasn’t something she ought to be contemplating. She snapped her attention back to the couple exchanging vows. Would this become an anecdote for them, that crazy thing they once did in Vegas, or were they in it for the long haul? It was impossible to tell. They looked reasonably well matched, similar in age, both with bleached blonde hair and sun-kissed skin. Maybe they couldn’t wait to get married? Maybe a big wedding would be ill-advised because their families didn’t get along? Or maybe they didn’t want to spend a lot of money celebrating a relationship that might not last?
She stared at the crescent shaped nail marks on the heel of her palm and forced her fingers to relax. Impeccably planned weddings didn’t guarantee a happy future, either. She was walking proof. Yet she still wasn’t sure where she’d gone wrong. Beauty and wealth weren’t on her side, but Gabe had pursued her anyway. Her hair had drawn him in and her dreams had trapped him, he’d said.
