Werewolf in Las Vegas (21 page)

Gradually, the world stopped spinning and he could breathe again. Thankfully, he hadn't collapsed on top of her. Some part of his brain had continued to function and he'd stayed braced on his forearms.

Soft hands framed his face, and he opened his eyes. Beneath him, she seemed as dazed as he was. Slowly, almost reverently, she touched his mouth, his cheeks, and his forehead, as if memorizing his features. He understood the impulse. He'd wanted to do the same, but had been afraid to let his feelings show.

She was braver than he was, apparently. Caressing his face with such tenderness could mean only one thing. She was falling in love with him. Maybe she no longer cared if he knew.

Maybe it was time for him to tell her that he felt the same. “Giselle, I— ”

She laid her finger over his mouth and shook her head. “Don't say it,” she murmured.

Bracing on one arm, he gently took her hand away. “I don't know why not. We both feel it. Yes, there are issues, but we'll deal with them.”

Her smile was the saddest one he'd ever seen. “There are issues that you don't know about.”

“So you said before, and we played a silly guessing game that got me nowhere. Why can't you just tell me what it is? I'm shadowboxing, and I don't like it.”

“Then maybe we shouldn't do this anymore.”

“Make love?”

She nodded, not even bothering to contradict his use of the term.

“Giselle, I won't stop making love to you as long as you'll let me do it. Are you going to tell me not to?”

She swallowed. “I should, but . . .”

“But?”

“I can't seem to say the words.”

“Thank God for that.” Leaning down, he kissed away the tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

Then he pressed his tear-moistened lips against hers. He could tell her with his kiss what she wouldn't let him say out loud. They still had time. Before they left this little cabin in the woods, he'd convince her that no problem, no matter how daunting, was big enough to keep them apart.

Giselle chastised herself for being weak, but she craved Luke, human though he might be, in ways she'd never craved one of her own kind. She felt so alive with him, as if she'd been suppressing her essential being all her life. With Luke, she could be herself, and he seemed fine with that.

He was more than fine with it, in fact. He loved her. And she loved him back, even if she'd never tell him so. She couldn't have him forever, so she'd make the most of the short time they were together.

With the cabin as their hideaway, they spent the rest of the day making love and sharing the chicken and coleslaw dinner Cynthia had left for them. Because Giselle had dry clothes, she went outside and found the extra wood stored beside the cabin. That allowed them to keep the fire going, which added to the romantic ambience.

She doubted that she'd ever smell wood smoke again without thinking of these hours with Luke. Lying on the futon with him, she gave him an edited version of her childhood because he asked. She knew he sought a clue to the problem she refused to discuss, but she was practiced at evading critical questions. She'd been doing that ever since her parents had allowed her the freedom to mingle with humans.

Although she longed to tell him the truth, she also knew that wouldn't go well. Humans had been taught to fear werewolves, and countless books and movies had added to the misconceptions. Most people believed that Weres were monsters who passed on their beastly tendencies by biting the humans they attacked. On top of that, humans tended to view the concept of shape-shifting with revulsion. Luke praised her beauty when she was in human form, but how would he react if she transformed into a female wolf with a thick coat of dark red fur? Would he love that version of her? Giselle wasn't ready to find out.

Inevitably, the hour arrived when they had to leave if they expected to be at the penthouse by eight.

“I could text Cynthia and change the time.” Luke had begun putting on his clothes, which were now dry and smelled of wood smoke. “I think ten works as well as eight.”

“No, it doesn't.” Giselle zipped her jeans. “Sticking with her time frame indicates we consider her important enough to accommodate her wishes. Once we start fiddling with the time, she could see that as a lack of commitment on our part.”

Luke sighed as he put on his shirt. “You're right. But I hate leaving. Nothing's been settled about . . . us.”

“Yes, it has,” she said softly. “Assuming this four-way discussion goes well, Bryce and I will fly back to San Francisco tomorrow.”

He held her gaze. “Okay. Then I'll come up there for a few days.”

“That's not a good idea.”

“Damn it, Giselle!” Frustration was etched on his handsome face. “I—”

“Don't say it. That won't help. You have to take my word that we have no future.”

He stared at her for a few seconds. Then, with a muttered oath, he finished dressing.

They rode back down the mountain in silence, which tore at her, but she had nothing helpful to say. They'd had their idyll in the woods, and now came the tough part—putting those special moments behind them and getting on with their separate lives. He'd expected her to crack and reveal everything. That wasn't going to happen.

Finally, as they stood in the private elevator and it began its ascent to the top floor of the Silver Crescent, he broke the silence. “No matter what happens from this point on, I need you to know something.”

“Luke . . .”

“You don't want me to say it, but this may be my last chance, and I damn well will say it. I love you, Giselle.”

She gazed at him as her heart broke.

“You won't say it, but I know you love me, too. It's there in your eyes.” His voice shook with emotion, and his blue eyes flashed fire. “I don't know what the hell it is that you refuse to tell me, but it better be the sort of secret that would endanger the entire free world if you let it get out. Anything less would be bullshit.” He looked at her, obviously waiting. When she said nothing, he turned away. “Okay, then.”

She hurt so much she had to clutch her stomach to keep from doubling over. She'd never wished to be human instead of Were, but heaven help her, she wished for it now.

Luke behaved like the perfect gentleman as he ushered her through the elaborate double doors into the penthouse. Bryce and Cynthia were there, sitting on the butterscotch sectional, sipping from wineglasses. When Giselle and Luke walked in, they both stood.

Reluctantly, Giselle admitted that her tall, red-haired brother and Luke's tall, blond sister made a striking couple. They looked almost like movie stars standing together. But unlike poised Hollywood celebrities, they appeared nervous.

Giselle decided to break the ice. She walked over and gave her brother a hug. “I didn't get to do this yesterday,” she murmured. “It's good to see you.”

He hugged her back. “Same here, Sis.”

Giselle turned to Cynthia. “I've seen you dancing Cynthia, and I just want to say I very much admire your talent.”

“Oh.” She seemed dazzled by that statement. “Thank you so much.”

Giselle's heart went out to her. Although Cynthia was only six years younger, she seemed much more vulnerable than that. She, too, had lost her overbearing father, and she must be feeling an unsettling combination of grief and freedom.

Behind Giselle, Luke cleared his throat. “I've never officially met your friend, Cynthia.”

“Guess not.” Cynthia seemed to regain some of her poise. “Bryce Landry, this is my big brother, Luke.”

Bryce stuck out his hand with an assertiveness that made Giselle proud. “Glad to finally meet you, Dalton.”

“Same here, Landry.” Luke stood toe-to-toe and eye-to-eye with Giselle's brother. They were the same height and of a similar build. A fight between them would draw even odds.

Giselle prayed there would be no fight. Her loyalties would be hopelessly divided. But after what appeared to be a bone-crushing handshake, the two men separated.

Luke adopted a take-charge attitude. “Obviously we need to talk. I see you both have a beverage. Giselle and I should probably get something, too.”

“I'll provide whatever you require, sir.” Mr. Thatcher appeared in the kitchen doorway.

Giselle snuck a quick glance at Bryce, to see his reaction to Mr. Thatcher.

Bryce winked at her.

Giselle ducked her head to hide a smile. At the moment, the Weres outnumbered the humans, not that the humans would ever find that out.

“Excellent, Mr. Thatcher.” Luke looked at Giselle. “What will you have?”

She considered champagne, because she hoped they'd be celebrating a reunion of siblings, but she wasn't completely confident that would happen. “A glass of wine works.”

“Red or white, madam?” Mr. Thatcher asked.

“Red, please.”

Luke turned to Mr. Thatcher. “Make that two, please.”

“And cheese and bread, please, Mr. Thatcher,” Cynthia said. Lifting her chin, she faced her brother. “Mom and Dad always used to have cheese and bread with their wine.”

Luke's expression softened. “Yeah, they did. Good call, Sis.”

Once Mr. Thatcher left, the four of them stood staring at each other.

Luke took a deep breath. “Let's all sit down. Giselle, the sectional's all yours. I'll get a kitchen chair.”

Giselle picked a spot where the sectional curved, so that she was at right angles to Bryce and Cynthia. Luke walked into the kitchen, grabbed one of the chairs, and brought it back, positioning it on the far side of a glass coffee table. Instead of sitting in it, he spun it around and straddled it.

Very macho, indeed. Giselle worked hard not to smile at the tactic, which made Luke seem far more cool than Bryce, despite her brother's attempt to lounge on the sectional as if he hadn't a care in the world. Although one of the males in the room was Were and one was human, their maneuvering for dominance wasn't all that different.

“First of all,” Luke said, once again taking the initiative, “I want to congratulate both of you on your inventiveness.”

Cynthia's eyes widened. “You do? I thought you'd be pissed.”

“I was, until Giselle helped me see that the effort involved was kind of . . . flattering.”

Giselle flinched. “I think what Luke means to say is that he appreciates your efforts to help him understand how much dancing means to you.” She shot a quick glance at Luke and hoped he'd get the message.

Apparently he had, because he nodded. “Exactly. I hadn't realized before how much you cared about it.”

Cynthia sat up straighter. “That's because you're so incredibly dense. I tried to explain this about a hundred times, but you kept blowing me off.”

“You have his attention now, right, Luke?” Giselle gave him an encouraging smile.

“Right.” Swallowing, he focused on his sister. “If you want a job in the Moonbeams lineup, it's yours.”

Cynthia leaped off the sectional with a shriek and nearly knocked Luke out of his chair as she gave him an enthusiastic hug. “Thank you! That's awesome! Oh, my God, I can't believe it! I'm going to be a
Moonbeam
.” She began twirling in the middle of the room.

She nearly collided with Mr. Thatcher as he came in from the kitchen, rolling a cart loaded with wine, a crusty baguette, and a mouth-watering assortment of cheeses. “Mr. Thatcher! Luke said I could be a Moonbeam dancer! Isn't that fabulous?”

“Indeed it is, Miss Cynthia.” He pretended to be unaffected when she hugged him, too.

But Giselle saw the emotion in his eyes.

Cynthia returned to her seat and exchanged a high five with Bryce. “One project down, one to go.”

Luke blinked. “You have another agenda? Please tell me it doesn't have to do with squirt guns and water balloons. My heart can't take it.”

“Oh, this one's really simple.” Cynthia reached over and patted Bryce's knee. “A no-brainer.”

Giselle held her breath and prayed that nothing had changed between Bryce and Cynthia since she'd talked to her brother. She hadn't picked up any girlfriend-boyfriend vibes from them, but she was under a lot of stress. She could have missed the obvious.

Luke's jaw tightened. “So what is it?”

“Bryce and I have talked about this a lot, and we both think you should sell Howlin' at the Moon back to Benedict Cartwright.”

Giselle was stunned. She glanced over at Luke, who seemed equally taken aback. But when she turned her attention to Bryce, he gazed at her with a little half smile.

And she got it. Bryce was still loyal to his heritage, and part of that heritage was wrapped up in this bar known to Weres all over the world. By sheer coincidence, he'd become friends with the sister of the human who'd won that bar, and he'd decided to use his influence with her to try to get it back.

That was, she concluded with some chagrin, more than she'd done. She also had influence with the bar's new owner, but she'd never once suggested he might want to sell it back. She doubted he would have agreed, but she'd never put the concept on the table. With Bryce's encouragement, Cynthia had.

Luke had recovered himself. “I'm not selling the bar back to the Cartwrights,” he said. “Harrison's behavior might not have caused my father to die, but the stress didn't help any. Dad should have been awarded the Moon in the first place. I had to win it back in a poker game, which is fitting, and now that I have it, I intend to keep it. It's part of the Dalton legacy now.”

“But that's not right, either.” Cynthia put her empty wineglass on the coffee table. “The Moon is part of the Cartwright legacy, the first thing Harrison Cartwright built in Las Vegas. It has all kinds of sentimental value for that family, but for you, it's only about revenge.”

“It's more than that, Cynthia. Every time I looked at that bar, I remembered how our dad fought with Harrison and how he made himself sick over it. It was like a gnawing pain in my gut, a reminder that our dad is gone.”

Cynthia's expression softened. “I'm sorry. I didn't realize how much it was hurting you. I should have, but I didn't.”

“So you understand why I can't sell it back to the Cartwrights?”

“Yes, but let me ask you something else. How did you feel when I raided the family photo gallery and swiped a DVD from the vault in order to make my point?”

“Truthfully?” Luke sought Giselle's gaze as if drawing energy from it. Then he looked over at his sister. “I hated it. The pictures could have been replaced, but I'm not sure there's a copy of the DVD. Thinking it could have disappeared made me sick to my stomach.”

“I'll bet that's how the Cartwrights feel about losing the Moon,” Cynthia said. “It's a piece of family history, and now it's gone.”

Luke frowned. “Aren't you forgetting something? Dad won the Silver Crescent fair and square, and then Harrison Cartwright put our dad through hell before he finally turned it over. I firmly believe the stress is what killed him.”

“That's entirely possible,” Cynthia said quietly. “And now you have the bar. How does that make you feel?”

“Great!”

Giselle knew his moods well enough to figure out he was bluffing. And she knew his heart, too. He might have thought exacting revenge for his father and ending his own pain at the expense of someone else was a good idea, but the reality might have proved to be quite different.

“Really?” Cynthia's brow wrinkled. “I find that hard to believe.”

Luke's jaw tightened. “Believe it. Having a Cartwright property next to the Silver Crescent has been a pain in the ass, both to Dad and me. Now we own it. I couldn't be happier about that.”

“You don't look happy,” Cynthia said.

“That's because you don't seem to understand why the Daltons deserve to own that bar.”