Her scar sounded off, almost like it had an opinion of its own. A burning. A reminder.
A safeguard.
Even now, memories of that night she’d gotten the scar seared into her: I can make you talk, you bitch, so talk!
But the scar near her rib cage wasn’t the only one—it was the mental wounds that agonized the most.
“I’ve got an idea,” Isaiah said, pulling Kat out of the dark of her mind.
She blinked at him, holding tight to the broom handle. Dawn stretched over the nearby mountains, coming awake, shining more light on the man in front of her.
He wasn’t anything like the ones she’d known in the past. Then again, she would never know for sure until it was too late.
Isaiah went on. “How about I help you clean and get your place ready in exchange for a story from you?”
She shook her head.
“Not even one about the haunted miner’s shack or the miner gunfight that happened in the saloon?” he asked. “Or maybe you can tell me something about mobsters drinking here during the sixties?”
Her heartbeat was flittering. He’s getting too close, she thought. She couldn’t let him anywhere near her, even if it was just for tales about the town that she’d grudgingly—yet amicably—offered to other tourists.
But when she heard boot steps on the boardwalk, she knew Gideon Lane was approaching from his house down the road. Who better to have around than a professional freelance bodyguard who had the morning off?
“Okay,” Kat said. “You can come in, but you’ll get better stories if you chat with one of the old-timers who’ll mosey into the saloon during the day.”
Isaiah’s expression didn’t change. He actually seemed accepting and at ease with her difficult personality.
He dimpled at her, and she almost had to lean on the broomstick for balance.
“Glad to be let in, Kat,” he said.
As he backed away from the bars and picked up his laptop case, walking toward the saloon door, Kat’s blood danced lightly in her veins for the first time in years. It was the way he’d made the comment, thankfully, harmlessly.
Flirtingly.
She found herself smiling as she went into the saloon through the courtyard entrance, but she took great care to chase the expression away before she opened the main door, letting him in.
9
Liz was gone.
Ben sat on the hotel bed, fully dressed, his forearms on his thighs and his head in his hands. In his mind, he kept seeing Liz standing by the mattress, clutching that pillow to her until it shielded her body, the Rolex he’d given her shouting out that, at some point, he’d been ready to blow her off, just like so many other women he’d been with. Worst of all, her gaze had been like the bruises he’d stamped on her heart by the hugest of huge screwups.
Him.
There was no one to blame but Bennett Hughes for what’d happened because of his raging libido that all the men in his family seemed to inherit. Shit, he’d even pulled a Jameson, blacking out from partying and then forgetting that he’d married her, much less lost a bunch of money to her. Seemed he was more like Jameson than he’d first thought.
Yet wasn’t he like Dad, too? But at least his father stuck with the women he frequently fell for. At least he . . .
Married them all?
Yeah, it looked like Ben had recently inherited that trait, as well.
He sat up, wishing Liz hadn’t run out. He needed to apologize more. They needed to settle this whole Jameson thing, even if he had no idea how to handle the latest mess he’d made. But what had he expected—for her to hang around for some more mortification?
As he’d thrown on his clothes in the bathroom—a chance for him to get his scrambled thoughts in order—she’d obviously gotten dressed and sprinted out the door to who knows where. That meant he’d probably need to call a PI like Boomer to track her down for the annulment.
Was she going to fight him on it? Demand hush money? That didn’t seem like Liz, though—not after he’d seen how crushed she’d been this morning. Truly, vulnerably crushed. She’d even sounded as if she was trying to talk him into staying married or something, but that couldn’t be right. They barely knew each other, and even if he’d gotten carried away last night by telling her that he adored her and worshiped her, no sane person would base a marriage on sweet talk.
Thing was, now that Ben’s head was clearer, he recalled not only saying all those things to her—he’d meant every word.
At the time.
He just kept remembering how soft she’d been, how they’d moved together, how he’d looked into her eyes and thought, I’d do anything for you, before and after he’d come into her, feeling like a part of her. How he’d started to get bitter when he remembered that Jameson’s issues were standing in the way of this tiny bit of giddy happiness Ben had found with a woman like Liz, who’d seemed so different in those orgasmic moments. How he’d thought, Fuck ’em, and done something he shouldn’t have done—nor had ever done—with a woman.
Married. Dammit, he hadn’t taken part in a wedding out of love. It’d been the drunken disappointment and anger at his family coming to an extreme head, bringing out the rebel in him.
But now that sunlit reality was sneaking in through the hotel curtains, Ben’s yearning to be a part of the family that’d never wanted him reemerged.
If he’d started out as a train wreck, he was an apocalyptic mess now, fouling up Jameson’s scandal ten times worse than it’d already been. What was he going to even tell his brother?
Useless, he kept thinking. There’s no way you’re going to get out of this one. . . .
When his cell rang, he knew who’d be on the other end of the line. But he’d have to talk to Jameson at some point, even if Ben had no idea how he was going to go forward.
Well, it wasn’t as if he didn’t know how to lie.
Hating to resort to that again, he picked up the phone, anyway. As a Hughes, he’d also inherited the gene for self-preservation; might as well use it.
He stood, glancing at the digital clock on the nightstand and squeezing shut his eyes. Standing up had tapped his headache, and even a few glasses of water and an aspirin from his shaving bag hadn’t helped.
“It’s early here, Jameson,” he said as he answered.
“Not on the East Coast.” It sounded as if Jameson had been pacing the floor for hours already, counting down to the second he thought Ben would be up and about, like any other productive person. “You have anything for me?”
Yeah. That.
The pause didn’t go over too well. “Jesus, Ben, what’re you doing out there—banging every girl on the Strip on your way to Liz Palazzo? The longer you take with her, the more likely it’ll be that she’ll run out of my money and possibly find a gossip columnist to sell her story to. . . .”
Ben needed to buy time. “The situation is almost tied up. I’ll have more for you by the end of the day, so keep your jock on until then.”
Silence on the other end, then hope. “You’ve almost got it done?”
“Yeah.” He would take care of Liz—that was still a promise. He just didn’t know how.
Jameson went quiet, but when he spoke again, his tone was all gratitude. “You’re really pulling through for me. Ben, I’m never going to forget this, I swear. I wasn’t sleeping, I was barely eating, and I couldn’t hardly even function while thinking about my name splashed all over the papers. . . .” His voice was so relieved that Ben felt that much worse. “When are you coming back here, anyway? What I mean to say is . . . it’s been a very long time. You haven’t even met Dad’s new . . . well, our new mother.”
Now Ben was the one who was silent. Was Jameson inviting him to return to the nest? And did he intend to back up Ben in an effort to get him into their father’s respectful graces?
His chest thudded with warmth, something he hadn’t felt since the old days with his brother. Something he’d never felt with Dad at all, even though the lone h
ope that there was a possibility had never died.
Home, he thought. He could finally try to come home as a real part of the family. . . .
But as the situation with Liz crept up on Ben—Jameson was going to throttle him if he found out the truth—his stomach wrenched.
Jameson continued. “Think about it, all right? I have to go to a budget meeting, but I’ll talk to you later.”
“Sure.”
“And, Ben?” He could almost hear Jameson smiling. “Good work, brother.”
They both hung up their phones.
Ben glanced at the bed, where Liz’s pillow slumped, lonely and abandoned, and he sat down on the mattress again, wishing he knew where she’d gone.
***
Dragging because of his hangover and a sense of impending catastrophe, Ben cleaned up, checked out of the hotel, and drove his Audi back to Rough & Tumble, sick to his stomach the whole time. He didn’t even stop at Boomer’s house before walking into the saloon, hoping that Kat would be able to take a minute from dishing up breakfast to Gideon and whoever else had stopped by so she could lend an ear to his dilemma. She was the only woman he knew well enough to ask for advice, even if she generally hated giving it.
Pitiful. It’d taken something like this marriage fiasco to make him realize that nearly all the women he knew were either bedmates who’d gone on their happy ways or Liz, who’d left less than happy.
And that made Ben far unhappier than he’d ever been.
Kat was serving up her breakfast burritos, and Gideon wasn’t the only one in attendance. Some tall stranger who looked like a gym-honed, movie-star version of a tourist was sitting in Ben’s usual spot, down the way from Gideon, who had his narrowed gaze trained on the newcomer from under his Stetson. But maybe that was because Kat was smiling as she talked to the unidentified customer.
Kat was friendly to the female tourists, but when it came to men? Not really. Strange.
As soon as Kat saw Ben, she casually pushed back a hank of sandy, uneven hair from her face and stepped away from the man, who turned to Ben and assessed him with vivid, clear eyes that were warmed by his cocoa skin.
Kat went for a coffee mug and put it on the bar. “Look what crawled in from the Strip. You look like the volcano in front of the Mirage sucked you in, had its way with you, and spit you out.”
The stranger laughed, getting an obvious kick out of Kat. He couldn’t stop looking at her, either.
Ben slowly pulled his gaze away from the guy and walked to the stool near Gideon. “No coffee right now, Kat. Water sounds a lot better.”
Gideon spoke up in his cowboy drawl. “Frankly, I think the fellow needs a bunch of slimy worms dipped in bleu cheese and a shot of Jägermeister.”
Ben rested his elbows on the bar and covered his face with a hand. “Thanks a lot for that picture, quick-draw.”
“Hey, I’ll be here all week.” Gideon bit back a wry smile.
The stranger on the other side of Ben laughed, too, like he was comfortable and part of the crowd.
Kat was already moving toward the back room. “This ain’t the first hangover I’ve seen in this place. I’m getting you some Gatorade and scooping some eggs onto a plate, along with a big hunk of bread. You need electrolytes and toxin-mopping food.”
As she disappeared, the stranger watched her go. Who the hell was he, and why hadn’t Kat tossed him out for staring at her too much?
Gideon was inspecting Ben now. “Judging by the red of your eyes, you managed a doozy last night.”
“I threw down one of those slushie drinks from the Strip and then drank some cocktails that didn’t mix well. Never again.”
Gideon whistled low. “Some of those drinks have grain alcohol in them, buddy. No wonder you’re in bad shape.”
He’d always stuck to the top-shelf stuff, not moonshine. Lesson learned. Big-time.
When Kat came out with two sports drinks and a plate of food, he gulped down the beverages without stopping. He must’ve still looked rough, because everyone surveyed him as he started on those toxin-mopping eggs, too.
“Ben,” Kat said. “You’ve got something on your mind.”
“That’s right.” He gave the stranger next to him a side-glance, and the guy seemed to get the hint.
“Well,” he said to Kat, taking his laptop case off the bar and slinging the strap over his shoulder. “I’m off to record more scintillating details about the town. See you for lunch?”
Kat nodded and . . . for God’s sake, she was blushing under her freckles.
Ben knew better than to tease her about her obvious interest as the stranger gave her a smile that featured dimples and high-gear flirtation, and once he was out the door, Kat glared, daring Ben and Gideon to comment.
Neither man took her up on it.
Knocking on the bar in front of Ben, Kat stood there, waiting for him to tell her his business. Gideon concentrated on eating.
Ben couldn’t hold it in any longer. Gideon and Kat were secret-keepers, just as he was, at least when it came to Kat’s scar. Nobody in this room would breathe a word.
He set down his fork. He couldn’t stomach the food anyway, not when he kept thinking about Liz’s sad eyes and the sound of her broken voice as she’d bravely tried not to look like a jilted bride this morning.
“I’ve really done it this time.”
“You have?” Kat whipped her towel over her black-T-shirted shoulder. “What did you do now? Get naked, lock yourself on a hotel roof, and have to climb through an air vent to get back inside? And was it with a paparazzo you seduced, so now it’ll be on TMZ?”
Ben must’ve gone extremely pale, because Kat stopped jesting.
“What is it?” she asked, laying her hand on his.
Even Gideon had gone motionless, like he was on alert.
Ben shook his head, a cutting laugh coming out of him. “You know how I was supposed to fix my brother’s situation with Liz Palazzo? Let her know that she was in some trouble for stealing his money and then keep her quiet about it?”
Gideon finally commented. “You accidentally left her in the air vent.”
“Not quite.” Ben gestured to himself, sick to his stomach all over again. “Meet the man who married her.”
At first, neither Kat nor Gideon said anything. And why should they when Ben had just told them the biggest joke in existence?
Ben tried to lighten up the room, even if it was darker than hell. “Someone say it. ‘Wow, Ben, you were an idiot before. Congratulations on surpassing that and creating a new category of asshattery.’”
Still quiet, Kat dragged a stool over and slumped onto it. “You’re not pulling our legs?”
“I wish. Damn, my family has forgiven me for some pretty ill-advised maneuvers in the past—seducing a client’s wife at a mergers party when I was sixteen and didn’t know she was married . . . crashing my Ferrari during a race with friends down in Texas . . . but this is in a whole new universe of mucking up.”
After another beat, Kat said, “I don’t get it. Your dad has gotten married about fifty times, and he’d be pissed at you for this?”
“He might not be pissed, but he’ll sure have a good laugh at me and think amusement’s all I’m good for. It’s my brother who’ll have my hide. Jameson’s never going to trust me with anything again.”
“Because this whole mission was like a test for you, to see if you could manage it.”
“Partly.” There was also the fact that Jameson didn’t want to dip his toes into scandal, because that was Ben’s specialty. It was clearly the only thing he could do well.
Gideon drank some of his coffee, not saying a word.
Kat frowned. “Maybe you’d better tell us how this all went down.”
So he did, starting with Bordello, continuing with the evil drink of pure-grain hell and all the drinks that’d come afterward, and oh, yeah—the part where he’d had sex with Liz.
“You did what?” Kat asked, her baby-blue eyes even bigger.
Ben felt about two feet tall, then even smaller as he told the rest of the story: blacking out, getting married, waking up and revealing everything to Liz about who he was and why he was there before she’d lowered the marriage boom on him.
Gideon managed a comment. “What is it about this woman? Is her pussy powerful enough to make men black out so she can get what she wants outta them?”
“No.” Ben sighed. “She didn’t make me drink like a rookie, and she didn’t make Jameson go overboard, either. None of this is her fault. Besides, she was really hurt this morning, mostly because of the sex and lying parts.”
“No shit,” Kat said. “She might kick your ass harder than Jameson will.”
“She just might team up with Jameson on that.” Even while he said it, he remembered that it’d been the hurt that’d come out more than her anger.
Damn him.
Kat still looked floored. “I never thought you’d get married, Ben—not even while drunk. You fall in love all the time, but . . .”
“It’s not real love.” Ben had never seen it in action growing up, so he’d never learned it. As far as he was concerned, love was something that companies used to sell cards on Valentine’s Day or to create cheesy romance movies. He hadn’t inherited the love gene because nobody before him had it.
He pushed his plate away. “Hell, love didn’t have anything to do with this. I wanted to get back at Jameson and my father, and the alcohol only pushed me along. And when I think of it that way, I sound like an even bigger shitheel.”
Kat didn’t disagree. “The only saving grace is that Liz Palazzo was as drunk as you were, so neither of you can take this seriously.”
Ben shifted in his seat.
“What?” Kat said. “Did she go goo-goo for you?”
“I think she might’ve,” Ben said. “And that’s why I wanted your ear, Kat, you being a girl and all.”
She sighed, training her gaze across the room on the table near the potbellied stove. She had the same look in her eyes that she’d had yesterday, when he’d brought up Le Galion Bay. “Vegas. It’s full of people who come here and fall for each other after just one night. . . .” Then she sat up, as if she was chasing something out of her head.
Down and Dirty Page 11
