“I’m enjoying my evening out with you,” Nikolai said. He took her hand. His was large and strong. “This is a date, right? Isn’t flirting allowed?”
“It’s not a date. Not exactly. You’re family.”
He dropped the hand he was holding to take hold of her shoulders. He waited until she made eye contact before saying, “Let’s get one thing straight. We are not—” he stressed the word “—related. Not by blood, anyway.”
“But—”
He shook his head. “But nothing. Whatever the connection is, it’s not close enough that our children would be born with tails.”
She knew he was just making a point, but his use of the word children made her pulse increase speed. “Okay. I won’t refer to you as Cousin Nikolai anymore. Satisfied?”
He leaned in and stroked the side of her face with the back of his hand. “Not even close, but it’s a start.”
Grace was thankful for the dim light—well, dim by Vegas standards. “Um, then, we have to decide what to do next. How ’bout a show? Comedy, Broadway musical, topless revue?”
He appeared to be thinking over his options, so she added, “Charles is a big fan of the latter. I thought about calling him to ask which one he’d recommend, but I had to help out at The Dancing Hippo, which made me late. Alex was feeling a bit under the weather. I could try his cell—”
“No. That’s not my thing. What else did you have in mind?”
His question was innocent enough, but Grace felt a clutching sensation low in her belly. She knew what she’d like to do with him but since that was not an option… “Um, Mom thought you might like to try your hand at poker, no pun intended. A friend of mine deals Texas Hold’em at the Orleans, but I’m not sure I can teach you everything you need to know to play in the time it takes to get there. It’s not that far away.”
“I’ve played a little poker. I can probably hold my own.” He winked. “Pun fully intended.”
Grace smiled. She tucked her arm though his in a friendly way, and marched beside him to the car. She kept up a running commentary about life in Vegas, but in the back of her mind a small voice kept saying, Too fast, Grace. This is happening too fast. Slow down before you crash and burn.
He might not be a blood relative, but he was a member of her family, at least, as far as her mother was concerned. Plus, Grace hadn’t had a serious romance since the restaurant opened, so her family wasn’t used to seeing men visit her little trailer. In fact, Nikolai was the first man to make her want to end her celibate ways.
Oh, well, she thought as she headed down Tropicana, the night was still young by Vegas standards. Anything could happen.
Two hours later, Grace decided if she had to describe what it was like playing poker with Nikolai, the only word that fit was mind-blowing.
He was so damn smart. He picked up the nuances of the game faster than any person she’d ever watched. He was unemotional and could bluff with a face that made you positive he held a straight flush every time.
Unfortunately, he bet too conservatively for her taste. Her father would have said the man had control issues.
“Sometimes when you’re gambling, you have to step aside and let lady luck play for you,” Ernst once told her. “This requires a leap of faith that the average person just can’t make.”
Nikolai lost several hands because he didn’t bet aggressively enough to scare off the hangers-on. And she was one of them. Her cards were never particularly good, but she’d linger in a hand past the flop and twice picked up winning hands when the turn, the second down card, gave her three of a kind. Against a more experienced player, she’d have ducked for cover after the initial bet and raise.
She was watching now because she’d finally lost all her chips to someone else at the table when her bluff failed. The stakes weren’t that high, but she’d played often enough to know that this wasn’t her night.
Nikolai lasted a few more hands. In the end, he lost, too.
“Sorry about that,” she said, when he joined her at the railing where onlookers stood to view the action.
“Are you kidding? That was worth every penny. I had fun.”
“Really? You looked so intense.”
He smiled. “That was my game face.”
“I’ll keep that in mind next time you’re scowling at me.”
He cocked his longneck beer bottle in her direction. His second of the night. She’d noticed that he drank moderately. They’d shared a bottle of champagne at dinner, courtesy of the sommelier who knew she owned Romantique. The sparkling wine had been just the right combination of dry and sweet to accent their fabulous meal of blackened ahi.
They headed toward the main part of the casino. Grace was reluctant for the night to end. “You know, I’ve really enjoyed myself this evening,” she said.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am. You’re not an easy man to read. You gave up pretty quickly after I dodged your advances in the pool. I figured you were embarrassed or you had a girlfriend back home or…maybe I misread your intentions and you weren’t into girls.”
He nearly choked on his swallow of beer.
“Really?”
Grace felt herself blush. “No. But that would have eased the pain of rejection when you ignored me all week.”
He took a step closer. “Tell me where it hurts and I’ll kiss it.”
She rolled her eyes. “That line doesn’t actually work, does it? Please tell me Detroit women have higher standards than to fall for something that cheesy.”
Nick pressed his mostly full beer bottle to his chest. If he was smart, he’d take the opportunity to call it a night, but flirting with Grace was…fun. “Now, you’ve wounded me to the core. How ’bout a nightcap? We can discuss what you can do to fix my…er, problem.”
When she hesitated, he took her elbow and steered her toward a dimly lit bar where four musicians occupied a small, raised stage. An ornate marquee said they were the Masters of the Jazz Universe.
“Do you like jazz?” he asked after they were seated at a table.
Grace looked up from the drink menu she was studying. “I love all kinds of music. Especially if I can dance to it. Will you dance with me? I haven’t been on the dance floor in ages.”
“Sorry. I don’t dance.”
“I can teach you. I’m not as good as Alex, but I’m not bad.” She gave him a coquettish smile that he’d seen turn snobbish waiters into obsequious attendants.
He was saved from answering by the arrival of the waitress. Nick ordered a scotch and soda; Grace asked for bottled water since she was driving. Nick approved, although he didn’t tell her that. He’d been faking his alcohol consumption all evening and was stone-cold sober.
The room was overly warm and she shed her rhinestone-bedecked denim jacket, which she draped across the back of the chair. Her long-sleeved shirt reminded him of a painting by Toulouse Lautrec. The way it clung to her curves distracted him so that he missed her question.
“Sorry. What?”
“I said, ‘I love this song. Are you sure you won’t dance with me?’”
Nick had had similar conversations with other dates over the years. He usually wound up doing the gentlemanly thing, even though he hated to dance. Few things left him feeling more uncomfortable.
Before he could answer, Grace smiled and said, “It’s okay. I can dance alone.” She stood up and nudged her purse his way. “Will you watch this for me?”
She melted into the crowd of couples on the dance floor, but Nick picked her out as if she had a spotlight on her. Eyes closed, arms lifted above her head as her hips rocked to the beat, almost as if she were making love to the music.
She didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed to be dancing without a partner. She simply moved. Maybe the music spoke to her through her Romani blood—an instinct born from campfires and tambourines in generations past.
Nick swallowed hard and shifted in the seat. The melody was evocative, haunting. It coursed through his ve
ins, leaving him slightly intoxicated in a way mere alcohol never could. He loved music, but it always left him feeling conflicted, partly because of his heritage, he supposed and partly because of something his adoptive mother once said. “Your birth mother was a dancer. Your family moved to Los Angeles so she could pursue her craft. I’m sure she must have been very good at what she did.”
What Sharon didn’t say, but Nick had sensed, was the fact that his mother had chosen dance over staying home to raise him. If she’d loved him as much as her career, she might still be alive. And his life would have been completely different.
Gradually his bitterness toward both his mother and her chosen profession had lessened, but he still avoided dancing whenever possible. Until now. His muscles hummed with an energy he couldn’t ignore.
He stood up and reached for Grace’s purse. Before he could take a step, he felt it quiver. Glancing inside, he saw her cell phone light up, indicating an incoming call.
Grace had worked her way to the middle of the throng. Nick tapped her on the shoulder. When she turned to face him, her eyes lit up with joy. A powerful pressure built inside him. Deep in his chest. He couldn’t recall ever feeling anything like it before.
“You,” she mouthed, although he couldn’t hear the word.
She looped her arms around his neck and leaned against him, her hips swaying seductively to the beat. Nick swallowed hard. “Your phone,” he said, the words garbled in his throat.
Apparently she hadn’t heard, because she insinuated herself even closer, like a wisp of smoke, curling in and out with the pulse of bass. The drums seemed to block out all conscious thought. His feet shuffled awkwardly at first, fighting to find a rhythm to match the beat.
Grace’s hand at the nape of his neck coaxed him closer. Her fingers played with the soft, short hair that was just starting to grow out. Her lips sang silent words to a song he didn’t know.
He tightened his arms around her. One hand still held her purse, but the other was free to explore the silky softness of her blouse and the flesh under it.
Her hips rotated to the beat; their bodies touched in a way he hadn’t experienced in too long. He closed his eyes and succumbed to the powerful energy around him and the awakening forces within.
Grace felt him succumb. She couldn’t say exactly how she sensed his capitulation or that she’d even been aware of his resistance to the music until the muscles in his shoulders, where her forearms were resting, relaxed. A shared sigh passed between them. Their heads met, temple to temple.
She moved nearer, their bodies touching as intimately as possible given the crowd and their clothing. She wanted more and knew he’d welcome her invitation. She started to suggest that they go to her place, then she felt an odd sensation in the middle of her back. A tingle that didn’t feel natural.
She shimmied slightly and tried to look behind her to see if she’d been poked. It happened again.
This time, she snaked one arm around to investigate and discovered her purse in Nikolai’s hand. She hadn’t even noticed that he’d been holding it.
“My phone,” she exclaimed when the sensation occurred again.
Laughing, she turned in Nikolai’s arms to take the bag from him. She peeked at the number on the screen. If it’s my mother… She didn’t finish the thought. Kate.
A sudden sense of dread passed through her. Ever since she and Kate had roomed together, they’d had a rule never to interrupt a date except for a dire emergency.
Nikolai’s eyes were closed and his body was moving to the beat as if he’d been born dancing. She’d never seen him this relaxed, this loose. But she couldn’t ignore Kate’s call.
She put her lips close to his ear. His scent was so masculine and sexy, she was tempted to pull him into a dark corner and make out, but instead, she said, “Nikolai. I need to call home.”
He stopped abruptly, arms collapsing at his side. “Huh?”
He looked around as if suddenly comprehending that he’d been dancing with her. His eyes narrowed. The space between them became a chasm of accusation.
Grace grabbed his arm. “It’s pumpkin time, sweet prince,” she murmured under her breath.
They paused at their table so Grace could put on her jacket and Nikolai could leave a generous tip for their untouched drinks. He was a confounding fellow but intriguing. Not really prince material, she told herself, but…
She studied him as they headed single file through the weekend crowd of gamblers. Black turtleneck, black jeans, loafers. An unremarkable style that looked GQ-cover-worthy on him.
We’d make beautiful Gypsy babies together, she thought. But even though she pretended to spurn her mother’s prediction of a prince, in her heart of hearts, Grace still wanted the fairy tale. And, Nikolai—sexy and gorgeous though he was—didn’t fit the image she had in mind.
“Thanks,” she said as he opened the driver’s-side door for her. “We might not have needed to leave, but Kate’s pretty good about not calling unless it’s an emergency.”
She hit her sister’s speed-dial number. The line was busy. “That was great fun,” she said once Nikolai was seated beside her. She hit redial. “I haven’t been dancing in ages. You’re a natural.”
Still busy. She frowned, her concern growing. It was too late to try Alex’s, and Liz would kill her if she woke her up. With grim resolve, Grace pressed the home button. After three rings the answering machine came on. Where was her mother, a notoriously light sleeper?
Glancing at Nikolai, she saw his frown. “What’s wrong? We probably didn’t have to leave the bar but it was so noisy I didn’t—”
He cut her off. “Not that.”
“Then what? You didn’t like me complimenting your dancing? Why? You’re wonderful.”
His scowl intensified. “No. I’m not.”
The severity of his tone told her this denial went beyond mere modesty.
“My birth mother was a dancer,” he said starkly.
“So?” Grace asked, hitting Kate’s number again.
“So, how would you feel if your mother was a stripper who left you with a babysitter so she could go take off her clothes in front of men?”
The hostility in his tone surprised her. Normally, he was so good at keeping his feelings hidden. “Are you sure about that? My mom said—”
He didn’t let her finish. “Your mother was her friend. But, think about it. A serious dancer would have gone to New York, not Las Vegas. And Yetta’s the one who got stuck with me when my mother raced back to the clubs.”
The beeping sound in her ear finally sank in. Still busy. Resigned to try again in a few minutes, she faced Nikolai and said, “So, your mother had a job. These days most women have to work to put food on the table. Aren’t you being a little judgmental?”
Nikolai shrugged. “It’s history. None of it matters.”
“Yes, I can see you’re clearly untouched by it,” she said, laying her hand on his arm. Her attempt at humor actually won her a rueful smile. “I don’t mean to be flip, and I’m not trying to trivialize your pain, but it doesn’t seem fair to blame dance for what happened to your mother. Not unless you know this for a fact, which—” she hit redial “—in my opinion, means you need to talk to your father. At least, he was there.”
The call went through. “Grace,” her sister cried the instant she came on the line. “Get over to UMC right away. Mom and Liz had to take Alex to the emergency room. She spiked a fever and was in terrible pain in her abdomen. The cyst might have ruptured or it could be appendicitis.”
There was more, but that was all Grace heard. She looked at Nikolai, who must have overheard because he jumped out of the car and raced around to her door. “I’ll drive,” he said, helping her to stand up.
She should have argued. He’d been drinking, after all. But he didn’t give her the chance. He took her in his arms and squeezed her supportively without being asked. Then he whispered, “Alex will be okay. Trust me.”
And she did.
“I HATE HOSPITALS.”
Nick opened his eyes to look at Grace, who’d spoken the words with a heavy sigh. They’d been waiting for nearly an hour. He was restless and cranky and still unsettled, first about dancing with Grace, then about spilling his guts to her. What was it about her that got to him? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“You said that every time Dad was admitted,” Liz said. She was sprawled in a chair across the room from where Nick and Grace were sitting.
Yetta, they’d been told on arrival, was with Alex. Kate had remained home with Maya.
He studied Liz, who was playing some kind of hand-held video game on her Blackberry. Of Grace’s three sisters, he found her the most difficult to pin down. She didn’t live in the compound nor did she regularly join the others for meals at Romantique. She seemed busy, serious and somewhat…haunted.
“You’re probably quite used to this setting, given your profession, right?” he asked her.
She shrugged without looking up. “Not really. I’m a physical therapist, not a doctor.”
“She’s being modest. She’s a healer. She’s traveled to Bosnia, Russia, India…where else, Liz? Dangerous places. She risked her life to help amputees in war-torn areas.”
“That was before,” Liz said, her voice flat and resigned.
Nick understood without asking that she meant before Ernst Radonovic died. He’d heard comments that alluded to that date as a turning point in the lives of the family and in fact, of the entire Romani community.
“So what kind of work do you do now?” he asked.
“The boring kind,” she said abruptly. She jumped to her feet and stretched. “I’m going for a walk. Page me if anything changes.”
After she left the room, Nick asked, “Is it me or is she prickly? I don’t think we’ve had a real conversation since I got here.”
Betting on Grace Page 14