Secrets and Seduction Las Vegas (Sexy Italian Imports Book 1) (9 page)

He closed her car door, left his hands on it, and leaned over her. “Get to know me, Valerie. We can’t ignore this.”

“I…” She started her car. “I’m not sure.”

“Call me.” He sounded too desperate, even to his own ears.

She shifted into gear, he stepped back, and she left the parking lot. His chest hurt with the loss of her presence. Was she gone for good? Had he screwed up another part of his life?

****

Joe looked at his phone. Monica. He didn’t answer, knowing that the resident who was about to perform a tracheotomy needed his attention more than his girlfriend did.

An hour later, Joe shrugged his eyebrows. “Girlfriend?” Sitting on the bed in Room C of the doctors’ lounge, he admitted that one helicopter flight and one very arousing kiss didn’t make her his girlfriend. They talked a few times in the last three weeks, but their schedules meant they missed each other more than they connected.

He opened the triangular plastic container holding the ham and cheese sandwich he’d picked up from the cafeteria and took a bite of the stale bread. He grimaced. No amount of mustard would help this one.

Lying back on the bed, he opened his phone to text her. Three in the morning was not the optimal time to call. He looked around the familiar room. Too many nights spent here in the last few years. Damn.

At one time, a resident had made a gold star with “Joe Pappa, MD” printed on it and attached it to the outside of the door. The star had ended up crumpled and in the trash one night after he’d been unable to resuscitate a teenage boy who’d overloaded himself with his father’s whiskey.

The memory still hurt.

He refocused on what he wanted to say to Monica. Taking another bite of his sandwich, he typed.
How’s the weather there
? then deleted it. Summer in Las Vegas didn’t offer much of a conversation starter.

He adjusted the plastic-covered pillows and remembered how quiet the pillows on his bed in his apartment were. When was the last time he made it home? Was it three days? Damn.

Abdul, his second in command in the E.R., was an amazing diagnostician: fearless, calm, but authoritative under pressure. Since the day Abdul was hired, the hospital board regularly encouraged Joe to walk away from the E.R. a few days a week and let Abdul take over. Maybe it was time he did. Maybe it was time he got himself a life.

He let out a bitter laugh. The last time he tried to bring romance into his life, it was a calamity. His relationship with Tory lasted about three months, during which they had four dates and slept together twice. When he forgot to call her for a week, she left a blistering break-up message on his voicemail.

The highlights were, “You’re married to your work, you live off the thrill of saving people, and you’re destined to be a bachelor…forever.” The women he dated before her, broke up with him nearly the same way and for similar reasons.

He bit, chewed, and swallowed, not tasting the food. Now there was Monica. Dating a doctor wouldn’t be so bad. She’d understand his unreliable schedule, and the long-distance thing would give him the space he needed. He yawned and closed his eyes, picturing her face, those green eyes, and that creamy skin. He smiled, remembering her expensive sandals, designer dress—and pickup truck? She was a mystery.

He woke an hour later to the sound of his phone hitting the floor as he turned onto his side. He looked down and saw the rest of his sandwich lying next to it and hated the loneliness of his life. This room was like a cell, and he was in emotional solitary confinement. But he’d imposed the sentence on himself.

Grinding his teeth, he picked up the sandwich and threw it in the trash can then set a reminder on his phone. He would schedule himself for a weekend off and see what a couple days with Monica would do for his life.

****

Antonio looked at himself in his bathroom mirror.

He’d warned himself not to get involved with her.

He had too much to hide to let a psychologist start digging around in his life—his insane life. He pulled his shirt off over his head.

This afternoon, he dragged Valerie into a room and…

He braced his hands on the countertop, felt his body respond to the reminder of her soft flesh against his fingertips. She was so damn hot. She came for him like she was created for his pleasure. Now he was involved, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. How did the woman get under his skin so fast? And so deep?

But even his intense desire for her didn’t stop his need for this secret life. He pulled open the drawer next to the sink, and his excitement built as he looked at the hair gel and temporary tattoos. They were to him what a rubber tourniquet and hypodermic needle were to a junkie. He wet his arm and pressed a Harley logo onto his bicep. Why couldn’t he shake this obsession?

He wanted to stop, didn’t want to spend every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night dancing and taking his clothes off for hundreds of screaming women.

He stared into the eyes reflected in the mirror. It started as a way to support himself before his writing made him a millionaire. And an easy way to meet women. Vacationers from around the world looking for one night with a stud slipped him their room keys. He gave them what they wanted, made sure the memory of that one night would last them a lifetime. But now, with Valerie on his mind, he wouldn’t pick up a woman tonight.

He checked his cell phone again and slammed it down.

If she had been on her way, he would have stayed, been a no-show tonight at the club.

But she didn’t call. In the mirror, he saw anger, but it only covered his uncertainty. She may not call—maybe she came to her senses and realized what a mistake he was.

He could call her. He picked up the phone. How could he feel more for Valerie than he allowed himself? How had she broken through his walls? He ran his hand through his hair. The unfamiliar fear of rejection had him turning his phone to silent.

Finishing his transformation, he left the penthouse for the parking garage, left the building in an old Toyota registered under another name, and headed for the north end of The Strip. Within minutes, he pulled into the employee parking lot, entered the back door of the club, and climbed the stairs to the second floor where the men danced.

In the locker room, he greeted his friends and changed clothes, changed names. He was now Carlos. Anticipation caused an adrenaline rush. Tonight would be as extreme as always. The one constant in his life.

****

Valerie pulled into her garage and slid her sunglasses on top of her head. She probably shouldn’t have been driving, but Troy’s call had sobered her instantly. Walking into the house, she accessed her voicemail. He was coming home tomorrow and wanted to stop by.

She returned the call, but it went right to voicemail. “Stop by any time tomorrow evening. I’ll be home after six.”

She poured a glass of water, grabbed the mystery novel she was reading, and went out on the patio. Her favorite chaise lounge under an umbrella looked inviting.

Settling in, she opened the book but stared off toward The Strip. Was she doing the right thing? She carried no illusions of a long-term relationship with Antonio. His lifestyle was exactly opposite hers. She was constantly in the public eye; he was a recluse.

She’d slept with only one man in her life while Antonio had probably been with dozens of women. Dozens? Hell, hundreds.

He lived independently, made his own path in the world. She was still trying to shake loose of her parents’ control.

Troy would be a much safer choice for her. A husband candidate, pre-approved by her family. Antonio? They would despise him. She smiled. Wouldn’t that be fun? To see Antonio go nine rounds with her mother and sister. He always came up with a cocky answer or witty remark. He’d meet his match in the Kane women. If their relationship lasted long enough for him to meet her family.

God, the showgirl he was with at the omelet house—he didn’t even know her last name. Was he a one-night kind of guy? Would he tire of her insisting they get to know each other before sleeping together?

And then there was the whole blackmail issue. She still didn’t completely believe in his innocence. She bit her thumbnail. He did all that research on her, he knew she had money. Opening her book, she set her suspicions aside. One step at a time. First, she would end it with Troy. She closed her book again.

“Damn.” How the hell was she going to do that?

****

The next evening, Troy stopped by Valerie’s house. The guard shack called, announcing him at the gate, and her nerves went into jittery overdrive. She dreaded doing this. But no matter what did or didn’t happen with Antonio, she couldn’t continue her relationship with Troy.

She opened the front door as he got out of his truck, and she met him half way up the sidewalk.

“Darlin’, I missed you.” He grabbed her in a bear hug and swung her around.

She laughed breathlessly. “Wow, I guess you did!”

“I’m sorry I only called once. We were so far up in Canada, none of our cell phones worked. The one day we went into town, you didn’t answer.”

She looked away. She didn’t answer his call because she was having sex with another man. Forcing a smile, she asked, “Catch a lot of fish?”

He held up a plastic freezer bag with his name on it. “I brought you some fillets. I thought we could cook them up some night. You can create a new recipe for your contests.”

She smiled sadly. Such a considerate man. Why couldn’t she feel more for him? “Come on inside. I have something to discuss with you.”

“Uh oh, am I in trouble?”

“No, but I’m going to be.”

Chapter Eight

“This doesn’t sound good.” Troy took Valerie’s hand, and they walked into the house in silence. He closed the door and looked at her; his eyes showed concern. “Can I throw the fish into the freezer first?”

“Sure. How about a beer?”

He followed her into the kitchen. “I think I’m going to need one.” He put the fillets in the freezer and grabbed two beers out of the fridge, opened them, and handed one to her.

She took it with a shaking hand. “Let’s sit.” They each took a barstool.

“All right. Let me have it.” He squared his shoulders, evidently expecting the worst.

“I really like you, Troy. You are a kind, wonderful person. I enjoy spending time with you.” She took a breath, didn’t know how to go on.

He stared at her.

“I just don’t think it’s fair to you…that I don’t have the same feelings for you.” She shook her head and felt a slight panic closing her throat. “Let me start this again. You mentioned you wanted to sleep with me any time I was ready. But I never found myself ready.”

He looked hurt. “You never tried. Maybe we could go away for a weekend. Somewhere romantic. Maybe a change of scenery, get away from the stress of work.”

“I don’t think that would make a difference, really.”

“But you don’t know.” He let out a frustrated breath. “Crap. I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but your sister told me you’ve only been with one man.”

She looked at him with sudden understanding then embarrassment flooded her. Damn Monica.

He reached a hand toward her. “If you just let me show you how good it can be between us.”

She’d have to be more blunt than she’d hoped. “It’s not just that I’m inexperienced. And it’s not that I don’t have any sexual feelings. I just don’t have them for you.”

He blinked a few times, then narrowed his eyes. “That Italian bastard.” His fist slammed onto the countertop. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

“I have strong feelings for him, yes, but I don’t know if they will lead to anything. I just know I don’t have these same feelings for you. I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t want to continue a relationship under false pretenses.”

“False pretenses? Meaning, I’ve waited for you to come around for weeks, but you want to fuck someone else?”

She flinched. Harsh words. She didn’t blame him for being angry. “You don’t really mean that, Troy. I know you’re not an unkind person. Let’s take a day, let this sink in and then we can talk. I’d like to be your friend.”

“That never works.” He stood and pulled his truck keys out of his pocket.

“We can at least be civil to each other. I really like you, and I’d hate to think you despised me.”

“Never.” His face showed his grief, and he walked to her side, kissed her gently. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” He left her sitting there and let himself out the door.

Her panic abated, but her ears rang as silence descended around her. It felt like losing a best friend. Besides that, she mourned the loss of her sister, because the next time she saw her—she—was—going—to—kill her!

****

Two days later, Valerie sat on the kitchen floor in the middle of cleaning her refrigerator. Her phone rang, and the caller ID showed
Daniato
. “Hi.”

“Hi beautiful. I got your call Friday. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner.” She heard a heavy sigh. “I have something to confess.”

“Oooh, fascinating. What is it?”

“I set aside Thursday through Sunday to write.”

She paused. “Oh. Every weekend?”

“Yeah. I’m strict with myself.”

“You came out for lunch Thursday. You’re not too strict.”

“That was an exception, and immensely unforgettable. You are damn amazing, Valerie. I can’t get my head on straight when I think of what we did.”

She set her sponge down, closed her eyes, and relived the way she felt when he had his hands on her. “Mmmm.”

“
Bella
, you make me crazy.”

“Can you spare a couple hours this afternoon?”

“I’m exhausted. I need to get some sleep.” She heard him yawn. “Tomorrow night?”

“I’d like that.”

“I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“I live in Summerlin. My address—”

“Got it.”

She laughed. “How? I’m unlisted.”

“I have connections.”

“Hmmm. I don’t doubt that at all.”

“Tomorrow, cara.”

“Don’t work too hard tonight.”

A moment of silence. “I’ll try not to.” And he hung up.

Valerie looked at her phone. What a strange comment. Was his mysterious aura just an act, or was there something hiding behind the façade?