Werewolf in Las Vegas (25 page)

Was it better to leave when he still thought of her as the woman who got away? Besides, if she gambled on him accepting her werewolf nature and lost, they wouldn't have a future, but he'd be stuck with guarding the secret for the rest of his life. What should she do?

“Giselle.” His voice was low and intense. “I can almost hear you thinking. Please tell me you're reconsidering.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“How could I sleep with all that thinking going on?”

“Oh, Luke. I don't know what to do.”

“I do.” He sat up. “Stop resisting and say we can be together. Tell me this awful secret, whatever it is.”

She gulped. “Once I do, there's no turning back.”

“There's no turning back anyway. Like the song says, I will always love you. I couldn't stop doing that if I tried.” He blew out a breath. “Just tell me what it is. How bad can it be?”

“Life changing.”

“Okay!” He got out of bed and began to pace. “Mr. Thatcher and Bryce are involved, aren't they?”

“Yes.”

“I knew it! And somehow it all ties into the security at Illusions. You don't have to say yes or no. I don't know how, but it does.”

She trembled. Sitting up seemed like a better way to face this decision, so she did that. Then she decided to get out of bed, too.

He whirled to face her. “I love you!” He practically shouted it. “Don't shut me out, Giselle. Tell me the truth! Whatever it is, I swear I can deal with it. Nothing's more important to me than being with you. Nothing!”

She could barely breathe as fear tightened her chest. But in spite of the fear, she made a decision. She would tell him.

She wanted him, and he wanted her, and maybe Bryce was right. Luke needed a chance to accept or reject her as she really was. She would take full responsibility for the outcome, but he deserved to know the truth.

He faced her, eyes flashing. “Well? Are you going to tell me?”

“Yes.” She gulped for air. Her pulse raced, sending liquid fire through her veins. “I'm . . . I'm a werewolf.”

Luke went completely still. Then, because it was the only logical response, he laughed. “That's a great line, but your timing is lousy. I'm not in the mood for joking around, Giselle.” Except her expression was completely serious, which made him nervous.

“I'm not joking. I realize that's a shocking thing to hear, but it's the truth.”

He stared at her. Until now, he'd considered her the love of his life. And she was batshit crazy. That wasn't a politically correct description anymore. He didn't know what was PC these days to label someone who was a taco short of a Mexican combo plate.

Sad to say, he still loved her, crazy or not. But she needed help. “Giselle, is there a medication you might have skipped recently? We've been so busy that you easily could have forgotten. Is it in your suitcase? I'd be happy to—”

“I'm not on medication and don't need to be.”

Oh, boy.
He'd heard of cases like this, where the patient became belligerent. “I'll get Bryce. I'll call Cynthia and tell her to send Bryce down here. I'm sure he knows what—”

“Don't get Bryce. Keep this between you and me for now, please.”

“Okay, no Bryce. You and I will handle this together.” He tried to stay calm. “How about taking a nice little ride with me? There's a twenty-four-hour clinic within a few minutes of here. You don't have to be scared or anything. I'll stay with you the whole time.”

She sighed. “Luke, you're a really good guy. You think I'm psychotic, don't you?”

“That's such a harsh word. You're a little confused about reality, but we can fix that. How about getting dressed? That's a good start.” And he'd been so sure that he knew her. Was it possible that she was telling the truth? Nope. Not possible. She had a chemical imbalance, and he would get her some help for that.

“I guess there's only one way to convince you.” Dropping to her hands and knees, she stretched out naked on the bedroom carpet, facing him.

“This isn't a good time for sex. I never thought I'd hear myself say that concerning you, but I have my standards. Taking advantage of a disturbed woman is not my idea of acceptable behavior. So if you'll just get up and put on your . . .” He lost track of what he'd been about to say when she began to sparkle.

Okay, this was freaking him out. Normal women didn't sparkle. He'd seen a vampire movie that involved sparkling, but Giselle hadn't announced she was a vampire. She'd said she was a werewolf. He didn't believe in vampires or werewolves, so this couldn't be happening.

A nightmare. He was having a nightmare. He pinched himself, though, and it hurt. Wasn't that the test? He'd love to wake up and find out he was dreaming and his beloved was still in bed with him instead of lying on his bedroom carpet . . . sparkling.

That wasn't all she was doing, though. Along with the pretty lights, she was changing right before his eyes. He rubbed them, thinking that he was hallucinating. Maybe he was the one in need of medication.

Or a good bottle of Scotch. Damnation. The dancing lights faded, and where a redheaded woman with green eyes had been, a wolf now stood. Its coat was a deep red, very close in color to Giselle's hair. And its eyes, although they were those of a wolf, were emerald green.

He began to shake, and his heart was beating double time. His voice was a mere whisper. “Giselle?”

The wolf looked at him, intelligence shining in its green eyes. In
her
green eyes. He couldn't deny the evidence. This wolf was Giselle. And Giselle was this wolf. His brain hurt, but . . . she'd told him the truth.

He dragged air into his lungs. “Okay.” He still wasn't registering this. He blew out that same air. “Okay. I . . . I need to think about this. In my wildest dreams, I never . . .” He started grabbing his clothes. “Let me think. I need to talk a walk. Please don't go anywhere.”

He pulled on his clothes as the wolf watched him. “Just let me have a little time to sort this out. To adjust. I'll be back. Don't leave.” Shoving his feet into loafers, he grabbed his jacket and his keys and headed out, his brain spinning like a carnival ride.

And he'd thought she was crazy. That would have been easier to take. In the elevator, he braced his hands against his knees as if he'd run a marathon. He started to punch the button for the garage, changed his mind, and chose the first floor instead. Driving in his condition—total freak-out mode—was not a good idea.

Ducking out the service door, he started walking, unsure of his destination. He didn't know what time it was, but probably late. The Moon was closed down for the night.

That's where he'd go. He could sit alone in the bar, which still belonged to him. He could pour himself a stiff Scotch, which he really could use right now. And he could think what the hell he was going to do next.

Having a key to the bar in his possession had been a matter of pride. He'd learned the code to the alarm system for the same reason. This property was his, and he'd liked knowing he could go inside whenever he wanted. Like now.

Moments later, he was rummaging behind the bar for the best bottle of Scotch in the house. After he located that, he grabbed a glass and walked over to a table. He deliberately didn't choose the one where he'd so recently sat with Giselle. That little gathering seemed like it had happened years ago.

A werewolf.
She'd warned him that her secret would be life changing. No shit. After pouring himself a glass of Scotch, he took a hefty gulp. He didn't plan to get drunk, but he wouldn't mind a little Dutch courage.

He'd need it when he went back to the penthouse, which he would do, and soon. She might be a werewolf, but he loved her. If you loved someone, you accepted them, warts and all. Except this was a little more significant than a wart.

The clock behind the bar registered two thirty in the morning. His life had changed forever about twenty minutes ago. For some reason he thought he should remember the time and date that his entire worldview changed.

Now that the initial shock was past, he had a million questions. All he knew about werewolves came from Hollywood, and they usually got that stuff wrong. He hoped they got it wrong. Otherwise, he might need a lot more Scotch.

He'd nearly finished his first glass and was debating whether to pour a second when he heard a noise. No, not just a noise.
Voices.
They came from the hallway that led to the restrooms and the kitchen. Good God, was he about to start hearing voices now? Or seeing ghosts?

More likely, he was lucky enough to be here when somebody was breaking into the place. That would cap his evening off nicely. Screwing the top on the bottle of Scotch, he took it with him as a potential weapon and started down the hall.

Yeah, this was weird. The sound of male voices came closer, but not from either of the bathrooms or the kitchen, which would be logical if someone was messing around in here. The voices came from behind the wall at the end of the hallway.

Although the conversation was muffled, Luke thought there were at least two guys, maybe three. Standing there waiting to see what happened might not be the wisest course of action since he was outnumbered. But after watching Giselle turn into a wolf and then downing a glass of Scotch, Luke was in a what-the-hell mood.

If ghosts walked through that wall and came toward him—and at this point anything was possible—he would hightail it out of there. Even if he threw the bottle of Scotch, it wouldn't stop a ghost.

Whoever was behind that wall, they were about to run smack into it if they were real people. Then he heard a familiar accent. A familiar
British
accent. Mr. Thatcher?

He thought the night couldn't get any weirder until the wall started moving. While he stared, no doubt with his eyes bugging out of his head like a cartoon character, the wall swiveled, allowing three men to walk through the opening.

“Yikes!” Bryce stopped short, and the two behind him, Mr. Thatcher and Benedict Cartwright, plowed into Bryce.

For a moment, the hallway was silent except for the sound of everyone gulping for air.

Luke found his voice first. “What in damnation is going on?”

The three men looked at one another as if each hoped that one of the others would come up with a good story.

Luke tried again. “Where did you come from? What's behind that wall?”

Bryce swallowed. “Well, it's complicated.”

Luke studied Bryce, whose coloring was very close to Giselle's. Same basic genetics, which meant . . . He mentally slapped his forehead. She'd said that Bryce would support her story of being a werewolf.

“Perhaps we should all sit down,” Mr. Thatcher said.

“Not yet.” Luke focused on Bryce and decided to try some fishing. “I know about your sister, Landry.”

His eyes narrowed. “Who told you?”

“She did.”

“When?”

“About thirty minutes ago. And I figure, since you two are related . . .”

“Where is she?”

“Right here.”

Luke turned to find Giselle standing behind him—the Giselle he'd first met, a long-legged, gorgeous redhead in jeans, boots, a sweater, and a leather jacket.

“You didn't lock the front door,” she said. “I had a hunch you might be in here.” She glanced at the bottle of Scotch. “Drowning your sorrows?”

“No. Celebrating the fact that I finally know what's going on with you.” He gestured at the three men standing at the end of the hall. “And I'll take a wild guess that you're all the same species.” He fixed his gaze on Mr. Thatcher. “Including my butler.”

Giselle glanced at Bryce. “You suggested that I tell him, so I did. I even put on a demonstration, after which he ran out of the suite as if his tail was on fire.”

“I did not.” Luke frowned. “It was a shock. I had to be alone for a little while.”

Giselle held his gaze. “Alone except for a bottle of Scotch. That doesn't reassure me as to your state of mind about all this.”

He saw bravado in her green eyes, but it was hiding a layer of hurt. “I'm sorry. I should have stayed.”

“Cut the guy some slack, Sis.” Bryce walked forward and hooked an arm around Luke's shoulders. “Give him some time to get used to the idea. It's not every day that a man finds out he's in love with a werewolf.”

A gasp of surprise made them all freeze.

With a soft oath, Giselle whirled around as Cynthia walked toward them. “Where did you come from? I didn't hear you!”

“I was back in the corner, listening. I went up to the penthouse to tell Luke that Bryce was gone, and I took the fire stairs like I always do. I saw Luke charge into the elevator. He looked upset, so I followed him. When he came in here, I slipped in behind him. I was ready to say something, but then he grabbed the Scotch, which told me he wanted to be alone. I tucked myself into a corner, not sure what to do.” She paused for breath. “A werewolf, Giselle? Really?”

Luke groaned. “It's a joke.”

“I seriously doubt that, big brother.” Cynthia crossed her arms. “And I'm not leaving, so you might as well fill me in.”

“Nobody's leaving.” Benedict Cartwright stepped forward for the first time. “We obviously have a major security breach.” He pulled out his phone. “I can have a Cartwright security team here in five minutes, or . . .” He paused to glance around the group. “We can all sit down, have a drink, and figure this out among ourselves.”

“I choose Option Two,” Bryce said. “Anybody else want to voice an opinion?”

“Definitely Option Two,” Luke said. “Don't call anybody, Cartwright.” He glanced around at the assembled group. “Let's have a seat in the bar. Drinks are on the house.”

“And I'm mixing 'em,” Benedict said. “You may be a better poker player, but I'm a hell of a lot better at bartending.”

Luke looked him in the eye. “That's for sure, Cartwright. You belong here, and I don't. I'm going to sell this place back to you. I finally figured out that was the only sensible thing to do, with a little help from my friends.”

Benedict almost smiled at that. “It's good to have friends.”

•   •   •

Giselle had held it together so far, and she was a pro at presenting a calm facade, but she couldn't guarantee how long she could keep it up. She'd risked everything to reveal her Were being, and Luke had run out on her. Bryce had told her to give Luke some time to get used to the idea, but what if he never did?

As everyone left the hallway, bound for a table in the bar, she stayed behind. So did he. He came toward her, and she tried to gauge his expression, but her darned eyes kept tearing up and she had to blink the moisture away.

“Giselle.”

“Yeah?”

“Please forgive me for running out on you like that.”

She sniffed. “It's okay.” Close up, she could see from the look in his eyes he was sorry. “My brother's right. It's a shock to hear it, and I—”

“So you do forgive me?”

She nodded.

“Thank God.” He cupped her face in both hands, touching her for the first time since he'd watched her shift. “Because I love you so much.” He brushed at her damp cheeks with his thumbs. “And I feel like an ass for hurting you and making you cry.”

She swallowed. “You don't have to say you love me to make me feel better. I'm not who you thought, or
what
you thought. If this doesn't work for you, then I'll—”

He cut her off with a kiss, a tender kiss that she would cherish forever, no matter what happened.

Then he lifted his head. “We have lots to talk about. I have lots to learn. But never doubt that I love you with all my heart.”

She gazed into his eyes and knew that it was true. They would love each other forever. But that didn't mean they'd be
together forever. She sensed he was reserving judgment on that. She couldn't blame him. He had no idea what he was getting into.