He'd never even kissed her, yet in some deep, inchoate way, she knew him intimately.
And she had been certain when he'd left her last night that he had not planned to keep their date this morning. She was also reasonably sure about what had caused his retreat from her.
It was her money. As usual.
Jack was a proud man and, she suspected now, a poor one. He had probably just lost his job or something and had come here to Las Vegas as a place to forget his troubles for a few days before he decided what to do next.
And last night, when he'd learned how wealthy she was, he'd decided it would never work out between them. He'd decided to stop seeing her.
But, thank heaven, sometime in the night he must have changed his mind. And here he was, after all.
"How many?" the hostess asked.
"I'm joining someone." Olivia gestured toward Jack. "That man over there, as a matter of fact."
Just then Jack looked up from his paper. He smiled at her.
"This way, then," the hostess said.
Jack lowered his paper as she approached. His mouth was wary, but his black eyes shone. She knew he was as glad to see her as she was to see him.
Olivia's feet hardly touched the floor. Her happiness allowed her to defy gravity.
He'd met her this morning, after all. And soon enough he would share his secrets. It was only a matter of time.
That day they visited Hoover Dam, where they looked out over the massive spillway onto Lake Mead, rode in an elevator down to the power plant for a guided tour and then watched a movie about the dam's construction. To Olivia it was all great fun to ooh and ah over what the promotional film had declared to be one of the engineering wonders of the United States.
And truthfully, as long as Jack was beside her, it didn't really matter what they did. As far as she was concerned, they could have spent the whole day in the wing chairs by the potted palm.
Jack was attentive and funny and said he was having a good time. And when he looked at her, Olivia knew that at last she'd found someone who wanted her for herself alone.
But she also knew he was troubled. She could see it in the depths of his eyes. And after they had dinner at a place called The Golden Steer, she dared to ask him what was on his mind.
He took her arm. "Let's go for a ride," he said.
She went willingly, praying that the time had come when he would reveal to her the secrets of his heart.
They drove out to the desert, out across the wide, empty flatness in the direction of the gray hump of Mount Charleston, to the northwest.
Out in the middle of nowhere, with only sagebrush and tumbleweed for company, Jack pulled off the road and drove over the cracked and bumpy desert floor until they reached a sign that said: Las Vegas, Where The Fun Never Stops.
He parked beneath the sign and turned off the engine. Behind them was the glow of the city and ahead, the shadow of the mountains. Above, the waning moon gleamed down, and the stars were so thick they all seemed to blend together in the wide, wide sky.
He turned to her, putting his arm across the back of her seat. Even through the darkness, she could see the unhappiness in his eyes.
She gave him an encouraging smile. "What is it, Jack? I've known all day that something is bothering you. Tell me what it is. Maybe I can help."
He shook his head, murmuring her name in a musing way.
And then he cupped her chin.
Olivia went on smiling, though she knew that the smile was a little wobbly. His touch affected her deeply. Her skin burned beneath the light caress of his fingers. Her heartbeat seemed faster and stronger, too.
He longed to kiss her. She could see it in his eyes, in the gentle yet hungry curve of his mouth, which was mere inches from her own. Idly he caressed her jawline, his thumb and fingers softly stroking.
She drew in a breath. It sighed into her lungs. Now her whole body was tingling, though he only touched her chin. She waited for his lips to meet hers.
When it didn't happen, she dared to softly implore, "Kiss me, Jack."
His eyes were so sad. He dropped his hand and sat back in his seat.
Disappointed and slightly mortified, Olivia retreated to her seat as well. For a while they stared out at the wide starry sky. In the distance a coyote howled.
At last Olivia knew something had to be said. "Why didn't you kiss me, Jack? You wanted to, I know you did. I don't understand."
"It would be wrong."
She looked at him. "That doesn't make sense. You said you're not committed to anyone else … and neither am I. We're both adults. What could be wrong about us sharing a kiss?"
"A lot."
"But what?"
"Olivia—"
"Is it a money problem, Jack? Are you out of a job or something? If it is, it doesn't matter to me. I swear to you, it doesn't matter at all."
"It's not money."
She wasn't sure she believed him. Still, what else could she do but ask, "Okay, then, what is it?"
"Hell" was all he said. He reached for the keys to start the car.
"Wait." She put her hand on his arm and felt him stiffen in reaction. "Let's not go yet. Please, Jack."
"Olivia, there's no point in staying here."
"Oh, but there is. There really is. We could talk a little, Jack. About ourselves. It doesn't have to be anything too fresh or too painful." She thought of Cameron and realized there was at least one thing in her life that she wouldn't be talking about right now. Around Jack she felt like a beautiful, desirable woman. She wasn't quite ready to have him learn that her ex-fiancé hadn't found her desirable at all.
She rushed on. "It could be anything. Our life stories—at least up to a point. Or maybe what growing up was like for us. I was an only child, myself."
Olivia released Jack's arm and shifted in her seat. She wanted to give him something, to reveal something of who she really was, so that maybe he would feel that he could trust her in return.
She thought of her mother and she felt the old, hollow ache inside.
Olivia had no memory of the woman who had given her life. She knew from pictures that Karyn Larrabee had been pretty, with a heart-shaped face and big blue eyes. And she knew from her father that Karyn had been kind; a gentle woman who laughed easily, who loved cats and roses and movies with Jimmy Stewart in them.
Olivia said, "My mother died when I was just a baby."
Jack looked away. "Olivia, you don't have to—"
"Yes," she said. "I want to. Please listen."
He turned to face her. Then he conceded. "All right."
She twisted her hands together, realized she was doing it and forced them to be still. "My mother was kidnapped," she said softly, "and held for ransom. My father paid. But they killed her anyway.
"It was all over the papers, maybe you heard about it. The kidnappers themselves died in a bloody shootout with the authorities. I was just a baby, way too young to remember any of it." Jack was watching her. She could feel his eyes, though she was staring out the windshield. She made herself look at him. "But sometimes I feel like I remember it, when I look in my Dad's eyes."
"Olivia—"
She put up a hand. "I miss her, you know? Still, to this day. I miss someone I never even knew." She swallowed and took in a breath. "Anyway. About my childhood—remember I suggested that we could talk about our childhoods?"
Jack nodded.
"Well, I was raised by my dad. He was a good dad. He always had time for me. I was fortunate in always having love. My earliest memories are of just the two of us, me and Dad. A family. I had nurses and companions, of course, as I was growing up. But my father was always there to pour my breakfast cereal, to teach me to ride a bike. And to chase away the boogeymen under my bed.
"But he's too protective. I suppose it's because of what happened to my mother. He was always afraid to let me out of his sight. His name is a household word. He even let the ad agency talk him into putting his picture on the bottles when the
y launched Lawrence Larrabee's Private Reserve five years ago. But he's always been careful to keep me out of the spotlight. I've led a very private, sheltered kind of life. So now I'm twenty-nine years old and still working on making a life of my own, even though I should have done it years ago." She sighed. "Does that make sense?"
"Yeah. It makes sense." Jack's voice was soft. He reached out and touched her hair. It was a touch of understanding, of reassurance. And yet it stirred her body, made her skin feel hot and prickly and her blood pump harder in her veins.
It was odd, Olivia thought, how strongly she was attracted to Jack physically. Until Jack, she'd thought herself pretty much a cold fish when it came to those intimate things that went on between men and women. In fact, cold fish were exactly the words Cameron had used at the end, when she'd caught him with Bree Haversham, his executive assistant.
"Oh, get real, Olivia," Cameron had said. "What do you care if I have a little fun with someone else? You're a cold fish in bed, anyway, and we both know it damn well."
"Earth to Olivia."
She felt herself blushing.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes. Yes, I'm fine."
Jack gave her a smile that was somehow both encouraging and teasing at the same time. "So. I guess it's my turn, huh? You expect to hear my life story."
Anticipation lightened her heart. Now they were getting somewhere. She squirmed in her seat a little. "Oh, yes. I do, Jack. I want to know everything about you that you're willing to tell me."
He tipped his head, as if he was wondering whether she meant what she was saying. "It's a downer of a story, really."
"Let me judge that for myself, please. You just tell it."
He still looked doubtful, but he agreed. "Okay. You asked for it." He paused, collecting his thoughts, she imagined. Then he said, "I was born in Bakersfield, an only child like you were. Until I was nine, I lived near there on a farm."
"Your parents owned a farm?"
"It was my father's farm."
"What was your father's name?"
"John Roper."
"What was he like?"
Jack rubbed his eyes.
"You're quiet. What does that mean? You had a problem with your father?"
"I guess you could say that. If he even was my father."
She was trying to follow this. "He wasn't your father?"
"I don't know. John Roper didn't believe he was my father, even though my mother, Alana, always insisted that he was."
"Your father told you that he didn't believe you were his son?"
"No. It was a big secret. But every once in a while, when he and my mother would have a fight, he'd let it slip in some sideways remark. And by the time I was seven or eight, I'd figured it out."
Olivia thought of what Jack had said the day before, about his father calling Jack's eyes unusual. "But you don't know for sure, do you, if he was right or not?"
"It doesn't matter." Jack's shrug was unconcerned.
Too unconcerned, Olivia thought. "Jack, come on. It must matter to you."
"Look." Jack's voice was cold. "I agreed to tell you about my childhood. But let's not make a big deal of it, okay? It was a long time ago. And they're both dead now. My father didn't think that he was my father. My mother swore that he was. I don't know which one of them was right. Can we leave it at that." It wasn't a question.
Olivia said softly, "Of course, Jack. Please go on."
"I've forgotten where I was." His tone was curt.
She prompted him. "You said that you lived on the farm until you were nine. What happened then?"
He looked at her for a moment, as if he was considering telling her he didn't want to talk anymore. She was grateful when he went on. "My father died that year, of a massive coronary."
"Your mother sold the farm?"
"Yeah. But the money didn't last long. Eventually Alana went back to what she had been doing before she met him. She was a cocktail waitress and sometime piano player. I lived wherever she lived until I graduated high school and struck out on my own."
"What were you like as a teenager?"
"A borderline delinquent. I managed to avoid getting into any major scrapes with the authorities. But looking back, I don't know how I did it. When I got out of high school, I joined the service. I wanted to see the world. And I saw more than I bargained for. I spent a lot of time in the East. Southeast Asia, to be specific, special maneuvers."
"What are those?"
He shook his head. "Let's just say it was dangerous work, and somehow I survived with all my parts intact."
She thought of the scars she'd seen on his body and asked without thinking, "Is that how you got all those scars? In the service?"
His teeth flashed in a grin. "You noticed my scars."
She was blushing again. "Well. Did you get them in the service?"
"Yeah. Most of them, anyway. I reupped more than once, didn't know what else to do with myself. When I got out, I was twenty-six. So I took the GI bill and went to college for a while."
"What did you study?"
"Police Science. Then I was with the L.A.P.D. for six years, but I decided to get out. It was hell on my liver, I was drinking so much. Four years ago I resigned and started my own business."
"Doing what?"
He had been looking out the windshield. Now he faced her. "Discovery and salvage."
"What's that?"
He let out a long breath.
She knew they were getting to the part he didn't want to talk about. "Oh, all right. You can stop."
He grunted. "Gee. Thanks."
"One more question."
"So you say now."
"You never mentioned a girlfriend or a wife."
"What can I say? I guess they all blur together after a while."
She punched his shoulder. "Very funny. Have you ever been married?"
"No."
"There was never anyone … special?"
"Yeah," he admitted. "There was. Once."
"What was her name?"
"Sandy Chernak. She was a cop, with L.A.P.D. like I was. She was a good woman. And a true friend. We were talking about moving in together. But then she was killed on a domestic call."
"Was that when you started drinking too much?"
"You got it."
"And was it also when you decided to get off the force?"
"Yes."
"What about your mother, Alana? Is she still alive?"
"She died a few years ago. And that was more than one question."
"Oops. Sorry." Olivia attempted to look apologetic, though inside, she was anything but. Though he hadn't exactly been eager to tell her all about himself, he had revealed a thing or two.
She felt she knew him better.
And how she ached for him. For the boy whose father had never claimed him, for the man who'd lost a lover to a violent death. She wondered about his mother. What might Alana have been like? And had she really betrayed John Roper? And if Alana had betrayed her husband, then was there an old man alive somewhere today with eyes like Jack's?
"Earth to Olivia."
She grinned at him. "Just wondering."
"I'll bet. Can we go now?"
She pretended to have to think about it.
He remarked, "You're pushing it, Ms. Larrabee."
She let out an airy sigh. "Oh, all right. We can go."
He started the car and they headed for the road.
Olivia felt wonderful the whole drive back. When they arrived at the hotel, they enjoyed their nightly ritual of sitting in the wing chairs by the trusty potted palm.
At the door to her room, he did it again.
That is, he didn't kiss her. But she didn't feel as bad about that as she had the night before. Last night she'd been sure she would never see him again.
But tonight, she had heard the story of most of his life. She understood him better. The kisses would come soon enough, of that she was certain.
And she was learn
ing. She made a date for breakfast before he left and came right out and asked him for his room number, which he gave her with no hesitation at all.
The next day they tried the casinos downtown. They viewed the 100 ten-thousand-dollar bank notes in the glass display at Binion's Horseshoe, played baccarat at The Lucky Lady and yanked the one-armed bandit at The Golden Nugget.
In the afternoon they swam. And in the evening, they went to The Bacchanal in Caesar's Palace, a restaurant that resembled nothing so much as the garden of an Italian villa.
All told, it was another absolutely enchanting day, marred only by the continuing feeling Olivia had that something was bothering Jack.
But whenever she tried to get him to talk about it, she got nowhere.
And the moment came again when they stood at the door of her room to say good-night and she couldn't help wondering how long he would hide his troubles from her—not to mention if she would ever know his kiss.
"Earth to Olivia." Jack was smiling down into her eyes. He touched her hair, a breath of a touch, as if he didn't dare do more.
"Jack." She said his name with great seriousness.
He mimicked her tone. "Olivia."
"Jack, I—"
"Shh." He put his finger to her lips. "It was a great day."
His touch was magic, as usual. She wanted more. So very much more.
But she really had no idea how to get more. So all she said was "Good night."
"Tomorrow," he promised. "The poolside café. Noon."
"Yes." And she stood staring dreamily after him until he had disappeared beyond the turn to the elevators.
Then she shook herself and let herself into her suite. Inside, she leaned against the closed door and tried not to feel let down.
She looked around, idly deciding that she really could have invited Jack in without being embarrassed. Things didn't look as bad as they might have, given that she'd been on her own for five entire days. The maids here were kind. They stacked her clothing neatly in the dressing area, so when she came in at night, she didn't trip on her own strewn clothes.
Yes, she could have invited Jack in. But she'd missed the chance. And now it was too late.
Or was it?
A HOME FOR THE HUNTER Page 5
