The VIP Doubles Down (Wager of Hearts Book 3)

by Nancy Herkness

  She’d never succeeded in doing that with Troy. Once her ex-husband started drinking to dull the sting of yet another rejection, nothing she did could stop him until he passed out. It reassured her to find out that Gavin didn’t climb into a liquor bottle and drown there.

  She sneaked a quick glance at the man sitting beside her. His profile was washed by the multicolored city lights, but she couldn’t discern any emotion in it. He was a complicated man, and he generated a whole mix of feelings in her, some positive, some less so.

  What was with her and creative types? Troy the actor. Gavin the writer. Why couldn’t she be attracted to a nice, stable accountant every now and then?

  Her earlier thought about love popped into her brain, but she brushed it away as an overreaction.

  She maneuvered the car into a parking spot half a block from her building and turned off the engine with a sigh of relief.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “For?”

  “Taking me in tonight.”

  With those words he had her in his power again. He could have stayed in the presidential suite in any hotel in the city, yet he felt grateful for her tiny apartment with its four-story climb and water-stained ceilings.

  “I couldn’t leave you to sleep in your car,” she said. “Any of them.”

  His laugh sounded rusty, but it was another laugh. He came around to hold the door she had already pushed open. As she stood, he draped one arm around her shoulders and scanned the streetscape. “Sometimes I wish . . .” He turned them toward Allie’s building.

  “That you hadn’t made gazillions of dollars so you still lived in a place like this?” Allie asked. “That you’d never gotten a Julian Best book published, much less sold millions of copies and made movies out of them?”

  “When you put it like that—” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I wish.”

  “You wish for what we all do. All the good and none of the bad.” Allie pulled her keys out and shoved one into the scratched-up lock.

  Gavin pushed open the door, and the reek of someone’s dinner cooked hours earlier smacked her in the nose. “Seriously, would you really want to live here again?” she asked.

  “It all depends on whom you’re living with,” he said. “It takes people to make a home.”

  The loneliness in his voice made Allie’s heart twist. “People can just as easily mess up a home, too.”

  “That’s my line, not yours.” He stutter-stepped and banged into the wall.

  She looked up the long, uneven staircase. “Are you going to be able to get up the stairs?”

  He levered himself away from the wall, but she saw the muscle in his jaw clench. “I just wasn’t paying attention.” He gave her a wicked look. “All the physical activity has burned away the effects of the alcohol.”

  “I’ll walk beside you to help you balance,” she said, stepping close to him.

  He waved her away with an irritated gesture. “If I fall, I don’t want to have your broken neck on my conscience. Go ahead.”

  With reluctance, she started up the linoleum-covered stairs, listening for his footsteps behind her. They sounded steady and even, so she kept trudging upward. When they reached her landing, Allie opened the door and called the cat’s name. Pie strolled up, blinking her golden eyes.

  Gavin closed the door behind them. “I thought only dogs came when called.”

  Allie picked up the cat and rubbed her cheek against Pie’s soft fur. “She’s a very sociable little cat. That’s why I don’t like to leave her alone too long. Troy was usually at home during the day, and I was home in the evening, so Pie always had a lap to sit on.”

  “Troy.” Gavin’s tone had an edge to it. “I keep forgetting about him.”

  “I wish I could.” Allie went into the kitchen and pulled two bottles of water out of the refrigerator. “No, I don’t mean that. He got me here to the big city.”

  Gavin had followed her and took the bottle of water she offered, twisting off the cap and taking several long gulps. She enjoyed watching the muscles in his throat move under the skin as he swallowed.

  He lowered the bottle. “So, no regrets?”

  She took a sip of water. “Remember when you said that you want who I am? The way I see it, I wouldn’t be this person if I hadn’t gone through all the experiences I have. They’ve worked on the raw material of me and turned it into this particular Allie Nichols.”

  “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?” Gavin stared over her head. “But sometimes it does kill you.”

  Allie set the water on the counter and put her hands on either side of his face to tilt it down to meet her gaze. “You aren’t dead by a long shot.”

  “I suppose not. The dead feel no pain.”

  “What you need is to have Pie sit on your lap and purr. It always makes me feel better.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of having you sit on my lap.” He ran the back of his fingers down her cheek before lowering his mouth to hers. His lips were cold from the water, but the inside of his mouth was hot when he invited her tongue to enter. That sent a spiral of heat twisting down between her thighs.

  He lifted his head to look down at her from under half-closed eyelids. “When I’m inside you, I feel unquestionably alive.”

  Afterward Gavin tried to sleep, but when he closed his eyes, Hugh’s face materialized, his blazing blue gaze clouded with worry as he told Gavin the bad news. Allie was right: he had felt it as a physical blow when Hugh told him.

  Now he was pissed off.

  He had never missed a deadline before in his entire writing career. He’d allowed the scriptwriters to change the ending of the last movie against his better judgment. He’d donned a tuxedo in both snow and sweltering heat to support every damned movie’s premiere in whatever city they’d sent him to. He’d smiled through vapid three-minute interviews on every mindless talk show the PR team had booked him on. And after all that, they had given up on him.

  Anger coursed through him, making him practically vibrate. He would blow their tiny Hollywood minds with the next Julian Best book. It would be so far beyond their expectations, they wouldn’t know how to handle it.

  He decided to heighten the emotion beyond even what he and Allie had discussed. Maybe he would kill off Samantha Dubois. He could do it right at the beginning of the book to grab the readers by the throat.

  He smiled an evil smile as he imagined Irene’s reaction. He felt the smile turning into a chuckle, and it hit him.

  The blackness was gone. The woman curled in his arms had banished it.

  He looked down at her profile, at the creamy shoulder peeking out from under the comforter, at the spill of red hair across his chest and pillow. Yes, she had given him comfort with her body, but that wasn’t what had pulled him back from the abyss.

  It was the caring that sent her out into the sleety February night when he was hurting. The determination that wouldn’t let the dragons guarding the Bellwether Club stop her from reaching out to him. It was the loyalty that kept her from leaving him, no matter how many insults he flung at her.

  For a long moment, he wrapped himself in the security of Allie’s presence, letting her permeate every cell of his body, every dark corner of his mind and heart. It was like floating in the sun-warmed azure water of the Caribbean Sea, the gentle waves cradling him. He basked in the sense of buoyancy, of being held safe, a hand always there when he reached out.

  Allie shifted, murmuring something unintelligible in her sleep before settling back against his side.

  Fear sliced through him like a razor-edged knife. No other woman had ever stayed, so why did he think she would be different? What could he hold her with? Charm was not his long suit, so that wouldn’t work.

  He controlled Julian Best, her fictional hero. But without Allie, Julian was just a cardboard cutout that Gavin could no longer bring to life.

  Maybe he could bowl her over with his money. Letting his gaze roam around her bedroom, whic
h was almost entirely filled by the bed and the treadmill, he wondered how he could leverage his wealth. She’d been impressed by his garage and car collection, but her admiration had held a tinge of amusement, as though these were just overpriced toys.

  How right she was about that.

  But money bought influence. His Allie wanted to work, and he could use his connections to find that for her. He winced as he remembered his phone conversation with Ben Cavill. The overwhelming need to keep her all to himself was going to haunt him, but the thought of her hands on another man’s skin made bile scald his throat.

  He had to find a way to enchant her, to take her away from all the stresses and distractions of their real lives.

  Southampton would be perfect. Only a few hardy year-round residents suffered through the steel-edged ocean wind of winter there. He could sweep Allie away there tomorrow, which would give them three days of solitude before his obligation at the Barefoot Ball. And that event would make her mouth drop open.

  The decision made, he scooted down in the bed to see if the elusive oblivion of sleep would find him. His foot met a warm weight, provoking an annoyed meow. He lifted his head to see Pie give him an accusing look before the cat stalked up alongside Allie to settle on her pillow.

  “And you’re coming, too,” Gavin muttered. “No matter how many times you throw up.”

  Chapter 19

  “I can’t go to Southampton,” Allie said, her fork clattering onto her plate.

  “Pie is invited, too,” Gavin said. He’d left her sleeping while he went out and bought chocolate croissants at her favorite bakery, picked up a bouquet of peach-colored roses from a Korean grocery store, and made her an omelet. Only then had he brought up his plan to take her out of town for a few days.

  “Oh.” He could see her casting around in her mind for another reason she couldn’t go.

  “The change of scene will help with my writer’s block. I don’t want to be around Hugh right now.” That was true, at least. He didn’t want to see the pity—or caring or whatever Allie labeled it—in the actor’s eyes. Her face softened, and he knew he’d found the right leverage. “You can continue to work on the series bible out there.”

  “How long would we be staying?”

  “A few days. That’s one of the conveniences of being a writer. My work is infinitely portable. Unlike Trainor, who has to haul himself into an office every day.” He leaned forward. “Southampton is beautiful in the winter. The beach is empty and scoured clean by the wind, while the ocean is wild with spray lifting from its gray-green surface.”

  “Like your eyes,” she said.

  “My eyes?” He pulled back.

  “I’ve always thought they looked like the winter ocean.” The little minx smiled. She was enjoying his discomfiture. “Except at certain times when they warm up quite a bit.”

  “Any other of my body parts you’d care to comment on?”

  “I adore your trapezius and your latissimus dorsi.”

  God, he loved her sass. “You know what I adore about you?” He whispered a few very improper words, making her cheeks flush bright pink.

  “My mama would wash your mouth out with soap,” she said, her eyes alight with laughter and a touch of sexual heat.

  “I want to take you back to bed right now,” he said, his desire fanned by his own words.

  “Nope, we have to finish breakfast and go to work,” she said, cutting off a piece of omelet.

  “Not work. Pack.”

  She chewed and swallowed. “You know that Pie throws up in the car.”

  “That’s what paper towels are for.” He decided not to mention the helicopter just yet.

  She gave him a dubious look. “It smells awful.”

  “I spent a couple of summers working on a pig farm, so cat vomit won’t bother me.” He’d taken the job to escape from working at his father’s store . . . and nearly quit the first day when he had to clean out the pens. The stench had been almost unbearable. But he had gotten used to it and even came to like a couple of the pigs. After two summers there, his father had told the pig farmer he needed Gavin at the store full-time, and that had been the end of that small rebellion.

  “You worked on a pig farm? Those places reek.”

  “It got me out from under my father’s gimlet eye at Miller’s Feed and Dry Goods.”

  She got that soft look again, as though she understood more than he had said.

  He took a sip of coffee. “Bring warm clothes for Southampton. The sea wind can be bitter.”

  He decided not to mention the charity gala he planned to take her to on Saturday. She didn’t need to bring anything for that because the dress was included with the price of admission, and it was a Barefoot Ball, so shoes were forbidden.

  “I’ll come to Southampton,” she said. “But we work while we’re there.”

  A wave of relief washed through him, easing muscles he hadn’t realized were tensed. “We’ll labor like proverbial dogs while Pie looks on with feline superiority.”

  Allie dropped her sweater-stuffed duffel by the tote bag filled with cat supplies. Pulling the cat carrier out of her hall closet, she marched into the living room.

  Gavin lounged on the sofa with Pie curled in his lap while he tapped out e-mails on his phone. He was in a surprisingly good mood, considering the crushing news from last night. Her theory was that getting her to agree to trek out to Southampton had soothed his bossy male ego.

  She was not excited about the expedition. She winced every time she pictured Pie barfing on the Maserati’s hand-stitched leather seat. But she couldn’t afford to pay her neighbor to cat-sit.

  She took a deep breath. “Okay, time to load up the cat.”

  Gavin looked down at the little creature dead asleep on his black wool trousers. “Is it difficult?”

  “Not this part.” Allie set the case down on the cushion beside him, unzipped the top, and stroked Pie to wake her up. The cat started, raising her head as Allie eased her off Gavin’s lap and into the case.

  “She’s very cooperative,” Gavin said, his tone admiring.

  Pie yowled.

  “But vocal,” he added. “Shall I let Jaros know we’re ready?”

  “Jaros? What about the Maserati?”

  “That’s going in a different direction.”

  Allie shook her head. How amazing to have minions who smoothed every obstacle out of the way.

  Jaros carried everything except Pie downstairs. Allie took care of the little cat. When they got to the car, Ludmilla popped out. “Let me see kitty,” she said, reaching for the cat case. She peered through the mesh. “Pretty little Pie kitty.”

  Allie cast a questioning glance at Gavin. He shrugged. “Pie is going to have a nice ride out to Southampton in the Bentley with Jaros and Ludmilla. If you look inside the car, you’ll see the handsome tent Ludmilla’s own cat uses for travel.”

  “A cat tent.” Allie stuck her head in the open door and saw a structure complete with a litter box, bed, and cat toys, strapped into the seat. “Are we taking the Maserati, then?”

  “We’re going by helicopter,” Gavin said from behind her.

  Allie nearly hit her head on the door frame as she straightened. “What?”

  Ludmilla patted her on the arm. “I take good care of Pie kitty. She so beautiful. We be good friends.”

  “I know you will,” Allie said, not wanting to insult Ludmilla’s cat-sitting abilities.

  Ludmilla patted her again and got in the car so Jaros could pass Pie’s carrier in to his wife. He closed the door gently and turned.

  “She love cats. She make Pie happy.”

  “I know. It’s just . . .”

  But Jaros had walked around the car and ducked into the driver’s seat.

  Allie turned to Gavin. “Did you warn them that Pie barfs in cars?”

  “I gave them full disclosure.” His gaze roamed over her face. “Does it upset you too much to have Pie ride with strangers?”

  The t
ruth was that Pie liked almost every human she met. “I hate to have them clean up after her.”

  The Bentley slid away from the curb while Allie watched helplessly. Gavin took her by the shoulders so she had to look at him. “Tell me what will make you happy,” he said.

  His face was grave with concern. With an effort, she banished her guilt about Pie and the Bentley. After all, Gavin could buy another car if the smell was too bad. The thought sent a small bubble of hysterical laughter spinning in her throat. “I’ve never ridden in a helicopter before.”

  The smile that flashed across his face was worth the pretense. “That’s my Allie.” He slung his arm over her shoulder and escorted her to the Maserati.

  She spent the brief drive to the heliport alternating between nervousness about the flight and wondering if Pie had barfed yet.

  “You’re very quiet,” Gavin said as he drove the Maserati up to a chain-link gate. He flashed a card of some kind, and the guard waved him through.

  “I’ve heard helicopters described as flying typewriters,” she said, trying to lighten her own mood. “Which would explain why you like them.”

  Gavin smiled as he slotted the car into an empty spot between a Rolls-Royce and a Ferrari. “My helicopter is checked over three times before it flies, by my own personal mechanic, by my pilot, and by my copilot. And in case you’re wondering, in an emergency, I can fly the chopper, although not smoothly.”

  “So you own the helicopter?” Allie had assumed it was a charter, which would have been expensive enough.

  “And a jet. I think that’s a requirement for membership in the Bellwether Club.” He got out of the car and came around to hold Allie’s door.

  “Is that a joke?” she asked.

  “Maybe.”

  He escorted her through another gate and into a permanent trailer with a door marked VIP LOUNGE. She surveyed the narrow space furnished with leather chairs, and snorted. “We have nicer trailers in Sanctuary, West Virginia. At least they’re double-wides.”