A shadow fell over her. She opened one eye and gazed up. Then up some more. He was tall, with piercing blue eyes and angular features. There was nothing soft about this guy. Desire, a forgotten feeling, poured through her.
Still, she gave him her best disinterested glare. Not an easy look to carry off, either, with the one eye. “You’re blocking my sun.”
He looked her over, lying there in her white swimsuit, and said, “Is it yours? I hadn’t realized.”
She closed her eyes and shifted her position, rolling her shoulders to relieve the tension building there. “Please go away.”
“How’d you cut up your legs?”
The only way he saw those scars was if he looked at her inner thighs, all the way to the bottom of her suit. She’d always been careful, only her stomach and the inside of her thighs, up high so it wouldn’t show even if she wore a short skirt or shorts.
She pushed herself up and clamped her legs together. “None of your business. Who are you?”
“I work at The Desert Palms. You ever been there?” His tone sounded controlled, no inflection at all.
“First, never heard of it. Second, I stopped caring already.”
“I think you were…” He trailed off, and Layla opened her eyes. She regretted it instantly.
Filmy robe trailing behind her, without a hope of covering the sinfully small bikini she wore, her mother joined them. She offered Jace a seductive smile and managed to give Layla a look of disgust all at the same time. “You’ll have to forgive my daughter. She’s a lot like a house cat gone feral. You’re too used to her to put her out, but you want to keep your distance.”
And then, the worst part of the whole encounter, his eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and then filled with pity. She jumped up from the lounge and stomped toward the former pool house, now the place she called home.
“I’ll just be off sharpening my claws.” Layla tossed over her shoulder. She didn’t dare look back and see that pathetic look again. She’d seen it too many times over the years when her mother shot some insult her way.
Layla slid open the glass door that led into her room. She’d blacked out the windows of the small bedroom in the back and turned it into a dark room. Cameras lined two shelves by the door, her favorite in the black leather bag she carried all the time.
The pictures she took of the people she watched papered the walls in here. She had even framed some of her favorites. Which were really the worst of them. Whenever Layla got the urge to cut, whenever she hated herself so much or needed to see on the outside what she felt on the inside, she took pictures. She had a particular skill at catching people at their worst: An old lady with a pink slip dragging behind her. A bald guy in a muscle car picking his nose. These photos gave her…peace.
“Wow.”
She jerked her head up when she heard him. Around her room, photographs covered the walls, baring her innermost expressions. She didn’t turn to look at him because she sure as hell didn’t want to see the look on his face now, with the evidence of her freakishness all around. “Please. Go away.”
But he didn’t go away. He stepped further into the room and began studying the pictures. His face reflected back at her in the glass of the framed picture she’d been gazing at, and with a sigh, she turned to face him.
He looked at each photograph on the wall intently. “These pictures. They’re very—”
“I know—”
“—evocative.”
“—crazy. What?” They’d spoken the last word at the same time, and she had to replay what he’d said in her head. “Evocative? You think?”
She edged closer to see which of the photos he looked at.
“They communicate, they speak. You’re very good.”
A smile crept over her face, and she caught herself leaning forward to speak before jerking back slightly. “You want something.” She rolled her eyes at him, trying to ignore the disappointment scurrying around in the pit of her stomach.
“I do. That doesn’t make me a liar. Except to your housekeeper. I lied my head off to her. She’s like a dragon.”
“Mrs. Crespo, I just call her Mrs. C. She’s protective.” Layla smiled. “What’d you tell her?”
“That we were in a very serious relationship. Which is awkward, I suppose, since she said you told your mother about a true relationship. Sorry about that.”
Layla’s head began to spin. He said he needed something from her. And this man, he’d practically fallen into her lap. “Who are you?”
“I told you, I work at The Desert Palms—”
“No. Are you important? Is your job important? Your family? Who are you?”
“Look, you do have something I want. Yesterday…”
Layla waved a hand at him, and he trailed off. She needed to know who he was—and if he would serve her purposes, keep her away from the men in the white coats. “Answer my question first.”
“I’m head of security at The Desert Palms.” He ran a hand through his short, dark-coffee hair, sending it in different directions. “My father owns Russell Candies. I’m his only son. Is that important?”
“You’ll do.” Layla put on her nicest smile. Not easy, she didn’t play nice often. “What do I have that you need?”
“The negatives of the photos you took yesterday.”
This wasn’t exactly the ideal place for an interview. Scantily furnished, Layla’s room held only a bed and a table with both a phone and a bottle of vodka. She washed her dishes, mainly mugs and plates Mrs. C. brought her, in the sink outside the bathroom. A screen in the corner, strewn with clothes, gave the room its only lived-in feel. How must the place look to him? Didn’t much matter, she decided, and sat down cross-legged on the floor, steepling her fingers in front of her mouth. He looked at her, eyebrow quirked. She looked back for a bit, then said, “So, sit.”
Easing himself to the floor, he shook his head. “You’re a very strange person.”
“Oh, it’s going to get better. How badly do you need those negatives?”
“Have you developed them yet?”
“No.” She slid her eyes to the side. She’d meant to capture something embarrassing. Never had her intention been to capture a moment that could ruin someone’s life. All the same, the negatives were collateral. And she was desperate. “But I’ve looked at the negatives. I know what I have. I know who I have.”
“Do you want to destroy this man who has done nothing to you?”
“Not at all. But I can’t give you the negatives.” Layla bounced up and began going through the clothes hanging on hooks by the dark room. She pulled on a pair of high-waisted, white capri pants and a cropped black sweater over her bathing suit. In the bathroom, she pulled on a white sheer scarf over her hair. She had one shot at this. One chance to convince this total stranger to pretend to be in love with her long enough to reassure her father she wasn’t a head case.
“Let’s go,” she said. “We can’t talk here, and this is going to take some time.”
“So, you’re willing to discuss the negatives? Giving them to me?”
“In a fashion. But first, we have to walk to your car. And you have to hold my hand.”
As if she spoke some other language, he balked at her. “Hold your hand?”
“I warned you it would get stranger. Come on.”
He grabbed her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers in a way that couldn’t possibly be described as gentle. “Fine. Let’s go.” He spoke through clenched teeth.
Clearly angry, he led her up the yard and down the sidewalk. Layla couldn’t help but smile. He might not like it, but she had him. This was about more than just doing his job—those negatives meant the world to him.
Jace didn’t intend to screech his tires when he left the curb. But he did. He wasn’t trying to jam the gears into their proper places. But he was. He needed to control his temper, even if he did feel like a mouse being toyed with by a sleek, beautiful cat.
“The way you burned rubbe
r back there was real impressive. But maybe you should cool it a little bit.”
Jace glanced at her, and her playful half-smile shot right through him. “Why don’t you tell me where we’re going?”
Layla gave him directions, and Jace drove there in silence. Who was this woman who had appeared on the hotel roof yesterday? What did she want for those negatives? And what was with those scars on her legs? He couldn’t think of a single thing that would leave scars like that, especially so high up on her thighs. Rather than repulse him, the scars added to the intrigue surrounding her and softened the edges of his anger to let worry for her seep in.
By the time he parked his car, he’d managed to get hold of his temper. Inside, Layla led him to a corner booth in the back, away from the jazz band half-heartedly playing for the afternoon crowd. He waited while she slid in and then sat down across from her. Cigarette smoke and the scent of strong whiskey permeated the air. A woman laughed, a smooth, liquid sound.
“You obviously want something in exchange for the negatives. It’s not money, although that pool house isn’t exactly luxurious.”
From somewhere, she produced a cigarette and leaned back. An ashtray and a book of fresh matches decorated the scarred wooden table, and she used one to light it. She didn’t respond until she’d taken a long drag and exhaled. “I have a room in the house. It’s just that bad things tend to happen when my mother and I occupy the same space.”
His glance automatically slid downward, although the table and pants hid them now. “Like those scars on your legs?”
“Rule number one, we don’t talk about that. Ever.”
“Rules imply our association is going to continue beyond this conversation.”
“Buy me a drink, Jace Russell of Russell Candies.”
He smiled and placed both palms on the marred table. “Rule number two, I’m my own man. Candy is my father’s business—not mine.” When she nodded, he said, “What would you like?”
“Martini.”
After Jace made his way to the bar, he ordered her martini and a rye whiskey for himself. While he waited, he kept asking himself what she wanted. Why did she insist he hold her hand before they left? Was it a test? And the club and the drinks?
Jace put down a five for the drinks with a nod of thanks. His mind took off, where it had no reason to go, picturing her demanding satisfaction in exchange for the negatives. The thought caused his pulse to race, so he downed the whiskey.
Of course, a beautiful woman didn’t need to use blackmail to get that kind of attention. Strange as she was, she probably shot down a lot of guys. With a shake of his head, he grabbed the martini and headed back to the table.
She took a slow sip, then spoke. “I’m having a hard time saying this, what I want.”
“I have to admit, I’m curious. The handholding, the questions about my life. My interest is piqued.”
“It’s just that not any fella will do.” Another sip of the martini, then she said, “I need a boyfriend.”
“According to the dragon lady, you have a boyfriend.”
“Don’t call her that; she’s a sweet lady. Anyway, I lied. I need a serious boyfriend, a guy who’s over the moon for me.”
“I just met you,” Jace said. Then he added, “And you’re a little kooky.”
“You don’t know me yet. I’m a lot kooky. That’s the problem.”
“Okay, Layla,” he ground out, his gut sinking. “Tell me, what does all this have to do with my negatives?” No way in hell was he going to be tied up under anyone’s thumb as a boyfriend by blackmail. He looked her over again. Even if it meant making time with a beautiful woman
“My negatives, and it’s that I need you to play along. My mother wants to have me put away, and I’m not that crazy. My Papà —he loves me—will put a stop to it, but only if he thinks I’m living a normal life with a future.”
Her parents wanted to stick her in an institution. And that meant… Shit. It meant she was desperate enough to really go through with this. Panic punched its way through his gut, but he’d play it cool. She held too much in her pretty little hands at this point.
He stretched his arm along the back of the booth and examined her. “You lie a lot.”
She licked her lips and said, “I don’t think that’s true at all.”
“But it’s a problem. How can I trust you’ll give me the negatives?”
“I lie to my family because they’d rather have the lie than the real me. But I got those shots by being in the wrong place… I didn’t realize what I was seeing. You can trust me on this, from one outcast to another, I won’t out the guy.”
Blowing his cheeks out, Jace considered her. He couldn’t say why, but he believed her. The problem was the negatives couldn’t simply be put away. They had to be destroyed. Stone’s career—hell, his life—hung in the balance. And there were also Jace’s own plans for the future, his own casino. “What would dating you consist of?”
She flashed a triumphant smile. “Well, dates, obviously. We’d need to go out three or four times a week. People—the right people, I’ll take care of that part—would need to see us kissing and that sort of thing.”
All the blood rushed from his head to other, more inappropriate, parts of his body. With as much scorn as he could muster, now that half his blood supply had fled south, he mumbled. “Kissing. And that sort of thing.”
“Oh, come on. It’s not that horrible to consider, is it?”
“It’s not the word I’d use, no. Anything else?”
“Gifts, I suppose. Things you might bring someone on a date, someone you were more than a little serious about. And they have to be things I’d like. For instance, I hate chocolate—long story—and flowers, because they die.”
“And how long would this fake union of ours go on? You can’t expect me to wait for my negatives forever—and there’s no negotiation on that. I get the negatives when it’s over.”
“That’s fair.” She lifted both hands up in the air. Easy to do, considering she held all the cards.
But he wouldn’t go down without a fight. “How long?”
She slung her arm along the back of the booth. “Two months?”
“Not a chance. I need those negatives back yesterday.” If that kid thought for one minute Jace didn’t have this handled, if he let something slip to Stone, if he, God forbid, called his father and told him that scandal was beating at the casino’s door—Jace’s dreams of a casino were up in smoke.
A frown marred her pretty brow. “How long can you give me?”
“A week. And that’s pushing it.”
“No. Forget it, I’ll just have to find someone else.” She made to scoot out of the booth, and he grabbed her wrist.
“Two weeks.”
She snaked her wrist free of his grasp. “A month. I can sit on those negatives for the rest of my life. Who knows, when they put me away, my mother may run across them, and—”
“Enough.” Pushing his way out of the booth, Jace stood. “Maybe you should write all of your dating etiquette down.”
“That’s a fantastic idea! So you’ll do it?”
“I don’t appear to have much of a choice.” How this young woman, clearly off her rocker, had gotten the best of him, he still didn’t understand.
“But, you do. You’re just making the right choice.”
He wasn’t positive there was anything right about this. But, he’d do what ensured his, and Stone’s, futures. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“That’s exactly the sort of thing I mean. If we were an item, you would drive me home. And open the door for me.”
He did her bidding, holding the club door and again the car door before settling in behind the wheel. “Layla?”
“This isn’t a bad car.” She stopped turning this way and that to examine the interior and gave him her full attention. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”
“Regardless of the woman, and I take out lots of different sorts of women—showgirls,
waitresses, and even the occasional young socialite, such as yourself—I always open the door for her. Your father won’t be disappointed in that regard.”
“I believe you, Mr. Russell. Only, the thing is, you might have to turn the respectful gestures down a bit. If we’re to be believed that we’re serious, there would be a bit of…informality between us. Wouldn’t you think?”
“How long have we been seeing each other?” The car performed more smoothly this time, maybe because Jace knew exactly what his position was: backed into a corner, but with a way out.
“A month? No, let’s make it two months. Two months seems much more serious.”
“Doubly so, I would think.”
They pulled up to the curb and Jace switched the ignition off. She put a hand on his sleeve, the touch surprisingly hot on his skin, even through his shirt and jacket. “What is it?”
“We may have a small problem,” she said, her eyes big in her face and intensely dark. She was beautiful and bound to be messy. Why did he think the problem was going to be anything but small?
3
As Jace had held the car door open while she climbed in the car at the club, Layla had the strangest feeling…like her blood wasn’t just flowing through her body, but singing through it. Which sounded crazy and that worried her a little bit. But, it didn’t feel crazy. It felt like she’d finally met someone who could keep up with her. And what did that mean, come to think of it?
She pretended to examine the car while secretly looking him over. What had seemed all angles at the pool, and in the semidarkness of the basement level club, was more a chiseled face. All cheekbones and Roman nose, eyebrows that seemed to be drawn into a frown more often than not. Like a statue of some beautiful mythological god. The lips didn’t remind her of some sculpture in a museum, carved from rock, though. They weren’t too full; that would’ve made his rather attractive face too feminine. They were…firm. Lips like that meant business, in words and deeds.
She had absolutely no intentions of missing out on those lips. So, she told him that her family would expect him to be a little less respectful. With any luck, he’d be a lot more affectionate. When they pulled in, the perfect opportunity presented itself. “We may have a small problem.”
My Fake Vegas Boyfriend Page 2
