Werewolf in Las Vegas

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “I just had an idea, although I don’t know if Benedict will go along with it. What if Vaughn thinks Benedict talked me into selling the Moon back to him? Would that get him out of the doghouse and restore some family harmony?”

  “That’s a compassionate plan,” Giselle said. “It’s worth a try.” But she had a sudden image of a wolf in a doghouse, and she made the mistake of looking at Bryce. Judging from the sparkle in his green eyes, he’d thought the same thing. She quickly glanced away and pressed her lips together. Laughing at this private joke would be a very bad idea.

  She would have loved to share the joke with Luke, but she couldn’t, and that made her sad. They’d become close in so many ways, yet they still were separated by an enormous gulf. Her heart longed to bridge that chasm and be one with him in all ways, but that was selfish thinking.

  “I guess we’re all ready to leave, then.” Luke took out his wallet and left several bills on the table.

  “Hey, are we paying?” Bryce reached in his hip pocket for his wallet. “I assumed it was on the house, but I’ll toss in something if it’s not.”

  “The drinks are free, but the server still needs her tips.”

  “Got it.” Bryce threw more money on top of Luke’s already large tip. “She didn’t have much business tonight, so this should help.”

  Giselle smiled. Luke and her brother had a similar generosity of spirit. If she thought about it, she might find other traits they had in common. Mentally listing them and imagining a friendship between the two was a pointless exercise, though.

  She took out some money she’d tucked in the pocket of her jeans before she’d walked over there and added it to the pile on the table.

  “Goodness, I can see where this is headed.” Cynthia dug out some crumpled bills and put them on top of the growing stash. “I’m not about to be the cheapskate in the bunch.”

  “Nor am I.” Mr. Thatcher produced a crisp hundred-dollar bill and balanced it carefully on the mound of cash.

  Cynthia let out a whoop. “Way to trump us all, Mr. Thatcher!”

  The butler smiled. “I always take pleasure in tipping well. Shall we go?”

  As before, Mr. Thatcher led the way back to the Silver Crescent’s service entrance as if he were the patriarch of the group. For the most part, he filled the role beautifully.

  But he wasn’t a big-picture kind of guy. He’d focused on the immediate problem—Luke’s unhappiness when Giselle left in the morning. He’d serve Luke far better by visualizing the disastrous long-term effects if she brought Luke into her world.

  The cheerful group piled on the private elevator together. Mr. Thatcher got off on his floor, and a quick glance passed between him and Bryce before the doors slid closed. When Bryce and Cynthia got off, Bryce winked at Giselle, and true to form, she blushed.

  “They beat the cleaning crew up to the suite.” Luke tucked his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

  “I know they did.” She gazed up at him. “Bryce is threatening to blackmail me with the pictures on his phone.”

  Luke grinned. “I trust you have your own blackmail material stored somewhere?”

  “Absolutely. He won’t show those pictures to anyone, especially if he wants to get back with Miranda. I’ll be a key player in that effort. He won’t mess with me.”

  The doors opened, and he kept his arm around her waist as they walked toward the double doors of the suite. “I doubt anyone messes with you, Harley girl. Which reminds me. You never showed me how to ride that hog.”

  She looked into blue eyes filled with warmth . . . and regret. “Anyone can teach you. If you buy one, they’ll be happy to arrange for lessons. You’ll pick it up in no time.”

  “You know I won’t do that,” he said softly, holding her gaze. “Every time I got on the damn thing I’d think of you.”

  Her throat tightened.

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I swore I wouldn’t get all mushy and sentimental tonight, and now I’ve made you look very sad.”

  “I am sad,” she said in a husky voice.

  “Not for long.” He tightened his grip around her waist and smiled. “Come with me, little girl. The big bad wolf is going to eat you up.”

  It was the wrong teasing remark, and the tears she’d vowed not to cry began to fall.

  “Well, damn.” He hustled her through the double doors. “I thought that might make you laugh, but apparently not.”

  She covered her face with both hands. “I’ll . . . I’ll be . . . okay.” She choked back a sob. “Give me . . . a minute.”

  “I’d give you the rest of my life if I could.” He gathered her close. “And I didn’t plan to say that, either.”

  His words only made her cry harder. What a fool she’d been to think she could have a fun romp with this funny, gorgeous, generous, stubborn, and thoroughly loveable man.

  “I’ll bet you wish you’d never started this.” He nestled her head against his broad chest and rubbed her back.

  “No!” Her voice was clogged with tears. “I’m glad we’ve had this.” She took a shaky breath. “It’s just . . .”

  “Yeah. It’s always tough when the party’s over.”

  “Are you sorry?”

  “Hell, no. I’ve always figured you’d leave. There was a point when I thought . . . Well, it doesn’t matter.” He leaned down and rested his cheek on her hair. “But you’re not gone yet. I vote we make the most of the time we have left.”

  She gave a watery chuckle. “As opposed to having me cry the whole blessed time?”

  “Something like that. Unless Bryce and Cynthia told you to as a final way to get me wet.”

  “Oh, Luke.” She was half laughing and half crying, but that was better than totally crying. She drew back and swiped at her eyes. “Can I interest you in a trip to the bedroom?”

  He gazed down at her. “You can, but I have no idea what we’ll find there. As you recall, I ordered a cleaning crew, not a housekeeper. They might have stripped the bed and left with the evidence.”

  “At least it won’t be a leaky water bed.”

  “Good point.” He hooked an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go investigate our options.”

  When they reached the bedroom, Giselle’s tears gave way to helpless laughter.

  Luke released her to go stand at the foot of the bed and stare in disbelief. “It’s the same. Still effing white.”

  Giselle stifled her giggles. “If you didn’t tell them not to, then . . .”

  “But you’d think, after seeing that god-awful mess we made, they’d have asked me if I wanted to keep everything the same.” He glanced at her. “Wouldn’t you have asked me, if you were them?”

  “Maybe they tried.”

  “Oh.” He pulled his phone out of his coat pocket and grimaced. “Three messages. I didn’t hear my phone. Did you hear my phone?”

  She shook her head. “But I wasn’t listening for a phone. I was involved in other things.”

  He looked up from his phone and his gaze locked with hers. “Me, too.” Maintaining eye contact, he shoved his phone back in his pocket as he walked back to her. “And I intend to be involved with those things again. Who gives a damn what color the bedding is?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Neither do I.” He cupped her face in both hands and leaned down. “We’ll be too busy to notice.” And he kissed her with the certainty of a man who knew that his passion was returned.

  They undressed each other this time, and it didn’t take long. Soon they were rolling naked on the pristine white sheets. They stroked and fondled with the confidence of lovers who’ve learned which caresses bring the most pleasure.

  Giselle banished melancholy thoughts as she reveled in the wonder of loving and being loved by Luke. Sex between them had been good from the beginning, but it had grown richer with each encounte
r. Tonight she treasured every moment as they writhed on the bed—skin to skin, mouth to mouth, breath to breath. At last they sought the deepest connection, the one they craved most of all.

  Each thrust, each tremor, each moan brought them closer to total surrender. As Giselle’s body gathered itself, poised for the coming explosion, she looked up into eyes blazing with the same fire burning within her. She could no longer hold back her truth. “I love you, Luke Dalton.”

  He drew in a quick breath. “Ah, Giselle.” His eyes darkened. “I know you do. I know.” And he drove home with a triumphant cry, the moment of his orgasm matching hers. They held on tight and rode the whirlwind. Long after the storm subsided, they stayed wrapped in each other’s arms.

  She would have loved to drift off to sleep that way, but her mind was filled with thoughts of leaving. Sleep wouldn’t come. The thought of never seeing Luke again tore her apart.

  In spite of all her misgivings, she wanted to be with him. Mr. Thatcher thought they belonged together. Bryce thought they belonged together. She trusted their insights, but . . . what if they were wrong? What if she revealed her secret and Luke was thoroughly repulsed?

  Was it better to leave when he still thought of her as the woman who got away? Besides, if she gambled on him accepting her werewolf nature and lost, they wouldn’t have a future, but he’d be stuck with guarding the secret for the rest of his life. What should she do?

  “Giselle.” His voice was low and intense. “I can almost hear you thinking. Please tell me you’re reconsidering.”

  “I thought you were asleep.”

  “How could I sleep with all that thinking going on?”

  “Oh, Luke. I don’t know what to do.”

  “I do.” He sat up. “Stop resisting and say we can be together. Tell me this awful secret, whatever it is.”

  She gulped. “Once I do, there’s no turning back.”

  “There’s no turning back anyway. Like the song says, I will always love you. I couldn’t stop doing that if I tried.” He blew out a breath. “Just tell me what it is. How bad can it be?”

  “Life changing.”

  “Okay!” He got out of bed and began to pace. “Mr. Thatcher and Bryce are involved, aren’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “I knew it! And somehow it all ties into the security at Illusions. You don’t have to say yes or no. I don’t know how, but it does.”

  She trembled. Sitting up seemed like a better way to face this decision, so she did that. Then she decided to get out of bed, too.

  He whirled to face her. “I love you!” He practically shouted it. “Don’t shut me out, Giselle. Tell me the truth! Whatever it is, I swear I can deal with it. Nothing’s more important to me than being with you. Nothing!”

  She could barely breathe as fear tightened her chest. But in spite of the fear, she made a decision. She would tell him.

  She wanted him, and he wanted her, and maybe Bryce was right. Luke needed a chance to accept or reject her as she really was. She would take full responsibility for the outcome, but he deserved to know the truth.

  He faced her, eyes flashing. “Well? Are you going to tell me?”

  “Yes.” She gulped for air. Her pulse raced, sending liquid fire through her veins. “I’m . . . I’m a werewolf.”

  Chapter 25

  Luke went completely still. Then, because it was the only logical response, he laughed. “That’s a great line, but your timing is lousy. I’m not in the mood for joking around, Giselle.” Except her expression was completely serious, which made him nervous.

  “I’m not joking. I realize that’s a shocking thing to hear, but it’s the truth.”

  He stared at her. Until now, he’d considered her the love of his life. And she was batshit crazy. That wasn’t a politically correct description anymore. He didn’t know what was PC these days to label someone who was a taco short of a Mexican combo plate.

  Sad to say, he still loved her, crazy or not. But she needed help. “Giselle, is there a medication you might have skipped recently? We’ve been so busy that you easily could have forgotten. Is it in your suitcase? I’d be happy to—”

  “I’m not on medication and don’t need to be.”

  Oh, boy. He’d heard of cases like this, where the patient became belligerent. “I’ll get Bryce. I’ll call Cynthia and tell her to send Bryce down here. I’m sure he knows what—”

  “Don’t get Bryce. Keep this between you and me for now, please.”

  “Okay, no Bryce. You and I will handle this together.” He tried to stay calm. “How about taking a nice little ride with me? There’s a twenty-four-hour clinic within a few minutes of here. You don’t have to be scared or anything. I’ll stay with you the whole time.”

  She sighed. “Luke, you’re a really good guy. You think I’m psychotic, don’t you?”

  “That’s such a harsh word. You’re a little confused about reality, but we can fix that. How about getting dressed? That’s a good start.” And he’d been so sure that he knew her. Was it possible that she was telling the truth? Nope. Not possible. She had a chemical imbalance, and he would get her some help for that.

  “I guess there’s only one way to convince you.” Dropping to her hands and knees, she stretched out naked on the bedroom carpet, facing him.

  “This isn’t a good time for sex. I never thought I’d hear myself say that concerning you, but I have my standards. Taking advantage of a disturbed woman is not my idea of acceptable behavior. So if you’ll just get up and put on your . . .” He lost track of what he’d been about to say when she began to sparkle.

  Okay, this was freaking him out. Normal women didn’t sparkle. He’d seen a vampire movie that involved sparkling, but Giselle hadn’t announced she was a vampire. She’d said she was a werewolf. He didn’t believe in vampires or werewolves, so this couldn’t be happening.

  A nightmare. He was having a nightmare. He pinched himself, though, and it hurt. Wasn’t that the test? He’d love to wake up and find out he was dreaming and his beloved was still in bed with him instead of lying on his bedroom carpet . . . sparkling.

  That wasn’t all she was doing, though. Along with the pretty lights, she was changing right before his eyes. He rubbed them, thinking that he was hallucinating. Maybe he was the one in need of medication.

  Or a good bottle of Scotch. Damnation. The dancing lights faded, and where a redheaded woman with green eyes had been, a wolf now stood. Its coat was a deep red, very close in color to Giselle’s hair. And its eyes, although they were those of a wolf, were emerald green.

  He began to shake, and his heart was beating double time. His voice was a mere whisper. “Giselle?”

  The wolf looked at him, intelligence shining in its green eyes. In her green eyes. He couldn’t deny the evidence. This wolf was Giselle. And Giselle was this wolf. His brain hurt, but . . . she’d told him the truth.

  He dragged air into his lungs. “Okay.” He still wasn’t registering this. He blew out that same air. “Okay. I . . . I need to think about this. In my wildest dreams, I never . . .” He started grabbing his clothes. “Let me think. I need to talk a walk. Please don’t go anywhere.”

  He pulled on his clothes as the wolf watched him. “Just let me have a little time to sort this out. To adjust. I’ll be back. Don’t leave.” Shoving his feet into loafers, he grabbed his jacket and his keys and headed out, his brain spinning like a carnival ride.

  And he’d thought she was crazy. That would have been easier to take. In the elevator, he braced his hands against his knees as if he’d run a marathon. He started to punch the button for the garage, changed his mind, and chose the first floor instead. Driving in his condition—total freak-out mode—was not a good idea.

  Ducking out the service door, he started walking, unsure of his destination. He didn’t know what time it was, but probably late. The Moon was cl
osed down for the night.

  That’s where he’d go. He could sit alone in the bar, which still belonged to him. He could pour himself a stiff Scotch, which he really could use right now. And he could think what the hell he was going to do next.

  Having a key to the bar in his possession had been a matter of pride. He’d learned the code to the alarm system for the same reason. This property was his, and he’d liked knowing he could go inside whenever he wanted. Like now.

  Moments later, he was rummaging behind the bar for the best bottle of Scotch in the house. After he located that, he grabbed a glass and walked over to a table. He deliberately didn’t choose the one where he’d so recently sat with Giselle. That little gathering seemed like it had happened years ago.

  A werewolf. She’d warned him that her secret would be life changing. No shit. After pouring himself a glass of Scotch, he took a hefty gulp. He didn’t plan to get drunk, but he wouldn’t mind a little Dutch courage.

  He’d need it when he went back to the penthouse, which he would do, and soon. She might be a werewolf, but he loved her. If you loved someone, you accepted them, warts and all. Except this was a little more significant than a wart.

  The clock behind the bar registered two thirty in the morning. His life had changed forever about twenty minutes ago. For some reason he thought he should remember the time and date that his entire worldview changed.

  Now that the initial shock was past, he had a million questions. All he knew about werewolves came from Hollywood, and they usually got that stuff wrong. He hoped they got it wrong. Otherwise, he might need a lot more Scotch.

  He’d nearly finished his first glass and was debating whether to pour a second when he heard a noise. No, not just a noise. Voices. They came from the hallway that led to the restrooms and the kitchen. Good God, was he about to start hearing voices now? Or seeing ghosts?

  More likely, he was lucky enough to be here when somebody was breaking into the place. That would cap his evening off nicely. Screwing the top on the bottle of Scotch, he took it with him as a potential weapon and started down the hall.