When Empires Fall (23 page)

The request was impulsive and spontaneous and so like him that she started laughing.

“Go with you? To Louisiana? On a whim?” She shook her head, disbelieving. “Linc, I can’t just pack up and go, I have responsibilities here. I have performances and rehearsals and my life…I don’t have the luxury to just get up and go.”

“Just for the weekend, then. Spare me the weekend,” he urged her, reaching out to touch her hair, simply because it was there. “I know you barely know me, and I know you probably don’t really trust me, but I promise you that I’m just an average twenty-seven year old guy who loves football games, pizza and cold beer.”

“And women,” Lynette added, eyebrows rising in good humor as she smiled at him. “My mother calls you the ‘playboy heir’ when you’re not looking.”

Linc snorted out a laugh, grinning at her. “How did I earn that nickname?”

“Apparently your wild affair with Jorja Hale and several other famous women has given my mother that impression,” Lynette informed him, gauging his reaction carefully. “I don’t want to be another one of your flings, Linc. I don’t have time to deal with that. Well, actually I don’t really have time to deal with any of this, but somehow you’ve forced yourself in and I’m giving you my time regardless.”

“Then stop worrying about it and come out with me tonight,” he requested, suddenly reaching out to run his hands up and down her arms possessively, desperate heat in his eyes.

“Where?” Was all she could manage, her heart racing at the idea. He had this ability to make her want to throw all caution and care to the wind and simply
be
. It was undeniably exciting.

“A bar, club, I don’t care. Let’s just go.” He smiled again, cockier now and laced with his natural charm. “I bet you don’t get to have a lot of fun, Lynette. Let me show you how it’s done.”

Lynette bit her lip hesitantly, her mind racing with lists of obligations and responsibilities. But what did one little night hurt? She didn’t have to be at rehearsal until eight the next morning and technically until then she didn’t have plans. Besides, he really looked like he needed a distraction, and she felt too sorry for him to not want to help.

“Okay. Just let me change.”

Within the hour, they were at a crowded and noisy blues club called
The Harlot
, complete with hazy blue neon lights, a packed dance floor, and a live band strumming away classics by the likes of Stevie Ray Vaughan and B.B. King.

After sitting for a few moments restlessly at the bar and downing a few shots of Southern Comfort, the two of them turned to each other and seemed to know exactly what had to happen next.

“I know you’ve been doing it all night, but that dance floor is calling our names,” Linc told her, his grin bright in the blue darkness of the club.

Lynette laughed, then rose to her feet and grabbed his hand. “I hope you can keep up with me.”

“I like a challenge,” he said as he followed her out onto the dance floor. He immediately pulled her against him and ran his hands down her sides, his hips moving expertly to the music. She matched his movements, her hands finding his as he twirled her out and then back into his arms, her back against his chest as he moved with her, keeping in time with the beat.

“You’re better than I expected.” She chuckled, spinning out and then back to him again, her calm blue eyes sparking with heat. “Makes me wonder what else I might learn about you.”

“Let’s see…” he began, smirking at her. “I’m an avid outdoorsman. I can hunt, fish, sail, rock climb, mountain bike, and snowboard. I love horror movies and rock music and I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty if my car needs an oil change.”

“You own a car? In the city?”

“A ‘67 Chevy Camaro.” Linc released her to spin once again before pulling her back into his arms. This time, her face was just inches from his own and he caught himself staring down at her lips, his heart racing. “I would bore you with the details on why it’s the coolest car in the world, but there’s something else I want to do.”

He caught her mouth with his own and kissed her, enjoying the way she almost instantly melted against him, her arms sliding around his neck. As they kissed, they continued to sway to the smooth sultry beat of a song about black velvet, losing themselves in both the music and the feel of the moment. It was like being enveloped in a warm wave of molasses, thick and vibrating with drums and bass and a voice raspy with the heat of the south. Nothing else mattered; nothing existed but each second as it came and went. No thoughts of tomorrow, no regrets of yesterday, only the moment.

Lynette pulled away from him as the music faded, the band switching to some upbeat Doobie Brothers hit about black water. She met his eyes, stunned by the intensity of emotion she saw, knowing he was just as moved as she was.

“This is dangerous,” she whispered, so quiet that he only heard it he because he was so close.

“What’s life without a little danger.” He reached up to cup her face in his hands, leaning in to press his lips to hers once more, softer and gentler this time. Before pulling away fully, he simply hovered there, reveling in the feel of her breath over his own. “I’m leaving for New Orleans tomorrow morning. Come with me.”

“I can’t, Linc.” She pushed back from him and crossed her arms over her chest, unable to stand the proximity of being so close any longer. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“It’s okay,” he assured her, reaching for her hand to lead her away from the dance floor. “Let’s go.”

They made it outside of the club and stood in the chilly evening air, the sky above them glowing hauntingly with threaded clouds and silvery moonlight.

He turned to her and managed a smile. “I’m still going to go, Lynette. But when I get back, I don’t want to find out that you’ve run off with some other guy.”

She snorted, shivering as she laughed at him and rolled her eyes. “As if I have the time.”

“Good. I don’t want you to forget me,” he said as he slipped his dark leather jacket over her shoulders just as a cab pulled up to take her home.

“Don’t you want this?” She motioned with the jacket, eyebrows raised.

“I’ll come back for it,” he said simply, framing her face in his hands once again and kissing her. “Goodnight, Lynette.”

“Goodbye.” She met his eyes once before sliding into the cab and shutting the door. She couldn’t resist turning around and watching him as the car pulled away.

Wrapping herself up tighter with his jacket, she bit back a smile and breathed in his cologne before releasing a heavy, wistful sigh.

W
yatt Bailey found it ironic that, after having been all across the world, he would end up right back in his hometown of St. George, Maine, doing exactly what he had always said he would never do. Such was the fate of a jaded gambler, he supposed. When the game didn’t satisfy the hunger any longer, the best way out was to go back to the only other thing you knew how to do.

And for Wyatt, that thing was boat building.

His father before him had built boats on the weekends, specializing in fishing boats, sold mostly to the local area fishermen. During the week, he was one of them; out on the water at the break of dawn, hoping each day was going to be better than the last.

That is, until the sea had claimed him and Wyatt’s only brother. That was when Wyatt had hightailed it out of Maine, realizing life was too damn short and that the last thing he wanted to do was end up as fish food in the Gulf of Maine.

And so he’d gone out to see the world, playing whatever game struck his fancy in order to maintain a decent amount of spending money. He’d done the backpacking thing across Europe, puttering around Moscow, Prague and Amsterdam, dabbling through Australia one time when he scrapped together enough for the airfare. Then back to the west and up through South America, where the games were hot and heavy, and the cards were usually dusty with traces of cocaine.

Eventually he’d run out of money. Well, what had really happened was that he had wound up in Vegas on a whim and had blown every last cent he’d managed to win while cruising through Mexico, leaving him virtually penniless. He’d even been stupid enough to bet his own car, which he’d subsequently lost his ass on. His only option then was to hunker down and get a job. And in Las Vegas, the only real jobs are in the casinos.

He’d worked his way up from bus boy to dealer, and spent more time than he had warranted in Vegas, losing himself in the lifestyle and the glamour, the despair and the greed. It was a fascinating and addictive place for a gambler, and he found he oddly enjoyed being on the dealing side of the game for once. And it didn’t hurt that he was damn good at it.

But while Sin City may have been a fresh start and a new beginning for him, it had also wound up being his destruction. Well, not the city, really. Like many unfortunate men, it was a woman who had done him in.

Shaking away the thought, he focused his attention back on the fine sandpaper and the hull beneath his hand as he perfected his creation, a forty-foot wooden yacht built especially for one of the wealthiest men on the Eastern Seaboard.

At thirty-two, he was well liked amongst the up and coming elites, who were sick and tired of old men bossing them around. Trust fund children who wanted to spend their inheritance without dirty looks from those who despised them for being what they were. Wyatt passed no judgments and could care less if the client wanted a kegerator and a hot tub built into his yacht. All he saw was money, and he didn’t care if it came from a trust fund or a drug deal; cash was cash and that was good enough for him.

To his right, an outdated stereo blasted out Bob Segar at full volume and his foot tapped in time with the beat. A freshly opened Heineken sat beside it, condensation cooling on the green glass, while a chilled ocean breeze whipped in from the wide open doors of his oversized garage. Late afternoon sunlight streamed in hazily from the skylights in the ceiling.

Wyatt sat back then to admire his work, lifting the beer to his lips and taking a long sip. Yup, who knew he’d end up building boats, just like the old man. Funny though how he preferred not to sail in his creations, not wanting to try his luck when clearly his family had a bad habit of perishing at sea. Instead he simply reaped the reward of cold hard cash for a job well done. The gambler in him scoffed at the idea, but the need for money was an absolute and Wyatt wasn’t about to shun off an innate skill when it slapped him in the face. Besides, he enjoyed working with his hands and building something from scratch that required precision and effort. It kept his mind off of the past, which was exactly where it should be.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, causing him to scowl down at it as he pulled it free, glaring at the Caller ID. Area code 310. Los Angeles.

Well, shit. Apparently the past just didn’t want to stay buried where it belonged.

“Long time no talk, Win,” Wyatt greeted casually into the phone as he shut off the radio and took another swig of his beer.

“
Sorry about that, Wyatt, you know how things get,
” Win said shakily, his voice slurred with drink and his breath uneven. In the background, Wyatt could hear the telltale sounds of a rowdy dive bar at high noon. “
What’s it been now? Four years?
”

“Sounds about right,” Wyatt confirmed, his lips curving into a slow and cagey smile. “What can I do for you?”

“
I’m sorry to bother you with this, I know you’re probably busy…and everything, but I just got to tell you, warn you, really…
”

“Go on.” Wyatt disliked the tone of Win’s voice. He got extra apologetic and weepy when he was going to ask for a favor, and usually the favor was not one you wanted to be asked for. But they’d been friends once and it would take a crueler man than Wyatt to turn away someone who needed his help.

“
Remember seven years ago when I told you…you know…
”

“I remember,” Wyatt said simply, though his interest was piqued.

“
Well, Marshall called me and said that there’s a detective calling around, asking about the…the thing.
” Win gulped audibly and let out a trembling breath, as if he were on the verge of tears. “
Wyatt, if he somehow gets to you, just pretend you don’t know anything, okay? Forget everything I told you. If my father finds out…
”