by Michele Hauf
Ten minutes later, she hung up and released a heavy sigh, but she couldn’t escape her uneasiness. Emma’s mother had left Las Vegas three years ago after Emma had bailed her out of another bad debt. The goal had been to remove her mom from temptation. So far, it had worked, but Emma never felt as if she could let down her guard.
With her salary, Emma could be living in a luxurious condominium if she chose. Instead she always felt as if she needed to save it all away just in case her mother faltered again.
At times her worry had consumed her—she’d only found relief in work or the classes she took. Lately, however, she’d found herself craving something more. Not gambling, thank goodness, but perhaps friendship or companionship. She’d shied away from close relationships partly because of her shame over her mother’s problems, but it had been three years since her mother’s last gambling incident. Maybe she should try going out. Emma pictured herself hitting the club scene and cringed. Doing laundry or charity work would be easier and more productive.
Despite the fact that she was aware of every move Damien made during the next week, Emma kept her professional facade firmly in place. Inside, she was insatiably curious. His scar fascinated her. She wondered how he’d gotten it. She wondered where he got those calluses on his hands.
There was a ruthless, dangerous streak about him that intrigued her. He was clearly a predatory male—there must be a woman or women in his life. His sexuality was too strong for him to be a monk.
Exhausted by the time she arrived home at the end of the week, she went to bed early only to dream of him. In a steamy vision, he held her with his dark gaze, then took her into his arms. Her heart hammered against her chest and she knew she should pull back, but she couldn’t find the energy or the will.
Suddenly his bare chest was against hers, his tanned skin gleaming in the moonlight. Her breasts grew heavy with arousal. Restlessness hummed in her blood. She arched against him, wanting more, wanting that firm mouth of his on hers. Standing on tiptoe, she opened her mouth as he dipped closer to her. Closer, closer…Anticipation vibrated through her. Almost…
The image turned black.
He disappeared.
Like magic, one second he was there, the next gone. Frustration coursed through her. Where had he gone? Why—
She made a muffled sound of dissatisfaction and was suddenly aware of her rapid breaths and the sheet twisted at her waist. Her eyelids fluttered and she opened her eyes to the semidarkness of her room and the whir of the ceiling fan overhead. Her body was hot, aroused, ready.
Emma covered her head with her hand and groaned. “Oh, no.” It was bad enough that she couldn’t stop being aware of Damien every second she was in the office. Now he was invading her dreams. She was going to have to do something drastic. She was going to have to take Mallory Megalos up on her offer to set Emma up on a blind date. Emma needed a distraction. A male one.
3
A rare rainstorm hit the Las Vegas area as Damien left the MD parking lot in his Ferrari. The car was one of his indulgences and the only times he didn’t drive it were during a hailstorm or in snow. About a mile from the office, he braked at a stoplight and caught sight of a stranded motorist on the side of the road.
Taking a second look, he realized the person wearing the bright yellow rain slicker looking beneath the hood of the subcompact was his assistant, Emma. Checking his rearview mirrors, he motioned for the driver in the next lane to let him pass. Moments later, he pulled into the parking lot and lowered his window.
“Need some help?” he asked.
Emma whipped her head around to gape at him. “Damien?”
“Yes. Do you need some help?” he repeated.
Her eyes wide with surprise, she shook her head. “No, I can handle it. I was just seeing if it was something obvious like a loose battery cable or something.”
“And?” he prompted.
“And it looks like I’m going to have to call the car service. They guarantee to arrive in an hour, so I’ll just wait in the car. Thanks, though.”
“How were you planning to get home?” he asked. She paused, then smiled. “Didn’t think of that.”
“I’ll call my service and you can ride with me. Slide in,” he said, unlocking the passenger door and pushing it open.
Emma hesitated, looking at the door with what appeared to be trepidation in her eyes. He wondered what could be going through her brain.
“Come on,” he said. “You’re just getting wetter.”
“Okay,” she said and he called his car service as she slammed her hood shut. He hung up just as she scooted into the leather seat. “Yikes, now I’m getting your seat wet.”
“It’ll dry,” he said with a shrug and noticed her gaze lingering on his shoulders. She quickly glanced away, but he couldn’t prevent a quick surge of pleasure at her admiration, although he suspected it was reluctant. She’d seemed remote to the point of skittishness this week. He’d thought it was due to her antipathy at his role in cutting jobs at MD. Now he wasn’t so sure.
Her cell phone rang, interrupting the silence. She grabbed it from her bag and winced. “Oh, no.” She pressed the call button. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I got stranded with car problems. May I reschedule?” She paused. “As late as possible,” she said. “Next Wednesday at six-thirty, thank you so much.”
“You sure I can’t get you there tonight?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. It’s a gift certificate for a birthday present I never used. Hair, makeup, a makeover kind of thing. I decided I should finally take the plunge.”
“Why? You look beautiful,” he said.
Her cheeks flared with color. “Thank you. I just thought it was time for a change. You and I talked about how we don’t have much of a social life, so I decided maybe I should try to get one. A social life,” she clarified. “But don’t worry. I won’t let it interfere with my job.”
“I’m sure it won’t,” he said. “Is Brad finally going to get a break?”
Emma shook her head. “No, but Mallory Megalos has been trying to set me up for ages. I may regret it. We’ll see,” she muttered and looked out the window. “Oh, look. The car service is already here.”
“Do you have a garage you regularly use?” he asked, pushing open the driver’s-side door.
“You don’t have to go out there. You’ll just get wet,” she protested.
“I’ve been in worse situations. Give me your keys and stay where you are. I’ll handle this. What is the name of your garage?”
She oozed reluctance, but he felt a spurt of victory when he saw her cave. “Ray’s Auto Service.”
Emma sat in the car, stewing over her predicament. If her goal was to stay as far away from Damien as possible and to squelch her hyperawareness of him, she’d just lost what little progress she’d made over the last week.
Everything about him felt sexy and forbidden to her, and sitting so close to him in the car just made it worse.
He ducked inside the car and slid his fingers through his damp, dark hair. Droplets of water clung to his high cheekbones. She knitted her fingers together to keep from reaching to wipe the water from his tanned cheeks. Mere inches from him, she couldn’t help staring at the sensual shape of his mouth.
She took a deep breath to clear her head and instead inhaled the combination of leather, rain and just a hint of his cologne.
He turned to meet her gaze. “It’s all taken care of. You should get a call from the garage tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking another deep breath in an effort to curb her frustration.
“Have you had dinner?” he asked.
“No, but—”
“I haven’t either. Would you like to grab a bite?”
She bit her lip. “That’s not necessary. You’ve already done enough.”
“We may as well eat,” he said. “Unless you had other plans.”
“No,” she said reluctantly.
“Okay. Do you li
ke seafood?”
“Love it,” she confessed.
His mouth turned upward into a sexy smile that made her stomach dip. “Good. I do, too.”
He drove to one of the most exclusive restaurants in Vegas and pulled his car to the valet at the entrance. Three young men stepped toward the car, appearing to salivate at the chance to drive the vehicle. One opened the door for her. “Welcome, miss,” he said.
Rising from the car, Damien nodded toward the young man who had greeted Emma. “You,” he said and tucked a large bill in the man’s hand along with his key. “The name is Medici. Treat her nicely,” he said.
The young man smiled and handed Damien a valet parking ticket. “Like a baby.”
Damien stepped beside Emma and escorted her through the door. “How did you decide which one should take your car?”
“Easy,” he said. “The one with the best manners. He helped you out of the car.”
The maître d’ took her coat and handed it off to an assistant hostess.
“Hmm,” she said, impressed. “I feel a little under-dressed,” she said. “When you said a bite to eat, I didn’t expect this.”
“You don’t like it?” he asked.
“I didn’t say that,” she said, glancing around at the chic, sophisticated décor and the chic, sophisticated clientele. “I’ve never been here.”
“And you live in Vegas?” he said in surprise. “Even I knew about this place and I’m new to town.”
She shook her head, but couldn’t help smiling. “You forget. I pack my lunch.”
“Ah, well, not tonight,” he said. Seconds later, they were guided to a table for two next to a window with a view of a fountain.
“This is lovely,” she said. “I feel guilty.”
“Don’t. It will be nice for me to look at something besides reports while I eat dinner at my desk.”
“I don’t think you would have a difficult time finding someone to fill this chair,” she said.
“But they wouldn’t fill it like you do,” he said, then glanced at the wine list. “White or red?”
“Either,” she said, still hanging on his comment about how she filled the chair. What did he mean by that? “Whatever you prefer.”
“What do you prefer?” he asked, meeting her gaze across the candlelit table.
“White,” she said.
“Good,” he said, and the candlelight glinted off his scar. Although she didn’t want to stare, the jagged line captured her attention and curiosity. She caught his quick glance and tried to look away.
The waiter arrived and she forced herself to look at the menu. After they placed their orders and the waiter returned with their wine, Damien lifted his glass to her. “To a rare rainstorm, car trouble and a mutual appreciation for seafood.”
She smiled and nodded, lifting her glass to clink against his. “Here, here,” she said softly and swallowed a sip of the fragrant Pinot Grigio. “Very good.”
“Yes,” he said as she took another sip. “I noticed you staring at my scar.”
The wine caught in her throat and she coughed. She cleared her throat several times, wishing he hadn’t seen her looking at him so intently. “I’m sorry,” she finally managed. “That was rude.”
“No, it wasn’t,” he said. “Natural curiosity.”
She couldn’t think of a good response, so she said nothing and didn’t attempt to push any more wine through her tight throat.
“You wonder how it happened, don’t you?”
She sucked in a quick breath. “It’s none of my business.”
One side of his mouth lifted in a cryptic smile. “But you still want to know. How do you think I got the scar?”
She blinked at his question. How in the world should she know? But she had imagined. She’d visualized several scenarios. Dare she share them?
“Your mind is turning a mile a minute,” he said, far too accurately. “Go ahead, tell me how you thought I got the scar.”
Emma closed her eyes for a second, then for some wild, unreasonable reason, she decided to play along. “You were in a bar fight and a drunk went after you with a broken bottle.”
He cocked his head to one side and lifted his wine-glass for a sip. “Who won the fight?”
“You, of course,” she said. “Or, you were a pirate on a ship and someone cut you with a sword.”
He chuckled. “I like that one. How did I get off the ship?”
She shrugged. “You swung on some ropes and swam ashore. I loved Johnny Depp in his pirate movies.”
He nodded. “Any other scenarios?”
“You faced a shady guy in an alley outside a nightclub. He went after you with a switchblade because you’d stolen his girlfriend.”
“Interesting,” he said. “How come I wasn’t the shady guy?”
“Well, in a way you were because you stole his girlfriend,” she said.
He lifted a dark eyebrow. “You think I’m shady?”
She winced, realizing she’d gone too far. “This was all supposition. Crazy scenarios.”
He nodded and took another sip. “Your first scenario was closest. I got into a fight with one of my foster fathers. He was beating my foster mother. I was thirteen. I had my fists. He had a beer bottle. My foster mother stayed. I was reassigned.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling the weight of that moment on her chest. “That’s horrible.”
He shrugged. “I survived my childhood. Not everyone does.”
Emma couldn’t help wondering what other scars he carried as a result of his upbringing. His effort to protect his foster mother had been heroic, but it hadn’t been rewarded.
“Now I’ve frightened you,” he said.
“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “The thought of you going through that as a young man,” she said, taking a quick breath. “It hurts.”
“You have a tender heart. Your mother must have loved you well.”
“She did the best she could,” Emma said.
He wrinkled his brow slightly as he studied her and she felt compelled to explain. “You know how some people have a drinking problem?” she asked and he nodded. “She had…has a gambling problem.”
He gave a slow nod. “That must have been tough.”
“It was. Sometimes, it still is. But she doesn’t live in Vegas anymore, so that’s a good start.” Emma felt uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny. “Enough of that. Where did you live before you came here? How are you dealing with our lack of humidity?”
“I had a long-term assignment in Minnesota, so I find this a nice change. I build houses for charity,” he said.
“Really?” she said. “I’d wondered where you got those calluses on your hands.”
“You noticed,” he said, his dark eyes glinting with sensuality again.
Her breath stopped somewhere in her chest. “Yes, I guess I did,” she reluctantly admitted.
“With my job, I strip away the excess. To balance that, I help build up. The combination keeps me stay balanced.”
She was caught off guard that he would feel the need to build anything. Ruthlessness seemed to come so easily to him.
“Your face is so easy to read. You look surprised.”
Irritated that he seemed to have the ability to read her thoughts, she frowned, blurting out her thoughts. “Yes, I’m surprised. I thought you were a descendant of one of those pirates we were discussing a moment ago. I wouldn’t have thought someone who cuts the livelihood of dozens of people without batting an eye would be interested in any kind of charity.” She was horrified that he provoked her so easily. “I can’t believe I just said that to my boss.”
Damien gave a low chuckle. “I was told you’re discreet and respectful. Is this how you talked with your previous bosses?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m extremely discreet. Ask Alex Megalos or Max De Luca. And I’ve always been respectful. It’s you,” she said. “You bring it out in me. This is crazy. I shouldn’t be here. Perhaps I should
n’t be your assistant.” She rose to her feet because she couldn’t stand embarrassing herself further.
“Sit down,” he said. “Our dinner is on the way. There’s no need to waste a good meal just because you think I’m the kind of man to eat small children for breakfast.”
When she didn’t immediately comply, he lifted an eyebrow.
Sighing, she sank into her chair. “I wouldn’t have said small children.”
“Okay,” he said. “Pretty assistants who tell the truth.”
He’d just called her pretty. She felt a rush of pleasure. Heaven help her, this was crazy. She felt like a double agent. She’d prejudged Damien and he was scrambling her preconceptions of him. He was scrambling her hormones, too. She couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to kiss him, and more.
The waiter served plates with presentations of gourmet fish and vegetables.
“Tell me more about you,” he said. “You’ve made me curious.”
She felt a clench and swallowed. “No need to be curious. I’m boring. Really boring.”
“Favorite music,” he countered.
She shrugged. “Maroon 5. Fergie. Michael Bublé. Van Morrison. Delbert McClinton.”
“Van Morrison and Delbert McClinton,” he echoed. “They don’t fit.”
“They’re wonderful. They don’t need to fit,” she said, unable to squelch a smile.
He slowly lifted his lips in a return smile. “I like that.”
He said it as if he found her interesting, perhaps even alluring. The notion was as heady as three glasses of champagne, but Emma was determined not to sink further under his spell. Focus on the meal, she told herself. Not the man.
Two hours later, with the rainstorm at an end, Damien drove her home to her safe, modest apartment complex on the outskirts of town.
“Maintenance should repair that light,” Damien said as he pulled to a stop just outside her apartment.
“I’ll remind them tomorrow. Thank you for everything,” she said. “Rescuing me in the rain, dinner. Thank you.”
