Skintight (10 page)

Something primal and possessive had washed over him when he'd seen it dangling around her neck. But that wasn't the issue under consideration.

He shot another glance at her, trying to pull the truth from her by sheer force of will. But when her sincere gaze from behind her sunglasses met his squarely, he turned his attention back to the road.

She could be telling the truth, he supposed.

Or she could simply be a dynamite actress.

How was he supposed to know? For a guy who made his living in part by following his own instincts, he sure as hell didn't trust them right this minute. Because all he had to do was look at her and his hands itched to feel the softness of her hair again, to reach out and touch the surprisingly cool sleekness of her skin. He was supposed to be so damn brilliant, but dump sex into the mix and it made even the smartest men stupid. Brains went soft when bodies went hard.

Not a winning combination.

“I'm sorry,” he said once again, because he had to say something—and because it was true. He and the old man had hardly communicated for the past couple of decades. But he sure as hell wouldn't wish that kind of illness on anyone.

She touched his wrist. “Do you mind terribly if we don't talk about him today?”

“No.” In fact, he was dead relieved at the opportunity to change the subject. “Of course not. I shouldn't have brought him up in the first place.” He looked at her
and told himself it was time to turn on the charm. “So. You ever been to the dam?”

“No. And isn't that something? I've lived here thirteen years and have never done a fraction of the tourist things that people come to Las Vegas to do. I haven't been to the top of the Eiffel Tower at the Paris, or seen the Liberace museum. I missed my chance at Siegfried and Roy while there still
was
a Roy. And I've never been to Hoover Dam. How about you?”

“I went once, but it was on a high school field trip, and I was so busy lusting over Carol Lee Sweeny that I don't remember much about the tour.”

Treena laughed. “I bet she dug the hell out of that.”

“No, she was too busy mooning over the baseball team's star pitcher to know I was alive.”
What the hell?
He was supposed to be charming her, but instead he found himself revealing his loser moments. Carol Lee's attraction to a guy who was everything he wasn't had only magnified his father's expectations of him. He'd also been so far out of his social element that he hadn't had a chance in hell of gaining any girl's attention in his class, let alone the reigning beauty's.

“You're kidding me. I always thought jocks were a bunch of meatheads. Still, I can commiserate with the unrequited crush thing, because I remember what that felt like. For me it was Jeremy Powers. He was president of the science club.” She flashed him a grin. “I liked the brainy ones.”

Then what the hell were you doing married to my old man?
he wondered, but merely said, “Oh, mama. Where were you when I was seventeen?” Which was just about
the time he'd finally felt ready for girls—upon graduation from MIT.

“Probably applying acne cream to my chin on my way to dance class, where I worked like a dog while dreaming of being a famous dancer somewhere far, far away from Palookaville, Pennsylvania. Oh, look!” she exclaimed as they neared the dam. “We're here. I bet I've driven over Hoover a dozen times or more, but I always forget between times how immense it is.”

Downshifting a few minutes later, he whipped the Viper into the multistoried visitor center parking garage and drove up to the third floor. There he headed for the corner farthest from the dam but closest to the road and lucked into a parking spot with a premier view.

When they climbed out of the car, he pointed out the attraction: a large metal tower that soared in front of them. Six cables stretched from it across the canyon. “That's the largest, oldest operating Cableway Crane system in the world,” he told Treena as he escorted her down to the road level, where they headed for the tour center.

Before they reached it, however, he herded her toward the rock wall to the right of a row of palms. “You're not an acrophobe, are you?”

“Beats me, since I don't know what that is.”

A smile tugged the corner of his mouth at her honesty. “Are you afraid of heights?”

“No. Not as long as there's a…
whoa!
” She stared all the way down to the distant bottom of the canyon. “That is one hell of a drop.” She took a step back, knuckles bloodless where they gripped the top of the wall. “I don't usually have a problem with heights as long as there's
something solid between me and the ground. But this—
whew!
—it makes my head feel kind of whirly.”

“Allow me to help you with that.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her back against his body, inhaling the beachy scent of her sunscreened skin. He gave her hip a little stroke.

“My, my, aren't you the heroic one.” She shot an elbow into his stomach and stepped away from both him and the wall when he grunted in surprise and turned her loose. “I don't believe you just used my moment of wooziness to grab yourself a cuddle. And here I thought you were the original Mr. Suave.”

“What can I say?” He gave her a faux innocent look. “I started life as a geek—”

“You did not!”

“Yeah, I did.” He told himself to shut up, but there was simply something about Treena McCall that set his lips to flapping. “And this place brings back memories. I had a make-up-for-my-lost-opportunity-with-Carol-Lee moment.”

She sputtered out a short laugh. “Well, hey, lucky me. I get to be a stand-in for a girl who thought bonehead jocks were the epitome of cool.”

He looked at her, standing there all tall and luscious, and thought that between her hair blazing in the sunlight and her creamy skin, she looked like some wet dream version of the girl next door. “Trust me, honey,” he said drily. “There's not a man on this planet who'd consider you a stand-in for anyone. C'mon.” He took her elbow and steered them to the top of the escalators. “See that cactus garden over there? Did you know the film crew that made the National Lampoon Vegas Va
cation movie put that in because they wanted it to look more ‘desert-like' for the scene they shot here?”

“More desertlike than what? We're in the middle of the Mojave.”

“I know—don't you love it?” He laughed with genuine amusement. “They also weren't overly concerned that the Mojave has never had this type of cactus. But look, if the irony of that doesn't float your boat, over there by the canyon wall is the mascot's grave. Now
that's
a guaranteed chick-pleasin' tearjerker of a story.”

She quirked a brow at him. “About…?”

“About this little black puppy who was found under the porch of one of the dam workers' houses and became the mascot for the entire construction site. He met an untimely death in 1941 when the truck he was sleeping under rolled over him. All work was suspended for the day and a tomb was erected over the site. Is that a tear I see in your eye?” He gave her a hopeful look. “You wanna use my handkerchief? Need a hug, maybe?”

“Where do you get all this stuff?”

“The Great Gallagherini sees all, knows all.”

She gave him a cool-eyed look and raised both eyebrows this time.

“Okay, fine, I went to their Web site last night and downloaded the self-guided tour.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Spoilsport.”

“And did what with all that information after you downloaded it? Made crib notes?” She grabbed his wrists and uncrossed his arms, turning his hands over as if expecting to see detailed notes written on his palms.

“No,” he said with great dignity. “I memorized it.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “I imagine a good memory would be a useful tool for a poker player, wouldn't it?”

He, too, could play the raise the eyebrow game.

“Not giving away your corporate secrets, huh? Well, okay. But something tells me you've got even more trivia where the movie and puppy stuff came from, don't you?”

“Oh, yeah. We haven't even reached Safety Island yet, with its winged statues, the floor design and the horoscope and compass dedication plaques. Then there's the old Exhibit building.”

“Ooh.” She pinched the little pavé diamond pendant between her thumb and finger and slid it slowly back and forth on its chain while she looked up at him with that faint half smile that drove him crazy. “I think I might be getting a little…excited.”

“Yeah?” He stepped close, bowing his head to bring his lips next to her ear. “Then you're gonna love what I have to say about the bas-relief on the Nevada elevator tower,” he murmured. “Did you know they depict the main five reasons for building Hoover Dam?”

He knew he ought to be more on guard with this woman, but what the hell. It had been a long time since he'd had the opportunity to flirt like this—and even longer since he'd felt this carefree. And for the next couple of hours he planned to make the most of it.

Because, come hell or high water, at the end of the day he had every intention of being inside her condo, the great baseball search begun.

What was the harm in enjoying himself along the way?

T
HE
H
IGH
S
CALER
monument outside its namesake café was a tribute to the men who had hung hundreds of feet in the air on the side of Black Canyon, knocking away loose rock with jackhammers and setting dynamite charges during the construction of the dam. The statue struck a chord with Treena, and as she and Jax roared back through the barren landscape toward home, she twisted in her seat to gaze at the scaled-down replica that was wedged into the tiny space behind Jax's seat. “That is so great. I can't believe you bought it for me.”

“I could tell you really liked it.” Jax shrugged and took his gaze off the road to shoot her a puzzled glance. “Better than the necklace, I think.”

“Oh, no, the necklace is gorgeous.” She curled her fingers around it. “But the High Scaler—I don't know, it reminds me of the steelworkers back home. Not that my dad or uncles did any high work. But the hard hat and rough clothes, the everyday Joe face, and especially the way the skin is cleaner and lighter around the eyes where the goggles have been pushed up—man, that is so home.”

“I guess I was under the impression you couldn't wait to kick the dust of your hometown from your heels.”

“The town, absolutely. But not the people. My mom and pop and sisters may never understand my need for a different life from the one they know, but they'll always be my family.” It struck her even as she said it, however, that her feelings toward them had changed substantially over the years. “Or maybe it's just that I'm finally growing up,” she said with slow thoughtfulness. “Because you're right that when I was a kid I wanted nothing more than to get as far away from them as possible. I think I feared that if I didn't I'd be stuck in that life forever—and it sure wasn't what I wanted for myself.”

A breath of laughter escaped her. “It's still not. I'm sure my folks don't approve of what I do, but I've never thought for a minute that they love me any less. I'll tell you something, Jax. I've been around the glitz of Las Vegas for so many years and met so many phony people that I've come to appreciate my family for being so genuine. They say what they think and they do what they say—and it may have taken me a while, but I've learned to value how rare that is. In the end honesty and integrity are probably two of the most important qualities in life. So this—” She reached back and ran a finger along the slab of sheer rock face from which the high scaler was suspended. “This will be like having a little piece of them with me. Thank you so much.”

Jax's face was unreadable when he took his eyes off the road to look at her, but he shook his head as if she were utterly beyond his comprehension. Pulling her knee up on the seat, she swivelled to look at him. “Don't you have family like that somewhere?”

“No.” He hesitated, then said, “My mom died when
I was—” He cleared his throat. “Before I hit puberty. My father was one of those guys who lived for his job, so he was never around much when she was alive. That is, he probably was, but not during my waking hours. Then when he inherited responsibility for me…well, we didn't get along. We had two very different ideas of what I should do with my life.”

“And what does he think of what you do now?”

“I don't know. He died a while ago.”

“Oh, Jax, I'm so sorry. What about brothers or sisters?”

“I don't have any.”

Unthinkingly she reached out and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “It must be tough knowing you're all alone. I can't honestly say I see my family very often, but it's comforting to know they're there.”

He shrugged. “You seldom miss what you've never known—and frankly I don't know squat about Brady Bunch-style families.”

Heat seeped through his T-shirt from the hard muscle beneath her hand, making her aware that she'd been absentmindedly petting him. She drew it back and cleared her throat. “No aunts, uncles or cousins, then?”

“Nope. My mom was an only child. I think my father had some family, but if so they either lived a long way away or he didn't get along with them, either, because I sure never met any.”

She noted his grip growing tighter on the steering wheel the longer they talked. And since he plainly longed to change the subject, she complied. “So tell me about this geek thing.”

For the briefest instant he looked horrified. But his expression changed so quickly that she suddenly
wasn't sure whether she'd actually seen what she thought she had.

“Trust me,” he assured her drily. “You don't want to know about that.”

“Yeah, I do. Because I'm having a really tough time imagining it. You seem so at ease and debonaire, like someone who's never had an uncomfortable moment in his life. Yet you say you started life as a geek, which must have been tough.”

His laugh was short and humorless. “You could say that.”

“Did the other kids make fun of you?”

“Not really. Well, some of them did, I suppose, but not many whose opinions I actually gave a damn about. I think I told you I got my growth early, so it's not like I had to deal with that getting stuffed in a garbage can thing that some of the scrawnier misfits were subjected to. It was just…” He shifted his broad shoulders. “Remember what you said the other day about football at your school? Mine was like that, too—except it wasn't only football that was God. Basketball and baseball got their turns. Which suited my dad right down to the ground. Or would have, if I'd been the jock he wanted instead of a kid who got off on playing chess and figuring out math equations.”

Treena blinked. There was a faint trace of bitterness in his voice and, surprised, she considered him. His usual elegant slouch was nowhere in sight as he sat stiffly upright in the low-slung car, and his wonderful hands were now so inflexible on the steering wheel that his tendons stood out from his knuckles to his wrist. This was obviously a sore subject for him. Reaching
across the console once again, she touched her fingertips to his forearm.

It was rigid as steel.

She gave the warm, unyielding limb a gentle rub. “Jax, you don't have to talk about this if you'd rather not.”

He flexed his shoulders again, this time in a dismissive shrug. “It's no big deal.”

“Right. That's why you look as though you'd rather stick a needle in your eye than continue the conversation.” She gave his arm a squeeze. “Forget I brought it up, okay? We haven't really known each other long enough for you to feel compelled to share memories you find painful. You can tell me when you're ready. Or never tell me at all. The last thing I want to do is ruin your day.”

“You're not.” The tension slowly melted out of him and he gave her a rueful smile. “You couldn't. If anyone's thrown a damper on this party, it's me. I'm sorry. I don't usually act like a twelve-year-old whose machismo has just been threatened.”

Oh, man. She really liked this guy. She liked his sophistication and his willingness to suspend it and act a little silly. She liked the glimpse of vulnerability he'd displayed over the whole geek business. It opened the possibility that like her, he, too, had felt like a misfit, even if he'd been too big to physically torment. She always found it interesting to see just how far people had come from the bad old days.

Jax had obviously come miles.

Just as obviously, he didn't want to discuss the journey. And since there were some parts of her own his
tory she preferred not to dwell on, she felt compelled to honor his wishes.

Settling back in her seat, she unhurriedly crossed one leg over the other and said airily, “So…how about those bas-reliefs on the Nevada tour elevator, huh? Wait 'til I tell Carly that hunky guys are carved right into the walls. We'll probably have to make a pilgrimage to see them, just us girls.”

He glanced at her in obvious surprise, but when she met his gaze with a level, oh-so-innocent one of her own, his lips suddenly quirked. “You will, huh?”

“Umm-hmm.”

“Well, hell, as long as you're going to make the trip, maybe you should bring paper so you can make some rubbings.”

A laugh bubbled out of her, but she nodded, as if actually considering the suggestion. “Maybe. I won't tell her the part, though, where you could have posed for the relief depicting Power.” She studied him from beneath her lashes. “Of course, I'd have to see you without your shirt on to know that for certain.”

The suggestion coming from her own lips brought her up short. She
never
indulged in sexual innuendo, because when it came to her own sexual shortcomings she didn't fool herself. She knew perfectly well she was unlikely to follow through to anyone's satisfaction on her implied promises. And nobody liked a tease.

Unfortunately, it was too late to warn Jax that he was destined to end up frustrated and unfulfilled. The look he turned on her was warm enough to melt rock. “That can be arranged.”

A little thrill of pleasure shot through her. But before
she could analyze it—much less decide what was going on with her own uncharacteristic behavior—they arrived back at her condominium complex.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Jax drove through the gates of the complex and parked in a visitor's spot. Climbing out of the car when he opened the door for her moments later, she abruptly decided that, right or wrong, she wasn't ready for their day to end. She reached for his hand and linked their fingers together.

“I had a really great time today,” she said huskily. “And I'd love to make you dinner to thank you for it, if you've got time before your game.”

Jax ignored the unexpected twinge of guilt that stabbed him and smiled down at her. “Are we talking home cooking here?”

She nodded. “But before you get too excited,” she said with a small, crooked smile, “be warned it's only spaghetti. I'm not a bad cook, but I'm a long way from a great one.”

He pulled their linked hands to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers. “That sounds great.” Belatedly, her mention of his scheduled game sank in, and he glanced at his watch. “If you don't mind that I have to leave by six-thirty, that is.”

“Not a problem. We'll just eat a little early.”

They walked through the landscaped grounds past decorative ponds and fountains and several pretty three-story, white stucco, red-tile-roofed buildings until they reached the one that housed Treena's condo.

“I meant to tell you when I picked you up how nice this complex is,” he said as she let them into the building. “It really is beautiful. The waterscapes alone are amazing.”

“Aren't they wonderful? I love the place.” Bypassing the elevator, she led him to the stairs. “It's the first home I've ever owned all on my own.”

Paid for with the old man's money, no doubt,
he thought cynically, but for some reason his mind immediately rejected the thought. He was usually pretty good at reading people—and she wasn't behaving the way he'd expect a gold-digging showgirl who'd married an old man strictly for his money to act.

Not that she couldn't still be playing him. God knew his judgment got seriously whacked whenever he was in her company, because she had a way of commanding his full attention to the detriment of everything else going on around him. Just look at the way he'd almost told her how old he was when his mother had died, when he knew that, as big a disappointment as he'd been to his father, the old man might have at least mentioned that much about him to his new wife. Such sloppiness was anathema to everything his math-and-logic-trained mind believed in.

Yet despite all the analytical reasons to the contrary, the longer he was around Treena, the more he began to doubt all the assumptions he'd made about her up to now.

Then again, sport, maybe they're right on the money,
he thought when they entered her apartment. Giving her furnishings a quick but comprehensive survey, he saw that for the most part she had a cozy mix of overstuffed chairs that had probably been picked up for a song and reupholstered on the cheap—a coffee table that while beautifully refinished, still looked more rummage sale old than antique find-of-the-century, and girly touches such as bright silk pillows, candles in bronze holders,
and a large Moroccan mosaic mirror over the mantel of the small gas fireplace. But mixed among them were a few really good pieces—a mahogany credenza with in-lays, a couch that had probably cost a pretty penny, a painting on one wall that looked as if it might be valuable, and an area rug on the hardwood floor that he'd swear was a Tabriz.

He looked around for the World Series baseball, but if she had it displayed anywhere it wasn't in the living room.

“Nice place,” he said and watched Treena drop her tote on the credenza. “You really like color, don't you?” It was everywhere: in the Italian villa, gold walls, in the muted rug, and in the art and other vivid accessories that served to pull the room together.

“What was your first clue, Sherlock?” She laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle, and carried the High Scaler replica over to the fireplace.

Although her tone was teasing, he answered seriously as he watched her take down a large vase of dried grasses to make room for the sculpture on the mantel. “Your clothes. I've noticed that except for that killer dress you wore to dinner at the Commander's Palace, you're not exactly a basic black kind of woman. Instead you wear colors I wouldn't normally expect to see on a redhead.” Looking at her orange top, he mused, “By rights they ought to clash, but somehow it all works.”

“Glad you approve.” But her reply was vague because she was obviously focused on getting the sculpture's placement just right. She stepped back to eye it critically, reached out to angle it a fraction of an inch toward the center of the mantel, then backed up several
feet to get a different perspective. “There,” she finally sighed after a few additional tweaks. “Perfect.” Then she smiled at him over her shoulder, turning the full wattage of her attention back on him. “I can't thank you enough for this.”