When Empires Fall (29 page)

After all, he usually ached quite a bit at just the thought of her face, so why should it be any different for her? They were such similar creatures, in so many ways, and he knew her mind better than any other person alive. She was skilled in the art of deception, in ways most people would never understand. But he did. He understood perfectly, if only because he was equally as skilled himself. Hell, how could a gambler be successful if he didn’t master his poker face?

Just then, he rounded a turn and spotted the city looming in the distance, and his lips curved into a sharp and eager grin. But, at nearly that same moment, he hit the traffic.

Grunting irritably, Wyatt slammed on the brakes and slowed the car to a steady crawl, remembering in that moment why he despised the city as much as he did. How could she live here, in this tangled mess of towering concrete and steel, surrounded by miles and miles of rubbernecked cars and extremely frustrated people? But maybe that was why he had been so much at home in Las Vegas while she had loathed it. She needed New York just as much as New York and her family’s empire needed her.

Wyatt had only a need for wide-open spaces, and while the strip in Vegas may be crowded, just beyond it there was nothing but an expanse of empty desert in all directions. It only took minutes to escape the chaos and find room to breathe. And if he was being honest with himself, he knew that this need for space and desire for freedom was largely why he had lost her in the first place. It was why he had lost nearly everything that had mattered to him in his life. It was an incontrovertible truth that his wanderlust rarely sated others as well as it sated him.

But he was here now and he was determined to make things right, both for Win and for the family itself. They had a right to know the truth, and while Win had been forever terrified to speak up, Wyatt wasn’t scared in the slightest. Cyrus Vasser didn’t intimidate him, had no hold over him. And if the man wanted to pursue some kind of legal action or, if Win’s fears were correct, try and send an “assassin” to murder him, well then that was just how the cards would fall and he’d have to play them as best he saw fit when the moment arose. No use worrying over milk that hadn’t even been spilled yet, not when he had a debt to settle.

In a way, that was exactly what this was. He was settling his debt with her, and with the family, by giving them the truth. While he had a feeling they may not appreciate it at first, in the long run it would be best for everyone involved.

Except Cyrus, of course, Wyatt mused, reaching into his glove box for a cigarette as he rolled the window down a crack. Did they throw ninety-year old murderers into prison? He wasn’t sure, but at least he’d be alive to witness the mortification this would cause those who loved him.

Most importantly of which, he considered as he flicked on his lighter and breathed the cigarette to life, was Madison.

This news was likely to destroy her.

Rolling his shoulders to shake away any doubts, he continued down the highway and into the city, figuring he’d deal with her backlash and her fury in due time. He’d dealt with it countless times before, hadn’t he? And where other men had cowered in weakness and let themselves be ruined by it, he had fought right back and matched her without faltering. After all, they were both skilled in the art of shooting someone who outdrew them. It had at times made for an interesting, albeit destructive, firefight.

Because thinking of it put a bad taste in his mouth, he shot up the sound on the stereo until the blast of Zeppelin’s guitar solo broke through his bad thoughts. He swerved into a swifter lane of traffic and gunned the engine, determined to make it into the city before he changed his mind.

He had never been to the New York Vasser Hotel before, despite having been in the city itself many times. But he knew what to expect, having been in the Vasser Hotel and Casino in Vegas. Hell, he’d worked there. And while the glitz and glamour of the Vegas scene was undoubtedly less sophisticated and posh than the elite status of New York, Wyatt figured he could find his way around. In any case, if he made any inquiries then she might get a heads up he was coming before he actually made it to her. He was a man who valued the thrill and mystique of surprises, and this was much too important to leave to chance.

So when he pulled into the sweeping driveway for valet, town cars and limousines, he slipped the young man who approached him bearing a royal blue Vasser Hotel valet uniform a crisp hundred.

“Put it under the name John Smith,” Wyatt told the valet, his eyes hidden by the lenses of his mirrored aviator glasses. With a gesture that was both practiced and smooth, he slipped a charcoal gray fedora onto his head.

“Yes sir.” The valet nodded once and pocketed the hundred as Wyatt strode away, his gait long and relaxed, not hurried or committed. He smirked and tipped his hat to Barry the doorman as he opened the door, but as Wyatt stepped into the hotel lobby he made sure to keep his head down and his demeanor inconspicuous and leisurely. Linc or Grant or Marshall were likely wandering around, and if they saw him before he made it to her office then he was screwed. So he adjusted his hat to shade more of his face and headed towards the elevators.

From experience, he knew that the offices were usually kept on the second or third floors, and since this hotel didn’t require nearly the same amount of security that the casino required, in all likelihood they had fit all of the required offices onto the second floor. Whether or not she would be inside of her office when he found it was one thing, but he’d deal with that possibility when he came to it.

When he emerged onto the second floor, his eyes did a quick sweep of the waiting area, hallway and conference rooms to the right, and open glass alcoves with offices on the left. He spotted Quinn, who glanced up to stare at him as he swept in that direction, but one quick glance at the plaque on the office door beside her deeming it as Grant’s office had him cutting across and into the other office alcove, where a petite brunette was busy typing on the computer. He noted the plaque on this door labeling it as his destination, and so without a word he sauntered right past Carrie and pushed open the door to Madison’s office.

She glanced up when he came in, annoyance at the unannounced intrusion barely flashing over her features the moment before she froze. He stopped just inside the doorway and for the briefest of moments simply took his fill of her.

She hadn’t changed, he discovered, his heart rioting within the confines of his chest. At least, not really. He supposed that her features had sharpened, hardened in a way that came with experience and with age. She had been eighteen when he’d first met her, still a kid. But it was no coltish teenager that faced him now. No, it was a woman that met his gaze, with a determined strength and a distinctly feminine power. The sight of her quite literally took his breath away.

Her rich honeyed eyes, heavy lidded and sultry, still focused on him with direct intensity, though there was a distinct coldness in them now that had never been in them before. Her sable waves of coffee colored hair were shorter than when he had last seen her, but he could still remember what it had felt like to run his hands through it. He noted how the smooth ivory skin of her face paled ever so slightly as she stared at him, even as the rest of her expression remained immovable. That, at least, he had expected. She had always been talented in concealing any and all emotions from her face, never revealing anything more than what she wanted others to see. If anything, she had only perfected her talent in the years since Vegas.

Madison bit down hard on her tongue, forcing herself not to lose focus, not to lose control. She fought to level her breathing, to beat back the violent racing of her heart and the explosion that had hit her square in the chest just at the sight of him. Surely he was an illusion; surely he wasn’t really here, not now, not after all this time.

She let her gaze drift over him, taking stock of the man even as her emotions went haywire just beneath her carefully constructed shell. She needed a moment to regain the ability to speak, to even fully appreciate the fact that he was here, standing before her.

He looked so much the same, and yet so different. He was still rugged, still tall and wiry, with taut muscles rippling beneath tanned skin, as though he were poised to attack or to run, whichever he decided suited him best. It had always been his way, she knew, to feign leisure and casualness all the while more prepared than any to defend himself. It tricked others into letting their guard down, while he never, ever would.

He’d kept his golden-bronzed hair long, sweeping just above his shoulders, casually tucked beneath his trademark fedora. His eyes behind the mirrored aviator glasses would be hard as granite and the color of slate, deeply intense and harboring countless secrets he would never share. His faded and worn jeans coupled with the black leather jacket and gray t-shirt spoke of his comfort in the casual, and yet she noted that he wore a pair of leather shoes worth several hundred dollars. He had always favored the finer things in life, while at the same time appreciating the less expensive mundane things. She was well aware that he had known both outlandish wealth and dire poverty several times over in his life.

He had been a gambler in those days, among other things. Part of her was curious to learn just what he was now.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Wyatt drawled, his lips curving into an arrogant, crooked grin as he pulled off his sunglasses. His eyes flashed with humor and something much darker. “How’ve you been?”

Madison smirked, rising to the challenge willfully, almost eagerly. “Hello, Wyatt. I’ve been quite well, thank you.”

She rose smoothly to her feet and slid around her desk, gliding towards him on sculpted legs, her slender body draped in a silk dress of ivory white. On any other woman, the effect would have been angelic, a symbol of innocence and purity. But on her it was like a violent contradiction. The woman was the furthest thing from an angel and she knew it, prided herself on it. He wouldn’t have wanted her if she were anything other than exactly what she was.

She shut the office door discreetly, leaving a confused looking Carrie hovering awkwardly at her desk, unsure what was happening. Then she turned to face him, angling her face up towards his, making him wonder if it was in offering or in malevolence.

Her eyes met his and held, revealing nothing except a vague interest and quiet simmer of desire. If only he knew the firestorm raging within her and if only she could know of the hurricane tearing apart his own insides. Instead, neither had any assurance of the other’s feelings, falling back into the same old game they’d always played.

Her dam was on the verge of shattering and all it took was a quick and stunning flash of violence to race over her eyes for him to foresee the slap before it hit him, wild and deliberate and mean, right across the side of his face. His head whipped to the side from the force of the blow but he did not stagger, did nothing more than wince from the hot flash of pain. When he tilted his head back to glare at her, he saw the glorious satisfaction and the furious hate in her eyes. Yes, this was the girl he had known, the red-hot viper that had stolen his heart.

When he started laughing and his eyes filled with humor, she nearly blinked, so taken aback by this sudden turn of events. Surely she had expected him to rage, to storm out, maybe even to hit her back. He had done all of those things before, surely he was capable of doing them again. But laughing at her?

“What, may I ask, is so funny?” She grit her teeth and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him suspiciously.

He shook his head and adjusted his hat, buying himself a brief moment of time to finish laughing before he reached out for her and yanked her against him, covering her mouth with his and diving in head first.

At first, he had simply acted out of haste and out of retaliation for the slap. He knew it would hurt her to relive how it had felt to kiss him and he wanted to use it against her. What he hadn’t known was just how badly it would hurt him, as well.

Not only did she smell the same, like sultry amber and sandalwood, she tasted and felt the same as well. His hands roamed over her sides and her waist, her hips and the sloping curve of her back, and it was like coming home. Everything about her, from the way her teeth nipped at his bottom lip to the urgent hiss of breath she released each time he dug his fingers into her flesh, was as familiar as his own face.

Her hands clenched into fists, gripping the leather of his jacket fiercely as she savored his kiss, her body trembling with the crushing need and horrendous, blood-boiling anger she felt. God, she hated him, hated him so much it ate at her very soul. And yet, despite the hatred, she couldn’t deny that she would always want him. Damn him for having the power to strip down her defenses this way and release who she really was. He had been the only man to ever accomplish such a feat.

Urging back the rushing surge of passion, she broke the kiss and pushed him hard into one of her sleek mahogany filing cabinets, just to get him away from her. He stayed backed up against the cabinet as he watched her, his eyes unreadable but certainly lacking the arrogance he had presented to her before.

Fighting to catch her breath, she straightened and smoothed out the ruffles in her dress from where his hands had claimed her and eyed him evenly. There were traces of her fury in her expression, less outrageous than before, but just as startling.

“What are you doing here, Wyatt?” she asked him, one sculpted eyebrow rising. “I had hoped you were dead.”