Werewolf in Las Vegas

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “Oh.” Luke felt Giselle stiffen.

  “And we’re off,” Luigi said.

  Luke put his mouth next to Giselle’s ear. Breathing in her scent jacked up his pulse, but he made himself say what he figured she wanted to hear. “Don’t worry. I won’t honor that tradition.”

  “Okay.” She relaxed against him in obvious relief.

  So he wouldn’t kiss her, but that didn’t meant he couldn’t enjoy the cuddling. He had an armful of very beautiful woman, and she felt warm and exceedingly willing. That wasn’t real, of course, but he could dream.

  The boat did, indeed, glide along, and he could understand why couples found this to be a stimulating experience. The phallic shape of the boat and the liquid canal . . . well, it was obvious, right?

  The gondola ride drew spectators, a cheerful lot who waved at the passing boats. Luke kept a sharp eye out for Cynthia and Bryce, but even if they were in the crowd, they wouldn’t be close enough to aim a squirt gun accurately.

  All was well in his world until the gondolier began to sing. It wasn’t his voice, which turned out to be a deep baritone and was probably one of the reasons he’d been hired. It was his choice of songs, or rather Cynthia’s choice of songs. The song was “I Hope You Dance.”

  She was determined to break him. The lyrics of the song fit her campaign, but the song cut deeper than that. Every time he heard it he was transported back to a dark auditorium where he and his folks had watched his little sister perform her first solo, a ballet to this very number. She’d been fourteen, which was young to be dancing a solo number. But she’d begged her teacher for the chance and had knocked one out of the park.

  He swore softly under his breath, which helped to block the relentless parade of sentimental images. Giselle obviously heard his muted but colorful language, because she began to shake with silent laughter.

  Cynthia was playing dirty, but she was sure focused. That had been Giselle’s evaluation, and boy, had she nailed it. Cynthia had decided that she wanted something and she was by damn going to get it, no matter how long she had to torture him.

  He wondered if she’d find a way to work water into this gig after all. But the Venetian couldn’t risk having guests end up in the canal, either accidentally or on purpose. No matter how much money Cynthia had thrown at them, they weren’t going to dump his ass overboard.

  Besides, that lacked finesse. He was in a boat, and shoving him into the water would be crude and obvious, in addition to lawsuit-worthy. Even though Giselle hadn’t listed her brother’s various pranks yet, Luke had already figured out that Landry went for the unexpected and the relatively harmless.

  Bryce was, Luke grudgingly acknowledged, a good match for Cynthia. She had always been so pressured to use her intelligence to excel, and she probably admired Bryce for using his for smart-aleck tricks. Luke only hoped she wouldn’t admire anything else about him. Being in league together against the uncooperative big brother was one thing. Being in love with each other was more serious.

  The song continued endlessly as the gondolier gave it all he had. He’d probably been told this was their song. Ironically, it would become their song tonight. Now every time he heard it, he’d think of Cynthia’s dance recital, but he’d also remember this gondola ride. He had a feeling memories of Giselle would haunt him long after she’d left town.

  For the time being, though, she was very much here. As she sat next to him, she was quickly losing it. Her shaking had become more pronounced, and little snorts of laughter were escaping around the hand she’d clamped over her mouth.

  The gondolier was really getting into it, and the crowd lining the canal loved the performance. They clapped and whistled their approval, which only encouraged Luigi to ham it up some more. As he flung his arm into the air and projected the single word dance, someone lobbed a baseball-sized object toward the boat.

  Luke barely had time to shield Giselle before it landed on his head and broke. A water balloon! He should have guessed.

  “Security!” Luigi bellowed as he abandoned his song. “Someone’s throwing water balloons! Security!”

  “No big deal,” Luke said. He’d rather not have Cynthia and Landry arrested, although they were probably long gone by now, anyway.

  Luigi turned and crouched next to Luke. “Sir, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? The Venetian will make this right. I’ve never had someone throw a water balloon at my boat before. I’m really sorry. And on your special night, too.”

  Luke ran a hand over his dripping face. “I’m fine, really. It’s only water. Takes me back to my high school days.”

  Luigi still seemed concerned. “I wish I could promise that we’ll find whoever threw that balloon, but with crowds like this, it’s nearly impossible.”

  “I doubt you will find him,” Giselle said. “I’m pretty sure it was my brother.”

  “Oh?” Luigi looked surprised, and then he grinned. “A little welcome-to-the-family prank on this guy, huh?” He glanced at Luke. “I suggest you keep your honeymoon plans to yourself, my friend.”

  “Luigi, those plans are so top secret even I don’t know what they are.”

  “Ah.” Luigi’s smile widened. “So you’re letting your future bride handle the details. Smart man. The happier she is, the happier you’ll be.”

  Luke met Giselle’s gaze. “My thoughts exactly.” Her emerald eyes were filled with laughter, and he sure did enjoy when that happened. Maybe it was worth getting a little wet.

  Representatives from the casino met them at the dock. One of them recognized Luke and insisted on giving them gambling tokens, coupons for free drinks, and a complimentary dinner for two. Luke could tell they all were relieved as hell that he wasn’t going to make a problem for them over a water balloon.

  Eventually they left and he turned to Giselle. “Want to drink and gamble?”

  She smiled at him. “Not particularly. You handled that well, though.”

  “Apparently I’m getting used to dripping.”

  “You have to admit that song was hysterical.”

  He gazed at her sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks. Damn, but she was a pretty woman. Good company, too. “I could tell you thought so. I’m surprised the boat didn’t start rocking, the way you were trying to keep from cracking up.”

  “He was so sincere that I didn’t want him to know I was laughing.”

  “So tell me, does your brother repeat his tricks or does he tend to move on to new ones each time?”

  “I’d be surprised if he repeated anything with you. He considers himself something of an artist in this regard.”

  “He’s got a hell of a throwing arm. Accurate, too.”

  She nodded. “All-star pitcher for the high school baseball team.”

  “Huh.” He had to admit the baseball information made a difference in how he perceived Bryce Landry. An all-star deserved some respect for all the work involved in getting to that level. A total screwup couldn’t accomplish it. He should know.

  “Under different circumstances, you two might have become friends.”

  “Tell you what. If he’ll give up this campaign and convince Cynthia to go back to school, I’ll be his friend for life. I’ll name my first kid after him. I’ll put him in my will. I’ll—”

  “So are you saying that after all this, you’re still dead set against her plan to be a showgirl?”

  He looked into her eyes. Sadly, the laughter wasn’t there anymore. “That’s what I’m saying. Somebody has to keep her from making bad choices. I’m the only one available to do that.”

  Chapter 9

  Giselle was ready to whack Luke upside his incredibly thick skull. The odds against keeping a twenty-two-year-old from making bad choices were far worse than the odds against hitting a million-dollar jackpot on a one-armed bandit. But Luke, who was at least as focused as his sister, had decided that Cynthia had to fi
nish her last semester and get that sheepskin, and apparently that was that as far as he was concerned.

  There was a thin line, Giselle realized, between being focused and having tunnel vision. She suspected that Angus Dalton had been a very focused individual, as well, and he’d passed on that characteristic to both of his children. Now they were butting heads, each of them determined to outlast the other.

  “At least there’s no envelope this time,” Luke said. “Maybe she gave up on that. I hope so, because I think we have duplicates of everything in the vault, but I’ve never made an inventory to be sure. Trusting any pictures to strangers is risky.”

  “Maybe she’s willing to take chances if it can get her what she wants.” Giselle wished that he’d see how devoted Cynthia was to her art. If he allowed himself to see that, he might soften his position.

  “The pictures aren’t going to change my mind, so she might as well quit finding clever ways to give them to me. It’s a waste of . . .” He stopped talking as a little blond girl about five years old walked toward them.

  She wore a black leotard, white leggings, and pink sneakers. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, and a small tiara rested on her golden head. She was clutching a manila envelope.

  Giselle scanned the crowd and saw a woman watching the proceedings very carefully. The woman held a black canvas tote with PAM RAU DANCE STUDIO lettered on it in neon pink. Everything about her alert stance signaled that she was this little tot’s mother and that she wasn’t about to let anything happen to her kid.

  Once Giselle satisfied herself that the little girl was well chaperoned, she turned her attention to the drama unfolding in front of her. Luke had hunkered down so that he was on the same level as the child. The tenderness in his expression caught Giselle by surprise.

  She hadn’t seen this side of Luke Dalton. He might talk tough and act macho, but apparently he could also be a total pushover. This cherub had him completely in her power.

  She held the envelope in two hands, as if carrying a tray. “Are you Mr. Dalton?”

  “I am.” He spoke with such gentleness that without her Were hearing, Giselle wouldn’t have caught what he’d said. “And who might you be?”

  “I’m Ella. My mommy’s over there.” She turned to point, let go of one side of the envelope, and had to make a quick grab for it. “Whoops. Almost dropped it. The lady said to be very careful.” Her solemn blue gaze returned to Luke. “It’s a picture. She showed us it.”

  “Tell me, Ella, is that lady still here?”

  Ella shook her head, which made her tiara jiggle. She let go of the other side of the envelope to grab for it and would have dropped it entirely if Luke hadn’t slid his hand underneath.

  “Thank you for holding it for me.” After adjusting her tiara with one hand, Ella clutched the side of the envelope again. “You can let go now.”

  “Are you supposed to give it to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you ready to do that?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “First I’m s’posed to tell you something.” She took a deep breath and blew it out again. Then she looked up and began to recite. “Dancing is good for people. People . . .” Her smooth little forehead wrinkled. “People are . . . very happy when they dance! There. That’s it. You can have the envelope now.” She shoved it toward him.

  “Thank you, Ella.” Luke took it as if accepting a Nobel Prize. “And thank you for delivering the message.” He stood.

  “It’s true!” Released from her responsibilities, Ella grew more animated. “Dancing is great!” She began hopping from one foot to the other. “My dance teacher, Miss Pam, she entered us in this dance contest, and we’re all here in Las Vegas, and this is what I wore, except I had to take off my ballet shoes so they wouldn’t get all dirty, and we’re having so much fun!” She jumped up and down and would have lost her tiara if she hadn’t clapped her hand to her head at the last minute.

  “Time to go, Ella.” Her mother came over. “You delivered your message, so let’s leave this man and his friend in peace.”

  “Okay.” Ella glanced up at Giselle as if noticing her for the first time. “Are you a dancer, too?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “That’s too bad. If you were a dancer, you could be in this contest. There’s a whole bunch of us. Even mommies are in this contest.” She swung her arms wide. “Wanna see me do something?” She placed one sneakered foot against her calf, balanced on her other foot, and put her hands together over her head. She wobbled only a little bit.

  Giselle clapped enthusiastically. “Bravo!”

  “That’s lovely, Ella,” her mother said. “Now we need to go. Everyone’s ready to leave.” She smiled at Luke and Giselle. “The woman who gave us the envelope showed us the picture. She said it was important that you get it back and that you’d understand what it was all about.”

  “I do,” Luke said. “Your daughter is something else.”

  The woman laughed. “Oh, yes. She is definitely a dancer! I swear she was dancing before she was born. I could feel her twirling around in there. Well, have a nice night.” Holding Ella’s hand, she walked away.

  Luke stared after them. “My mother used to say that about Cynthia. That she could feel her dancing before she was born.”

  Giselle chose to keep quiet. If that adorable little girl hadn’t turned the tables for Cynthia, nothing would. Anything Giselle said now might dilute the Ella effect.

  After watching mother and daughter join a group of other parents herding a large group of girls in black leotards, Luke turned to Giselle. His expression was unreadable. “That must have been the grand finale of that stunt.”

  “Guess so. Listen, I should find a cab and get back to Illusions.”

  “My driver’s on his way. Let me drop you there.”

  Refusing seemed unnecessarily abrupt. “All right.”

  He hesitated. “If this is out of line, just say so, but when we’re together I feel like we’re a team. When you head off to your hotel, it’s as if the team’s broken up.”

  “But Illusions is where I’m staying.”

  “I understand that, but . . .” He glanced away in frustration, but when he looked into her eyes again, his gaze was completely open. “I’m going to level with you. I’ve had completely inappropriate thoughts about us, but that’s over.”

  “I’m glad.” And she was, wasn’t she? If her heart started racing because he’d admitted he wanted her, she’d get over that inconvenient reaction. “This isn’t the time or place.”

  “I realize that, so you have nothing to worry about from me. But the thing is, I’m more confident that Cynthia’s deal will come to a reasonable conclusion—”

  “I don’t know what you mean by a reasonable conclusion.”

  “Hell, neither do I. And that’s the point I’m trying to make. Talking it out with you, face-to-face, helps me sort out my thoughts. I didn’t realize how much I depended on your insights until you went back to Illusions. Like I said, it was as if the team had broken up.”

  She took a calming breath. “What are you suggesting?”

  “Check out of Illusions and stay in the penthouse.”

  “No.” Her senses went on red alert. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “The place is huge, even bigger than it looks. You’ll have your own room. But the main thing is, when there’s a new development, you’ll be right there. We can discuss it together.” His phone pinged and he glanced at it. “That’s Jim with the car. He’s pulling up now.”

  But Giselle was no longer paying attention. She’d caught the unmistakable scent of her brother, and he was close, very close. “Luke, wait here.” Instinct kept her from mentioning that she thought her brother was mere feet away. She wouldn’t be able to explain how she knew, and maybe Bryce only wanted to co
nnect with her, not Luke. “I’ll be right back.”

  His blue gaze sharpened. “What is it?”

  “A feeling. Stay here, okay?”

  “But—”

  “Please.”

  “All right.” His jaw flexed. “I’ll text Jim and have him wait at the curb. He won’t be able to stay there long.”

  “I won’t be long.” Turning, she searched the crowd going in and out of the Venetian. Then, following her nose, she headed toward a tall blond guy. Except he wasn’t a guy. He was Bryce.

  He walked away, and she followed. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that Luke was nowhere in sight. She’d asked for his cooperation and he’d given it. She appreciated the effort that must have taken for a guy who liked to be in charge.

  Bryce drew her deeper into the crowd, but at last he turned around and stopped. The blond wig was a good one. He looked sort of like Brad Pitt when the actor was younger.

  Although he seemed to be alone, Giselle glanced around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Cynthia.

  “She’s not here.”

  She looked into her brother’s eyes, their green a shade lighter than hers. “Where is she?”

  “Somewhere else. Listen, I don’t know how long before Dalton comes looking for you, so I’ll make this quick. He’s right. You’re a good influence on him. Cynthia loves the guy and wants him to be on board with her choices. The more time you spend with him, the better.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking. He’s . . . interested in me.”

  Bryce laughed. “Of course he is. You’re a knockout. But he’s barking up the wrong tree, poor guy. I’m not worried about you. You can handle him. Cynthia reminds me of you, which is why I want to help her. Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. I’d better go.” He turned.

  “Wait.” She caught his arm. “Are you involved with her?”

  He shook his head. “I wish I felt that way about her, because she’s cool, but I don’t. We’ve talked about it. No chemistry for either of us.” He shot her a quick grin. “Feel better?”