Too Grand for Words (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Natasza Waters

  “I think”—he paused, breaking out in a half grin—“that I heard you say ‘eh’ more than a couple of times.”

  “What? No I didn’t,” she said, unable to squash the smile curling her lips.

  “I’m pretty sure you did.” He gave a slight nod as the valets waiting in front of the hotel gestured toward him. “You are most definitely Canadian.”

  “Well, I guess I’m caught then. Yes, I’m from Canada.”

  The wind swirled the desert heat around them as they walked down the long driveway toward the strip. The large palm trees that bordered the roadway rustled above their heads. Bright spotlights pointed upwards toward the fronds to highlight the rough bark and height of the trees.

  The traffic on the strip had eased by midnight, but black stretch limos, taxi cabs with signs of enticing women perched on their roofs, still raced along the famous stretch of pavement known as the Las Vegas Boulevard.

  Steven’s gaze lingered on her, and suddenly the air grew even warmer. “What part of Canada?”

  “British Columbia.”

  “So is it a holiday or a convention?” he asked.

  “It’s a wee break.”

  They joined the crowds of people that walked along the wide sidewalks.

  “You know I did worse tonight than I have in the last three nights. You distracted me every time I heard you laugh.”

  “It’s a bad carpenter that blames his tools,” she teased. “You’re probably lousy all the time.” Holy God, what was she doing? Flirting, that’s what. She surprised herself with how easily it came out.

  He laughed, placing his hand over hers. “I was glad you didn’t wander away from the table early—very glad.” His voice lowered with meaning, and the octave sent a ripple of excitement through her.

  “And the fact that I’m not wearing a ring made you even happier?” she asked.

  “That might be true, too. To be honest I kept waiting for a husband or a boyfriend to show up, since none did, well—I took a chance.”

  “You’re a gambling man.”

  “I have a little voice in my head that doesn’t steer me wrong too often.”

  “Ah good, you hear voices.” Laughter bubbled up, and although she tried to suppress it, she couldn’t.

  He barked with laughter, and his entire face lit up. “Okay, I guess that did sound a little odd, didn’t it?”

  “Only if you talk back to them,” she said.

  Good grief, he was amazing. She’d never seen a man who looked liked him in person. He belonged on the cover of a magazine like Forbes or Rolling Stone with a headline that read, Holy God in heaven, who made this guy? Then again, the cover would probably combust into flames on its own if he ever graced it.

  He kept her close to him, their arms locked together as they wandered down the massive sidewalk in no real hurry. For a change, she didn’t have to zigzag when she walked. People got out of Steven’s way when they saw him coming. It kind of reminded her of a small pleasure craft opposing a deep sea. There’s no arguing with size unless you’re stupid or preoccupied.

  Lines of people gathered around the lake in front of the Bellagio Hotel. “It looks like the water show is about to start,” she said as they approached. “I remember this. I came just after it opened. It took my breath away.”

  He steered her toward the crowds gathering at the balustrade that kept visitors away from the water. “Let’s stop.”

  He worked his way through the people, keeping a warm, firm hand around hers as he guided her to the front, placing himself behind her so she could have the best view. She couldn’t believe he’d done it so easily. Everyone just moved aside for him. A cockeyed grin slipped onto her lips as she wondered if he could part the Red Sea as well.

  With an unimpeded view of the lake, the dark water rippled with the wind against its surface. The Tuscan backdrop of the Bellagio began to darken, indicating the show was about to start. As the last light extinguished, Steven slid his arms around her, pressing his body against her back, and resting his hands on the ledge in front of her. She shivered, the goose bumps covering her body. It was just the anticipation of the show that was doing that—right? God help her!

  Lights winked on beneath the surface of the dark pool, and the first spout of water shot from the darkness. A sweet ballad floated through the air from hidden speakers. The symphony of water and sound exploded at the same time, causing the crowd to cheer. A racing trail of spray, arcing into the air in perfect timing with the melody, captured the crowd’s attention.

  Her legs wobbled when his sensual timbre whispered close to her ear. “Still as beautiful as you remember?”

  His cheek gently brushed against her hair. Whether he had done it on purpose or by accident, it had the same effect. Her heart clanged like a ship’s bell in her chest. “It’s amazing.”

  She tried to keep her concentration on the water, instead of him. His scent drifted to her, an enticing hint of aftershave luring her. The warmth of his body resting gently against hers set off more explosions in her than the water show.

  A roar of applause followed the display. She turned in his arms, expecting him to back away, but he didn’t. They were inches from each other, and the look in his eyes held a mixed message—heat, interest and uncertainty. Her breath caught in her throat. Giving him a weak smile, she said, “I think it’s over.”

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, looking at her with a warmth she’d never imagined coming from his ice blues. She must have looked frightened because he backed away from her with a small knowing grin.

  “It was,” she said quickly, putting her attention on the pavement.

  * * * *

  They reached the entrance leading into the Bellagio. People struggled to open the heavy doors, using both hands and sometimes their feet. Steven drew the fifteen-foot-high door open with one hand, holding it so she could enter. “So I suppose it’s a convention or a break for you, too?” she asked.

  “Business,” he said.

  “Are you from Nevada?”

  He placed his hand on her back, gently steering her in the right direction. “No, Los Angeles.”

  “Why is it that everyone I talk to around here is from Los Angeles?” she mused.

  “Ah, because there are a lot of people who live there?”

  She darted a look at him. “I guess that would be one reason.”

  They found two comfortable chairs in a semiprivate corner of a small lounge tucked away in the labyrinth of floral colored paths that crisscrossed the casino. He let her sit down before he took his seat. He looked like a model, had impeccable manners without being slimy, and actually listened when she spoke—interesting. She had to get the hell away from him.

  Her ex-husband certainly didn’t have manners. Heck, he’d even let the door slam in her face a few times after walking through it. But then again, she really wasn’t the kind of woman men held doors open for. In fact, she really wasn’t a woman anymore at all. At least she didn’t feel like it. She hoped that one day she could find the person she used to be. So many years of dealing with professional alpha males had made her hard and spiny. She hadn’t had a choice. It was either that or become a puddle of water that many men would splash through with their boots.

  The waitress approached them. “Mr. Porter, nice to see you again,” she said demurely. She didn’t even turn to look at Moira.

  Steven gave the waitress a friendly nod just like she’d seen in the casino as he said, “A glass of Merlot, Chateau Petrus if you have it.” He turned his gaze to her to make sure that’s what she wanted. When she nodded tentatively he said, “I’ll have a scotch, Macallan, thirty-year-old.”

  Her alarms started to go off. The fear factor struck eight point something on her “don’t be an idiot” scale. Beautiful women surrounded them. Why had he asked her for a drink? “I don’t think I’ve ever had Chateau Petrus before.” She peered at him, trying to figure him out.

  “I think you’ll enjoy it,” he said, his jaw tightening
with a grin. He removed his jacket and draped it over the arm of his chair. “Do you live in Vancouver?”

  “Ah, so you’re one of those rare Americans where the corners of the earth don’t stop at the border.”

  “No, I’ve been to Vancouver many times. They did a great job for the 2010 Olympics, could have used a little more snow though.” He chuckled. “It’s a beautiful city, but most of the time I’m there for business.”

  “It is a nice city, isn’t it? I’ve lived there all my life.” She clasped her hands around her knee because she had the desire to grab something to steady herself. Clutching the armrests of the chair would make her look ready for an execution, but that was about what it felt like. How many seconds would it take him to realize she was tough as nails and just as gnarly.

  “Are you here by yourself?”

  “No, I’m here with some of my officers. We came this morning. Well—yesterday morning now, I guess,” she said, glancing at her watch.

  “Officers?” He looked bemused. “You’re just too sweet to be a police officer.” He paused and raised his brows. “I hope that’s not going to end up being an insult?”

  She laughed. “No.” She shook her head. “Maritimes Officer, the Canadian Coast Guard type.”

  “Really? And what do you do for them?”

  Still trying to figure out why she was sitting here with this man she said, “I work in the Port of Vancouver.” To her it felt the same as saying I’m a welder or a steelworker. In fact, she felt more man than woman most of the time. She’d lost her soft edges long ago.

  “So that’s why you held your ground pretty well with that kid. You must be used to abrasive.” His eyebrows rose. “Sounds like an interesting profession.”

  “At times it is.” She curled her fingers tighter around her knee. “Deep seas and other commercial craft that move around the port participate in our system. They call us for traffic updates, using us like an additional navigational aid. We protect the sensitive areas in the harbor, and assist in making the marine traffic flow smoothly.

  “Our department also handles all the emergency communications for vessels in our area of responsibility. If vessels of any size get into trouble they call us, and we coordinate the communications with the resources that respond.” God, she’d dropped right into it, hadn’t she, sounding like an official advertisement for her department.

  The waitress returned with their drinks. Moira didn’t miss the fact that her finger slid over Steven’s before she released the glass, but he didn’t acknowledge the signal at all.

  “So it’s similar to air traffic control, but for the marine industry. I don’t think I would have guessed that one,” he confessed, leaning his broad shoulders forward for a toast. “That would explain your sense of calm confidence. That can’t be an easy profession. And you run the show?” He gazed at her.

  “No. I leave the politics of the port to the Officer in Charge.” She eyed him and added, “Well, most of the time.” She paused and thought about it, shaking her head. “Okay, sometimes.” She released a gust of air from her lungs. “I have a bad habit of charging into battle on behalf of my department. I just want to see things done right, with a logical result. Sometimes that means trampling my boss.”

  “If he’s a weak boss, he shouldn’t be one,” he said quietly, inclining his head toward her.

  “He’s a nice man, actually. As far as politically correct goes, he’s far more adept at it than I am.” An uncomfortable laugh escaped her throat. “I suppose I should have saved a lot of breath, and said I work with boats.”

  “But not a quarter as interesting,” he murmured, gazing at her as her glass reached out to his. “Salute.”

  “Salute.”

  He stared at her as if deliberating something. “What?”

  He chuckled. “I guess I’m having a hard time seeing you giving some rusty old mariner crap.”

  She broke into a laugh. “Really, I guarantee I can. In fact, I get into more scraps with some of the agencies I work with than I should.”

  “How long have you been working with the Coast Guard?”

  “Well, somebody once said I’ve been around for so long I’m like old wallpaper. I never really understood whether that was good or bad.” She looked into her glass, swirling the red liquid with a twist of her wrist and shrugged. “I’ve been doing it for a long time.” She took a sip, and the ambrosia slid down her throat like silk. She cocked her head at him. “You did buy me those drinks in the casino, didn’t you?”

  He grinned. “All night.” His voice became huskier than his normal timbre.

  “That’s sweet, thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “So what do you do to keep yourself off the streets?” she asked, steering a course away from her to him.

  “I work with a large company as a business director,” he said quietly.

  “And that brings you to Vancouver?” she asked, leaning back in her chair.

  “My industry is in Vancouver as well, yes.”

  She could tell he was holding something back. She’d become very good at extracting information over the years, especially from those who were in dire circumstances, but he wasn’t. “You’re not with the mob?”

  “No, no mob affiliations, I promise.”

  She shifted in her seat. His gaze devoured her as if he could see right inside her. “Well, you didn’t seem to be very lucky at cards tonight, and a gangster probably would be.”

  “I was distracted,” he said. A languid smile graced his lips. “I love your voice, it’s different. There must be a lot of mariners who don’t mind talking to you on the other end of the radio.”

  “There are a lot of women in my trade now. It didn’t used to be that way, for a long while there was only a handful. My mentor had a notable voice. Everyone knew her. She’s retired now, but I remember her telling me, ‘Never let them hear you sweat.’” She laughed to herself. “Not an easy thing to do in our profession.” She leaned back in the soft leather of the chair and crossed her legs. “The women I work with all have lovely voices, which doesn’t hurt, but more importantly, they’re professional, and at the top of their game.”

  “I guess your busiest season is about to start with summer around the corner?”

  “It is. That’s why I came here for a break, and for business as well,” she said, looking down at her glass. “A little research. I’m going into the desert tomorrow actually.”

  “There’s not a lot of water out there.”

  “Eh? Whoops.”

  “Ha—see?” He leaned back in his chair chuckling when she’d caught herself.

  “Guess I have to work on that. You Americans always notice that for some reason.”

  “So what’s in the desert, definitely not water?”

  “No, I know that. I—” She paused. “I kind of have a hobby on the side, and I just wanted to spend the day out there. The rest of the troops are coming with me, I think, but nevertheless I’m heading out early so I should be turning in.”

  A flash of concern crossed his features when she suggested leaving. “What kind of hobby?”

  “Well, I write in my spare time. Five of the books have been published, but there’s one book to go, the final one, and I have to take some notes, scour the countryside.”

  “You’re an author, too?” His brows rose. “You impress me more by the second, you know that?”

  Her gaze swerved to a woman who passed them like a gust of wind.

  “You fucking asshole,” the woman screamed, stopping at the table behind them.

  She and Steven watched, as did the entire lounge. Luckily, for the guy who’d obviously just been caught cheating, the place wasn’t full.

  “Kate, how could you do this to me?” the woman railed. “You’re supposed to be my friend, and you’re screwing my husband.” She poked the air fiercely in her husband’s direction. “And you, you bastard, don’t bother coming home tonight. You can stay with your slut for all I care. You be
tter hope that lawyer of yours knows what he’s doing, because you’re going to have nothing left when I’m finished with you.” She turned and stormed out of the lounge.

  * * * *

  With wide eyes, Moira turned, releasing a deep breath.

  He suppressed the urge to laugh. It wasn’t funny, but then again…some guys couldn’t keep it in their pants. “That guy can say good-bye to all his worldly possessions,” he stated, shaking his head.

  “You’re not kidding.” Moira looked uncomfortably at him. “How could he fool around on a beautiful wife like that? I don’t get it?”

  “Easy,” he said, reading Moira’s confused expression. “She’s a bitch, and the other one offered a warm shoulder.”

  Her green eyes sparked with emotion. “How, would you know that? Maybe he can’t stay on one side of the pasture, like so many men. Maybe she works and takes care of the house, and he’s a sleazebag.”

  “Maybe.” He paused. “Maybe you’re right. Some men don’t deserve to have a beautiful woman as their mate. A lot of men don’t know what they have, but some know—exactly what they want.” He took a slow sip from his glass.

  Moira swallowed the last of her wine in one nervous gulp then set the glass on the table.

  He could tell she was an intelligent woman. He knew how to read people well, and he didn’t miss the flash of anger in her eyes at his comment. She didn’t wear a ring now, but he bet she had once. He cleared his throat. “You’re a published author, yet you say you work for the government instead. Most people would think being an author is more appealing. What’s the name of the series?” he asked, steering the conversation back to neutral ground.

  “I’m sure you’ve never heard of them. It’s called By Sea or by Earth Prophecies.”

  A plane drove itself into his chest, taking out all the air. Holy shit, this was Moira Viterra. What the hell! He kept the shock from his expression. Talk about synchronicity. “I think I might have,” he said slowly, glancing away from her to collect his thoughts.