The Rush_The End Game Series

by Piper Westbrook

  She knows.

  But all Heather said was “If he comes here again…?”

  Veronica sat at her desk, closing the Minesweeper game on her computer. “He won’t.”

  ◆◆◆

  Damn it, Veronica. Why couldn’t you let it go?

  Protecting his sister from the consequences of his choices by limiting their contact was what he’d done right—of that Simon was certain. Giving up that fight now wasn’t an option. Erin, barely out of college and sheltered all her life, was traipsing into his world—a world where people screwed over their fellow man to hurdle to the top.

  Simon dragged his hands through his hair and walked over to his living room windows, which offered a nighttime view of trees. This was as close to remote as a man could get in Las Vegas. Yeah, he’d craved the big city and had wanted to swim with the sharks, but once he’d gotten his wish and the time had come to claim territory, he’d picked a property away from the action. A location that offered the illusion of solitude, rural simplicity, something familiar that he was missing.

  Restless, he reached into his pocket, jiggling the keys to his Corvette. He could meet his sister at the airport, put her ass on a flight home, and then what? He could find superficial company at any hot spot on the Strip. But with people like that he’d learned to keep his guard up. If nothing else, being ripped out of his career had helped him filter the double-crossers from the legit friends.

  But Veronica had passed that filter as well as the rest of his resistances.

  He could get out of Nevada altogether, sample the California women his friend Hurley Rhodes talked about.

  But when he pictured the kind of woman who could get him worked up, she was delicate-framed, marched when she moved, paraded around town packing sex dice and massage oil…And she cared. About him.

  Simon slowly turned to the folder she’d shoved at him. ESPN Films. A documentary, centered on him.

  Did she genuinely care, or would he only be falling further into a game?

  Before he could decide one way or another, Samantha showed up on his doorstep, absorbing all the space in his house with her man-trapping outfit, heady “cover up the cigarette smoke” perfume, and loudmouthed laughter.

  “Whoa, I hope the wrath sizzling off you isn’t directed at me.” She strolled into his house, swaying her denim-clad ass all the way to his kitchen, where she grabbed a jar of peanut butter from a cupboard, unscrewed the cap, and poked her finger in.

  “Double dip in that jar, and it will be,” he said. “That shit’s disgusting. What if I have people over, and they want peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? Think they’ll be all right with a touch of Samantha Weatherby’s spit?”

  Samantha pulled her peanut-butter-smeared finger from her mouth, making a soft popping sound. “You never had a problem with my spit when you kissed me. Or when I smeared it up and down your cock.”

  “I knew what I was getting.”

  “If it’s that much of an issue, I’ll replace the whole jar.” A few searches through drawers and cupboards rewarded her with a spoon, which she loaded with peanut butter. “Mmm. And no one I know over the age of thirteen offers peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to guests.”

  “It was a what-if.”

  “A ridiculous one.”

  “Samantha, what’s up with the drop-in? There’s usually only one reason you randomly show up at my place.”

  She tossed her pink hair, pinning him with a brazen look. “Can’t a girl veg out with a friend without having some ulterior motive?”

  Not when that friend is me and you’re clearly wearing a bra that does phenomenal things for your tits.

  It was her get-him-in-the-sack bra. It had never failed.

  But there was a first time for everything….

  “I think you’re stressed,” she diagnosed, her mouth pursed softly. “Can we park it on the porch? I was in a studio all day. Stir-crazy.” She added a precocious smile. “Any of those Sam Adams Utopias left?”

  “So you bought me a gift that you want for yourself.”

  “Is it my fault we have the same good taste in beer?” She unwound a gauzy scarf from her neck, already getting herself comfortable. “C’mon. I’m going out.”

  Simon let her claim a seat on the porch, then passed her a beer. He remained standing, arms crossed. “Be honest. Did it pan out with the man you hooked up with at that wedding?”

  “No. I think, though, that you and I were hasty in calling it quits to our system. It worked for us, you know? It wasn’t broken, so why’d we try to fix it?”

  “I’m not backsliding, Samantha. I don’t want that kind of system anymore.”

  Samantha paused, peanut butter in one hand, beer in the other. “Unbelievable. It’s happened….” She got up and pointed her bottle at the center of his chest. “Somebody’s unlocked that.”

  “Saying my heart was locked up?”

  “Mm-hmm. In all our time together, I’ve never been able to jiggle that lock. God knows if I even really tried.” She sighed. “You think some things will never change…and then they do. Everything can change.”

  Even an hour after Samantha left, and Simon was at the airport waiting for his sister, he couldn’t shake her words. She’d said his heart was locked, but he’d always thought that it was stone-cold and dead—just like his chances of a reconciliation with his parents. What he’d accepted was a lie, though.

  His heart was alive and open to the hurt of Veronica’s deception. Why did it hurt, though? She was just a woman. Dozens had played him before. Why should she be different?

  You became different when you fell in love with her, Smith.

  Another unwanted thought.

  As much as he didn’t want his sister in Las Vegas, Simon was relieved that she appeared in his sights in time to distract him from the realization that he was in love with the woman who’d taken away his career.

  “I can get a taxi and go straight to a hotel and talk to Veronica Greer tomorrow,” Erin said flatly, muscling a duffel bag and an equally bulky purse to where he stood semidisguised in a ball cap and sunglasses. “Or I can hug my brother.”

  “Get over here, you fucking pest.”

  Erin hurled herself at him, squeezing tight the way she had the few times he’d come home. “Are you all right? All I know is what the news and Twitter tell me.”

  “It’s you I’m worried about.”

  “Don’t be. I’m tougher than you think.” She eased away, swiping his hat and putting it on herself backward. It emphasized the dark makeup lining her blue eyes. “I am hungry, though.”

  Simon bought her a soft pretzel and a Coke; then they sat down at a quiet table away from the bustle of passengers.

  “You need to go home, Erin.”

  “I’ll do that,” she said carefully, “but not before I hear what Veronica has to say about this documentary thing. And not before I tell you…that I’m leaving Oregon.”

  “What? The farm’s paid for. It’s where you grew up.”

  “I’m signing it over to you, since you’re the one who paid for it. You can sell it and keep the money. Every time I turn around there’s a story about a celebrity selling off his assets because Vegas is too costly. In case you don’t get back on your feet—”

  “I’m far from broke,” he told her, unable to kill the smile that tipped up a corner of his mouth. Her concern humbled him. “People claimed I spent my paychecks as soon as I got them, but I didn’t. The farm was a gift. Yours to keep.”

  “A gift that’s forcing me to stay in Gunner. I didn’t build things with Dad and Grandpa. That was you. I’m not interested in keeping the land in the family. Again, you.”

  “The only thing worse than being on the outs with Dad when he died, and not being able to come home for Mom’s funeral, would be if something fucked up happened to you, Erin.”

  “Fucked-up things can happen in Gunner.”

  “You’re safer at home, not with me in this city.”

  “I think L
as Vegas and you are incredible,” she said. “But I outgrew following you around. I’m moving to California. There’s a career waiting for me. I’m going corporate, working for a massive home furnishings company.”

  “What about your videos?”

  “I can do both. There’s just the farm to deal with.”

  “Mom and Dad wouldn’t agree with you running off to California.”

  “It’s not their choice. It’s mine. Be in my life as my brother, not some faraway bodyguard. You went against our parents’ plans for your life because you wanted to do something different. So do I.”

  “Mom and Dad—”

  “Are gone.” Erin put the pretzel aside and gripped his hands. “They’re gone. I’m here because I love you as much as they both did. There’s no changing my mind about leaving Oregon. There’s no stopping me from talking to Veronica tomorrow. Okay, Simon?”

  “Erin, I think Veronica’s out of the equation. I got in her face about contacting you. It wasn’t her place.”

  “When in doubt, damage the relationship.” She shook her head, a pitying expression on her face.

  “There’s no relationship. You don’t know this woman.”

  “I looked her up. She’s hot, smart, charitable. Veronica’s the only woman who cared enough about you to find me. For that, she deserves my time and an apology from you.”

  ◆◆◆

  “Quartzite. Definitely, take the quartzite.” Grace picked up a whitish crystal and pressed it into Veronica’s palm before sitting at the head of the table in her English Tudor–style dining room. “It’ll give you balance and clarity.”

  The crystals were only part of the loot Grace had acquired from a metaphysical fair during her world tour honeymoon. Experiencing romance across the globe with the love of her life suited her well. Vivacious smile. Glowing complexion. Peaceful aura.

  Veronica wanted to leap off her seat at the foot of the table and wiggle in closer to Grace. Maybe some of that happiness would rub off on her. But Veronica knew it was hard-won, and she wasn’t quite sure she had the fight in her.

  Grace laced her fingers beneath her chin. Her ring shot spears of light off the room’s chandelier. The bling was designed specifically for her, a wedding day gift from her husband. So was the house—no, manor, as Willa Smart had bragged only a thousand times when she showed Veronica the Las Vegas Sun article. Forbes-list jewelry designer snags Las Vegas’s hottest historical property. “Veronica, there’s only so much a crystal can accomplish against negative energy. My mom’s company has a new online compatibility test. The app’s been beta tested and it just rolled out. It’s the most advanced of its kind.”

  “This girl—” Veronica pointed her thumbs at herself “—is not going to be a guinea pig for Dating Done Smart.”

  “Aren’t you having relationship problems?”

  “I’m not in a relationship.”

  “Sad face.” Grace drew a finger down her cheek. “Those condoms in your bachelorette party bag have an expiration date, and you won’t even get to use them.”

  I wouldn’t say that. Veronica renewed her interest in her margarita.

  “Is there something…I don’t know…unresolved going on with Chance?”

  Veronica choked on the drink. “Nope, nada, zilch, zero—”

  “Got it. I’ve been gone only a few weeks, but I’m completely out of the loop. Mom and Cap told me what your parents did. The part that blows my mind is that Chance Kershaw let them guilt-trip him. Goes to show the Greers can really put on the pressure.”

  “You sound worried.”

  “I’m not.” Grace giggled, but her raised eyebrows said, Should I be?

  Veronica supposed she couldn’t fault her friend for harboring concern. Joan could throw a vicious tantrum, and baldheaded former bodybuilder J.T. had an innate “Fear me” vibe going. Though dispelled, the accusation that he’d threatened the former owner into selling the Las Vegas Villains to him only underscored that.

  “When it comes to my family, you are loved all around, Grace.”

  Grace perked up at that. “Have another crystal. Oh—the candids from the wedding are in.”

  She moved the drinks to one side of the table and set up her laptop in front of Veronica so they could browse the photos. “This one is my favorite of you. Mom said it’s heartbreaking.” She enlarged a shot of Veronica and the two flower girls. In full bridesmaid’s gown and makeup, she was parked on the bridal suite’s floor, comforting the girl who’d puked up rose petals, while the other girl—who’d earlier kicked her in a hissy fit—cuddled up to her.

  “Good lighting. Exquisite gowns. Cute kids.” Veronica smiled but felt the beginnings of an itch behind her eyes.

  “No, it’s the story,” her friend insisted. “Completely beautiful. You look so maternal. That’s why Mom finds it heartbreaking. You wanted kids of your own, but it didn’t happen.”

  “Let’s see the rest.” Veronica was already minimizing the image.

  Grace fell silent for a long moment. “There is this one—” she maneuvered her finger over the track pad “—that Cap found interesting.”

  Veronica was surprised by that. Grace’s war vet father was the type to glance at a photo, then pass it off to someone else without a single comment.

  Filling the screen was a photograph that strapped Veronica to her seat. She and Simon holding hands beneath the Mandarin Oriental’s ceiling of bubbles.

  “Um.” Grace gently closed the laptop. “I’m going to have to take this away now. You’re dripping tears all over my keyboard, bestie.”

  Veronica bawled, and in her well-meaning way, Grace wheedled the details out of her. Grace had been relieved that the high-end, easy-tear-wrapper condoms hadn’t gone unused, and she’d been empathetic about Veronica and Simon’s argument. Only a day had passed since the fight in her office, yet Veronica felt as if she’d been missing him for years.

  When Grace borrowed Veronica’s phone to make a call, Veronica got herself together. The Ball Buster didn’t cry, certainly not over a man who couldn’t peer past his own defenses to see a woman who frankly—and probably unwisely—cared for him.

  Migrating to the living room, the women played nickel-and-dime poker on the floor, chatting about anything but men. That is, until Mason Corrine strode in, sweaty from a workout. “Baby,” he said, addressing his wife, “there’s an unbelievable Corvette in our driveway.”

  “Corvette?” Veronica sprang up, her gaze shooting accusingly to her friend.

  Grace gathered all the poker change and pranced to her husband with a guilty-as-sin expression.

  Mason banded his arms around Grace from behind. Their voices followed Veronica as she dashed to the foyer.

  “What the hell’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s in love.”

  Veronica didn’t slow her stride until she reached the winding, rosebush-lined driveway. There was Simon behind the wheel of his superhero sports car. “Grace interfered,” she began. “I had no knowledge—”

  “Yeah?” Simon watched her behind a pair of midnight-black sunglasses. “And how does it make you feel to be on the receiving end of that?”

  “Can we do this without the psychology stuff?”

  “Do what?”

  “Apologize.”

  Simon leaned out the window, muscles flexing as he reached for her.

  Kneeling, she rested against the car door with her hands curling into the collar of his shirt and his arms gripping her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered repeatedly.

  “God, Veronica. I’m sorry.” He swallowed her apologies in a crushing kiss. “This is all I want. You’re all I want.”

  I want you, too, Simon. Just you.

  If only Veronica could let herself say the words.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  If fucking in secret didn’t push them past reckless, then beyond a doubt going to popular paparazzi haunt Joel Robuchon to share the sixteen-course tasting menu in the prime of night did.

  N
o name existed for the territory Simon and Veronica were in now. Powerless was the only explanation he could give to the slam of desire he felt when Veronica had appeared in her friend’s driveway. After making up with apologies and sex, they’d met his sister for drinks at a casino where Erin had shown off photos of the Smith farmhouse, a timbered area and a forest of cherry fruit trees. Then he’d taken Veronica to the Strip for a spur-of-the-moment dinner that had every appearance of a real date.

  Veronica refused to call it that. When people stopped to speak en route to their own tables, she told one creative lie after another. Anything to kill the suspicion that the Villains’ former quarterback and the current GM were dating.

  When J.T. and Joan entered the restaurant, he was still deciding whether the edginess riding his system was out of concern that they’d get found out, or out of frustration that Veronica couldn’t be his.

  Her back was to the entrance, so Simon leaned forward to warn her, “Want to know what your parents would say if they knew I was wining and dining you?”

  “Um, no, actually, I don’t. Good news—they don’t suspect I’m having frequent filthy sex with you.”

  “Yeah. Good news.”

  If she heard the sardonic twinge in his voice, she didn’t show it. Under the table her foot roamed up his leg to rest against his crotch. “I’d rather know what you would say if I crawled under this table, unzipped your pants, and sucked your hard, hot—”

  Fuck…hold that thought. “J.T. and Joan are walking this way.”

  Veronica swore and managed to greet her parents with an offer to sit at the table. The offer was pointless, because J.T. was already tugging her arm so she would sit beside Simon while he and his wife occupied the opposite side of the table.

  Then they were facing off again, as they had done at Villains Club Lounge last month. Except this time Veronica was on his side. It made more of a difference than it should. She meant more to him than she should. But it was his own fault that he’d allowed her to unlock his heart.

  “Smith, I’ve been meaning to call you in for a word,” J.T. said.

  “The league and the feds may be off my ass, but I’m still not passing out names—”