by Leslie Kelly
He still couldn’t believe this sexy Vegas power broker—a producer with three different shows currently playing in town—had married him, a certified geek who’d gone into the U.S. Air Force for the cool tech.
A geek who’d accomplished his professional goals so thoroughly that now he couldn’t breathe a word about his work to anyone, not even his wife.
Arianna Demakis had been a friend in high school—a girl who’d gotten under his skin because she’d been smart and worldly while other seventeen-year-old girls were testing the limits of how many school days they could skip and still get into the colleges of their choice. He and Arianna had gone to the senior prom together as more of a business deal than a romantic date. Even though he’d thought she was mega hot, he’d also been very aware she was out of his league and, at seventeen, he’d already had his eye on a military career that would consume him 24/7 for more than a decade.
After the prom, they’d gotten milk shakes alone instead of beers with the rest of their class, and they’d traded future agendas while they drove around their tiny hometown in southern California. Arianna’s life had been as clearly mapped out as his—though in a vastly different direction with her dream of a career in theater. But they’d made a teasing bet they’d look each other up when their lives slowed down—once they reached the ancient age of thirty.
He hadn’t expected her to respond to his invitation to have drinks with him and his friends when that milestone had actually rolled around. But since she worked in Vegas anyway, she’d shocked the hell out of him by showing up.
“You must be exhausted,” she said, breaking the silence in the car. She wove past a bus, and he noticed her long fingers were curved around the steering wheel at precisely ten o’clock and two. But then, she did most things with textbook precision. “Did you have a long flight?”
She’d slid black leather gloves on her hands, or else his eyes would have been drawn to the wedding band—an inexpensive ring he’d chosen at a jewelry store inside the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino where they’d celebrated his birthday. It wasn’t a traditional ring with a diamond, just a simple band. But then, they hadn’t done a traditional wedding. For that matter, the drinks they’d been downing that night sure hadn’t been of the milk-shake variety.
“I got back to the States two days ago, but I had to land at another base first for processing.” Kind of. The less he offered about his work the better, but that sometimes made it tough to hold up his end of a conversation. “I have a week before I return to duty.”
With any luck, there wouldn’t be a lot of talk happening in that week anyhow. The tension thrumming between them after that kiss assured him the spark hadn’t faded in the four months they’d been apart.
“I’m just glad you made it home for Christmas.” She switched her blinker on for the turn into Dean Martin Drive. “I worried when I didn’t see you after the show.”
Because she cared about him? Or because she’d been waiting to end their farce of a marriage in person? He’d been coordinating the logistics for ops in a war zone for the better part of the past year, which didn’t scare him half as much as finding out the answer to that question. Which was why he didn’t bother to ask her.
“I would have called if I wasn’t going to make it,” he said.
Dylan didn’t make promises lightly. The promises he made, he kept. End of story. Still, he wasn’t going there yet. “You’ve got a spot in the Panorama Towers?”
“A gift to myself to celebrate five years in business.” She glanced up at the side-by-side towers overlooking the Strip and he recognized shades of the girl he’d known back in high school—an awkward beauty with big dreams, a girl smart enough to be in the chess club with him but socially savvy enough to organize the small club into national-level tournament contenders. “It’s a little over-the-top in some ways, but it’s what people expect when they do business with my production company.”
“It seems safe.” He liked the place right away for that reason. He liked it even more when she pulled up to valet parking and greeted the guy who ran out to park her car. Las Vegas wasn’t crime-ridden by any stretch, but the high number of tourists and the “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” legacy ensured there were plenty of drunken troublemakers on the prowl even in the best neighborhoods.
“I suppose it is.” She tugged her purse and a briefcase out of the trunk while he hitched a worn leather messenger bag over one shoulder.
“Thanks for letting me stay with you for a few days while we...figure things out.” He hadn’t meant to bring that up, but as he walked with her to the elevators, it seemed as if some kind of acknowledgment was in order. Hell, he was going up to her place with a toothbrush in his bag—something needed to be said.
“I’m glad you’re here. We might as well enjoy Christmas together before we...you know. Fix the mistakes from our last visit.” Her coal-dark eyes darted everywhere but at him. “You said you have an apartment in Henderson?” She pressed the button for the thirty-eighth floor.
Clearly he wasn’t the only one not ready to talk about that ring he’d put on her finger. He wasn’t surprised she’d called it a mistake after the way he’d left her four months ago.
He’d had to get back to work, and so he’d awkwardly told her to keep the ring and that they’d figure things out when he came home at the end of the year. Guess the reckoning had arrived.
“My place is more like a hotel than a home, but yeah,” Dylan responded. “It’s a place to crash.”
He followed her into the empty elevator car, appreciating the privacy of being sealed behind closed doors with her, even if she was already contemplating how to give him back that silver band.
In deference to the cooler temperatures this time of year, she wore a dark cape that fell open over a straight, red skirt with a long slit up one thigh. Her high leather boots covered up to her knee, but when she walked, he could glimpse a hint of stocking-clad thigh. She was a striking woman. The rich colors of her hair, her strong features and her above-average height made her stand out wherever she went.
He debated how long to wait before he touched her. Kissed her. He’d held back when he first saw her in the parking lot, unsure what his reception would be in light of the fact that they’d...married. Hell, he still couldn’t believe it.
“I know this is awkward,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence abruptly and making him realize he’d been gawking at her as if they were still teenagers. “But in spite of everything, I’m really glad you’re home for Christmas. I mean—back in the States.”
Guilt swamped him. He’d actually been back on U.S. soil twice since the last time he’d seen her. He hadn’t been able to tell her that, of course, plus his job made it tough to explain what he was even doing there.
“I hated leaving the last time.” That was the truth.
The elevator slowed to a stop, the doors swishing open and saving him from having to say any more.
Casanova he was not. And since he’d married the hottest woman he’d ever met, he figured talking would only send her running to file divorce papers all the sooner. He needed time to plot a strategy with this careful, methodical woman. Tapping into her impetuous side last time had been an unexpected surprise. He knew lightning wouldn’t strike twice.
“So maybe, for the sake of the holiday, let’s just enjoy the day together and not worry about our future.” She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, keys in hand. “No need to ruin Christmas with—”
“Right.” He didn’t want to hear her say it. “I’m all about living in the moment.” He followed her out into the hall toward her unit. She had the door unlocked by the time he reached her side and he stood close to her as she opened it. Her hair smelled of citrus and spices. He wanted to bury his nose in the lush waves and forget all about the past 122 days.
“Merry Christmas.” Holding
the door open wide so he could see into the condo, he spotted the tree that reached almost to the ten-foot ceiling. It was a brightly lit pine centered in a window overlooking the Strip.
The decorative white lights on the tree served as sole illumination for the condo, but between them and the neon shine from the casinos coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the condo glowed.
The effort she’d made to decorate touched him. He’d be willing to bet she wouldn’t have normally dragged a real tree—a nine footer at least—into her place if it hadn’t been for his visit. They’d both been longtime loners. She because she’d never been close with her family. He because his mom had died young and his dad had moved out of the country to start over as soon as Dylan had turned eighteen.
“You did this for us?” He walked in to the scent of pine, moving toward the twinkling lights like a kid hypnotized by presents.
She slid off her coat and tossed it onto a high-backed bar stool along with her purse as she made her way into the living area. The sleekly furnished, modern apartment remained in shadow, but he recognized the dull gleam of granite counters and marble floors as well as the clean lines of Asian-inspired furnishings.
“After the way we bounced around like a couple of teenagers on your birthday, I figured your life must be as low on rituals as mine.” She folded her arms across her sheer lace blouse and stared at the tree as if trying to make sense of a complex puzzle.
He set aside his bag and wished he’d had time to change out of his uniform. His rumpled flight suit was still covered with dust, while she looked as if she could have stepped off the stage, even though she worked behind the scenes at her shows.
“This is only our third date,” he said, “and I’ve celebrated more personal life rituals with you than I have with anyone else since I became an adult.”
“Does that mean we’re still supergeeks, just like in high school?” She tucked a handful of thick, dark wavy hair behind her ear so she could look at him out of the corner of her eye. “Because I have to say that makes us sound really socially inept.”
“Guilty as charged.” He reached out to adjust the feather on a crimson bird that decorated the tree. Actually, the whole thing was full of birds, now that he studied it more carefully. Chickadees and cardinals, hummingbirds and blue jays all congregated on the branches.
“I’m guilty as charged, too.” She walked over to a buffet table and switched on some kind of whole-home sound system. Classical guitar drifted through the place with a “Greensleeves” rendition.
He tried to focus on her words and not on her slim, feminine silhouette. And that hair...
Wow. He could swim laps through that hair.
“Come on,” Dylan teased, leaning a shoulder against one floor-to-ceiling window as he took in the long view of her condo. “You’re a gorgeous single woman in a business that showcases beautiful women. You must get hit on constantly.”
“You make me sound like a brothel owner.” She flipped on the light switch above the range and dug through a cabinet until she came out with a tin of tea. “And I’ll have you know that I disappear when standing next to show girls dressed in nothing but feathers and a smile, so, no, I don’t get hit on all that often. Want some peppermint tea?”
Nodding, he wandered around her place, trying to get a better sense of who she was—this high-school friend who could put him at ease and in the same breath make him want to peel her clothes off and take her to bed. It was a unique combination of easiness and arousal to be around her, the same feelings she’d always inspired in him.
“Still, I’m not buying that you’re a social misfit anymore, Ari.”
“Then how’s this?” She turned the heat up under a kettle on the gas range. “I’m successful in my business because I have a reputation for being hard-nosed and driven. I don’t flirt because it complicates business relationships. Some women know how to walk that line, but I don’t. So I am purposely businesslike, which has given me a reputation for being aloof. Haughty, even. The only men that kind of reputation attracts are arrogant guys who, frankly, I wouldn’t dream of dating.”
He was starting to get a better picture of who she was in her work world. His gaze roamed a series of flyers for Vegas shows that were framed on an interior wall. There were a couple for dramatic productions and one for a magic show, but the majority were big, splashy performances with titillating photos and suggestive captions. But then, this city wasn’t known for tame entertainment.
“That’s kind of the same way you were in high school—every guy’s dream, but they were too scared to approach you.”
She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “You weren’t scared.”
Reaching into a kitchen drawer, she withdrew two pens and used them to anchor her heavy hair in a knot at the base of her neck. The move was so quick and efficient he imagined her doing the same thing every day when she got home from work. He liked seeing her in her space, liked knowing her habits.
“The hell I wasn’t scared of you. Hanging out with you at chess tournaments or comparing notes about how far we’d made it in Final Fantasy X were the highlights of my weeks. I was terrified of jeopardizing that by asking you to prom, but then again...” It was an effort not to let his eyes roam all over her smoking-hot body to make his point, but he wasn’t a high-school kid anymore. “It seemed like I was doing the world a favor if I could get you in a strapless dress. You lit up the gym a whole lot more than the aluminum-foil stars.”
“And you can blame sweet talk like that for our getting hitched at a drive-through chapel window.”
He winced even though her comment had been lighthearted.
“It was a surreal night, that’s for sure.”
“The funny part is, I see people do things like that all the time, since I work in the industry. But I would have never expected I’d...” She trailed off, lifting one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “I wish our wedding photos had come out better, though.” She reached into the same drawer where she’d found the pens and tugged out a handful of black-and-white four-by-six-inch prints. The pictures were grainy and dark, but they showed Ari and Dylan laughing in the backseat of the chauffeured convertible they’d rented that night. “I would have liked to have a good memory of the one night I was impulsive.”
“One night? You must be working too hard, Ari.”
“Maybe.” She moved toward the kettle as it started to whistle.
He wondered how much to say, how much to push his own agenda and how soon. But hadn’t he asked her to marry him because he’d just recently learned life was too damned short to live conservatively?
“I never told you the story behind that night.”
“I’m pretty sure it started with tequila shots.” She poured the tea and brought steaming mugs toward the sofa facing the Christmas tree. Beyond that, a window framed the view of the strip from the thirty-eighth floor.
“It started before that.” He studied her profile as she leaned forward to settle the heavy stoneware mugs on a tray centered in the middle of a leather ottoman.
“What do you mean?” She settled on the sofa and clutched her cup.
He watched her take a sip. Waited.
And hoped for the best.
“There was a close call the week before my birthday.”
In the silence that followed, she straightened. Leaned forward.
“As in...?” she finally prodded.
“A hairy situation in the air.” Even months later, he still broke out in a cold sweat thinking about it. “It was a practice drill, but the potential for danger was very real with the kind of exercise we were running—a minimum-interval takeoff where we send up aircraft as quickly as possible.”
“What happened?” She slid out of her shoes and tucked her legs to one side beneath her on the couch. The slit in her skirt parted, giving him a g
enerous view of one slim thigh.
He drank in the sight of her, feeling anchored somehow by her presence.
“We got into the slipstream of the aircraft ahead of us and the plane jumped. Nearly flipped.” His gut rolled with the memory. “I’ve been in battle situations that didn’t mess with my head the way that moment did. It was disorienting. Totally out of my control.” Worse, all the tech had gone down for a god-awful minute, freaking him the hell out. That should have been the least of his concerns when the aircraft was almost inverted, but it had brought home the fact that he was screwed ten ways to Sunday.
“That sounds...terrifying.” She put her hand on her flat stomach, almost as if she was experiencing the same gut-rolling sickness he had.
“You know the thought that went through my head?” With the electrical failure, he hadn’t been able to do his damn job, making all his training useless and giving him a split second for the fear to lay a clean punch to his gut. “It occurred to me that everyone on board was going to have someone to miss them when they were gone. Someone to notice when they didn’t come back. Me? My dad is the closest I’ve got to anyone who would give a rat’s ass, and he’s so far out of the country he wouldn’t even hear the news for two months.”
The moment of silence that followed his words hammered home the fact that he’d probably just given Arianna the best possible reason she’d have to draw up divorce papers after the holiday. He worked in a dangerous job, was gone half the year and—oh, by the way—he couldn’t ever tell her where he was going or even what aircraft he manned when he did his gate hours.
Yeah. He was quite a catch.
“If anything had happened to you, I would have noticed. I would have missed you.” She blinked twice, her eyes shiny.