The Vicarage Bench Anthology (18 page)

One of the men grabbed both his arms behind him as the other stepped in front of Ash with his arm held in slug position. Ash had only a moment to check out the smallest, meanest eyes, deep-set and too close together in a slack-jawed face as ugly as they come. The big bruiser’s smile displayed the black holes that emphasized his rotten teeth.

“Hi, Arnie.” Ashley tried to be cordial, but it backfired.

Without an ounce of emotion, Arnie’s fist burrowed into Ashley’s stomach. If it weren’t for the fact that he was in good shape from working out every day, he’d be in trouble. But it hurt like hell, and he hated pain, especially when it wasn’t deserved. Anger built. The feeling stunned him. It wasn’t a sensation he was accustomed to, as he rarely got mad. Life ranged from jokingly easy to always a laugh, and being rich and good-looking accentuated Ashley’s ideal existence.

Ash worked with his brother in one of the smaller but highly elite casinos in Las Vegas. He handled everything from personnel to high rollers. The hundreds of gorgeous young females who worked in the hotel, from cocktail waitresses to room maids, were his responsibility. The ladies loved his wit, his old-fashioned chivalry, and the way he seemed to care about each and every one of them. He was a dream manager, a big draw to the girls flooding into Vegas looking for a job.

“For heaven’s sake, you idiot. I didn’t hire your girls away—they came to us, begging for work. You treat them like crap. How can you expect them to stay? Come on, Joey. You know my brother’s wife Carrie is a softy. She’ll help anyone who comes to her with a sob story and the word’s out there on the Strip; they all know to look her up. Rhett is putty in her hands and won’t refuse her anything. And, hey, I only do as I’m told.”

“Rhett’s a pussy. Why can’t he control the dumb broad?”

“Why don’t you have this conversation with him, and ask him yourself?”

“Shut your mouth.”

Joey tried to meet Ashley’s gaze after the gauntlet had been thrown down, but he couldn’t. The only reason Joey was making this play was because Rhett had taken Carrie for a month’s holiday in England. No way would he mess with Ash’s big brother—no way, not with that man!

“Look, business is business. I like you, Ash, but I gotta answer to Big Dave. He’s my boss, and he’d be after my hide if he thought I couldn’t control his stable.”

“If you handled your women better, paid them decently, we wouldn’t be having this meeting right now. And for your information, I can’t say I’m enjoying it very much.”

Hanging between Joey’s two henchmen with his face all cut up didn’t cure Ashley’s tendency to be a smart mouth, not at all. His cheeky grin could be his undoing. But he hadn’t felt so alive for a long while, and he was almost to the point where he’d make his move and put a stop to this nonsense. He knew he could take the two patsies holding him, but he couldn’t be sure if Joey was carrying. If he was, things could get pretty dicey. He sure as hell didn’t want to get shot on top of the beating he’d just taken.

“I’m not askin’ ya, Ash, I’m telling ya. Enough is enough! This time we’ll rough you up a bit, but the next time we’ll be putting you out of action—or should I say into traction—for a long time. But for now it’s just a lesson, so you’d better smarten up, pal, or life could get a lot tougher.” The seriousness of his threat rang through, loud and clear.

Joey’s pretty-boy face gave him an undeniably angelic appearance. With women, he used this blessing to compensate for his lack of height. With men, his tendency to overcome his body’s… um…shortcoming was by being a bit of a bully, albeit using others’ “muscle.” He was a ladies’ man, and it wasn’t unusual to see a different girl clutching each arm most times when Ashley ran across him in the bars. Call it charisma, or the fact that in Joey’s eyes every woman he met was beautiful. Whatever. It worked for him. He had surprising flair, and his well-toned, muscular physique looked great in the suits he had custom made.

Having had enough time to gather his strength, Ash let his body sag to give the impression he was finished. His strategy appeared to be working, as the boys loosened their grip. His feet were steady, and his mind sharp and primed.

Just as he was about to make his move, a deafening scream came from behind him and changed the scenario. A baseball bat suddenly leveled the fellow on his left. A karate screech accompanied a flash of white that swung past him as the figure twirled and swung at the openmouthed idiot on his right.

There was no time to stop and watch. Joey’s hand began reaching inside his suit jacket, and Ashley moved with lightning speed. His right foot kicked out and landed smack dab on Joey’s chin. The chump dropped like a felled tree, hitting the ground about three feet away from where he’d been standing.

Quickly ducking and grabbing the wild kid, who still wielded the bat, Ashley headed for the entrance to the alley where the impromptu party had taken place.

“Stop that! Put me down. Hey, my bat! I dropped my bat.” All the while her mouth worked, so did her compact little body full of strong muscles, slippery moves, and—fully endowed chest. As realization hit him that he held a female under his arm, he came close to dropping her. But he knew they had no time to stop. With a fast twirl he swept the bat up in his free hand and kept going. Joey and the boys would be hot on their trail soon. They needed to get to where there were lights and people. Lots of witnesses meant safety.

When they reached the entrance to the busy street, he hissed in a strained voice, “Okay, I’ll put you down, but unless you want me to take another beating to save you, we have to move. By the way, doll, what’s your name?”

“Crystal Davis. And excuse me! I saved you.”

“I had it under control. I was just going to make my move when you jumped into the fray. Nonetheless, Crystal, you’re one hell of a hitter.”

“I played shortstop on the junior team back home, one of their best batters, even if I do say so myself.” The grinning face enchanted him. He grabbed her hand and they ran. His stomach felt raw, but the adrenaline rush overrode his discomfort. Short blocks flew past. He cautiously checked behind them, but the way remained clear.

“We can slow down now. We’ll be safe here.” He watched her skid to a stop and turn to face him. She returned the gleeful smile he couldn’t wipe off his mug. He hadn’t felt this exuberant in years, not since he’d played football as a teen and won the MVP award.

They had turned onto well-lit Fremont Street in downtown Las Vegas, and though it was the middle of the night, thousands of marquee lights brightened the way. Groups of people milled around, wandering in and out of the various open-door casinos where loud music, the chinking of the slots and nightlife in general beckoned them to join in, urged them to try their luck, and eventually conned them out of their meager savings.

Ash’s winded running partner was the perfect height for him, short enough that he towered over her but slender in a way that made her seem almost tall. In boots, jeans and the large flannel shirt buttoned up under her chin, she could pass for a small-bodied man or a big boy. But as she glanced up at him under the streetlight, her face told its own story.

She appeared to be one hundred percent female, and each feature gave notice of the fact. Her plush lashes framed extra-large eyes, light in color—it was difficult to make out the exact shade in the artificial lights. At first they seemed to be the main feature on her small face. That is, until one noticed her lips. They were plump and red, and the upward curve at each end was so erotic that any man’s first impression would be that those lips were designed for one thing only—to drive a man crazy from wanting his mouth plastered against them. Ashley recognized that detail right off.

“You’ll be fine now, so I’ll be on my way.” She appeared uncomfortable with his perusal. She reached for her bat, slipped it behind her back, and turned away.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” He grasped the shoulder of her shirt and held it up, leaving her hanging between the folds. Her gravelly voice had produced goose bumps assaulting his already interested and aroused body. That velvety huskiness would classify as any radio station manager’s dream.

The baseball cap she had pulled down to cover her hair hid her somewhat, but since she had to look up at him to see into his face, he had seen hers clearly. Before she knew what to expect, he whipped off the hat. Stunned, he took a step back and stared.

Masses of the most glorious blonde curls cascaded over her shoulders and back, partially covering her face. The night wind unfurled numerous strands, blowing them in every direction. Some streamed behind her; some flew across her cheeks, teasingly reaching out to him. The multicolored lights reflecting off the blonde wildness haloed a sheen of silver that riveted him in place.

Turning her head sideways, forcing the bulk of her hair to flow to the back, she stunned him with her slant-eyed, upward gaze.

“Mr. Parks?” She waved her hand in front of his face. “Ya-hoo! Give me my hat. I don’t want to be recognized. I could get in big trouble.” She finally reached over and nabbed it away from his limp grip.

Her action brought him back. “How do you know my name?” Ashley watched in amazement as she tucked the bat between her knees and, using both hands, swept all the hair into a twirl, wound it into a tight coil, and shoved it up and under the brim of the cap she’d held gritted between her teeth.

“Everyone in town knows who you are. You and your brother own the Parks Casino on the Strip.”

“First of all, my name is Ashley—or Ash, if you prefer. Most of my friends do. Secondly, how did you come to know I needed rescuing earlier? That alley was pretty secluded.”

“My apartment window is right above there. I heard them threatening you by name. I couldn’t just sit there and watch the three of them beat you to death, so I covered up as best I could, grabbed the bat and ran down the back stairs. I only hope Joey didn’t get a good look at me.”

“Joey! You know him?”

“Sure! He’s my boss.”

Chapter Two

“I told you I’d be fine. You didn’t have to escort me home.” Stubbornness, apparent in her angry tone, rang clear. “I’m not a child, and I do have protection.” She waved the bat towards him in one hand and watched him dodge swiftly, proving his agility.

“As if I’d let you return to this area alone. What if Joey and the boys waited around for someone to show up with a bat?”

“We’ve walked around for a long time. I’m sure they’d have given up by now.”

“We wouldn’t have had to walk if you’d ditched the weapon, like I wanted you to, and let me buy you a drink somewhere, or better yet, come to The Parks with me.” Stubborn little cuss wouldn’t give an inch to all his pleading. Words had to be dragged from her so conversation had flagged, and he’d used all his best lines. It had been a long, painful hour.

“I couldn’t leave my bat. What if somebody stole it? I might need to use it again. Look, I know how to protect myself, so you can leave me now.” By this time, they were at the back of her apartment. She held the door open but blocked it with her body.

Her chin stuck out, and her pugnacious look humored him.

He didn’t move.

“Fine. If you’re so determined, come on, and let’s get indoors.”

They hastened into the back door of a grungy brick building. As only one small light bulb worked, she led while he followed her up wooden stairs that creaked and groaned on every second and third step. On the fourth floor they walked halfway down the long, dingy hall before she opened the door to Apartment 404. He was happy to arrive, because the overwhelming smell in the passageway, of cooked cabbage and onions, nauseated him.

In her apartment, an astonishing vision greeted him. There were books everywhere, folded clothes piled high on the back of the sofa, and dishes piled on the counters. Newspapers, strewn across the grey arborite table, were left open and rumpled. Plates of crumbs and empty milk glasses decorated the coffee table, and crushed used napkins spotted the floor.

In direct contrast to the mess, an amazing array of healthy plants enhanced every corner of the room and filled the bay window, most blooming with colorful flowers. This disparity didn’t compute somehow. And to further confuse him, every surface he spied was cluttered, but the place gleamed with cleanliness. Newly waxed hardwood floors shone from a recent treatment. Starched, prissy curtains, arranged just so, hung from the windows over the sink, and longer, expertly pressed material draped large balcony windows. The furniture might be covered with paraphernalia, but the fact that it all gleamed, polished to a high glossy shine, became obvious to anyone who looked carefully past the untidiness.

She sneaked peeks, watching for his reaction to her messy apartment. Feeling guilty, and then angry, about her discomfort put a sour look on her face. She’d completely broken from her past behaviour of fastidiousness, and now her eccentric ways held no routine. Rules and disciplines about housework she’d enforced at home looking after four male slobs had stopped the minute she became free. She’d sworn a mighty vow that, as soon as she lived alone, nothing in the world could make her be that obsessive-compulsive housekeeper again. Nothing and no one—ever—never again!

Right!

Secretly the clutter was killing her, but stubbornness pushed her to ignore it. Disappointment gathered as she watched him studiously, courteously avoid staring at any one place very long. After all, what good did her rebelliousness accomplish if there wasn’t anyone to take note of it? He finally settled his gaze on her, and he smiled with such warmth that nervous twitches prickled at her neck.

“What are you looking at?”

“A beautiful woman with eyes the colour of my favourite marble in a collection I treasured as a kid. The aggie became my special lucky charm and, without fail, travelled in my full, little-boy pocket. In those days, I ruled as street champion, envied by the other boys, all because of that one gorgeous marble. I held the revered title for months.” His charming way of bragging entranced her.

Crystal, mesmerized, had to ask. “What happened to it?”

“A big bully, three years older, Hector Rumble was his name, beat me up and stole it.”