She’d spent the last decade mostly alone. She’d had dates here and there and a few longer-term relationships. But sex and love residing in the same person? That had happened to her once in her life, and it had been with the man she’d wanted to go home with tonight. That moment in his arms had reminded her of how much she’d needed him, relied on him, and healed because of him. And how she’d cratered when he took that away by leaving. Thinking of his departure was like punching a hole in her chest. It was turning off her gravity.
That was why she’d snapped in the lounge.
She hated wanting him so much.
Shoving a hand through her mussed-up hair, she spotted the mail she’d brought in earlier. On the top of the pile was a letter from her mother. Maybe because she felt like she deserved punishment tonight, she picked up the white envelope. It bore the same return address her mother had had since Shannon was fourteen.
Dora Prince. Inmate #347-921, The Stella McLaren Federal Women’s Correctional Center, Hawthorne, Nevada.
Shannon took a deep, fueling breath, steeling herself for the latest round of unstable, needy, borderline insane words. With a hard stone residing in her gut, she pushed her finger under the flap and ripped it open. She took out the letter and unfolded the lined paper, girding herself for what lay on the page.
Baby,
How are you? How are your dance shows? Are your dancers as talented as you were? Sometimes at night, when it’s quiet, and everyone’s asleep, I close my eyes, and I swear I can see you on stage, with a smile so bright you light up the whole recital hall, like you did when you were my little girl in her candy pink tutu, up on the stage with your pirouettes.
I know it’s different now, but in my mind you’re still dancing. You’ll always be dancing. Just like someday I’ll be free. You’ll get your knee fixed, and I’ll get out of here, and life will be as it should again.
That’s what I hold onto when it gets all dark and black in my head, because I swear, it gets darker every day. It’s been more than seventeen years now, and the light is fading. I thought by now I’d be out of here. That they’d see I didn’t do it. I didn’t. I swear. I wish someone would find the people who did.
Can you come see me again and help me please? I’m not that far away. It’s less than a five-hour drive. I had my visiting hours cut—I’ll explain why when I see you in person—but they can’t take away my rights. The law allows me four hours per month, and they’re granting me two to see family on June 30th. You are my family, baby. See me. See me. See me. I’ll write to you for a thousand years if I have to. I swear, baby girl, I swear.
Help me.
Your loving mommy.
Years of practice didn’t ease the heavy knot in her gut. Letter after countless letter didn’t make the words hurt less. Every note she read was a piece of her flesh being sliced.
You couldn’t hide from that kind of hurt, she’d learned. You just had to let it bleed, and hope it didn’t bleed out what was left of your heart.
Folding up the letter, she slid it back into the envelope, then tucked it away in a kitchen cupboard. She walked into her bathroom, washed her hands and face, brushed her teeth, then stripped off her clothes. As she removed the silvery wrap, she was tempted to bring it to her nose, to catch a final, trailing scent of that man who turned her on.
Instead, she resisted, letting it fall on top of a pile of black, shimmery fabric.
Sliding between the cool sheets of her bed, she reached for the photo album she kept in her beside drawer, then traced her thumb over the pictures from years ago. Some color, some black and white.
She turned the pages.
The ending was the same every time.
She shut off the light and flipped onto her belly, hating that she still ached between her legs. After everything in between touching Brent and falling into bed, she still wanted him. Even after she’d seen her brother. Even after she’d read the note from her mother. Even after she’d looked at the photos.
Still, she longed for him. Still, she felt the same damn pull.
Bodies were stupid things. Lord only knew, hers didn’t work properly anymore. She was supposed to be dancing. Supposed to be doing so many things.
She’d remade herself though. She’d shrugged off who she used to be. She’d risen anew from the ashes of her family.
From her mother, who had killed her father in cold blood.
But some days, she wasn’t so sure if she could ever outrun her history.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mindy clutched her belly, the sound of early-morning slots soundtracking her laughter as they waited to be seated at breakfast.
Brent stared at her with narrowed eyes. “It’s not funny,” he grumbled.
“Oh, it’s funny. It’s completely hilarious,” she said, poking him in the chest.
“I beg to differ. Other things are funny. Dry humor about politicians. Jokes about hipsters. Comedic bits about waxing gone wrong,” he said, that familiar urge to start a riff taking over.
She shook her head. “No, this is funnier. The way you put your foot in your mouth is the height of comedy,” she said, as the hostess at the Allegro’s breakfast cafe walked up to them.
“Right this way,” the hostess said. “We’ve got your regular table for you, Mindy.”
“You’re royalty here. That could be a good bit. The security chief who’s treated like a queen,” he whispered to his friend, who swatted him.
“Stop it,” she said, but she was laughing.
The hostess led them to a green upholstered booth in the classy breakfast spot in the middle of the hotel on the Strip. Mindy ran security at the Allegro and had for several years now. One of his closest buddies, they had one of the rare male-female friendships where they truly were just friends, maybe because they’d known each other since high school. Maybe, too, because they’d had that obligatory moment that kyboshed the prospect of anything ever happening between them. At a high school graduation party, over beer and quarters, and truth and dare with their group of friends, someone had dared Brent to kiss her.
They’d kissed for a few seconds, and it was fine. Nothing more. Later that night, she’d brought it up. “That was like kissing my brother. Can we, you know, never do that again?”
He’d laughed, and clinked bottles with her. “Never is fine by me, sis.”
It was a good thing, because he needed her on the friends side of his life. She seemed to need him, too. She was one of the smartest people he knew, but she had horrible taste in men lately. Understandable, since she’d given her heart to someone long ago. She’d spent time in the military, and had fallen for another soldier, and he’d fallen hard too. But he’d died in combat, and since then Mindy had kept relationships at a distance, preferring instead to date casually from time to time.
Usually assholes.
With disastrous results.
The hostess handed Mindy a menu, but she waved it off. “Don’t you know I have it all memorized by now?” Mindy said, tapping the side of her head.
“Of course you do. I’ll send the server over shortly to take your order,” the hostess said with a smile, and handed Brent a menu.
“Like I said, royalty.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “And like I’ve said a million times—”
“I know, I know,” he jumped in, cutting her off. He adopted a high-pitched tone, mimicking Mindy. “You’re an ass, Brent Nichols.”
She cracked up once more, her light blue eyes twinkling with delight at Brent’s impersonation. “I told you it was funny.”
“Too bad I didn’t record her slapping me so you could have it for cell phone posterity.”
She snapped her fingers in an aw shucks gesture. “I would absolutely add that to my collection of stupid things Brent has done over the years. It’s quite an extensive collection.”
“I am well aware of that.” Mindy was privy to the pranks he’d pulled in high school, the bar fight he’d gotten into a few years ago, and a be
t he’d made at a bachelor party for a buddy last year. He’d come out unscathed on all accounts since he had some kind of magical lucky streak. But the Shannon situation was far more complex than going all in with his big mouth or the big ego that matched it. He needed help. He needed finesse. He needed Mindy.
Brent quickly scanned the menu, then shut it and stretched his arms across the back of the booth. “So, swami, tell me what to do.”
“I’m not even going to say you need to apologize. Because you need to do more than apologize. You need to grovel. You need to beg her not to hate you.”
He let out a long, deep, frustrated steam of air. “I can’t do a damn thing right around her.” He dropped his forehead into his palm, the sunburst black ink on his forearm staring back at him.
“You have an Achilles heel when it comes to Shannon.”
Brent raised his face. “I know. Believe me, I know.”
His confidante on all matters related to Shannon, Mindy had been briefed chapter and verse from the start. She knew the good, the bad and ugly. She’d helped him pick the diamond for the ring when he was getting ready to propose in college. She knew, too, that he’d fucked up that fateful day ten years ago. She’d encouraged him then to try to make it right. But Shannon hadn’t taken his calls, so he’d been forced to move on. Now, she’d reappeared in his life, like a goddamn blazing neon sign, and he wasn’t going to let her wriggle away again.
“So what do I do?”
Mindy was about to answer when the waitress popped by to take their order and serve them coffee. As she walked off, Mindy checked the time. She had to be at work soon, and she was already dressed for the gig, in her white button-down shirt and gray pants, designed to blend in as she surveyed the scene at the hotel. “Here’s the deal,” she said as she poured a pink packet into her mug. “You have two things you need to do. One, you need to remind her how good you were together. And, two, show her that you’ve grown up.”
He wiped his hand across his brow. “That’s all? That’s a piece of cake.” Then he turned serious. “Okay. Lay it on me. How do I show her I can be the man she needs?”
“Oh, sweetie. You’re getting ahead of yourself. You don’t even know if she wants you the same way as before.”
He raised an eyebrow, a burst of confidence speeding through him as he remembered the way Shannon had shuddered in his arms last night. “I’m pretty sure she wants me in the same way as before,” he said with a wide grin.
“Do you have any idea how big a rehabilitation project you are for me? I am starting at caveman level with you. You need to simply begin Project Win Shannon Back with an apology.”
“How do I apologize for making the dumbest mistake of my life?” he asked, this time completely serious.
She pointed at him, her eyes lighting up. “That,” she said excitedly. “What you just did. That would be a good start. But let her know it’s not a joke and make it clear that you’re aware you messed up. Let her know in a way that will show her you’re being completely honest.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Look, last night’s little make-out fest aside, you have no idea if she wants to have anything to do with you. There’s no way you could know that. You have to step back first before you go forward. You can’t simply pick up where you left off. You need to get down on your hands and knees and do some groveling.”
A minute later the food arrived, and Mindy flashed a bright smile. “And maybe get her a gift too, King Schmuck.”
That was when it hit him.
* * *
After he finished his scrambled eggs and toast, and downed a hearty dose of coffee for fuel, he headed to his next meeting at the Luxe Hotel. Along the way, he made a quick detour into a boutique inside that hotel.
He scanned the shop quickly, spotting in seconds something that would be perfect for Shannon. She wasn’t a flowers and chocolate kind of woman. And while he doubted that a material object would be enough for the mea culpa he needed to pull off, he had to start somewhere. He wasn’t going to wait in his office and stare dreamy-eyed at his phone, wishing for a call. No, he was going to do everything he’d failed to do years ago.
There was no way on earth, no way in heaven or in hell, that he would let the woman he wanted slip away from him again. He knew precisely how to go after everything he’d ever wanted in life. Tenacious in pursuing his career, determined in climbing up the ladder, he’d achieved all he desired in the entertainment business, and now he was fortunate enough to build on that with his wildly successful clubs.
Only one thing had eluded him.
Her.
Now, he had the opportunity for a second chance. The game was on, and he was going balls to the wall to win his woman back.
* * *
As the meeting with their real estate team drew to a close, Brent rubbed the pads of his fingers across his cheek. Perhaps some part of him was trying to remember the burn from her slap. He wasn’t a masochist. Not in the least. But it was so her. It was such a part of how they were together.
Fucking and fighting. Fighting and fucking.
As soon as this meeting ended, he’d call her. He’d pick up the phone and ask her to get together. If that didn’t work, he’d head to her office and begin the grovel fest. He’d make his first apology. He’d probably have ten thousand more to make, but if that was what it took, he’d do it. He was heading to New York in two days to deal with the hurdles Edge faced there, so he needed to move fast.
“So, that’s the plan for the next six months, now that we’ve got Shay Productions on board for their dance shows. And that’s what we need from you as we expand overseas,” James said as he shut his leather folder and laid his pen on the conference room table with gusto.
“Love it,” said Tate, the lead real estate attorney, who was tasked with handling their deals for new facilities. “I’ve got some properties in mind. Let me scope them out and we’ll reconvene in two weeks.”
As James and Brent left the meeting, James slowed his pace and lowered his voice. “You okay? You seemed a bit distracted there at the end.”
Brent laughed, as if him drifting off to Shannon Land was nothing. It was nothing, because he could juggle. “Nope. I’m all good.”
“Glad to hear,” James said as they wove through the casino on their way to Edge. “By the way, what was the deal with you and Shay?”
Brent turned to James, and shot him a curious look. “What do you mean?”
James shrugged. “Just seemed like there was some vibe between you and Shay, who incidentally is smok—”
Brent’s spine straightened and he sliced a hand through the air, cutting him off. “Don’t say it.”
James raised an eyebrow. “Don’t say what?”
“What you were about to say.”
“What was I about to say?”
Brent stopped walking in front of a roulette table and narrowed his eyes. “Look. I know what you were going to say, man. And it’s not fucking appropriate. That’s all,” he said, as they resumed their pace past the blackjack games.
James held up his hands in surrender. “So you two were friends or something?”
Brent laughed. He wasn’t going to get into it now. He didn’t need to lay out his past. Shannon was a private woman. She clearly wanted her carefully constructed present identity kept secret. His first step in proving that he could be the man she needed would be to protect who she was.
“Like I said, I knew her in college,” he said, giving nothing more away as they reached the front door to their flagship club on the property of the Luxe Hotel. Edge was quiet now in the late morning, since it didn’t open until five. Much later, there would be a line snaking along the velvet rope by the brushed steel exterior wall. The purple sign bearing the club’s name in crisp, clean letters would be bright and beckoning, calling out to the club-goers of Vegas who were eager to party, to lounge, to dance, to drink, to be treated to bottle service from gorgeous bartenders, and to move and sway. To celebrate pending marriages, weekends
away, or just nights on the town.
“Maybe you’ll get to know her better now,” James said. “Because there she is.”
As Brent turned the corner, Shannon was waiting by the front door of Edge.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The club had a different energy during the day. No music played. The lights were bright, shining in every corner. Shannon felt as if she was wandering backstage and peering at all the pulleys and levers, the sets and costumes that made a Broadway show go ’round. Because there were no smoke and mirrors now. Those would only come with an audience or a crowd in the evening.
Even with the lights switched on, Edge still possessed the sleek sensuality it was known for, with its silver bar, low divans, gauzy curtains, and its rich colors—colors of desire, like wine reds and deep purples.
Her footsteps echoed across the black tiled floor that would be lit up tonight, illuminated by rays of smoky light from the ceiling, by crescents of blue from the stage, by shimmery gold beams.
The click of her high heels punctuated the strained silence between the two of them as they walked through his quiet club. She wasn’t sure what to say next. She’d simply asked Brent for a minute alone to chat, and James had scurried off. No one else was there, as far as she could tell, except the two of them.
“It’s like seeing how a magician pulls off a card trick,” she said as she turned to survey the scene, eager to break the quiet.
“Speaking of, I have a new one I can show you.”
“You do card tricks now?” she asked, because she could picture it. It seemed like his style. He’d always loved cards and had played in poker games at school now and then. She could see him brandishing a deck with a ‘now you see it, now you don’t’ sweep of his hands.
Sweet Sinful Nights Page 6