Blackout: A Romance Anthology

by Stephanie St. Klaire

  “Is there a secret time limit on how long my regret is supposed to last? How long I’m allowed to miss her?”

  “No. I’m the last person to set a timeline on missing someone.” Chelsea’s voice cracked a little. After a noisy swig from her glass, she continued. “But for your own good, you do have to move on. Stop torturing yourself with what-ifs.”

  It was like she could see inside his brain. Or…maybe…Chelsea had a point and he had been whining to her too often and/or too long.

  That wasn’t how Chance rolled. You learned fast in stunt work to shake off the pain. Not dwell on it.

  Why couldn’t he do that when it came to Anda?

  Muttering—because it always chafed a little to admit his sister was right—Chance said, “I hear you.”

  “Take this getaway. You’re wallowing there anyway, right?”

  “Escaping, I think is how my agent phrased the suggestion. Wallowing would be staying in L.A. and attending the premiere this week of the movie that ended my career. I came to Vegas to escape the constant barrage of media and messages to remind me that I’m not a stuntman anymore.”

  “Like I said, wallowing,” Chelsea chortled.

  “Thanks for your support.” Chance levered back the lounge chair until he was lying flat. Too bad looking up at the blue sky filled with white, puffball clouds reminded him of the afternoon he’d spent with Anda on the mountain. They’d played “what can you see in the clouds”—the clean and the dirty versions.

  God, his sister was so right. Why did his mind always boomerang back to Anda?

  “Whatever you choose to label it, Chance, you’re already all in your head for this trip. Think about your lost career one last time. Be mad at the director, be mad at your stupid, no-longer-Hercules-strong leg and be mad that Anda walked out on you. Then lock all of that shit down tight when you come back home.”

  “Okay.”

  “Or, you could go another way.” Chelsea hummed…something…that she probably imagined to be music fit for a porno. It was highly disturbing. “You could have a sexy fling.”

  “If I’m such a pathetic wallower, I can’t imagine any woman being interested in me.”

  “You’re still the most ripped man I know, Baby Bro. Plus, you’ve got all that curly hair that drives women wild. If you have any opportunity to bang away your bad mood, jump on it.”

  Chance winced. “Nice double entendre.”

  “Gotta keep you sharp.”

  “I’m feeling a lot better about the tee shirt I bought Brielle in the airport. Says ‘It’s Only a Gambling Problem if I’m Losing.’”

  “Perfect. It’ll go over great when I take her to story time at the library.”

  Chance rubbed the thigh that ached from the five hour drive out. Yeah, the hour-long flight would’ve been faster, but he’d thought the drive through the desert would clear his head. Instead he had a sore leg and a speeding ticket.

  But he also had the best sister in the world patiently waiting on the other end of the line. “Thanks for listening, Chelsea. It helps.”

  “Right back atcha.”

  “I really do wish you were here.” Chance waited a beat to let her think he was being all mushy before pulling the switcheroo. “Then I could send you down to the bar to get me a beer while I keep soaking up the rays lakeside.”

  “You’re such a jerk. Now, don’t you dare order room service. Get off your ass and go see what sort of desperate hotties hang out in the bar at an adults only result. You might get luckier than you expect.”

  “Okay, I’ll go. This once.” Not to appease Chelsea. He’d go because the quiet solitude was making things worse. Chance needed some noise, even if it was only the buzz from other people having fun.

  Then tomorrow, he’d pack his day with so many exhausting activities he wouldn’t have the chance to think. Wallow. Pine. What if. Whatever.

  “I’ll send you a pic of the most expensive drink with a ridiculous garnish to enjoy vicariously.”

  “You’re all heart, Bro. I love you.”

  “Love you too, Sis.” Chance plucked at his shirt. He’d change before going down. Not because he intended to pick anyone up. No, he’d change so that he was no longer that pathetic, whiny lump of a man.

  He had a new job, even if he didn’t like it much. A great family. Might not have his mojo back all the way yet, but Chance knew it was still in him, ready to jump into action.

  This week would be his turning point.

  He’d go back to his old motto. The very last thing he needed was a woman complicating his life.

  Never again.

  ***

  The mirrored wall in the enormous bathroom reflected a black plunge bustier covered with big pink blossoms and green leaves. Beading edged the top of the cups that seemed to increase Anda’s bust size by at least double. And the spaghetti straps looked like they were about to snap from the strain.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Anda said, “I’m not going downstairs like this. I’ll get tossed out of the bar for indecency.”

  Jenny rolled her eyes. “You’ve got jeans on. Booties. You’re very covered up for Vegas, all things considered. Oh! I almost forgot the last piece. No wonder you’re freaking out.” She hurried down the hallway of the suite to dig in her overstuffed garment bag. “Here.”

  Well, the top she’d handed over was black, with three-quarter sleeves rolled up. More coverage, technically. Aside from the fact that it was completely sheer. Anda promptly buttoned it all the way up. “This doesn’t hide the bustier at all.”

  “Of course not. What would the point of that be? You’re here to seduce a hottie, remember? This shirt is to give you the illusion of being covered. It’s all psychological.”

  “You’re right. I need to get my game face on. This is how I move forward. How I move past Chance.” Anda looked in the mirror and undid two of the buttons. There. Now it draped in between her breasts. She mentally ditched the pale pink lipstick she’d planned to wear and dug for the bright fuchsia in her bag on the marble sink.

  They’d gotten to the resort early enough for Jenny to treat her to a blowout in the salon. “Fancy bedhead,” the stylist had called the big waves. Along with the smoky grey eyeshadow, the lipstick completed her look. A “come and get me” look. A look that made Anda feel confident. Powerful. Feminine. Back in control.

  This was a stellar plan.

  If she could go through with it.

  Jenny gave a long, low whistle. “Looking this good? You’ll be able to put the moves on anyone you want.”

  “You certainly are the voice of experience. How many hookups have you watched get filmed in the past year?”

  “Can’t count that high. The point is, I know what nabs a guy’s interest. You’ve got it, Anda. It’s why we cast you on Man of Her Dreams.” Jenny walked into the living room and sank into the couch opposite the fireplace. She propped her feet on the glass topped table. “Despite your being at the top of our age threshold.”

  “Hey, I’m not decrepit. I’m not even thirty.” It was definitely time for Jenny to take a mini-break from television land when she talked like that even in her off-time.

  Jenny gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “The camera adds ten years.”

  Anda wasn’t sure if she should suck in her stomach or raise her eyebrows in response. “I thought it was ten pounds?”

  “That, too. Look, in addition to being pretty, you’ve got a sweetness about you. You don’t have that brittle shell so many women wear as protection. You’re…genuine. That’s like catnip to men.”

  “You make it sound like being genuine isn’t the norm. That makes me sad.” She pushed aside the gauzy drapes to look out the floor-to-ceiling windows at sunset, reflecting streaks of oranges and pinks in the lake.

  “See? Right there, how you’re all caring about the state of…people? That’s the stuff. Do that more.”

  “Jenny, I’m being serious.”

  “Anda, so am I. Sure, Chance used you.
But he had the good sense and good taste to choose the best of the best. Keep that in mind. He could’ve played the same game with any of the women. Take the compliment. Ditch the rest.”

  “You’re right. He wanted me.” He just didn’t want to keep me. Ouch. That inner monologue needed a gag order. “Men shall want me. Lots of men. I shall be discriminating.”

  “That’s the spirit. Want me to come with you?”

  “No. I’ve had enough of being watched. I need to do this on my own. We made you a reservation at that sushi restaurant, remember? Enjoy yourself. Get your sake on.”

  Anda waved, and then ran back into the bathroom. She sprayed herself liberally with her lucky perfume. Lucky in that it drove Chance wild. It wasn’t like she was sinking back into the swamp of remembering him. Merely that it would probably have an equal effect on other men.

  Mmm-hmm.

  I am beautiful. I am in charge of what happens next. Anda repeated the phrase down the long hallway, the short elevator ride, and through the almost empty lobby. It was that twilight hour between pool-lounging daytime and kicked-up nighttime. A few women in blinged out dresses huddled by the door. They were probably waiting for a limo to take them to the Strip.

  Anda was grateful this resort was outside the main drag by a few miles. The lights of the Strip were, of course, visible in the desert darkness as a golden blur. But a casino bar or club seemed too overwhelming. Like trying to ski a black diamond run the first time out. This resort would do just fine for her next step in recovery.

  The floor-to-ceiling windows of the bar actually faced downtown and its sparkling lights. An open rectangle surrounding fast-moving bartenders sat in the center of the space. It had light-streaked purple panels and matching high stools with maybe two inches of back. A few were filled with obvious couples. A bachelorette party filled the corner booth, shrieking—or maybe laughing—repeatedly while shimmying to the loud music.

  But there were lone men in the bar, too. Anda’s gaze flitted over a duo in cowboy shirts, hats and bolo ties. Undoubtedly nice, but not her style. The pack of bro-dudes clinking shots of what she’d bet was Jäger would no doubt aim themselves at the bachelorettes before long.

  There was one guy, though. Smart enough not to bother with the almost backless stool. He leaned, hip-shot, against the bar, which gave Anda a great view of his tight ass and the way his black slacks outlined long, muscular legs. They went well with the almost impossibly broad shoulders filling out a pale blue shirt. His physique reminded her of Chance. As did his curly hair.

  But it was much shorter than Chance’s. Which made him hot but different. Which sounded right up her alley.

  Anda fluffed her hair. Reminded herself that the plan was solid. A hookup that she controlled would fully recharge her feminine power. It would fully heal the gaping wound to her ego left by Chance DiMarco.

  It would be fun. After seven months of moping, that was reason enough to jump in with both feet.

  She splayed her hands across his shoulder blades. Popped up on tiptoe to lean over and whisper in his ear, after letting her hair fall forward to brush his cheek. “I think you’re hot. I’d like to buy you a drink and see what happens next.”

  His muscles tightened to pure steel under her palms. Slowly, as if being turned by a crank, the stranger’s head angled around until it was in profile to her.

  “I’d like to see what happens next myself,” Chance said.

  This was not part of her plan.

  CHAPTER 6

  Okay. Anda had always know that her first try at taking the lead and hitting on someone might not work. Might not be ideal. Hindsight being twenty-twenty, she probably should’ve, oh, looked at his freaking face before issuing an invitation.

  Because the very last person Anda had expected to proposition was the man who broke her heart.

  “Chance!” she gasped.

  Yeah, it wasn’t great. Neither cutting nor sexy. But honestly, it was a miracle enough brain cells had unfrozen from their shock to spit even that single word out.

  “Anda. You look amazing.” He brushed back a strand of her hair. “Still smell great, too.”

  Crap. Not just her brain cells had frozen. Her whole body was still snuggled up against his back, mouth practically touching his face. Moving carefully, as if his entire body was a live grenade with the pin halfway out, Anda hinged away from him.

  Then took two steps back. For safety.

  “This is a bizarre coincidence.”

  “Not really. Guess you discovered the gift certificate was about to expire, too. It’s actually more of a surprise that more women from the show aren’t here.”

  No. No way. This week was about reclaiming herself. How was she supposed to do that if any of those gossipy harpies were also here?

  One problem at a time.

  Chance was wrong. Fate couldn’t possibly be so cruel as to dump former contestants on her when she had to deal with Chance. “Mmm. They say timing is everything.”

  “Here.” He toed out the stool next to him. “Have a seat.” Then Chance beckoned the bartender with a single raised finger. Because he had that strong a presence. He commanded every room, every situation he was in.

  Hell. Not this one. Anda slid onto the stool. “I’ll have a French 75. And please bring the gentleman a refill.” She couldn’t go back on her offer. That would be rude.

  His thick black eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead. “That means your offer still stands? You really want to have a drink with me?”

  No.

  Yes.

  Hell, no.

  Desperately.

  Chance lightly touched the back of her hand with his fingers. It was such a butterfly-soft brush that, if Anda hadn’t been looking, she might not have noticed.

  Who was she kidding? Every cell in her body was on high alert. Of course, she felt it.

  In a low, sexy rumble he said, “I’d very much like to have a drink with you, Anda. If that’s okay.”

  Pride alone had her pinning on a star-bright smile. “Absolutely. I’d like to catch up.”

  “You didn’t watch the show?”

  Her teeth ground together. “No.” That sounded…final. And possibly hinted at how she’d been too upset to watch him, to watch the two of them spend what had felt like such happy time together. She needed an excuse. Fast. “The camera adds ten pounds and ten years. And since I’m not an aspiring actress, there was no driving need to see myself in HD.”

  “I didn’t watch it either,” he admitted as the bartender set down their drinks. “I’ll bet Jackie did, though. And Nicola. Those two couldn’t stop looking in mirrors. I once caught Nicola trying to see her reflection in her water glass.”

  That surprised a laugh out of Anda. She’d seen the woman try the same trick out by the pool one day. Then Chance laughed.

  And oh, it felt so good to laugh together again.

  Dangerously so.

  He lifted a rocks glass, probably filled with his favorite MacCallan. “To good surprises.”

  “Better than the alternative,” Anda said wryly, before clinking.

  As they both sipped, they both looked over the glass rims at each other.

  And their knees touched below the lip of the bar.

  Anda took another sip, scrambling desperately to adjust her plan. Should she make a break for the bathroom? Text Jenny for advice?

  Chance looked happy to see her. Of course, he was a sort of an actor, so that didn’t mean much. She thought back to Jenny’s analysis. Chance hadn’t ever intended to be in a meaningful relationship with Anda. But he had wanted her. Chosen her, over all the other women.

  So, he probably was being sincere now. Happy to happen upon a beautiful woman at this desert oasis. It cut down on any effort on his part to go on the prowl for a hookup.

  That was it.

  In a stroke of brilliance, Anda tweaked her plan. Oh, she’d have a hookup, as per the original plan—the hottest one over. Except it’d be coated in ice-cold revenge.


  If she could coax him back into bed for a couple of more nights of amazing sex, then Anda could be the one to turn the tables and kick him out. Dumping Chance would definitely be the final step in her healing process.

  Revenge sex was the ultimate best revenge. In a circular, mostly confusing fashion.

  She’d have to figure out a better way to put it before laying the revised plan out for Jenny.

  Chance rubbed his big hands together slowly. Anda remembered exactly what it felt like to have those wide palms rubbing against her.

  “Look, I don’t know if I’ve got any longer than it takes me to drain this glass, so I’m going to put my cards on the table. About what happened in Colorado. On the show. That last night—”

  Oh, no. Nope. Nuh-uh. Letting Chance apologize would significantly dampen the depth of her revenge. Anda couldn’t allow it. Not to mention that it would probably piss her off.

  She waved off his attempt at what would undoubtedly be some sort of trumped-up, half-assed apology. And channeled the firm, “don’t bullshit me” tone that she’d used with newbie fashion designers who came to her boutique insisting that they were poised to become The Next Big Thing and thus were justified in overcharging her.

  “Stop right there. We both know that everything about the whole show was manufactured for television. None of it mattered. None of it was real.”

  Chance startled at her words. “I didn’t think you’d say that.”

  Ditto.

  But knowing that Chance had lied to her repeatedly made it almost easy to smoothly lie to him now. Especially with the strong motivation of putting him at ease so she could implement the whole revenge sex plan.

  “It’s the simple truth.” Anda made a lazy wave to encompass the whole bar. “There’s no cameras here. No reason to pretend at anything.”

  “You told me that you came on the show not for fame or money, but to find love. That your boutique closing unexpectedly gave you the opportunity to shift focus away from work, and onto a more lasting happiness.”

  Wow. He’d remembered exactly what she’d said. All of it.

  It had been at the first night cocktail party, when every woman clawed and fought for more than their allotted three minutes of private time with Chance. Anda knew being honest was a sucky strategy. But she also knew that if he was the right man for her, being honest would strike a chord with him. That her quest for commitment wouldn’t run him off.