Rough and Tumble (24 page)

No wonder Jameson had brought her home.

“What I mean,” she said with that sad inflection again, “is that some people can only express affection with money. This man I'm talking about? He was one of them. We weren't together long at all, but before we parted ways, he gave me a gift.” She shook her head and laughed. “God, I'm talking way too much. Martinis, you know?”

God bless martinis. “No, this is interesting. People don't just give out money every day.” Or Rolexes. Not unless they were trying to buy something.

Affection? Attention?

It didn't matter right now, because Ben had clearly pressed a button in her and she raised a finger to make a point.

“The gift was a nice gesture. Really. I'd been talking to him about all my plans for the future, and he told me to put some money toward them. That was a nice thing to do, right?”

Oh, she was good. “And what're your plans, Liz?”

She perked up. “I'm going to own a restaurant someday—after I pay off some debts.” She hesitated, as if she didn't want to reveal
that
much about herself. “Anyhow, how's that for someone who used to eat brown rice and vegetables all the time? My place will be sexy and silky with the best steaks in town, an old school joint the Brat Pack would've gone to back in the day. Vegas is missing all that now, you know? The leopard-print lounges with vintage Hollywood pictures and ferns, the elegant drinks . . .”

He recognized the same glint in her eyes that Kat had gotten when she'd told him she'd always wanted to hang out at Mandalay Bay. He'd given in to Kat's whim, but he couldn't find a similar sympathy for Liz Palazzo.

Jameson had given her a parting “gift.” Bullshit. And even if Ben loved the idea of bringing back some old school to Vegas, he couldn't afford to care for her so-called plans.

A gift. Yeah, good one.

She was laughing, obviously acknowledging again that she was being chatty. Maybe she was just one of those people who got attached to others right away, though. It'd explain how easily she'd hooked up with Jameson and gone to his rental property without getting to know him first.

“I have this philosophy,” she said. “Life is written in the stars. I met him because he was supposed to help me realize my dream.”

“So this man . . .” Ben said, steering the conversation once more. “He must've given you a big gift if it was meant to help you start up a restaurant. Those don't come cheap.”

“Oh, he said it was only something to get me going. See, after he got wasted, he just dug in his pocket and,
boom
—there it was, a wad of rich man's carry-around cash. He put it on the kitchen table, like he was serving it right up to me on a platter.” Another shrug, another sip of her martini. “Then he passed out, but I'm pretty sure it was his intention to kiss me off that way. When I tried to wake him up in the morning, he told me to get out, so I did.” She drew in a breath, straightened up in her chair. “Seriously—you don't want to hear me crying into my drink. That's not what Vegas is for!”

He didn't answer, because what he was hearing about Jameson's “gift” flew in the face of what his brother had told him. Who should he believe—his own flesh and blood or this barfly who was buying him drinks with Jameson's money? Vegas was full of con people, and she might've been no exception. Hell, a lot of cons even hung out at the R&T with him.

Maybe, with all the women he sweet-talked, he was even one of those himself.

“Anyway,” she said, “I'm totally saving that money.”

“For your dream?” And the debts she'd mentioned?

“You got it. But my girl over there”—she gestured toward the pool—“does deserve some birthday love, too. Still, after this, it'll be buckle-down time with the finances.”

If he didn't know any better, he might think that Liz Palazzo was feeding him a tale about her monetary woes, priming him and shaking him down for free drinks or a night on the town, making him feel like a big man for helping a girl out. But he wasn't dressed like someone who could throw bills around the Strip—not like Bennett Hughes would've been.

She wanted something else from him entirely . . .

Just as he almost started getting way too excited about that, five water-slicked women bounded over to them, their bikini tops on.

One with rosy-tan Latina skin and long dark hair that trailed in a wet, curly bundle over her shoulder dropped into the seat on the other side of Liz. “What's cookin', hot stuff?”

Liz gestured to Ben. “Anita, Ben. Ben, Anita.” She indicated the other three females who clustered near Anita. “Darcie, Parisa, Mai, and Carolann.”

He recognized the girls who'd been in the pool when he'd walked in, and all of them had showgirl figures, tall, slim and sculpted. However, none of them could compete with Liz Palazzo of the perfectly round, pink-tipped breasts

“Hey, Ben,” they said together, then ordered cocktails from the bartender.

Ben's dander rose at the thought that the drinks were on Jameson, but he smiled at Anita as she threw down a bright blue shot of something foo-foo and slung an arm over Liz's shoulder.

“Not that we want to interrupt, but it was time to wet the whistles. I, myself, intend to take full advantage of being served instead of serving!”

Liz gestured to all of them. “Waitresses.”

As the other girls turned to chat with the bartender, Anita nodded. “Except for Liz, here. She was the last of us to retire from our main gigs because she was featured in her job, but she
says
she's going to be slinging drinks in a lounge soon.”

A featured showgirl, huh? It meant that Liz had been paid more and higher esteemed, although showgirls didn't get paid all that much.

But it was time to play dumb. “You're all too young to retire from whatever it is you were doing.”

Anita slid a glance to Liz, and if Ben knew anything about girl communication, she was asking a question.

How much did you tell him?
If only she knew how freely the information had flowed.

Liz took another drink, then said, “We were all showgirls once upon a time.”

Anita said, “We don't tell every guy we meet. Some of them don't know how to handle it. What a pain.”

Liz clinked glasses with Anita. “And some guys get way too into the whole showgirl mystique—”

“Because they want to screw a Vegas icon so bad they don't know how to deal—” Anita said over Liz.

“And they ask these questions you wouldn't
believe
. But we can trust Ben to be mature about it, Ani.”

“Excellent,” her friend said, hunkering down on the bar by crossing her arms and addressing Ben from around Liz. “So you're not gonna ask dumb questions?”

“Like what?”

“Let's see . . . ‘What's it like to be naked in front of a crowd?' ‘Do you put ice cubes on your nips before you go on stage, like they did in
Showgirls
?' What they come up with is downright nervy.”

“So we get to know guys before we spill the truth.” Liz smiled, probably thinking about how much she'd already said to Ben.

It was interesting that she'd been way more forthcoming about her love life woes while holding back on her own identity. But maybe she was doing the same thing he was—keeping the most important part of herself back.

Don't get too intrigued
, he thought.

Anita braced a hand on Liz's shoulder. “We're the last of a dying breed, aren't we,
chica
?”

Liz swirled the alcohol in her glass. “Yup. The big revues are being squeezed out by all the Cirque du Soleil this-or-that. You don't see shows anymore with sixty showgirls in a cast. If you're not a novelty act then . . .”

Anita made a cutthroat motion and made a sound effect to go with it.

It was time for some buddying up. “I think I saw
Jubilee!
,
Folies Bergere
, and
Blaze!
more than a few times. It's too bad about the closures.”

Anita jumped. “We were in
Blaze!
before the Oceana closed.”

Ah, the Oceana. He'd spent more than a few nights there. Talk about old school. The hotel-casino had been run by a guy who was as mob as they came, and it'd held on for as long as it could before the corporations had fully taken over Vegas.

He looked down to feel Liz's gaze on him, her smile lackadaisical, her finger circling the rim of her martini glass as if she was picturing doing . . . things . . . to him. Dammit.

Then Anita clutched Liz's shoulder, drawing her attention away from him. Dammit about that, too.

“I like this guy,” she said. As the bartender slid her another shot, she reached out and tossed back that one, too. She licked her lips and smiled. “He could be a friend.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Liz said, grinning.

Excitement pierced him, needles in his skin, and he wasn't sure if it was because he was getting closer to sussing out the truth of Jameson's “gift” to Liz Palazzo and then having her sign the non-disclosure agreement, or if it was because of the libidinous gleam in her eyes.

Anita peered at him, then at Liz, a secretive smile on her lips. Then she backed away from them. “We're going to the rooms for some shut eye and room service, Lizzie. Got to conserve energy for happy hour.”

She gave Ben a little wave, then turned to her friends, telling them to drink up.

Liz remained at the bar. Her martini glass was empty, but she shook her head at the bartender, refusing a refill.

“So, Ben,” she said. “What're you doing after this?”

Her friends walked off with final smiles at him. It was as if he'd been welcomed into the club and Liz had been left to close the deal.

This was all too easy, even as “just Ben.”

“I didn't have any big plans.”

“
Wonerful
.” She tripped over the word and put her fingers to her mouth, laughing. She tried again. “Wonderful.” She nodded. “The girls and I are going to Bordello early, way before it opens. Did you know you could rent it out for private parties?”

Jesus, was she telling him that she'd rented out the club herself? There was no way she had enough money . . . unless she'd snagged twenty-thousand dollars from more men than Jameson recently. To make matters stickier, the Hughes family had helped in developing Bordello, which was a part of a new, chrome-and-glass complex down the Strip called Haven. It had three hotel-casinos, shopping venues, and over thirty restaurants and bars.

“I did not know,” he said, trying to stay loose, not giving himself away.

“Well, if you're up for it, we'll have an upstairs table starting at four o'clock. I know—early for a party, but it's happy hour, right? Just tell the hostess that you know Liz Palazzo.”

“Maybe I will.”

God. Just an upstairs VIP table at Bordello required connections and hefty tips, or a rental fee that could go upwards of a thousand dollars.
Or
you had to buy at least one five-hundred-dollar bottle of vodka to start out.

All in all, this was some birthday for Anita, and some “buckle down and save” for Ms. Palazzo, with her big hopes and dreams for an old school dinner club. She
had
to have been feeding Ben a story for the last twenty minutes, gaining his sympathy so he'd buy drinks for the rest of the night for her. But how could she think he'd be able to afford it? Was she used to squeezing cash out of men, like some of the regulars at the R&T did with tourists during their backroom poker games?

His doubts about her pinged, but when she stood to her full height, flexing that amazing, creamy body, his mind went as blank as Jameson's probably had.

And when she bent close to whisper to him, he turned to a pillar of seething desire.

“I'll be watching for you,” she said, her breath tickling his ear.

He couldn't tear his gaze away as the gold digger left, her hips swaying, catching the attention of every male in the vicinity as she went to her chaise and fetched her bag. She went to the exit, winking at him on the way out before she donned a pair of sunglasses and disappeared.

Ben turned to his drink, needing to put out this damned fire before he really ventured into the inferno tonight.

Crystal Green
is a RITA nominated romantic fiction author. She is the author of both the
Ghost for Hire
and
Vampire Babylon
urban fantasy series, writing as Chris Marie Green.