by Betina Krahn
So she was right in the path of the black-cloaked figure that came hurtling out from behind the building.
“Manda!” he cried, seeing the shape emerge from the darkness.
Before she had time to react, the running man barreled into her. They stumbled around together for a second, their legs and coats tangling.
“You son of a bitch.” Reese dove toward them, knocking the man off her, but falling, himself, in the process. “You’re dead,” he snarled.
The thief, obviously realizing there was only one thing that would stop Reese from chasing him down and beating him to a pulp, whirled around toward Amanda and shoved. Hard.
The blow sent her careening toward the street. Those high-heeled boots wobbled, making it impossible for her to catch her balance. Right before she fell off the curb into the path of the cab, which had indeed turned and was rapidly cruising up the block, Reese lunged to his feet and grabbed her around the waist, hauling her back to safety.
“My God, are you okay?”
She nodded, though her whole body was shaking, especially as a taxi screeched to a stop right where she would have landed in the street.
“That rotten bastard,” Reese snapped, his feet nearly in motion to go after the man in black. The thief had just darted down the next alleyway, heading across a debris-laden, abandoned construction site that separated this road from the north strip.
“No, Reese,” she insisted, holding on to his arm. “I’m fine, really. And you are not going to go chasing after some robber. You could get hurt.”
“He was a scrawny runt.”
“Who might be armed. You’re staying right here.”
Before he could reply, a heavyset, balding man with flaming red cheeks jogged up to them. “Did you see him? Did you get a good look? Rotten thief robbed my shop!”
“I saw him,” Amanda replied, sounding weary.
The shop owner peered at her, narrowed his eyes and sighed heavily. “Oh, that’s just great.”
The man’s sneer toward Amanda, whom he obviously took for a real lady of the evening, tempted Reese to let the guy deal with his own problems. But his rage toward the thug who’d so callously tossed her into the street was greater. So he admitted, “I saw him, too. Now why don’t you go call the police so we can give them a description.” He tightened his arm around Amanda’s shoulders. “And hurry. We’ve got things to do tonight.”
OF ALL THE WAYS she’d envisioned spending their first night in Vegas, standing in a dingy pawn shop, talking to two officers from the LVPD, hadn’t been in the top thousand. Especially because said cops had spent the first ten minutes of their interview trying to figure out whether they needed to arrest her for prostitution and Reese for solicitation.
Talk about a convincing costume. She and Reese had finally had to come clean about what they were up to, showing their credentials, including Amanda’s pilot’s license. Ever since, the younger police officer had been trying to hide a smile and was casting quick, sneaky glances at Amanda whenever he thought he could get away with it. The older one hadn’t even tried to hide his amusement. She’d swear she heard him mumbling something about how much he wished his wife would wear thigh-high boots.
That so didn’t help.
“Okay then, miss, sir, I think I’ve got everything I need,” said the older officer, who’d introduced himself as Parker. Standing in the well-lit entranceway of the shop, they’d just finished answering all his questions. “You did a good job remembering details about this guy.”
Amanda didn’t think she would soon forget the pale, pockmarked face of the man who’d so readily shoved her toward what could have been her death. His glazed brown eyes and long, greasy blond hair weren’t going to leave her mind anytime soon, either.
“The owner of the shop says the thief got away with some valuable diamond jewelry,” Parker added. He snapped his notebook closed and tucked it into his uniform pocket.
Reese glanced around the small, nondescript shop, which was a little dusty and unimpressive. “Really?” he asked, sounding doubtful. “It doesn’t look exactly top shelf.”
“You’d be surprised,” offered the younger officer, whom the older one kept calling Rookie. His voice low, he looked around for the owner, who’d disappeared into the back to do yet another check on his inventory. “A lotta these places are mob-owned, legit businesses where money goes to get nice and clean.”
“Would you shut yer yap?” said Parker. With a glare, he explained, “We’re really not in the habit of making unfounded comments about members of our local business community.”
The younger guy snapped his mouth shut and didn’t say another word.
“If we’re finished, are we free to go?” Reese asked.
“Sure thing.” Smiling, Parker tipped his hat at Amanda. “Hope you two enjoy the rest of your visit to our fair city. And might I suggest that next time you, uh, confine your field trips to the lobby of your own hotel?”
Though she’d been embarrassed at first, now all Amanda could do was chuckle. Parker seemed like a nice guy, and, really, it was either laugh or cry. Laughing seemed the much better option.
“You bet,” she said. Winking, she added, “And if you get your wife a pair of these boots, be sure to get one size larger than she usually wears. They’re pretty painful.”
He threw his head back and guffawed. “If I came home with a pair of those things for her, she’d use them to kick my ass.”
With a polite nod, Reese led Amanda out of the shop by the arm. She was still chuckling as they emerged outside, knowing she was going to have to share this whole story with Jazz. Her friend would love it.
So would Uncle Frank, if she was ever able to get over the whole embarrassment factor and tell him, too. But it was the kind of situation that would horrify her parents, and reinforce their firm belief that she was a reckless wanton who cared nothing for her own reputation. Or theirs.
Caught up in thought, she didn’t notice that a small crowd had gathered outside the pawn shop. About a dozen people milled around on the sidewalk, likely drawn by the flash of the police lights and the whispers of a robbery in the neighborhood.
“Hey, what happened?” somebody asked.
“You’ll have to let the police fill you in,” Reese said, sliding a hand around her waist as he tried to lead her through the crowd.
It was only when she felt the warmth of his fingers against her very bare skin that she realized she hadn’t re-buttoned her coat, which she’d unfastened in the heat of the store. Gaping open, it revealed her costume in all its glory to the wide-eyed strangers. She reached for the edges of it, intending to yank it closed. But before she could, a male voice called, “Hey, sweet thing, how late you working tonight?”
Another one added, “Got a business card?”
Though she knew she should be absolutely mortified, and maybe even a little nervous, more laughter bubbled up inside her. The size of the crowd, the presence of a few normally dressed women and tourists, and the two police officers right inside the closest building eased her hint of fear.
And the embarrassment? Hell, she was so far past that, she couldn’t even remember what it felt like.
Beside her, Reese made a small sound. Worried, she glanced over and saw his lips twitch. Relief flowed through her. His anger and concern had finally eased up and he was beginning to see the humor in the situation, too.
“Sorry, guys, she’s retired,” he said, tugging her closer to his side.
“Since when?”
Following his lead, she sidled closer to Reese. Glued to his side from ankle to hip, she slipped her arm around his waist, too. Dropping her head onto his shoulder and simpering a little, she pointed toward a small white building across the street. “Since I roped myself a man tonight at that wedding chapel over there. Jeez, what’s a girl gotta do to enjoy her wedding night?”
The two potential clients groaned, but the others surrounding them started to laugh and call out congratulations. They were p
robably going to go back home and tell their friends and family they’d stumbled into a real-life version of Pretty Woman.
Reese, wicked amusement dancing in his eyes, took full advantage, playing to the crowd. Without warning, he tugged her closer, turning her so their faces were inches apart, then he caught her mouth in a deep, intimate kiss.
She forgot about everything for a full minute. The robbery, the thug, the cops, the onlookers. When Reese kissed her like this, all hot and wet, with delicious strokes of his tongue, everything else just ceased to exist.
When they finally ended the kiss, it was to the sound of applause. “Way to go, girlfriend!” someone yelled.
She didn’t have to force the note of breathless excitement as she asked, “Can we please get outta here, hubby-cakes?”
“You got it, sugar-britches,” Reese replied, compressing his lips, trying so hard not to laugh.
He amazed her. From sexy playmate, to hero who’d literally saved her butt, to serious witness, to passionate lover, and back to the most playful, good-humored, self-confident man she’d ever known, all in the span of an hour.
She’d known before tonight that Reese Campbell was a great guy. But as she let him lead her away, holding her protectively, lovingly, like a new husband with his bride, she had to acknowledge that he was even more than that.
He was special. Very special. The kind of man women read about in romance novels and dreamed about actually meeting.
He was, to use his favorite word, just about perfect.
Perfect for her? Well, that she wasn’t ready to concede, at least not in the long term. But for right now, there was simply no place else she’d rather be…and no one else on earth she’d rather be with.
New Year’s Eve
THEY SPENT THE ENTIRE holiday week in Las Vegas. And this time, after that first night when their game playing had nearly gotten them into legal trouble, they’d let all the other identities fade away. It was just Reese and Amanda, spending every minute of the day together.
They gambled, they saw a few shows, they walked the strip and shopped. They laughed over pizza dinners and shared a bucket of popcorn as they went to see a movie, which neither of them had done for so long.
And finally, eventually, they even talked.
“You’re sure you don’t mind leaving before midnight?” Amanda asked as they reentered their room at around eleven-thirty on New Year’s Eve.
“My ears have been ringing all week from the sound of the slot machines. Add a few thousand voices screaming ‘Happy New Year’ and I might go deaf.” Before he’d even reached back to lock the door, he drew her into his arms and kissed her cheek. “In other words, no, I most definitely do not mind sharing a quiet celebration with you.”
Though he had never seen her drink much, Amanda had enjoyed a couple of glasses of champagne at the hotel’s holiday party downstairs. Though not drunk, he’d have to describe her as slightly tipsy. Her eyes sparkled and her always beautiful smile flashed a little wider. Though nobody would ever call her giddy, when she kicked off her shoes and spun around the room with her arms extended straight out, she looked pretty darn close.
She also looked damn near adorable—young and carefree. Her black cocktail dress was tight to the waist, but flared on the bottom and it swirled prettily around her bare legs.
“I love New Year’s,” she admitted once she stopped twirling.
He never had understood the appeal of the holiday himself, having grown up hearing his father calling it amateur night: the night normally smart, rational people drank too much then drove drunk. In their line of work, they knew way too much about it. The Campbells had always stayed home on New Year’s Eve.
“It doesn’t sound like the kind of holiday your family would be into,” he said, his tone careful, as always, when the subject of her family life came up.
Amanda laughed out loud. “Are you kidding? Hell no, they weren’t into it.” Her voice lowered and her brow pulled down in a deep frown. “‘This holiday is just an excuse for people to use poor judgment and do things they know are immoral and indecent. No daughter of mine is going to participate in public drunkenness or lewdity.’”
The imitation had to be of her father, though, honestly, he couldn’t imagine this woman having grown up with someone like that. “Not exactly Mr. Tender Loving Care?”
She snorted. “I don’t think he knows the meaning of any of those words.” She thought about it, then clarified. “Well, mister he gets very well. He has kept my mother in her place since the minute he proposed to her. But tender, loving and care just aren’t part of his vocabulary. Not toward her, not toward anyone.” She yawned widely, as if she were discussing something mundane rather than utterly heartbreaking. “And I guess living with him all these years has rubbed off. Because my mother is about as warm as a guppy, too.”
He glanced away so she wouldn’t see the sudden flash of sympathy—and even anger—in his face. There was no malice in her. This wasn’t an adult kid blaming her poor, unknowing parents for some imaginary slights. She didn’t even sound resentful. She’d simply accepted their frigidity as a fact and moved on.
How much of their coldness had she unintentionally absorbed? How deeply had it affected her own life, her choices, the face she showed to the world? Seeing her like this, hearing the truths she’d been trying to hide from him since the very beginning, he understood so much more…and he liked her all the more for it. Even though he knew she would probably resent any sympathy he tried to offer.
He forced the thoughts away, as well as the unpleasant subject of what her parents had or hadn’t given her in her childhood. Not wanting her to even think about it anymore, he changed the subject. “So when did you become a New Year’s convert?”
She plopped down onto the edge of the bed. “In college. My freshman boyfriend took me to my very first New Year’s Eve party and I got completely caught up in everyone else’s excitement and good mood.”
He hid his interest in the “boyfriend” part.
“I loved all the resolutions, the anticipation of a clean slate, a fresh start. And I suddenly saw it as a chance to reevaluate, figure out what went wrong in the past year and plan on how to make it right in the coming one.”
Interesting. He had to wonder what she had evaluated and planned on this particular holiday. But he knew better than to ask. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it aside, then sat in a chair opposite the bed, eyeing her. “What did you decide that first year?”
“To dump my boyfriend.”
Caught off guard, he had to chuckle. While that subject had been taboo up until now, Amanda laughed, as well. “He was a creeper,” she admitted. “A…creeper?”
“He had moist hands and he was sneaky, always touching me. That was when I was only nineteen, and still a virgin.”
She’d held on to her virginity longer than most girls he knew. Considering her family background, he wasn’t entirely surprised. He doubted there had been much dating or teenage partying in her household.
“So we have the creeper,” he murmured, lifting his index finger to count off. “Who was next?”
Probably because she’d had a couple of drinks, Amanda didn’t immediately freeze him out and change the subject. Instead, she threw herself back on the bed, her brow scrunched as she thought about it.
“I dated around when I was a sophomore. Kind of a lot.” The way she nibbled her lip told him what that meant. She’d lost that pesky virginity and had gone for a walk on the wild side.
“Then I hooked up with a guy named Scott for several months. I broke up with him when I caught him copying the answers from my take-home exam for a class we had together. After that came Tommy…he drove a Porsche and I think I liked the car more than I liked him, which he eventually figured out.”
“Completely understandable,” he pointed out.
She ignored him. “Rick was nice, but the first time we slept together and I realized he was lousy in the sack, I stopped taking h
is calls.”
Again, completely understandable, at least for a college-aged kid. Not that he intended to interrupt her again, not now, when she seemed to really be getting to the nitty-gritty.
She was now the one with her fingers up. Mumbling under her breath, she lifted another, then another, and then moved on to her next hand. Up came the index finger. The middle one, then a third…which she quickly put back down. “Wait, Josh doesn’t really count.”
“Why not?” he asked, amused by this frank, open Amanda talking about her past. Even if she was only being that way because she’d had one too many sips of champagne.
“Because I was just a beard. I found out he was in the closet on our second date, but kept going out with him just ’cause he was a nice guy. Plus he had a crush on my roommate’s boyfriend, who I hated, and it made me laugh to keep him around.” Sitting up quickly, she gave him a stricken look. “Oh, that was bitchy, wasn’t it? I told you.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re cast-iron, babe.”
So far, from what he could tell, she’d had about the same number of boyfriends as his twenty-something-year-old sisters. The difference being, from what he had pieced together in the past, that she had always been the one to walk away.
That refrain repeated in his mind. She always walked away.
He should have taken that as a warning sign, proceeded with caution. But he hadn’t…mostly because he wasn’t at all convinced Amanda was as anti-love-and-commitment as she claimed. She’d just never been involved with the right man. Whether that was pure happenstance, or by design—since her upbringing had to have soured her on the whole idea of personal relationships—he didn’t know.
“Come to think of it, I don’t feel so bad,” she suddenly said with a firm nod. “I didn’t break his heart or anything, so he had no business joining that Facebook group.” Her voice lowered. “No business at all.”
“What group?”
She hesitated, the finally admitted, “The ‘Dumped by Amanda Bauer’ group.”