by Tawny Weber
But hey, maybe she’d get lucky.
In one form or another.
Frankie bounced across the floor in her beribboned Lucite heels, wondering if this was how Cinderella had felt when she’d spotted the prince at the ball.
Half delighted, half terrified.
And totally turned on.
* * *
STRIPPERS, BODY SHOTS, flashing lights and wild dancing.
Las Vegas at its finest.
Otherwise known as one of Lieutenant Phillip Banks’s many versions of hell. Right up there with email spam, traffic jams and drug kingpins with a taste for exotic torture.
A man who believed in discipline, he made a point to do everything in his power to avoid the first two and take down the latter.
Especially the latter.
Phillip stared at his drink, slowly twisting the glass this way, then that, while memories of his time as Valdero’s unwilling guest flashed through his mind.
After he’d been captured on a mission gone wrong, it had taken his team three days to effect a rescue. In those three days, Phillip had experienced new levels of pain, discovered rage and reevaluated his beliefs about revenge.
For most of his life, his goal had been to be the best. To excel in all things—school, the military and the SEALs.
Now?
Now all he wanted was revenge on that sadistic son of a bitch, Valdero. And he planned to get it. He had the operation mapped out, he had a good idea who had sold out the team and he was ready to lead the mission to take Valdero down.
Phillip gulped his scotch with a grimace.
Hell, he’d even gone above and beyond the mandatory psych evaluation to ensure—and prove to those in command—that he was mentally capable of handling it.
He was ready.
Unfortunately, he was also in Las Vegas.
Frowning, Phillip looked around. He’d rather be in Coronado, studying strategy and perfecting his plan.
Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t think twice about doing an about-face and making for the nearest exit.
But this wasn’t a normal circumstance.
This, God help him, was his sister’s wedding.
A headache throbbing behind his left eye, he leaned his head against the back of the booth, watching the dancers wriggling all over the modified stage. He cringed when the leggy brunette in the middle did a wicked bump and grind.
“Helluva party,” someone said, forcing Phillip to quit glaring at his dancing sister.
When he saw who was speaking, he automatically came to attention.
“Sir?”
“The party, it’s the wildest wedding I’ve ever attended.” Lieutenant Commander Blake Landon winced as the groom got up on stage, too, showing an impressive bump and grind of his own. “Although I’m pretty sure I didn’t need to see that.”
Wondering where he could get his eyeballs sandblasted, Phillip could only grunt his agreement.
“You’re not celebrating?” Landon asked, dropping into the chair opposite Phillip so his back was turned toward the stage. Phillip would have preferred that spot if not for his policy to always sit with his back against a wall.
“I’m sure Lara considers my being here celebration enough,” Phillip responded, figuring that and an appropriate wedding gift were really all anyone could ask of him.
“That was a good thing you did, giving the bride away.”
Swirling the ice melting in his second scotch that night, Phillip could only shrug. A year ago—hell, six months ago—he’d been in what he considered peak form for a military officer. He’d trained hard, he was at the top of his game physically and mentally and he’d been completely unencumbered. He’d had no family to answer to, and his relationships with his fellow SEALs had been distant enough for him to do his job without any emotional baggage. And he’d been absolutely positive that he was on the right track.
And now?
He was reluctantly attending a tacky Las Vegas wedding with half of the SEAL platoon, his entire team and a sister he’d spent most of his life comfortably estranged from. And his right track? That had taken a sharp turn left.
“Sir?” he said, leaning forward, knowing his words would be easily drowned out by the loud music if anyone else were listening. “Any word on Candy Man?”
Landon’s easy look faded at the mention of Valdero’s code name. His eyes went military hard and his demeanor shifted automatically.
“This isn’t the time or the place,” Landon said. “And you haven’t been cleared for the mission. So until we’re back on base, why don’t you relax and enjoy your sister’s happiness?”
Phillip clenched his teeth to keep his argument at bay, baffled at the unfamiliar fury surging through him. Apparently the extra therapy he’d gotten after the clear psych evaluation hadn’t helped much. Before, he’d never gotten angry, never questioned orders. Yet here he was, ready to leap across the table, grab a superior officer and demand that he be allowed revenge.
Phillip tossed back the last of his scotch, wishing the alcohol would dull the hold those strange emotions had over him. He’d been called uptight most of his life, and he’d embraced that label. Reckless emotions were something he’d never indulged in.
Landon glanced over his shoulder, where the bride and groom were now slow dancing, in spite of the heavy bass ricocheting off the walls. “Give yourself a pat on the back for your part in bringing them together.”
“That’s all on them,” Phillip said, wincing as the groom’s hands slipped down to cup the bride’s ass.
“Blake?”
Both men looked over and smiled. Phillip donned the polite society smile he’d been trained from birth to offer. Landon’s smile was much sappier, the kind that said the guy was seriously crazy over his wife.
“Dance?” Alexia Landon asked, trailing her fingers over her husband’s shoulder.
Landon nodded, and then gave Phillip a long look.
“Whether you want credit or not, from what I hear, the bride and groom are giving it to you,” he told Phillip as he got to his feet. With that and a grin, he followed the leggy redhead onto the dance floor.
“Don’t forget you have to stay until they cut the cake,” the lieutenant commander threw over his shoulder.
Seriously?
Phillip eyed the clearly-not-ready-for-cake couple dancing on the stage, looked at his watch and raised his hand.
“Bartender?”
Thirty minutes and one scotch on the rocks over his two-drink limit later, his headache had spread to both eyes and was eking its way down the back of his neck. As he did with anything that didn’t suit him, Phillip ignored it.
All he had to do was focus on his goal and push everything else from his mind. In this case, his goal was to get out of here. Less than a minute later, as he was plotting his escape, a woman dropped onto the banquette next to him.
Phillip blinked. Not in surprise, but in defense of his corneas. Was her dress made of mirrors? He squinted, realizing the tiny round tiles glittering their way over her curves were metal, not glass.
Did everything glitter in Las Vegas?
“Wow, this is wild,” she said, waving her hand in front of her face to cool off. “Can you believe this place? I’ve never been in a penthouse before. Talk about doing it right.”
She glanced over his shoulder as she said the words, her gaze taking in the neon landscape. Then, with a soft whistle, she gave him a wide-eyed look as if to say, Wow. Then she shifted, narrowing her gaze to focus on his face.
“You don’t look like you’re having fun,” she observed, leaning closer. Close enough that her scent wrapped around him like a spicy hug.
“You look like you’re having enough fun for both of us,” he countered. He might be hating everything, bu
t that was his problem. And there was something about this woman that made him want to smile, although he didn’t know why.
“And guys like you don’t like to have fun, is that it?” she asked, looking saucy.
“Guys like me?” Phillip dismissed with a laugh. “You don’t know me, do you?”
“Sure, I do.” She leaned close enough that he could count the freckles sprinkled across her nose and blink at how lush the lashes surrounding her deep brown eyes were.
“I hear you’re Cupid.”
Phillip grimaced.
“Not quite. Phillip Banks,” he corrected automatically. As soon as the words were out he regretted them. Introductions led to conversation. Conversation led to connection, something he was anxious to eliminate.
“Hi, Phillip,” she greeted with a laugh.
Phillip offered a distant nod, hoping she’d get the hint.
“This really is a great party, isn’t it?” she said, not waiting for a response as she turned to check out the crowd. As she did, she twisted her riot of cinnamon curls around her fist and lifted her hair to cool the back of her neck.
Was that a tattoo on her neck? Not sure why he had to know, Phillip leaned forward to get a better look.
“Is that a bird?” he asked, squinting at the pale gray image.
“Hmm?” she murmured, turning back with a smile. She hadn’t released her hair, so he could see the open-door cage, just a shade darker than the bird, tucked in the curve of her neck and shoulder. “It’s freedom.”
“What’s freedom?”
“My bird,” she explained. “It symbolizes flying free. You know, just like some of these guys probably have a bald eagle or something to symbolize freedom, I have a sparrow.”
“They don’t,” he said without thinking.
She tilted her head to the side so her curls slid along her shoulders again, hiding her bird. “Don’t what?”
“Most of them don’t have tattoos,” he explained reluctantly. He didn’t like discussing the military with anyone who wasn’t in it. But he’d brought it up, and it would be rude to ignore her question. “Most of the guys here are SEALs. Identifying marks can be detrimental to their careers.”
“They’re against the rules?”
“No. Just not smart.” Phillip knew there were plenty of tattooed SEALs. He’d served with a few. But every member of the team went on a mission with no ID, no tags, no personal effects for a reason. Phillip had seen what a mission gone wrong could do. Hell, the memory still played out in Technicolor every night when he closed his eyes.
“I’ll bet you are,” the redhead said, pulling his attention out of the past. When she leaned forward on her elbows to give him a thorough look, the move sent her mirrored tiles swinging.
“You bet I’m what?”
“Smart.”
Phillip blinked. He used to think he was. Now? He had no idea.
“I’m Frankie.” She thrust out her hand, her smile widening. “It’s great to see you.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Phillip said automatically, taking her hand. He was surprised at how small and delicate it was.
Her lips pursed, the move making him uncomfortably aware of how full her mouth was.
“You don’t know me, do you?” she stated, her brown eyes dancing with mirth.
“Should I?” Yes, his tone was stiff. He didn’t like people laughing at him, and he was sure that was exactly what the redheaded sprite was doing.
“I’m a friend of Lara’s.”
Of course she was.
Phillip was sure the room could be divided into two camps.
The wild, gyrating, tattooed camp his sister belonged to.
And the protocol-loving, rule-living camp of the Navy that he thrived in.
Why, oh, why, did the two have to converge?
The pretty redhead shifted a little closer. Her dress showed off her golden shoulders and deep cleavage, and the table didn’t block the length of her long, silky legs beneath her short skirt.
Sexual awareness hit hard and fast and very unwelcome.
In defense against it, Phillip looked away. His gaze landed on the stage, where his sister and Castillo were wrapped around each other like vines. It was Lara’s hand on her husband’s ass this time.
“Good God.” A waiter approached the table and Phillip gratefully exchanged his empty glass for a full one, giving the guy a smile and a signal to keep them coming. If this kept up, he was going to need a few more.
He fought the desire to simply get up and leave. To get the hell out of here. But he was trapped. Trapped by his emotions, by the sudden demands of family, by his memories.
Desperate for distraction, a part of him screaming for reprieve, Phillip focused all of his considerable attention on Frankie. The name chimed faintly in his memory, but the sound was easily drowned out by his third scotch.
“C’mon,” Frankie said, getting to her feet and reaching out to grab his hand.
“Where?” Phillip didn’t get up, but he didn’t shake off her hand either. There was something oddly compelling about her touch. That, and seeing her standing there, her short dress glistening and her hair swirling around her face, was a serious turn-on.
“The dance floor, of course,” she said, laughing. “You can’t tell me you’re Lara’s brother and you don’t dance.”
The waltz, a foxtrot if forced and—although he’d only admit it at gunpoint—the tango, all thanks to lessons mandated by his mother, the queen of high society. Phillip glanced at the dancers and shook his head. Not one lesson at Madame Lenore’s had included a bump or a grind. He’d be lost out there.
“C’mon,” Frankie said again, tugging.
Curious, and just a little bit fascinated, Phillip let her drag him to his feet. Her tiny hand wrapped around his, she pulled him through the dancers. She was so small he felt as though he should be the one in front, protecting her. But she moved like a friendly bulldozer, her smile parting the crowd all the way to the sliding glass door that led to the patio. And, he knew from his initial inspection, a private elevator.
Escape.
“I’m staying until cake.” He grimaced, remembering Landon’s orders.
She grabbed a bottle of champagne from a passing waiter and handed it to him before taking two empty glasses with a murmured thanks.
“Cake isn’t for another half hour,” she said with a wink, pushing the door open and leading him through. It silently slid shut behind them and then—blessed quiet.
Phillip closed his eyes for a second, letting the lack of wailing guitars wash over him. It wasn’t until his ears stopped ringing that he realized there actually was music out here, too. Softer music. A medley of strings.
“Dance?” Frankie asked, setting the glasses on an empty table.
Phillip hesitated.
Not because he didn’t want to dance with her.
But because he did.
This was the wrong time to be attracted to a woman.
His head was all kinds of messed up. He was on a personal mission for vengeance.
He didn’t do relationships. And despite her party-girl appearance, there was something about her freckles that told him Frankie was a relationship girl at heart.
Which made her off-limits.
Relationships and a career as a Navy SEAL? Despite the celebrating going on in the other room, Phillip knew relationships were a bad idea. He didn’t believe in splitting his focus, and had long ago vowed that his only commitment would be to his career.
He’d be better off making his excuses and returning to the noisy assault and painful visuals. Ready to do just that, he gave Frankie a polite smile.
And wished those huge brown eyes weren’t so appealing. Or that body so temptingly hot.
But those huge brown eyes were so appealing, and that body was temptingly hot. Her personality was so damned engaging that, for the first time since he’d been taken captive, he didn’t feel lost. The vicious fury that had become his constant companion, and that no therapy could erase, was shoved aside.
Instead, lust took over.
2
FRANKIE HELD HER BREATH, her heart beating so hard she was surprised her dress wasn’t shaking. Eyes wide, she waited to see what he’d do. After a second he glanced at the door leading back to the party. She tried not to pout, sure he was about to refuse.
Then, with a small frown, he set down the champagne bottle and held out a hand.
Look at how he made that look as if it was his idea. She grinned as she placed her hand in his and let him lead her out of view of the door. Of course, Phillip Banks of the Maryland Bankses was high society through and through.
Kinda like a prince.
Which, given her status in that same state, made her a pauper.
She wiggled her toes in her beribboned Lucite heels, figuring she could rock the role of Cinderella for just one night.
They reached the far side of the patio, a bronze fire pit casting a magical glow over them as Phillip faced her, his hand curling around her waist.
Amusement fled.
So did thought.
All Frankie could do was feel.
Staring into Phillip’s brilliant green eyes, she gave over to delight, loving everything that was going on in her body as they began to sway to the music.
Excitement.
Curiosity.
And a sexual rush that was doing wild things to her insides.
Tingling things. Wet, hot things.
Things that made her wonder what it would be like to strip naked and see what other moves he had.
The music picked up and Phillip’s arched brow was her only warning before he twirled her out and then pulled her back into his arms.
Oh, baby.
“I’m impressed. You have to have a special kind of rhythm to move like this,” she said with a breathless laugh. “I guess dance lessons do pay off.”
