Walk on the Wild Side

by Christine Warren

  The first touch of his lips felt like springtime, slow and warm and tentative, a brush and a nudge that tested the timing and woke something long dormant. It was the kind of kiss that little girls dream of and that grown women decide could only exist in fairy tales. It stirred and sensitized and savored, and it wasn't until the first kiss lifted, shifted, resettled into a second that Kitty realized it also seduced.

  Her breath caught in her throat and her knees melted and her hands gripped his as if she'd been the one to take hold. His fingers stroked, eased hers apart, and slipped between them in a caress she felt all the way to her womb. When he laced their fingers together, her thighs ached to do the same with their legs, their bodies. And he'd driven her to that state without so much as an intimate touch.

  The man was moonshine, and Kitty knew well enough that a smart girl stayed away from moonshine if she meant to keep her wits about her and her panties on.

  She pulled away from him on a whimper, one of the hardest things she'd ever done, and blinked up at him through the haze that clouded her vision. A single, weak tug freed her hands, but she couldn't manage to step back. If she unlocked her knees, she knew she'd crumble at his feet like a stale cookie.

  "Wh-what was that supposed to prove?"

  Max reached out, warm fingers sliding across her cheek to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. His thumb flicked over the delicate shell, then traced the curve of her jaw before falling to his side. "That maybe something even better than self-control could come out of this trip before it's done."

  Her laugh trembled on her lips. "If I were smart, that would only make me run faster."

  "You're smart," Max said, his voice soft and low. "But I think you're also curious. And fair. And brave."

  "Boy, do you not know me well."

  His lips curved, a motion Kitty could have sworn she felt against her own. "I think I know more than you'd like me to, kitten. I think meeting your father means something to you. But more than that, I think meeting the other side of yourself is what drove you here. That's your curiosity at work. And your sense of what's fair is why you're going to remember what I've said when you and Martin meet."

  Kitty's knees might still be weak, but she possessed more than enough backbone to make up for the deficiency. She straightened her spine and managed a small step backward.

  She didn't like people making assumptions about her, especially not ones that were so on-target. It unsettled her that this man could read her so well, so fast.

  "That's curious and fair," she pointed out, "but exactly how far do you think my supposed bravery will take me? After all, you also called me smart, and it sounds like I'd have to be an idiot to stick around a bunch of strange relatives who are likely to hate me on sight."

  Max's knowing smile edged into a full-fledged grin that made Kitty's pulse spike and her warning sirens wail. "But you've got one more trait that I didn't mention, kitten, and that's the one that's going to make you stay."

  She kept quiet and dared him to come up with something persuasive, knowing even as she did so that she should never challenge this man. He would always come out on top.

  "Your father calls it 'determination,'" Max continued. "That pigheaded, stubborn refusal to let the other side win. The rest of us call it sheer perversity when it makes you walk into a situation everyone on earth and the angels themselves warn you against, just to prove that you can. But whatever you call it, you'll stay."

  He flicked a finger over the end of her nose and grabbed his discarded suit jacket, slinging it over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

  He had his hand on the knob when Kitty called after him, "You seem pretty sure of yourself."

  She heard the defiance in her own voice, and the frustration of knowing him to be right.

  He grinned back at her and tugged the door open. "Kitten, I'd bet the house on it."

  * * *

  Chapter Eight

  MAX SAT IN THE BIG LEATHER CHAIR AT THE DESK IN his office above the casino floor with his back to his paperwork. Instead of diligently completing forms and poring over spreadsheets, he faced the bank of windows overlooking the sea of gamblers and stared through the one-way glass, seeing very little of what was right in front of him. Every bit of his attention had focused on his memories of smooth, freckled skin, wide, green eyes, and the softest, sweetest, lushest lips he'd ever tasted.

  The sleep he'd gotten last night—the little of it he'd managed—had done nothing to erase the building obsession he'd developed in the twelve or so hours that he'd known Kitty Sugarman. A humbling realization for a man who'd never before applied the word "obsession" to any member of the fairer sex. But when a man spent six hours doing nothing but reliving a kiss that your average college kid would have viewed as routine, he had to face a few brutal truths. Admitting to the obsession had only gotten the ball rolling.

  From there, he'd had to think about the fact that the object of his obsession bore about as much resemblance to the women he'd become used to as she did to the calculating, money-grubbing tramp he'd originally envisioned her to be. Leo females as a rule were sophisticated, elegant, and completely aware of their own seductive powers. They usually exuded the sort of confidence that bordered on arrogance and saw no benefit in underestimating their own worth. They believed the word "bashful" referred to nothing more than a character in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. They didn't have dinner with eligible men wearing their hair in ponytails, with their faces scrubbed clean of makeup, and they certainly didn't stare at him with wide eyes full of suspicion and innocence and tantalizing vulnerability.

  No, Kitty Sugarman was like no other woman he'd ever met. He certainly reacted to her in a way he'd never experienced.

  That intrigued him, almost as much as the woman herself did. He'd never had any trouble responding to a woman; he was a healthy Leo male in his prime, after all, a future Felix of his pride. But his response to Kitty went beyond the ordinary. He'd known her for half a day, and he'd already decided to have her. She didn't know it yet, but the sweet, stubborn girl with the slow southern accent was going to be his. Soon.

  Martin, he knew, would be delighted, but that meant little more to him than the knowledge that the rest of the pride would be horrified. Max's intentions had nothing to do with any of them, especially since he wasn't completely sure how far beyond the initial possession those intentions went.

  Oh, he knew one fuck wasn't going to satisfy him, not this time, but he couldn't decide how long it would take, or if this could end up being more than sex. There was no way of knowing this soon if the attraction between them could turn into a mating, not unless the Fates had a truly remarkable sense of timing, but wherever this took him, he intended to take Kitty along.

  His mouth curved as he considered whether or not she deserved a warning. He had a feeling this might turn out to be a bumpy ride, but he also had a feeling that Ms. Sugarman was more than up to the challenge.

  He was still grinning a few minutes later when he reached for his phone. He still had some work he needed to finish before he could take Kitty out to meet her father as he'd promised, and he couldn't be sure she wouldn't get restless waiting for him. Just in case she took it into her head to explore the city a little while she waited, he should arrange for someone to tag along with her. He felt pretty confident that the incident at the airport last night had been a random mugging, but with the recent tension in the pride over idiots like Billy Shepard and Peter Lowe grumbling over the line of succession, it couldn't hurt to be cautious.

  Mentally, he sorted through the pride until he hit on a particular name. Ronnie Peters was about Kitty's age had a warm, fun-loving personality, and could kick the crap out of most men twice her size. She and Kitty would probably get along like gangbusters.

  Glancing at the clock, he paused. It was still early, but better to make the arrangements ahead of time. If his visitor ended up sleeping late, so be it, but if her night had been anything like his, lingering in bed alone would b
e the last thing in Kitty Sugarman's tempting little mind.

  FOR MOST OF THE NIGHT, THE BEST SLEEP KITTY COULD manage was a light doze, and she gave up entirely when the gray sky began shifting to shades of pink, yellow, and orange. She couldn't stand to lie there for a minute longer, and she didn't think standing would do her any good, either. Not if it meant standing still. She had restless energy to burn. A walk would help. Her grandmother would have been the first to recommend it.

  Kitty took a quick shower and pulled on a fresh T-shirt and the jeans she'd worn last night. The outfit was just as casual as the one she'd had on yesterday, and it did nothing to make her more comfortable in her luxurious surroundings—never in her life had she seen more complex controls for something as simple as running water!—but her first priority had just become getting out of those surroundings, so she didn't suppose it mattered.

  When she slipped on her sandals, she spent a minute mourning the loss of her tennis shoes at the airport yesterday. But that was just another reason to get out of the hotel, she told herself. She'd find out if there was a mall or a shopping center within walking distance, pick up some new ones, and take her first look around Las Vegas while she was at it.

  Remembering a certain look in Max's eyes last night, she quickly added a replacement bra to her shopping list. She could have gone without for a couple of days, but after last night, discretion seemed like the entire part of valor.

  When she stepped out of the elevator and into the richly decorated lobby, she found it just as busy as it had been last night when she'd arrived. Instinctively, she checked her watch. Six twenty-one, A.M. She hadn't mistaken that. And since a good portion of those milling about wore evening clothes, she suspected people kept different hours in this city than what she was used to.

  She made her way to the concierge desk she'd noticed last night and waited patiently for the two women in front of her to get a restaurant recommendation before she stepped forward and smiled. "Hi."

  "Good morning, miss." A young man with dark hair, golden skin, and exotically tilted eyes returned her smile. "How can I assist you today?"

  "Well, I'm planning on doing some sightseeing this morning, so I hoped you might point me in the right direction to stroll, but I also wondered if there was a shopping center nearby?"

  The concierge blinked. "The closest place for shopping is the Savannah's Market Bazaar." He pulled out a glossy tri-fold brochure with a partial map of the hotel and used a pen to draw her a path. "You can take the casino elevators at the far end of the lobby. The floor button is clearly marked. We have more than seventy-five retailers at the Bazaar, offering everything from clothing to books and DVDs to art and home decor."

  Kitty glanced to the side of the map at the list of stores. Coach … Prada … Jimmy Choo … Lucky… Vera Wang… Carrier… Tiffany. She fought not to choke on her tongue. She wanted to buy tennis shoes, not mortgage her first three children.

  "Thanks," she managed, sounding only a little hoarse, "but what about outside the hotel? I thought it might do me good to get some fresh air while I scout for souvenirs."

  The young man nodded. "Of course. The Savannah is in a great location. Las Vegas Boulevard, 'the Strip,' is right outside those doors. We're nearly surrounded by shops and restaurants, and most of the larger hotels have their own shopping centers with a variety of different retailers."

  Kitty smiled. That sounded marginally cheap—er, better. "Thanks. I don't suppose you have another one of those maps back there? One that shows the hotel and the surrounding streets? Just in case I get myself all turned around."

  He pulled out another piece of paper—no gloss this time—and picked up his pen. "Are you staying with us this evening?"

  "Yes, why?"

  "Oh, I just wanted to let you know that if you don't feel like carrying around an armload of shopping bags while you explore the city, you can tell any of the stores around here that you're our guest. Just leave them your name and they'll have the bags sent over." He handed her the map with the hotel neatly circled. "When you get back, the bags will be waiting in your room."

  Kitty just nodded, smiled again, and headed for the doors. "I think I can manage a box of tennis shoes."

  The day she couldn't carry her own shopping bags because she'd bought too much to manage would be the day they had a three-for-one sale on full-volume sets of the Oxford English Dictionary. And that would be a few days after she'd won the lottery.

  Tucking the map into her pocket, she decided to wing it and was approaching the hotel's main entrance when a light touch to her elbow stopped her. Looking up, Kitty saw a woman a couple of years older than she was smiling at her from a pair of warm, brown eyes.

  "I'm sorry, I hope this isn't rude or creepy, but you wouldn't happen to be Kitty Sugarman, would you?"

  Kitty did a double take. This was her first visit to Vegas, and even back home the only people who recognized her in public were the ones who had known her since she'd been in diapers. So how was it that everyone she'd met in Nevada so far—both of them—had known who she was before she so much as looked in their direction?

  "Um, excuse me?" she stalled.

  "Shoot, it is creepy," the blonde sighed, then flashed her another friendly smile. "I swear I'm not a nut. At least, no more than the average Leo. My name is Veronica Peters, but if you have any mercy in your soul, you'll call me Ronnie." When Kitty just continued to blink at her, she extended her hand. "I'm a member of the Red Rock Pride. Max asked me to stop by the hotel this morning and see if you had everything you needed."

  The Red Rock Pride. Her father's people. The ones he'd thought dangerous enough to her that he'd let her go through her entire childhood ignorant of his very existence.

  It took a big dose of good southern manners for Kitty to force herself to shake the offered hand. "I'm fine, thanks."

  "Good."

  Ronnie's tone sounded so warm and her face looked so open and friendly that Kitty found herself struggling not to smile back.

  "It looks like I just caught you on your way out," the blonde said. "You're an early riser. Did you have big plans, or were you going to play tourist for a while?"

  "Tourist."

  "Fab! It's a great day for it. Not too hot. How about if I tag along and show you around? Max mentioned this was your first trip to Vegas, so you don't want to be missing any of the mandatory sights."

  Kitty opened her mouth to dismiss the offer but found that the words refused to come. Whether because of manners or something else entirely, she found the other woman impossible to say no to.

  "I was just going to buy a new pair of tennis shoes," Kitty answered instead. "Mine got ruined yesterday."

  "Oh, that's a cinch." Ronnie grinned. "There's a great little store on Harmon I can show you. Good selection and not priced for the tourists, which means it's affordable. But it's still early, and I'm starving. Have you eaten yet? I know a place with great omelets. Come on. We can walk. That is, if you don't mind walking."

  Walking was better than continuing to stand in the lobby and look like an idiot, so Kitty gave a mental shrug and followed Ronnie into the bright morning sunshine. After all, it was broad daylight and they were walking through a city crawling with people. She'd be perfectly safe. And maybe she'd stay distracted enough to keep her mind off of Max Stuart.

  "I can't believe you've never been to Vegas before," Ronnie chattered, turning her head to smile at Kitty as they walked across the Savannah's entrance drive and set out along the sidewalk down Las Vegas Boulevard. "Don't tell me you're an Atlantic City girl."

  Kitty shook her head. "I haven't ever been there, either. I'm not really the gambling type."

  "Well, then you'll fit in like a native. Most of us have spent long enough working for the casinos that we've lost the urge to play against them. That old saying about the house always winning is right on-target."

  "I'm not surprised." And she wasn't. Even if she'd been naive enough to believe anything else, one evening in the prese
nce of Max Stuart had been enough to demonstrate that he was not a man who would take well to losing. At anything. If he ran the Savannah's casinos, she imagined they turned a tidy profit.

  She and Ronnie walked along through the crowds of tourists, who Kitty figured didn't look any more touristy than she did. She might not be wearing a Hawaiian shirt or a fanny pack, but she couldn't stop her eyes from widening at the sights around her or her head from craning to take in as much of the view as she possibly could.

  She'd never seen a city as… electric as Las Vegas; and since it happened to be bright daylight out, that observation had very little to do with the neon lights that usually decorated every available wall of the Strip. It had the kind of pulsing energy she'd never felt before, not in Atlanta, not in New York, and certainly not in Knoxville or Chattanooga. It washed over her in a low-level hum that she didn't so much hear as she felt, ghosting along her skin.

  Briskly, she rubbed her hands along her arms as if she could scrub the sensation away. She already had enough new sensory perceptions to adjust to, thank you very much.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Ronnie watching her. The other woman's laughing brown eyes seemed to be inspecting Kitty thoroughly, the tilt of her head friendly but curious. When Kitty glanced over, her companion smiled.

  "So, where are you from, anyway?" Ronnie asked. "Max never bothered to tell me. From your accent, I'm guessing… Minneapolis?"

  Kitty smiled. "St. Paul, actually, but you were close." They both laughed. "I grew up in a tiny little town you've never heard of in southeastern Tennessee. The closest place you'd likely recognize is probably Chattanooga."

  Ronnie nodded. "I've never been east of Chicago, but I didn't flunk out of the sixth grade, either. That would be in the Smoky Mountains, right?"

  "In the foothills, anyway. The real Smokies straddle the Tennessee-North Carolina line, and that's still a bit east of the farm."