Rough and Tumble (23 page)

She saw a man, his head down, his longish light brown hair falling over his shoulders, his hands in jeans pockets.

Her entire body jerked with a combination of heat and ice.
Cash?

Was she seeing things? He wouldn't be here. He didn't even know where she . . .

But he did know where she lived. During one of their light pillow talks, she'd told him about her yuppie community in University Towne Centre, near the mall. Anyone could use the Internet to find her. . . .

Her heart was logjamming her chest, bumping harder and harder. What the hell was happening?

Hand shaking, she opened the door, still not believing that this wasn't a hallucination brought on by her desperate longings.

But as she faced him, he still didn't disappear. He only took his hands out of his pockets, his fingers curling into fists by his sides.

The air ticked with every sharp second that passed, pacing her pulse and, finally, just as she thought he was going to evaporate, he took a step toward her.

“Molly . . .”

“Why're you here?” She held up a hand, keeping him back, even though all her body and soul wanted was for him to cross her threshold.

He seemed as anxious as she was, but was that even possible? Cool, calm cardsharp Cash?

“I know this is unexpected, but . . .”

She shook her head, but he went on.

“Molly, I've driven thousands of miles the past month, and I think I've seen about everything the West has to offer. None of it was the same without you.”

Her heartbeat was so loud that she could barely hear her thoughts. But maybe they were too scrambled to decipher anyway.

“Don't give me your lines,” she said, hoping she could tell him to go to hell without faltering. “My bet is that you were in the area and you wanted an easy lay.”

His expression fell. She'd never seen or imagined it could happen, but here he was, in her doorway, telling her he missed her.

God, she understood why he'd left her behind after she'd asked him for more than he could give, but why was this happening?

“Besides,” she said, “you were driving aimlessly before I met you.”

“I know. But after everything, I realized that the road ends here, Molly. With . . . you.”

She could tell that he was putting every bit of himself on the line. His eyes didn't lie—his gaze pierced her, but not just with passion.

With what she'd seen in the picture of them on the highway.

As he took another step toward her, through her doorway, she started to tremble.

The road ends here with you. . . .

Fear of being devastated by him again kept her rooted in place, and as she was about to tell him that he should've called, he came to her, bringing her against him in a rough, yearning embrace that pressed the oxygen out of her lungs. Her pulse sawed through her, painful and welcome at the same time.

Then he was kissing her, forcefully, full of need, all-consuming. He ran his hands through her hair until her ponytail band slid out, and she grabbed his T-shirt, their breaths coming hard, her head spinning, her knees giving out until he pressed her even closer to him.

He held both sides of her face, looking into her eyes as if he was taking in the color of them, matching them with his memories of her.

“I was driving,” he said again, his tone ragged. “Through Utah, into Colorado, not knowing where I was going. I circled back around, and I passed the Coyote Moon Lodge. Like everything else, it made me think of you, but this time . . . Jesus, it was where I turned my back on you, and before I could figure out what I was doing, I was driving to San Diego. It wasn't until I ended up here, on your doorstep, hoping that this was the right address for Molly P. Preston, that I knew I was finally where . . .”

“You belong?” she asked.

He nodded, his smile tenuous. He wasn't hiding what he felt from her now, and she touched his face, still not believing he'd come to her.

“What even got you out of Rough and Tumble?” she whispered.

“Leighton caught up to me.”

“Oh God.”

“Everything's fine. Beetles took matters into his own hands and . . . let's just say he managed to stay out of jail and Leighton's getting his own vacation there for the time being.” Cash pulled her to him again, burying his face in her hair, keeping her close. “Maybe I have him to thank for getting my head together. Or maybe it would've happened somewhere down the line. Either way, I was never going to get over you, Molly.” He swallowed. “After Johanna's suicide, I . . . couldn't cope. I shut down, thinking that life would be so much easier without attachments. Then you came along.”

Her heart careened. So she had been different.

“You were right about how I tried to make you into someone who'd be easy to leave,” he said. “But you weren't. I couldn't function without you. You were the only light I've ever had, and I snuffed it out. All I want is to have you back.”

For a man who didn't express himself much, he was doing just fine, she thought. He'd definitely changed, and she held him all the tighter.

He rubbed a strand of her hair between his fingers, as if he was assuring himself that he was still here. “Some guys would've called you to talk things out before showing up at your door, but I wanted to see your face again—I wanted to know without any of those damned words if you'd forgive me.”

Words. Now there was a new one she could write on herself:
Forgiveness
. Because right here, in his arms, she was going to give him all the chances he needed.

But he was still going on. “I know I've got a lot of work to do and a lot of things to put behind, but . . .”

Molly placed her hand against his heart, feeling it pound. “In my wildest dreams, I was hoping you'd come around again.”

He pulled away to look at her, the emotion in his eyes clearer than ever.

If this wasn't love yet, then it could be. She'd never witnessed anything like the glow in his gaze, the care, the promise that he was going to be all in with her.

He reached behind him, closing the door, watching her to see if she was really serious about him staying.

After the door shut, she went over to lock it.

He smiled, but it wasn't in that cocky way she'd gotten so used to. There was a question there, a hesitation that showed a vulnerability that only a few had probably ever seen in him.

“Come here, Cash,” she said, pulling him into her home.

He scooped her into his arms, kissing her instead. They never even made it past the living room, collapsing to the thick carpet, tangled with each other. His stubble burned her skin, whisking over it in what used to be such a silent house. Their clothes seemed to melt off with every touch.

It was magic. Pure magic.

He kissed his way all over her body, bringing it alive again, each cell beating in brutal time, joining with her wild heartbeat.

“Cash?” she asked as they paused, pulsing body to body, his chest against hers. She could feel his heart exploding over and over again, two people colliding into one.

“You know what you can call me,” he said on a fervent whisper.

She smiled, stroking his face. Then she used a finger to write on his chest.
Beau
.

Her Beau.

He encircled her wrist with his fingers, kissed her palm, looking into her eyes with such intensity that she nearly exploded.

“There's just something I need to tell you before we go any further . . .” she started.

He bent, laughing into her neck, tickling her skin. “What now?”

She laughed with him. “You ever been to Singapore?”

He didn't even ask what she meant as he smiled, kissing her so thoroughly that she shifted under him, feeling his hardness probe her.

With one drenched thrust, he slipped inside her, his flesh embraced by hers. They moved together, slow, no games this time, no words coming between them. Nothing between them now.

A flicker of passion traveled in a circle inside her, zooming faster, like a firefly leaving a bright trail, whizzing up and up, drawing heated tracks until she quaked in a breath and convulsed under him. She rode the high as he found his own, fusing into her, making her wonder how she'd ever felt so alone.

He kissed her again, tracing four last words on her chest with his finger.

My love
.

At least, she was pretty sure that's what he'd written, and she bloomed inside, rejoicing in a feeling that was only going to grow and grow.

Love
, she thought, drawing the same word on his chest.

As they lost themselves in each other's arms, Molly sighed at the word, but it was the feeling itself that had turned her inside out and upside down, right along with the last man she'd ever thought she'd end up with.

Molly P. Preston was finally in love.

First time for everything.

Rough & Tumble Saloon

Rough & Tumble, NV

Dear Drunks,

Another day in paradise. Mol & me settling into things. Learning Mandarin, eating at hawker courts (food courts in Singapore for you apes that don't know). It's one big adventure with my angel. (Stop laughing and thinking you jackasses were right about everything.)

Bennett, Jesse's email said you're having difficulty with a showgirl that's got your number. Grab your sack, man. Love turned out to be damn good on my end.

Cash

Look for Bennett's story in the next Rough & Tumble novel

DOWN AND DIRTY

Available from InterMix October 2014

On the outskirts of Sin City there's a rough and tumble saloon where the women who are brave enough to enter can mingle with men that are equally magnetic and dangerous. And in this town, no one's afraid to get a little dirty . . .

Billionaire playboy Bennett Hughes' black sheep reputation is well-earned, but that doesn't stop him from wanting the respect of his family—even if it means tracking down his brother's gold-digging one-night-stand to earn it. But when Ben finds his intended target to be the opposite of what he expected, his chance at redemption ends in an accidental quickie marriage.

Despite her history, ex-showgirl Liz Palazzo believes in love at first sight, something she thought she experienced with Ben. Determined to put her party-girl reputation behind her, Liz vows to be the best wife ever—even if her husband seems set on keeping their union a marriage of convenience.

But as the sparks fly and their connection grows, Ben starts to wonder if Liz might be the one person who can make him a better man—or if the former bad girl just wants him for his money . . .

Just before Liz Palazzo leaned back on her chaise at the Mandalay Bay European-style pool and closed her eyes, she caught a glimpse of a man who'd walked into the pool area.

Or, rather, the
hunk of total burning love
who'd wandered out from reality and straight into her sights.

Hub-
ba
. That was her heart talking, and it'd never shouted so loud at her, never forced her to her lose a pulse-beat in a way that made her think she was never going to get her body started up again. But when her heart did get back to business, so did her brain, processing everything about the new arrival.

His hair was the type of blond that reminded her of eternal youth, like in old movies with Brad Pitt, who'd seemed so immortal and shining gold. Even from here, Liz could tell his eyes were blue—the shade of runway lights in the dead of night when she used to drive to McCarran Airport to watch the planes take off to places other people got to go. He wasn't dressed like anything special, just the white shirt and long shorts of a tourist, but she could only sizzle for what she imagined was under the clothing: wide shoulders, gym-honed arms and chest and abs, an ass that would feel like granite if she gave it a good squeeze . . .

Phew. Funny how, one second, the world had been just a fun little playground for her and her friends, but the next . . .

Burning.

But there was something more about the man that made him extra interesting. It was like he . . . walked alone? Carried himself apart from everyone else?

Odd, to get that kind of impression about him . . .

Liz ripped her gaze away from the new arrival, who had been checking her out, too. She shouldn't be acting interested in the man anyway. Let him come to
her
if that was in the cards because, not to be vain, that's what males always did—at least at first. She'd been relying on her looks to attract others her whole life, and so had her mother, so she knew the drill. In fact, they'd banked on those looks since she was a baby chick trying out for commercials and going to ballet, tap, and jazz classes, so why stop now?

It was the after-attraction part that usually gave her problems, but that could come later.

Heart twirling, she chanced another gaze over to where the blond stud had been standing. He'd be a nice change of pace from the group of tourists she'd met earlier today—a group that'd come in to the pool just to gawk at all the breasts—even if they'd bought her and the girls a slew of martinis.

Just one look and she wanted more. Much more. There was just something about him . . .

He'd gone to the bar by the hot tub, taking a seat, his back to her. Hmm. Had she only been imagining the way his gaze had lingered on her when he'd first entered? Why hadn't he sidled on over here like any other red-blooded male would've done by now, even if it was just to sit by the pool a few feet away to ogle her bared breasts?

That heart of hers—the one that'd been so giddy a few seconds ago—thudded, slowing down.

Was he . . . not so much into women? Or just not so much into her? Or maybe . . .

Liz smiled. If he was playing it cool, she could play it right back. And if he was meant to be more than a guy who'd wandered into the pool area, life would find a way to get him over here.

Liz gave him a few minutes. Then a few more, the top-forty music playing away, along with the laughter of her fellow ex-showgirls in the pool. Then, peeking open one eye, Liz checked to see if the man was still at the bar, if he had turned around in his chair to face her yet. Boobs were boobs, and they were here for him to see.
Come on already
.

But he was having a drink, laughing with the bartender.

He was taking much too long to get with the program.

Oh, well, sometimes destiny needed a kick in the butt to get going.

Sitting up on the chaise, she tied her bikini top on since bar etiquette demanded it. She put on her wedge sandals, resisting the urge to take a picture of the man for her many Facebook friends and instead moved right to the bar.

God, was it possible that she could smell the soap on the hunk's skin from two seats down? The shivers all over her arms made her think that kind of chemical magic was possible.

The bartender recognized her, and he smiled. “Martini straight-up with gin, vermouth, and two olives.”

Liz smiled back and perched on the chair. Was Manly Man looking?

Nope, dammit. Maybe he
wasn't
that into girls. Just her luck.

But the longer she subtly checked him out from beneath her lashes, the more her blood high-kicked its way through her.

Liz had never been shy, so why did the cat have her tongue now?

When he picked up a cigarette lighter from the bar where he'd set it next to his drink—a Manhattan?—she recognized the image on the casing: black Cleopatra hair, kitten-with-a-whip pose.

“Bettie Page,” she said, seeing her opening with him.
Thank you, Destiny
.

The man gave the lighter a good look, then nodded. “So it is.”

“I had a friend who was into her, for pure kitsch value, of course.” A costume designer from the years she'd worked on
Blaze!
at the Oceana, a dead hotel-casino on the Strip that'd closed down six months ago, after she'd retired.

“This belonged to a friend,” said the man. “He gave it to me before he left on a long trip.”

Forthcoming. She liked that in a man.

She extended her hand. “I'm Liz.”

He gave her a look that she couldn't comprehend for a moment—something between ice and fire, disinterest and . . . more? But before she could decide, it went back to neutral.

“Ben.” He shook her hand.

Her skin came alive, a burst of whirring sparks spinning through her fingertips and up her arm, popping in her chest and spangling lower until her belly fizzed.

Hub-
ba
-ba-ba.

He disengaged, going back to his lighter, fiddling with it. She didn't see any cigarettes nearby.

“You need a smoke?” she asked.

“I'm not in the habit.”

“Good.” So she was anti. Sue her. “I mean, I don't have any cigarettes to give you.”

“Then why'd you ask?”

Wow, he
was
to the point, but he'd said it with a slight grin. As she sat there deciding what that meant, she slid down in her chair ever so slightly.

“I'm only being polite,” she said with her own smile as the bartender brought her martini.

The man drained his cocktail, and Liz nodded to the bartender, ordering another for him.

When he glanced at her, she shrugged. “It's on me.”

For some reason, his mouth went tight, but then the bartender brought his next cocktail, and he raised a glass.

“To Bettie Page,” he said.

She met his glass with hers, and they both drank. She watched him the whole time, his mannerisms feeling so familiar and not-so-familiar.

When she finished sipping and laughed a little, he loosened up.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing really.” She peered at him, her heartbeat racing again at the blue of his eyes. “It's just that you remind me of someone . . .”

This time when his smile disappeared, Liz knew there had to be a good reason.

***

Had Liz Palazzo caught onto him?

Ben had never been in a situation where he needed to be anyone but himself, and he wasn't sure he was pulling off this Joe-Blow-on-vacation imitation right now. Maybe it'd been a bad idea to pretend to be someone else so he could get into her good graces, finding out what she'd done with the money she'd taken from his brother's room during their one night stand. Getting her to sign the non-disclosure agreement that was weighing in his pocket.

Was she an avid tabloid reader and she knew who he was? Or worse, was he somehow reminding her of Jameson? He and his brother weren't dead ringers for each other, but was Ben more like him than he'd thought?

Either way, Liz Palazzo had a way of looking into Ben that made him shift in his seat. He itched to get back to his comfort zone, start up the old flirting machine, slipping his Rolex onto her wrist and whispering sweet nothings into her ear to distract her from everything else. Shiny things—and sinful ones—had always distracted
him
.

But she'd come over here because she'd been attracted to Joe Blow, not because he was buying a saloon full of people drinks or giving away expensive watches to one-night stands. For once, that felt kind of good, even if he was obviously just a poolside flirtation.

She was giving him a sultry look, the tips of her mouth lifted in a pink smile that was slightly and, yes, even adorably tipsy.

“Yup,” she said lazily. “You're familiar, all right.”

Every nerve cell was alive, zinging with awareness, with a lust that nearly took his common sense over. Beautiful woman, interested woman,
his
kind of woman. Up close her eyes were even more vivid than in the phone picture, neon violet promises.

He gripped the Bettie Page lighter Cash Campbell had given him. It'd been as much of a sure conversation-starter as he'd been hoping. “How could you have seen me before when you just met me?”

“Oh, it's not necessarily you I've seen.” She leaned on the bar with both arms, flashing the tops of those perfectly round breasts that'd fit right into his palms like they were made to be there.

Damn, he really wanted to strip off that bikini top. But this wasn't the moment to be lusting when maybe she was about to tell him he resembled Jameson.
Was
his cover already blown?

She gave him another smoking hot look, stroking her finger over the stem of her martini glass. His very own misbehaving stem pulsed, and he looked away from her and at his drink.

Focus. This is how Jameson got into trouble with her, too
.

Her voice was as smooth as the lapping pool water in the background. “You on vacation?” she asked.

“I am. You?”

“You could call it that.”

“Sounds like you have a story behind this trip.”

There it was—a smile from her, a getting-to-know-you-over-drinks step in the right direction. One of Bennett's—and obviously Ben's—specialties.

“We all have our stories,” she said with a careless shrug. “Mine just happens to include a man who didn't quite work out for me. And that's why I must drown my sorrows today.”

Was she referring to Jameson?

Besides being a little buzzed, she was being flip about her story. Surprisingly, there was even a sadness there, too. But how could she have given a crap about Jameson if she'd stolen from him?

At least she was talkative, but then again, most people he met at bars were like that. Booze, the social lubricant of choice for lonely people . . . or maybe just people who went to places like this to not be lonely.

Ben glanced at her again as she sipped her cocktail, one pinkie up. When she placed the glass back on the bar, she sighed, resting her head in her hand while she gave him another considering glance from beneath her lashes. Damn, they were long. They looked natural, too.

“And what's your story?” she asked.

Relieved that she'd dropped the whole you-remind-me-of-so-and-so thing, he pocketed the lighter. “No story. As I said, I'm here for a few days of relaxation.”

“On your own?”

Forward, wasn't she? He liked it, but he tamped that down, too. He was also beginning to suspect she'd never seen him in the tabloids.
Was
this working?

“Yes, all on my own.” He smiled back at her. “Where's that man you're running from? Is he somewhere around?”

“Heavens, no. I wouldn't say I'm running from him, either. He flicked me out of his condo like I was an insect. A perfect storybook fantasy ending to our time together.” She stretched out her body as she leaned on the bar, emphasizing those breasts, the luscious curve of her back. “Anyway, it's my friend Anita's birthday, so we decided to live it up here for a few days. It's a treat for us locals to come to the Strip like this.”

They were swerving off topic, so he tried to get them back on it. Maybe, after she downed that martini, he'd buy her another so she would give him even more of her story. “This definitely isn't the kind of place the ninety-nine percent can come all the time.”

“Well, luckily, I've been making a lot of friends who like to buy girls drinks.” She nodded toward his Manhattan. “Consider yourself special, though. Right now, the tab's on the man who left me high and dry.”

Jackpot. “What do you mean?”

She wound her red, bobbed hair around a finger, her gaze easing into his, pinning him, making his heart throb painfully, right along with other spots that couldn't control themselves.