Make You Mine (19 page)

Once the hangar’s aluminum doors parted, Marc nearly swallowed his tongue. When he’d heard the words
private charter,
his imagination had conjured images of sleek ten-passenger jets—the kind celebrities and professional athletes hired to whisk them away to secluded islands. The aircraft that faced Marc from the shed looked more like a tin coffee can with wings, smaller than Beau’s SUV. Wasn’t this the kind of plane that had killed John Denver? And a couple of the Kennedys?

All the blood must have drained from Marc’s face, because Rick studied him and took a defensive tone. “I know what you’re thinking.”

I’m going to fall to my death, screaming like a schoolgirl at a Bieber concert
. That’s what Marc was thinking.

Rick smacked the side of his plane. “That it’s going to take forever to get there, considering how many times we’ll have to stop and refuel.”

“Nope, that’s the last thing on my mind.”

“Good, because my girl’s quicker than she looks. Not as fast as a jetliner, but I can have you in Sin City tonight if you don’t mind the close quarters.”

At that point, Marc had two choices: turn around and go home, or climb inside Rick’s paper airplane and risk death for a chance at knocking on door 123 and seeing Allie’s sweet face.

Marc extended his hand to shake. “You’ve got a deal.”

•   •   •

Allie was fairly certain she had glitter stuck to her tongue. She picked off a fleck and frowned at the offending sparkle. Unlike Devyn, she hadn’t licked any naked chests tonight, so how had it wound up inside her mouth? And more importantly, from which sweaty body in the club had it originated?

Never mind. She didn’t want to know the answer to either of those questions.

“Gross.” She wiped her finger on her jeans and took another swig of merlot in hopes that the alcohol would act as a sterilizing agent.

The other women experiencing the
Bare Booty Beefcake Review
whooped and hollered, waving dollar bills in the air in hopes of luring a young muscled dancer in their direction for a few minutes of awkward simulated sex.

But not Allie.

She didn’t appreciate half-naked men thrusting their junk in her face, no matter how toned and gorgeous the owners of that junk happened to be.

Sinking back into her chair, she avoided eye contact as a nearby “soldier” peeled off his shirt and flung it into the crowd. Experience had taught Allie the best way to go unnoticed in here was to stare into her lap. The one time she’d made the mistake of watching the show, a dancer had dropped to his knees in front of her chair and buried his face between her legs.

That just wasn’t right.

She snuck a peek at her watch to check the time, which seemed to be going backward. But as much as she longed to return to the hotel, she’d booked this trip as a reward for Devyn, who was currently onstage with both legs wrapped around a bouncing cowboy’s waist, screaming, “Yee-haw! Giddyup, stallion!” A second wrangler galloped up from behind and put Dev in the middle of a stripper sandwich, not that she seemed to mind. Reaching behind her, she snatched off the second man’s Stetson and placed it atop her head.

If the hickeys on Devyn’s neck were any indication, she was having the time of her life, and Allie wouldn’t be the wet blanket.

“Hey, pretty lady.” The soldier—or “Private Privates” according to the embroidery on his red, white, and blue thong—tugged on Allie’s wrist. He flashed his teeth and nodded toward the stage. “Consider yourself drafted”—his voice dripped with sexual innuendo—“for
service
.”

Oh, no. Allie wanted no part of this. She reclaimed her hand and massaged both temples. “Sorry. I’ve got a headache. Maybe next time.”

With a shrug, the private extended his hand to a willing volunteer at the next table, and Allie exhaled a sigh of relief. While the music blasted and women cheered, she sipped her wine, trying to make herself invisible. Finally the song ended and a flush-faced Devyn returned to the table.

Dev used an index finger to tip back her pilfered Stetson. “Okay, party pooper. Let’s go back to the hotel.”

“No,” Allie objected. “We can stay as long as you want. The firemen are up next. You haven’t ridden any of them yet.”

Devyn took a sip of her martini and glared at Allie. “I can’t have fun when you’re sitting down here looking like you’d rather get a colonoscopy than dance with a hot guy.”

“There’s dancing,” Allie pointed out, “and then there’s dry humping to loud music. The two are not mutually inclusive.”

“You say dry humping like it’s a bad thing.” Dev lifted her martini toward Private Privates. “He’s been checking you out all night. A rebound fling is just what you need.”

Allie wrinkled her nose. “Even if I were into him—which I’m not—I’ll bet he’s with a different woman every day of the week. Not everything that happens in Vegas stays in Vegas . . . like gonorrhea.”

What she didn’t say was that no man could replace Marc, and she wasn’t ready to try.

“You’re hopeless.” Dev grabbed her handbag and threw back the rest of her drink. “Let’s go. Maybe there’s a good chick flick on pay-per-view.”

“Now you’re speaking my language.” Maybe Allie would take a bubble bath, too. “And room service. I’m craving a cheeseburger.”

Dev wrapped an arm around Allie’s shoulders. “Anything for my favorite sister. I’ve even got a surprise for you.”

“What is it?”

“Duh, if I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

After a brief cab ride back to the Grand Palace Royale, Allie slipped her key card into the slot and walked inside their medieval-themed room, scanning it for a basket of chocolate or a tray of cupcakes. But nothing looked different aside from the beds being turned down.

Allie gave her sister a questioning glance.

“Pack your things,” Devyn said with a smile. “Because I called the front desk this morning and got us upgraded to a deluxe suite—two bedrooms, a free minibar, and a hot tub so big we can swim in it. Surprise!”

“No way.”

“Way. There’s even a TV attached to the hot tub, so we can watch chick flicks in our bikinis while we sip champagne and soak away our cares.”

Squealing, Allie threw both arms around her sister. “This is just what I needed. You’re the best!”

“Damn right, I am,” Dev agreed. “If we’re going to act like homebodies, we might as well do it in style. Seventeenth floor, here we come!”

•   •   •

By the time Marc’s plane landed in Nevada, he didn’t want to simply kiss the ground—he wanted to give it Allie’s ring and make passionate love to it.

He unclenched ten white-knuckled fingers from his knees and drew a deep breath to loosen the vise around his chest, but he couldn’t quite manage to unclench his jaw. Lord, if he never flew in a froghopper again, it would be too damned soon.

Rick slapped him on the back. “Told you I’d have you in Sin City tonight.”

With twelve o’clock rapidly approaching,
tonight
was a stretch. By the time Marc called a taxi and drove to the hotel, it would be morning, but not morning enough to knock on Allie’s door. He would’ve been better off getting a decent night’s sleep and flying out at dawn.

“Want to share a cab into town?” Rick asked. “I need to rest up before I head back. Maybe I’ll catch a show and hit the craps tables, too.”

Marc agreed, and after helping Rick stow the plane in a rented hangar, the two men rode together to the city. They chatted the whole way, and Marc shared the reason for his visit.

“A Dumont getting hitched?” Rick asked, smoothing his beard. “There’s something you don’t see every day.”

“I’ll leave here a married man or die trying,” Marc promised.

“Good luck to you, son.” When they reached the Grand Palace Royale, Rick wrote his cell phone number on the back of a business card and handed it over. “I imagine you’ll want to fly back with your bride on a commercial jet, but call me if you change your mind.”

Marc pocketed the business card, but knew he wouldn’t need it. Then he thanked Rick and waved good-bye as the cab shuttled the man to a less extravagant destination.

At the front desk, Marc’s credit card took a beating, but he gladly plunked down the money for a deluxe suite with the honeymoon package, then hurried to his room on the seventeenth floor to freshen up. He didn’t care if it was two in the morning. If he waited any longer to apologize to Allie, his head might explode.

Looking as dapper as possible in his sleep-deprived, travel-weary state, he took the elevator to the first floor and approached room 123. Then he knocked on the door, arming himself with a repentant grin and a single rose he’d borrowed from a floral arrangement in the lobby.

When the door swung open, Marc’s smile fell.

“Yeah?” A chiseled young man stood there, looking like he’d stepped off a J.Crew billboard. He was naked with nothing but a sheet wrapped around his waist. He rubbed his eyes and scanned Marc’s tuxedo. “We didn’t order anything.”

Marc’s face heated while raw jealousy surged through his veins. In the span of two seconds, he couldn’t hear his own thoughts over the pounding pulse in his ears. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

The man drew back. “Who the hell are
you
?”

“Where’s Allie?”

“Who?”

“My fiancée, that’s who!”

A classic
oh, shit!
expression passed over the guy’s features as he darted a glance into the room. “She told me her name was Mandy. And she didn’t say anything about having a fiancé.”

Marc pointed into the darkness. “Just put on your clothes and get lost. I’ll take it from here.”

The guy propped one hand on the doorframe, blocking the way. “Listen, buddy, I can sympathize, but it’s obvious she doesn’t want to be with you. Why don’t you quit embarrassing yourself and go drink it off or something?”

Drink it off? Who did this punk think he was?

“Drink
this
off, you son of a bitch!” Marc dropped his rose and pushed up both jacket sleeves, gearing up to knock this cocky bastard into next week.

Too bad sheer exhaustion had slowed his reflexes. The last thing Marc saw before losing consciousness was a ham-sized fist connecting with his face.

When Marc came to, he was flat on his back in the hallway with a curly-haired blonde kneeling over him. She wore a fluffy white bathrobe and a worried expression.

“I don’t know this guy,” the woman said to someone standing behind her.

“Well, he said you’re his fiancée,” came a man’s response.

“I don’t care what he said.” The woman tightened her robe’s belt tie and frowned at the man. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

Marc pushed to his elbows, groaning when the slight change in altitude made his head throb. One of his eyelids had begun to swell shut, so he turned the good one toward the couple staring at him.

They were strangers.

Understanding dawned, bringing with it sweet relief. Allie hadn’t moved on with another man. Marc sniffed a dry laugh at his own stupidity—and that of Beau’s hacker.

“Sorry,” he said in a voice roughened by the fall. “I had the wrong room.”

The woman smiled triumphantly at her partner. “See? Told you.”

Cringing, the man inspected his knuckles. “Guess I should have just closed the door and called security instead of whaling on you like that. Sorry, man.”

“No hard feelings.” Marc wasn’t a stranger to black eyes and busted lips. “I’m glad you didn’t call security. I can’t afford to get kicked out of here.” At least not until he found Allie and won her forgiveness; then the hotel staff was free to toss him into the street. He pushed himself up to a sitting position while the hallway spun around him.

“Whoa, there.” The man steadied Marc’s shoulder. “Take it easy before you pass out again.”

“How long was I unconscious?”

“Not long—a few seconds, tops. I think you hit your head when you fell.”

That explained the pounding at the back of his skull. Marc closed his eyes, but that made the spinning worse. “I’m fine. I need to get back to my room.”

“Let me get dressed and I’ll help you,” the man said. “It’s the least I can do, since I kicked your ass, and all.”

Laughing, Marc agreed, and they slogged arm in arm to the seventeenth floor. Once inside his suite, the guy helped Marc to the king-sized bed before returning downstairs.

While Marc iced the back of his head, he considered his next move.

He could call Beau and ask his hacker friend to give it another whirl, but that didn’t seem worth the effort since the original information had been wrong anyway. At this hour, it didn’t seem wise to walk through the bars or casinos looking for Allie. She’d almost certainly be asleep, especially considering the schedule she kept at the bakery—early to bed, early to rise.

His gaze darted to the bedside phone. Maybe he should try calling the front desk. Could the solution be that easy?

Marc dialed the check-in station and waited for an answer before asking, “Can you connect me with Allie Mauvais’s room?”

“Just one moment,” came the reply. “I’m sorry. That room has issued a DND request.”

“DND?”

“Do not disturb.”

Marc uttered a curse under his breath. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. He decided not to leave a message. Allie wouldn’t return his call, not after the way he’d behaved at the cemetery.

Back to the drawing board.

After a few minutes of brainstorming, he decided to wait until six in the morning, then grab some coffee and sit in the lobby to watch for her. All the elevators in the complex emptied into the lobby, so sooner or later she’d have to cross his path. It wasn’t the best idea, but he couldn’t come up with anything better. Tossing his impromptu cold pack into the ice bucket, he reclined on the bed to rest his eyes for a few moments.

•   •   •

When Marc opened his eyes again, sunlight streamed through his windows so brightly he cringed and raised a hand to block the assault. The thick haze of slumber began to clear, and he bolted upright in panic.

Oh, shit! How long had he slept?

His head ratcheted toward the alarm clock, where a red digital display told him it was almost noon—a full six hours later than he’d planned to camp out in the lobby.

“Son of a bitch.”

Marc sank against his pillow while mentally smacking himself. He should have played it safe and set the alarm. Allie could be anywhere by now, maybe even off the resort.

So much for that idea.

Still cursing his own name, he sprung out of bed. Marc didn’t have a plan, but since he wouldn’t find Allie in his suite, he freshened up and headed downstairs to explore the resort. His head didn’t hurt anymore, so at least one thing had worked in his favor today.

He began his search at the indoor restaurants and gift shops, then scoped out the casinos and swimming pools. He struck out everywhere. By the time he reached the athletic complex, he began to lose hope of ever tracking her down in this mini-metropolis. What if she’d taken a tour of the Hoover Dam? Or gone shopping on the strip? The possibilities were endless.

Marc plopped down on a lobby sofa and cradled his head in both hands. Why was the universe making this so difficult? Hadn’t he demonstrated enough faith to prove that he deserved another chance with Allie? He expelled a frustrated breath and glance down at his feet.

That’s when he noticed that Rick’s business card had fallen from his pocket. There on the pristine marble tile, a cartoon nutria grinned up at Marc and gave him an idea.

A crazy idea. An utterly ridiculous idea.

But the more he thought about it, the more he found himself smiling. If
this
didn’t get Allie back in his arms before her vacation ended, nothing would.

•   •   •

Allie yawned and stretched, blinking awake gradually to the hum of an air conditioner instead of the screeching of an alarm clock. It was a nice change. The sun was visible as a faint halo of light along the edges of her room-darkening shades. She lifted her head only enough to check the clock, then lay down again, smiling. The last time she’d slept until noon was the summer vacation before senior year.

I could get used to this
, she thought.
Wonder if Devyn’s up
.

She sniffed the air and noticed a light aroma of roasted coffee beans mingled with something sweet—pancakes or waffles. Allie rolled out of bed, tugged down her polka-dot nightgown, and shuffled into the living area, where last night’s room service tray had been replaced by a cart bearing fresh fruit, whipped cream, and a stack of Belgian waffles.

“Nice spread,” Allie said to her sister, who lounged by the window, sipping coffee.

Devyn lifted her mug. “Good afternoon, Sleeping Beauty. It’s about time you graced the world with your presence.”

“Don’t blame me,” Allie said. “Someone kept me up until the wee hours of the morning watching
Under the Tuscan Sun
.”

Dev sighed dreamily and pressed a hand to her chest. “I love that movie. I think our next vacation should be to Italy.”

“Then start saving your pennies.” Allie snuck a peek at the room service invoice. Ouch. “For as much as they cost, these waffles had better make me see God.”

Dev pointed at the cart. “Use an extra dollop of that sweet cream and you’ll hear angels, too.”

While Allie scarfed down a plate of fruit-topped waffles—which really were worth every penny—Devyn fanned out an assortment of tourist pamphlets.

“It’s our last full day of vacation,” Devyn said. “What should we do?”

Scanning the brochures, it became clear their options were infinite. They could go horseback riding, catch an auto race, visit the aquarium, take a helicopter tour of the Grand Canyon, sign up for a rock ’n’ roll fantasy camp, or even go skydiving.

“It’s overwhelming,” Allie said around a bite of waffle. “Just looking at all this makes me want to go back to bed. I’m too tired for an adventure.”

“Then I take it ‘pole-dancing lessons’ are out of the question.” Dev tossed aside that particular pamphlet. After inspecting the options again, she asked, “Want to take it easy today? Maybe hang out by the pool and order froufrou drinks that come with tiny umbrellas?”

The suggestion appealed to Allie. Vacations were supposed to be relaxing, weren’t they? She didn’t want to spend her last day in Vegas working a pole or tumbling from an airplane. “I like it. Besides, I’ll bet time passes slower at the pool.”

“Then the pool it is,” Devyn declared. “Let’s get our bikinis on before we miss all the best rays.”

•   •   •

After donning their bathing suits, they bypassed the family pool—bursting at the seams with shrieking children and bouncing beach balls—and continued to the adults-only area, the one surrounded by tall, noise-canceling shrubs and offering a fully stocked bar. This was the best spot at the resort, and it showed. There were only two reclining lounge chairs left, which they quickly claimed.

Allie and her sister had barely finished spreading their towels onto the chairs when a waitress arrived to take their drink orders.

Devyn pointed to Allie. “Like Garth Brooks said, bring her two piña coladas—one for each hand. I’ll have a Tom Collins.”

The waitress hurried back toward the bar before Allie could correct her sister. “I don’t need two,” she chided. “You’ll have me soused by lunchtime.”

“It already
is
lunchtime, so consider yourself behind schedule.”

Allie slathered on some SPF fifteen and lay back on the cushioned chair, sighing at the delicious warmth of the sun caressing every inch of her exposed skin. Before long, she had two slushy piña coladas in hand, and she couldn’t deny that this was as close to paradise as she was ever going to get.

“We chose well,” Dev said, turning onto her belly and unfastening her bikini strap to avoid the dreaded tan line. “This is way better than pole-dancing lessons.”

“I’ll drink to that.” And Allie did.

But as the tranquil minutes passed with nothing to distract her, Allie’s thoughts crept dangerously toward Marc and what he might be doing right now. Did he miss her? Had he tried calling, and if so, did he wonder where she’d gone?

She doubted it. He probably didn’t even know she’d left town.

Her heart grew heavy as she peered around the pool at the happy, hand-holding couples, some of them leaning in for occasional kisses. She wanted that same contentment for herself, and she had a feeling all the fruity alcohol in the world wouldn’t dull the ache building inside her.

What was she going to do when vacation ended and she returned to New Orleans? If she saw Marc with another woman it would kill her. And eventually it had to happen.

The devil on Allie’s shoulder whispered that she could go to Marc and take whatever he was willing to give, but she shook her head and cast out the tempting idea. Yes, she missed Marc, but the pain would deepen the longer she stayed with him. If he wasn’t willing to share his whole heart, she had to stay away.

She took a long sip of her drink and tried to exorcise Marc’s image from her mind. When that didn’t work, she kept slurping on her straw until a brain freeze shut down all her synapses. She set down her piña coladas, donned her sunglasses, and closed her eyes to focus on the scents of chlorine and tanning lotion and the gentle brush of the desert breeze.

A distant airplane droned, its buzz an oddly soothing sound when combined with the sloshing of water. But as it approached, the noise became grating and tinny, unlike any plane she’d ever heard. It seemed to circle the area, and Allie wished it would move on.

“Allie Mauvais,” someone muttered from across the pool.

Eyes flying open, she propped on her elbows and scanned the rows of lounge chairs for the person who’d called her name, but everyone was peering at the clouds. She glanced up and her lips parted in shock.

An airplane that looked more like a flying go-kart towed a sloppy spray-painted banner that read,
ALLIE MAUVAIS TO THE FRONT DESK!

She peeked down at her piña coladas, wondering how much she’d had to drink. Not enough to induce hallucinations.

“Hey, Dev,” she said. “Tell me you see this, too.” When her sister lifted her head, Allie pointed at the sky.

Squinting, Devyn craned her neck at the plane. “Holy shit. Do you think they mean you?”

“What are the odds that two women named Allie Mauvais are staying here?” Slim to none. “I’m going to check.”

“I’ll come with you.”

In flip-flops and with towels wrapped around their waists, Allie and Devyn followed the winding sidewalk that led to the main lobby. Allie tried to speculate on the reason behind the bizarre summons, and for a moment, she worried there might be an emergency back home. But surely the hotel would have used their intercom system for that, not a miniature airplane.

When they reached the lobby, Allie pushed her sunglasses atop her head and approached the front desk. She still didn’t know what to expect, but in her wildest dreams she hadn’t anticipated that Marc would be waiting there for her.

In a tuxedo.

With a black eye and a bruised cheek.

Allie’s feet quit moving, such was her confusion. Maybe she
had
tangled too much with Captain Morgan today. She blinked at Marc twice, but he was still there each time she opened her eyes.

His polished wingtip shoes clicked against the tile as he crossed to the middle of the lobby to meet her. Visitors and employees strode to and fro, but their presence barely registered. Allie stood there transfixed by the gorgeous man who’d broken her heart.

It seemed there was no escaping him.

“Hi, Allie.” Marc had the decency to keep twelve inches of space between them, but he was close enough for her to notice his wrinkled clothes and crooked bow tie. It looked like someone had stuffed him inside a burlap sack and dragged him behind a pickup truck. “Thanks for coming.”

Devyn wrapped a protective arm around Allie’s shoulders. “She came here to get away from you, asshole. Get a clue.”

Marc held up both hands. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“It’s okay,” Allie told her. “Just give us a minute.”

Devyn’s fists were still clenched, but she reluctantly nodded toward the lobby coffeemaker. “I’ll be right over there”—she jabbed a finger at Marc—“watching you.”