She had some big decisions to make about the hotel, and he was part of that. She had to convince him that getting rid of the hotel was in everyone’s best interest. Maybe she should go ahead and line up a buyer. She certainly had enough contacts. Unfortunately, the first and best prospect that came to mind was her ex-fiancé, Evan Hirschfeld Davis III.
She pushed it all aside to immerse herself in the Nevada gaming laws instead, but after several hours steeped in legalese, she was digging for the Excedrin. She checked her watch. Almost ten—much later than she’d thought. It was past time to call it a day.
She regretted taking the suite at the Skylofts. She’d hardly spent more than a few hours there since she arrived, and at eight hundred a night, the tab had already surpassed five figures. It was time to change her living arrangements. Perhaps she should take advantage of the owner’s suite here, after all.
Quickly weighing the pros and cons, she dug out her phone and called her personal valet at the Skylofts, instructing him to pack up her things. She then texted Frankie to pick up her bags. The Hotel Rodeo might not be up to her usual standards, but it would have to suffice until she found something suitable to rent. She didn’t know how long she was going to be in Vegas and didn’t want to sign a lease. The whole situation had her feeling restless and frustrated—as though her entire life was stuck in limbo.
Deciding on a quiet drink to end the day from hell, she headed down to the saloon. Entering through the swinging half doors, she was surprised to find Gabby and Gus polishing glasses in a virtually empty bar. “I thought the hotel was sold out this weekend,” Monica remarked. “Where is everyone?”
Gabby looked up in reply. “They’re all at the bull-riding competition.”
“What time does it end?”
“Around eight,” Gabby answered, “but there’s also all kinds of special sponsored events connected with it. They’ll all start trickling in soon. By eleven the place’ll be packed. Can I get you a drink, Ms. Brandt?”
“I don’t suppose my brandy came in yet, did it?” she asked as she slid onto the barstool.
“As a matter of fact, it just did.” Gabby retrieved the green bottle from under the bar. “But it’s not chilled. You want me to mix you a cocktail?”
“Straight up is fine.”
Gabby poured and slid the brandy snifter in front of Monica. She took a savoring sip, basking in the apple essence. “I love this stuff. Ever tried it?”
“No, but it smells great.”
“I acquired a taste for it the year I spent in Europe. Here it’s considered more of an aperitif, but in parts of France they even drink it in their morning coffee. Send a bottle up to my room, if you would, please.”
“You’re staying in the hotel now?” Gabby asked.
“Yes. I’ve decided to move into the owner’s suite, at least for the time being. So how long does this whole rodeo thing last?” Monica asked.
“This competition is three days, but it’s not really rodeo.”
“What do you mean?”
“Rodeos feature a lot of different events in addition to bull riding—roping, steer wrestling, bronc riding, and barrel racing. This is just bulls.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that. So bulls are enough to draw crowds in?”
“Oh yeah,” Gabby said. “Bull riding is the new extreme sport. It’s grown like crazy since it broke off from traditional rodeo about ten years back.”
“I didn’t realize this kind of thing was so popular.”
“It is,” Gabby said. “All types of people enjoy it. And this is the last big event before the World Bull Riding Championships next month. That one goes on for five days. Ty does a lot for those competitors,” Gabby continued. “He always hosts a party for the final fifteen riders and even puts up the entry fees for any of them who are strapped for cash.”
“Does he really?” Monica remarked. “That’s pretty generous considering he already gives them free rooms.”
“Ty’s a generous man, but he doesn’t like attention brought to it,” Gabby warned.
Just like Tom.
“So next month is the big finale?”
“Yes, the world championships. You should go,” Gabby suggested.
“Maybe I will,” Monica said, finding her interest piqued.
“If you’re serious, you should tell Ty. He has connections. Otherwise you’ll probably end up in the nosebleed section.” Gabby doffed her black Stetson. “Here, try this on for size.”
Monica settled the hat on her head, only to have it slip down over her brow. “Not exactly one size fits all,” she remarked dryly.
“It’s really not your color either.” A deep voice sounded in her ear. “I’d say you need about a six and seven-eighths and something in straw. Buy you a drink, pretty lady?”
Monica spun on her stool to face one of the cowboys who’d just walked in. He looked her up and down, a smile spreading slowly over his mouth. He was good-looking but young. Way too young. “Are you even legal?” she asked.
“Depends on what you’re asking?” he quipped back. “I’ve been legal for most things for about five years, but I still do some stuff that probably isn’t—or at least shouldn’t be.” His grin stretched. “Give me half a chance and I’ll rock your world.”
Was he for real?
“No offense, cowboy, but I’m not looking for company. Just a quiet drink.”
If she was eighteen instead of twenty-eight he might have stood a chance, but the horny young cowboy in the bar wasn’t who she wanted. Maybe if he was more like . . . a vision of a tall, smug-as-hell cowboy flashed in her mind. She’d tried not to think about him that way, but to her annoyance, she couldn’t seem to dismiss Ty from her thoughts.
“It’s no fun to drink alone.” He straddled the stool next to her, uninvited. “My name’s Kade McDaniel. I’m a bullfighter. Now you’re supposed to tell me about yourself. That’s the way this whole conversation thing works.” She guessed his line must impress a lot of women. Her, not so much.
“A bullfighter, eh? Is that the guy who wears clown makeup?”
He frowned. “That was the old days. Only the barrel man wears greasepaint anymore. He’s the entertainer. Keeps the crowd occupied while we work the bull. Cowboy protection’s my gig. Ever seen freestyle bullfighting?” The poor kid was obviously trying a bit harder than he was accustomed to.
“No, can’t say I have, but I’m really not into that kind of thing. And I’m not looking for conversation either.” She’d tried to let him down easy, but he wasn’t taking the hint. What was it about cowboys, anyway? They were as incomprehensible to her as if they were a completely different subspecies of male. Now she was going to be surrounded by them.
Her phone buzzed. She turned back to face the bar.
It was Ty, finally answering the text she’d sent about needing bail money. Either he’d seen through her ploy or didn’t really care if they’d taken her off to jail. Either way, she was annoyed he’d taken so long to answer.
She furiously typed her reply. After they had exchanged a few more barbs, she snapped her phone shut and tossed it into her purse, miffed that he’d still managed to get the upper hand. Although she had to admit the 1-800-UR-Scrwd was pretty funny.
Thankfully, Kade had now turned his attention to the bartender. Maybe he’d gotten her brush-off message at last. She was about to leave when she overheard him asking Gabby about Ty.
“Ty’s not here,” Gabby replied. “He had to go out of town for a couple of days.”
“During the regional finals?” Kade remarked with a look of surprise. “That’s hard to believe. I didn’t think he ever missed it.”
“I think he plans to be back in time for the short round,” Gabby said.
“Hope so. Wouldn’t be the same without Ty. I wish he’d come back to the tour.”
Wait a minute. “You’re a friend of Ty Morgan?” Monica’s interest suddenly sparked. This kid trying to pick her up was from Ty’s world, and he at least looked
like the kind of cowboy she could handle.
“Yeah. He and my brother, Zac, used to rodeo together back in Oklahoma. I was just a kid then, but Ty taught me almost everything I know about bulls.”
“Ty fought bulls?” she asked in surprise. He’d told her about his father, but he hadn’t shared that he’d gone down the same road. With every revelation about Ty, her reluctant fascination with him only seemed to increase.
“Yes, ma’am. He also used to ride ‘em. Matter of fact, back then Ty was the only one who could ever give Zac a run for his money. It was only after Ty switched from riding to fighting that Zac became the regional champ.”
“Really? So he and your brother both rode bulls for a living?”
“They were traveling buddies for about five years. Now Zac’s a contender for the world championships. Who knows how far Ty coulda gone if he’d stuck with it.”
“Why didn’t he?” she couldn’t help asking.
“No one really knows. One day he just up and left. Next, we all heard he was out here running the hotel. Ty doesn’t ever talk about it.” He shrugged.
“Tell you what, cowboy,” she laid a hand on his starched sleeve, “why don’t I buy you a drink and you can tell all about it.”
Kade’s grin stretched even broader; then with far too much familiarity, he placed a hand on the small of her back. “It’d be my pleasure, pretty lady.”
After a couple of hours, more than a few drinks, and a number of attempts to politely rebuff her cowboy Casanova, Monica finally excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. When she was certain the coast was clear, she slipped out of the saloon and up to her room. Sliding the key card into the door, she held her breath as it opened into the owner’s suite.
She didn’t know exactly what she’d imagined, but it was a far cry above her expectations. The suite was tastefully furnished and decorated in masculine tones of rust and beige with indigo accents. It appeared to have once been two guest rooms with a wall removed, converting one room into a spacious living area and the other into a bedroom. The two bathrooms had also been combined to form one huge bath featuring an oversized Jacuzzi tub complete with private dressing room.
It wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. She entered on an exhale of relief and kicked off her shoes, determined to soak away all her cares and frustrations in a hot bath. She turned on the tap and slithered out of her dress as the tub filled. She then wandered out to the living room, happily noting the bottle of Calvados chilling in a bucket of ice.
Although she already felt the lightheaded languor of one too many drinks, she poured herself a half glass of the chilled brandy and stared out the window at the colorful mosaic of flashing neon that animated Las Vegas. Although New York was called the city that never sleeps, it appeared that her hometown had nothing on Vegas.
She brought the glass to her lips, thinking there would have been something wicked and decadent about sipping apple brandy while parading around in her lace underwear . . . if she wasn’t by herself. Yet here she was, unattached and alone and feeling more than a little sexual frustration. Hell, she was almost raging with it. She was also lonely.
She hated being alone. All her life she’d been surrounded by people, millions of people, but feelings of isolation always crept in. She felt lost in Vegas. Completely out of her element. She still couldn’t fathom how everything had changed. She’d worked so damned hard to carve her own path in life, only to have it all turn upside down.
Only weeks ago, she’d believed her future was safe, secure, and wrapped in a neat bow. She had a dream job and one of New York’s most sought-after bachelors as her fiancé. Evan. He was the best her world had to offer—handsome, rich, powerful, and successful. They’d shared all the same goals for success, but he hadn’t made her laugh. He hadn’t really made her happy. He hadn’t filled the void.
Was he seeing someone else by now? Did she care? No, she didn’t. Not really. Just as she’d hoped, time and distance had provided perspective.
She couldn’t regret walking out. They’d been engaged for six whole months, yet he hardly even registered in her thoughts anymore. Maybe he had at first, but not now. Ty, on the other hand, almost never seemed to leave them. He was everything Evan wasn’t, so why was she so damned fixated on the cowboy?
The truth struck her hard. It was pure. Simple. Undeniable. She wanted Ty.
She startled at a sound outside her door. She looked to the deadbolt. Shit! She’d forgotten to latch it! She exhaled slowly, telling herself it was just some drunk who’d forgotten his room number. Her heart raced as the door clicked open. She sucked in a gasp, ready to let loose a scream, when recognition muted it in her throat.
“Ty?” She rose suddenly, sloshing her drink down her chest. It was icy cold and sticky. She shivered.
“Monica?” His brows met in a frown. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the same thing.”
“I just got in from Oklahoma,” he drawled.
Monica realized all too late that she faced him in her undies, but the drinks made her bold. Maybe even defiant. Let him look. Hand on hip, she addressed him accusingly, “You said you weren’t returning until tomorrow night.”
“Changed my mind. Rosa was anxious to see Tom, so we kept going.”
“Where is Rosa now?”
“Staying at my place. Told her I’d pick her up first thing in the morning.”
“Oh.” Her brows knitted. “This is damned awkward. You could have told me about your change in plans.”
“I’m not used to reporting to anyone,” he replied mildly and doffed his hat.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Monica said. “You’re leaving.”
“Am I, Ms. Brandt?” His gaze tracked slowly over her, sending a pool of liquid heat straight between her thighs.
After driving a total of seventeen hours and then getting Rosa settled at his condo, Ty was dog-tired and only dreaming of bed when he’d arrived at the hotel. Other than noting the place hadn’t burned down in his absence, he didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything. All he cared about was getting some shut-eye—until he opened the door to his room and found Monica in black lace underwear. He was suddenly wide awake and growing more alert.
In a matter of seconds he was fully alert.
The flicker of uncertainty in her gray eyes belied her words. “Yes. You are,” she insisted. “I’ve already staked my claim on this room. You’ll need to find another one.”
Her remark normally would have rubbed him the wrong way, but he was too preoccupied with the view. Or more precisely, the breasts jutting out of a sexy push-up bra and ass-hugging boy shorts that rode low on her gently curved hips.
He took a step toward her. “It’s a big room,” he remarked, “with a great big bed. There’s more than enough room in that California King for both of us.”
“I don’t think so, cowboy,” she huffed out a breath. “That train left the station over a week ago. Now, please excuse me. I need to get a towel to dry myself off.” She tried to pass into the bathroom, but he blocked her path at the doorway.
“You can’t expect to send a man packing when you greet him dressed like that.”
His gaze tracked the damp trail of liquid between her breasts. He reached up to trace a leisurely path down the lush valley. Her eyes followed his finger, and a faint shudder rippled through her. Raising his fingers to his mouth, he tasted. The sweetness surprised him. Interesting. He’d figured Monica as a no-nonsense scotch-and-soda type. “What is it?” he asked, unable to identify the drink. “Applejack?”
“It’s Calvados,” she corrected. “Imported from Normandy. I acquired a taste for it after visiting there. It always reminds me of that summer. It’s funny how certain things can invoke comfort, isn’t it?”
Her remark surprised him as much as her wistful expression. “I can see that,” he agreed. “For me it’s always been the smell of a freshly mowed hayfield. Never could get enough of it. That smell still takes me
back to boyhood.” His gaze locking with hers, he took the glass from her hands and set it down on a nearby table. “If it’s comfort you’re seeking, maybe you’re looking in the wrong place. I know all kinds of interesting ways to bring . . . comfort.”
“That’s not the kind I was looking for.” She looked away, her body too tense and her tone too emphatic.
“Perhaps not, Sugar,” he soothed, caressing up the sides of her arms until his hands rested lightly on her shoulders. She shivered under his touch but didn’t try to pull away. “But maybe it’s just the kind you need.”
He’d recognized that need in her eyes the minute he’d walked in. He wondered if she would have satisfied herself if he hadn’t shown up. That image really lit his fuse.
“Maybe you’re right, but you are all wrong, Ty.”
His brow wrinkled. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it would be a huge mistake. How could we ever work together if we did this?”
“The way I see it, we can’t continue if we don’t. You know as well as I do that this thing between us is damned distracting . . . How long’s it been?” he asked.
“Long enough . . .” Her tongue darted over her lips. Was it a subconscious invitation? She added on a whisper. “Way too long.”
“I’ve been experiencing an extended dry spell too,” he confessed. “So you see? It’s what we both need.”
“Are you actually trying to convince me it would be therapeutic?”
His mouth stretched into a grin. “I never thought of it quite that way before, but orgasms are highly therapeutic, Ms. Brandt.”
He already had a strong suspicion she wanted him as badly as he wanted her, but there was one sure way to find out. He captured the globes of her ass in both hands and then claimed her lace-clad breasts with his mouth, kissing and lapping her sweet, apple brandy–flavored flesh.
Hell on Heels Page 9