by Gayle Kasper
She’d been experiencing a kind of culture shock ever since she’d arrived in Las Vegas—and she wasn’t sure she could survive it.
“You’re going to love Winnie, Fiona. I can hardly wait for you to meet her,” her father said, glancing over at her. A beatific, if not a bit foolish, smile covered his face.
He was a man in love, a development that worried Fiona. She drew in a breath. “Dad, about this wedding—”
“Now, don’t you worry about the wedding plans, Fiona. They’re all taken care of. There’s not a thing for you to do but show up and wish your father happiness.”
“That wasn’t what I meant, Dad. Your happiness is first and foremost in my mind, believe me …” This wasn’t going to be an easy discussion, but she had to try to make him see reason. Now might be the only chance she had to convince him to wait, to think things through, to look before he leaped into this marriage thing.
“Then what, Fiona?” A furrow formed between his sandy-gray brows. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”
Fiona sighed and studied a flashing block-long marquee that brightened the night as if it were midday. He’d phoned out of the blue, springing this wedding on her, wanting her to be happy about it. But how could she be happy about a romance that had seemingly blossomed overnight?
She thought of her parents’ marriage. It had lasted thirty years, a hearts-and-flowers, old-fashioned kind of marriage few people in life ever achieved—the kind Fiona wanted for herself one day. But a love like that took time to develop and to grow.
“I am happy for you, Dad,” she said, seriously trying to mean it.
“Well, you could’ve fooled me.” He turned and headed west, toward a bank of mountains in the distance, away from the gaudy bright lights of the Strip.
Fiona tried again. “Dad, what do you know about Winnie? Does she have family?” she asked. He had told her very little about his intended on the phone. All Fiona knew was her name and that she had a nephew who wore racy underwear.
He braked at a stoplight and glanced over at her. “Yes, she has a family. A very loving family …”
As opposed to his nonunderstanding daughter, Fiona read into that statement.
“Winnie lost her husband some years ago,” he said, pulling through the light and continuing west. “She’s alone. Like me.”
Fiona felt a stab of pain that her father thought of himself as being alone. He had her, after all. And he had memories of her mother. Wonderful memories of the life they’d shared together. Ashamed, she wondered for the first time if that was really enough to sustain him. Or did he need more? Did he need someone like Winnie?
“What about children? Does Winnie have children?”
“She has a daughter, about your age. She won’t be able to come to the wedding, though. She’s off working in India or Istanbul or … someplace. And then there’s her nephew Nick, of course.”
Nick. As if Fiona could have forgotten.
Wickedly handsome, incredibly sexy Nick.
“Dad, I know you already have your plans made, but don’t you think you should wait, think this thing through, be sure you …? Be sure you’re both ready?” she finished. She couldn’t bring herself to say “love each other.” After all, there hadn’t been enough time for that. “What’s the rush anyway?”
“Rush? Fiona, when you get to be my age, you don’t know how many years you have left. Rush becomes a priority.”
Fiona gave her father a long, considering look. His once-auburn hair had turned a sandy gray, but he had a full head of it. His hazel eyes were bright, his mind sharp. He was sixty-five, hardly ancient; he didn’t have to snatch at life as if he were about to draw his last breath.
He was a nice-looking man with a straight, proud spine and square, wide shoulders and a lady-killer smile. She hadn’t realized it until now, but she could see how he could have any number of women chasing him.
“I hope you’ll be nice tonight, Fiona. This is important to me.”
Fiona rubbed her throbbing temples. “I know, Dad.”
The old Buick swept into a neighborhood of lush green lawns, an oasis in the middle of the desert, kept verdant by spouting water sprinklers.
Winnie’s house was sprawling and white and coolly inviting, yet Fiona dreaded entering it. She was just thinking she’d sooner walk barefoot across the desert than go through with this evening, when a woman swooped down on them in a purple cloud of swirling skirts. A dozen silver Indian bracelets clanked on her right arm.
“So this is your daughter,” Winnie said. “She’s lovely, Walter. It’s nice to meet you, Fiona. How was your flight out?”
She chatted with Fiona on their way to the front door, barely giving her time to answer one question before launching into another. Fiona had to smile at this small tornado of a woman who’d obviously swept her father off his feet. He probably never knew what hit him.
“Why didn’t you tell me how enchanting your daughter is, Walter?” Winnie scolded, then reached up and gave him a peck on the cheek.
Her father blushed a bright shade. He wasn’t a man who was big on outward displays of affection, but Winnie apparently was. Fiona knew it was a fact that opposites attract, but how did they fare over the long haul?
Winnie didn’t allow her time to ponder this further, but led her guests across the large entry hall, her azalea-pink, high-heeled sandals tapping a staccato beat on the cool terrazzo tiles.
The home was as flamboyant as its owner. Brilliant bursts of color filled every room, not the muted desert hues Fiona would have expected, but exotic blues and sunny yellows and vivid purples that somehow all went together.
“We’re having dinner beside the pool tonight,” Winnie said, leading the way. “I hope you like rutabaga-and-lamb kabobs, Fiona. I fixed them especially for your father because he just loves them.”
Fiona’s eyes widened in surprise. Her father never ate lamb and he would have looked askance at a rutabaga if her mother had ever set one in front of him.
“That’s Dad’s favorite, all right,” she said, sending a questioning glance in his direction.
“Be nice, Fiona,” her father reminded in a whisper close to her ear. When she flared an eyebrow impudently, he added a stern frown to his admonition.
“Nicholas is here already,” Winnie went on. “It’s so lovely to have our two families together. I only wish Camille could be here with us, but she’s away, working in the wilds of India.”
Fiona wouldn’t mind being in the wilds of India herself at the moment. She followed Winnie toward the pool area, where she glimpsed Nick tending the lamb kabobs on the grill. He had a tall drink in one hand, a long fork in the other, and he looked as decadently handsome as he had earlier that day.
“You already know Nicholas, I believe,” Winnie said with a wave at her provocative nephew.
“We’ve met, Auntie,” Nick said. He put down the fork and came toward Fiona, that slow, lazy smile of his teasing at his lips. His tan appeared even darker under the twinkling patio lights. He’d changed into a black polo shirt and cream-colored slacks that hugged his well-muscled thighs and did strange things to Fiona’s equilibrium. She tried to tell herself it was just the desert heat. In a few days she’d adjust.
Nick politely exchanged greetings with Fiona’s father, then glanced back at her, his gaze taking full measure. She felt its thoroughness all the way to her toes.
“Nicholas, why don’t you fix Fiona a drink?” Winnie suggested. “And, Walter, you can help me set out the plates and silverware on the table.”
She led him away, leaving Fiona alone with Nick.
“What can I get for you?” he asked with a wave of his hand toward a small bar set up at one end of the pool.
“Scotch,” she said, never having tasted the stuff before, but sensing that tonight she would need it.
“Scotch it is,” he said, but not before raising one dark eyebrow at her choice of liquor. He turned and started for the bar.
The man was good-lo
oking, she couldn’t deny that. And all male, right down to his sexy silk—
He turned around with her drink in his hand and caught where her gaze lingered. That slow smile of his slid onto his lips. He walked over to her and leaned close, his voice a low whisper next to her ear.
“They’re tiger stripes,” he drawled.
TWO
“Pardon me?”
“My underwear. They’re tiger stripes. I thought you might be … wondering.” Nick saw that blush of hers again. He gave a slow grin. He shouldn’t take such delight in getting a rise out of her, but he couldn’t help himself. That shade of pink looked provocative on her.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t care if they’re iridescent blue spangles,” she returned haughtily, then snatched the drink from his hand and took a hard swallow.
“Oh? My mistake.” He gave an easy shrug but continued to study her carefully. She was still wearing white, but not wool this time. His gaze trailed over the length of her and he realized he liked what he saw.
Fiona could feel the heat of Nick’s gaze. She glanced across the patio to where her father was helping Winnie anchor the napkins under the plates before the things could become airborne in the light evening breeze, wishing she could put some distance between Nick and herself.
Nick turned to glance at the pair as well. “I advised Auntie to have Walter sign a prenuptial agreement I took the liberty of drawing up,” he said.
That got Fiona’s attention. She spun around, her flashing green eyes meeting the cool blue of his. “You did what?”
“I advised Auntie—”
“I heard you the first time,” she snapped in irritation. “What I want to know is, whatever for?”
“To protect her, of course.”
“Protect her? From what? From whom?”
“From your father. You can’t be too careful, especially about things like money. Auntie has a lot of it, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t look after her best interests.”
Fiona dragged in a deep breath and set her drink down with a brisk thunk. “Let me get this straight,” she said, glowering up at the man in front of her. “You think my father is … is—?”
“A womanizer,” Nick finished.
Walter Ames wouldn’t take a dime of someone else’s money—especially a woman’s. He was a proud man, a man with old-fashioned values. If he wanted to marry Winnie, it certainly wasn’t because of her money.
She couldn’t believe she was hearing this. “Now wait just one minute,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. “My father is not, and never has been, a … a …” She couldn’t even say the word, and she was angry at Nick for thinking it. “Just what gives you the right to judge him?”
He dragged a hand over the back of his neck. “Look, I’m a lawyer. And Auntie’s legal counsel. I’m sorry if you’re offended by this but—”
“Offended? Is that what you think I am?”
Nick smiled. No, she was more like an avenging angel, he thought. Hot and volatile and gorgeous. Tonight she’d worn that thick, curly mane of red hair down. It teased at her creamy neck and skimmed the tops of her shoulders. Shoulders that were squared at the moment to do battle. Her eyes were wide and green and flashing fury in defense of her father.
He loved that stance, her beautiful chin raised a fractious notch, her pink-manicured hands on the rounded curve of her hips, one gold-sandaled toe tapping in front of him. It was enough to unnerve a lesser man.
Hell, it was enough to unnerve him.
She should wear white all the time, he thought. It made her skin look flawless, as pearly as a ten-dollar poker chip. He’d been trying to keep his gaze off that delectable neckline that showed the tiniest hint of cleavage, but it was a losing battle.
“You’re right, offended is too mild a word,” he said. “However, look at this from my point of view. What do I really know about Walter Ames?” Besides the fact that he has one tempting daughter, he thought quietly. “Nothing. He could be a gigolo, a con man, a …” He was making this worse, had her fur really flying now. He eased off. “Look, your father could very well be a nice man, good, decent. But the truth is, this wedding popped up too damn fast.”
“Exactly,” she chimed in. “And what do I know about your aunt Winnie? Zippo.”
She was turning the tables. Neatly. Nick hid a grin. He liked that. “Hold that thought,” he said, not wanting to end the conversation, not wanting to miss the fire in those beautiful eyes. “I think the kabobs need turning.”
He shagged across the patio. They did, he realized, and he deftly flipped them over.
“Where were we?” he asked, when he turned around to find her behind him. “Need a refill on your drink?”
Fiona shook her head. She was certain she’d had enough scotch for one evening. In fact, she’d had enough of the evening.
If only she could grab her father by the shirt collar and drag him away. Away from this family who believed he was some kind of gold digger.
“You were saying something about Aunt Winnie, I believe.” He took a swallow of his drink, eyeing her over the rim.
Fiona dragged in a breath. She didn’t want to say anything derogatory about the woman. She’d just been trying to make a point. “Not about your aunt, but about the wedding plans. You’re right. This has all happened too quickly. I think they need to wait, perhaps until they know each other better. They might find they’re not at all suited to one another.” Men could be very susceptible to whirlwind romances. Easily led down a primrose path before they knew what had hit them.
She glanced up at Nick. She could not in her wildest imagination see him being led down any primrose path. No matter how enticing the woman.
He was a man who knew his way around in this world. And it hadn’t taken any suitcase of lady-killer briefs to tell her that. Everything about him bespoke maleness. Powerful maleness. She just wished that fact didn’t send little shivers racing over her skin.
She glanced up as Nick let out a low chuckle. “Just what are we arguing about here?” he asked. “You don’t approve of this wedding any more than I do.” He studied her long and hard as if enjoying the idea of their being on the same side. “If we’re smart we’d put our heads together and work out some way to foil tomorrow’s little ceremony.”
Fiona just wanted the pair to think about what they were doing. Marriage was a major step, not one to be taken lightly. “Foil it? Short of kidnapping the two of them, how do you expect to do that?”
She doubted very much that Nick could come up with an effective plan on such short notice. Besides, pooling brain power with this man was a little more togetherness than she thought wise. It made her nervous. She didn’t like having to spend more time in his company than was absolutely necessary.
“Unless we want to watch them march down that aisle tomorrow, we’re going to have to come up with something,” he continued.
Fiona sighed. She knew it wasn’t their place to interfere, but she was afraid her father was making a terrible mistake.
She massaged her tense neck. “Okay,” she said. “It may already be too late to do anything, but we’ll give it a try.”
Dinner was strained at best. Walter and Winnie held hands and smiled at each other besottedly all through the meal, while Nick and Fiona frowned. The couple didn’t seem to notice. Or that the conversation flagged.
The possibility that she and Nick sway this impetuous twosome looked bleak indeed.
When dinner was finished, Nick scraped back his chair. “It looks like you two want to be alone. Why don’t I drop Fiona at her hotel, maybe even show her some of the town’s nightlife along the way?”
“Oh, that’s nice of you, dear,” Winnie exclaimed. “I did want Walter to stay and help me decide about the placement of the flowers in the gazebo for the ceremony.”
Fiona’s mouth gaped open. Before she could object, Nick assisted her up from her seat and whispered in her ear, “Trust me.”
Trust him? The man wante
d to take her away from her father when time was a scarce commodity. She wasn’t about to trust him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped a few minutes later as they cleared the table. Fiona dogged his heels, carrying a stack of dishes inside. “I don’t want to see this town’s nightlife and I don’t want to go back to my hotel.”
“We need a plan if we’re going to stall the wedding. And we can’t very well have a strategy session right here under their noses, now, can we?”
They’d reached the kitchen. Fiona slid the dirty plates onto a peacock-blue tile countertop and faced him squarely. “A strategy session? What’s wrong with setting them down and having a little heart-to-heart talk?”
Nick rinsed a plate and dropped it into the dishwasher. “Wouldn’t work. We’d come off sounding like irate parents lecturing a pair of willful teenagers. We’re going to have to come up with something better.”
“Like what?”
“Like I don’t know yet. That’s why we need to talk.”
Fiona handed him another plate. “Why is it you’re against this wedding?” she asked, gazing up at him. “Besides the ridiculous notion that you think my father chases women for their money?”
Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. It had been a jaded thought, but after he’d seen Walter with Fiona, his mind had taken a right turn. The guy’d been a husband, a father, and though that didn’t eliminate all men from the louse category, it did cast Walter in a more favorable light.
At least he would give him the benefit of the doubt for the time being.
“Statistics,” he said dryly. “We live in the divorce capital of the country, the place where those made-in-heaven romances come to die.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And that’s what you think will happen to Walter and Winnie?”
“That’s the odds, like ’em or not.”
“And when it does, you believe my father will want a chunk of your aunt’s money?”
