by Tara Andrews
“Room 1238.”
“Thank you.” He came around to her side of the table then leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I’ll tell her I held you over the balcony ’til you spilled the beans.”
“Trust me, it wouldn’t be beans spilling.”
Jonathan departed, his laughter trailing after him. But once he’d left Rachel standing alone in the midst of the crowd, her mood took a nosedive. It’d be nice to have someone to spend the evening with. Someone who—if only for a night—looked out for her.
Damn. Why had she even bothered to attend this part of the event? She should call it a night, but had to give Jonathan a little time and space to work things out with Sasha. Maybe she’d be better off playing slots for the next half hour, and then head off to bed.
Alone.
Her chest tightened. It’d been a long time since she’d been in a relationship. Too long. Between collaborating with Sasha on songs and helping produce the Vixens’ new album, there’d been little room left for dating.
Setting the almost-full drink on a passing waiter’s tray, she headed for the casino, more than ready to take her chances on the one-armed bandits. Spotting Mark Travis entering the room, she halted, though her heart rate pounded an extra beat, or two—maybe ten—the same condition she’d suffered earlier, right before her spectacular failed attempt to talk to him.
Lifting an iPad the organizers used to track bids, he tapped the screen. After returning the tablet to the table, he surveyed the room, brows furrowed and lips set in a tense line. When he stopped his perusal, he headed toward the bar, cutting through the high-class crowd. Confidence radiated off him, and she couldn’t pull her eyes away.
At the bar, he brushed aside his tuxedo jacket to fish inside his pants pocket. He’d opted not to wear a cummerbund or vest—very fashion forward of him, though his pants still sported the classic satin stripe down the outside seam. That added a certain sexy sleekness to a man’s appearance. And, boy-oh-boy, did Mark know how to rock sexy.
Realizing she’d been holding her breath, she released it on a sigh. She had to stay away from him. No sense driving herself crazy or creating another spectacle.
A breeze blew in off the open terrace only a few feet away, the exit closer and more convenient than the one leading to the casino—which she’d have to pass the bar to get to. The twinkling lights of downtown Vegas offered her a perfect diversion until Mark moved off in a different direction.
“Miss Turner?”
An unfamiliar gentleman with sandy hair and blue eyes greeted her with a smile. “This is for you.” He held out an envelope. Taking it, she began to ask who sent it, but he spoke first. “Open it. It will answer your questions.”
She glanced at the simple gold E embellishing the stiff ecru envelope. When she looked up again, the man had vanished. Though curious about the contents, she hesitated, unsure why. A text or call would be a more expedient way to reach her. Unless her phone was off. Just in case, she retrieved it from her purse. No missed calls.
Still, she held off the urge to open the letter and exited into the cool Nevada night as planned. The air hit her bare arms and back, providing relief to her overheated skin. At least temporarily. Without a wrap, she’d last a couple of minutes before cool became too cold.
Music filtered out from the party. Upbeat percussion and harmonic guitar overtones, combined with the rush of cascading water from the massive fountain, filled the open air. Together, they prevented the peace she’d sought, but she breathed the fresh air and took in the starless night sky for a few seconds anyway.
A small crowd milled about, with a few people pointing over the balustrade to the bright city below. She couldn’t help but notice they were in pairs, touching in some way. One couple wasn’t paying attention to the scenic view like the others, though. The man stood behind the woman, his arms around her waist. With eyes closed and heads together, the lovers seemed oblivious to everything around them. Like they were each other’s everything.
How nice to have such a connection. To be someone’s everything. Rachel wanted that.
Okay, enough with the blahs. Time to move on.
She broke the seal on the envelope and removed the folded card, noting a matching gold E. Several neat lines were written in perfect script.
Dear Miss Turner,
1Night Stand has been asked to provide a unique and gratifying evening for a special gentleman, one I believe only you can fulfill. With your participation, you will experience your heart’s desires with the man who occupies your thoughts.
Mr. Mark Travis will await your arrival at midnight in the penthouse suite. It may please you to know, you’ve already captured his attention during your performance.
Sincerest regards,
Madame Evangeline
Rachel gasped, though whether from the mention of Mark, or her performance, she had no idea. What on earth did this Madame Evangeline mean? A night with Mark, courtesy of an agency named for one-night stands? Rachel had never heard of such a thing. It had to be a joke, a bad one, using her desire for Mark against her. But why bring up the performance? Was the subtle mention of her secret meant to be used as leverage to ensure her compliance?
The man who’d delivered the note had said it would answer her questions, but instead it had created them. Lots of them. She returned to the reception, determined to find the messenger and demand an explanation. Barely inside, she encountered Victor, Wicked Vixen’s manager. Given his grave expression, he’d found out she’d replaced Sasha on stage. And didn’t appear at all happy about it, which wasn’t surprising. But more than unhappy, he looked mad as hell.
Time to face the music. She almost groaned at the bad pun.
He took her elbow and led her to the periphery of the room. “We have a problem.” They weren’t alone, but with the thick crowd and lively activity, no one would look twice in their direction. “Why did you two do such a thing?”
She didn’t think denying it was an option at that point. “There was no way Sasha could have performed tonight. She could barely get off the bathroom floor.”
“Why didn’t you call me? I was only minutes away. All of this could have been avoided.”
Victor had been delayed and forced to take a later flight out of L.A. He’d arrived just as Wicked Vixen left the stage and Rachel had evaded him, hoping the switch had gone unnoticed. So much for that idea.
“There wasn’t enough time.” Rachel doubted he’d ever understand how upset Sasha had been to see all her hard work flushed down the toilet.
“Well, I think she should have at least tried. She’s tough. I’m sure she would have made it through.”
“No, she couldn’t have. The only thing she’d have treated the audience to was a reenactment of the opening scene in Pitch Perfect.” And it hadn’t escaped her that he had yet to ask after Sasha.
“Better than getting caught pulling a Milli Vanilli. Rumors are spreading as we speak, and I’ve already been approached by two reporters.”
Crap! If it were possible, her heart plummeted to her feet. They’d been so careful. Even if someone close to Wicked Vixen suspected, she didn’t think they’d betray the group. “Technically, it wasn’t like Milli Vanilli.”
Victor frowned. “What do you mean?”
The answer hardly mattered, but…. “Well, they lip-synced. I didn’t.”
Confusion clouded his expression. “You sing?” Then a speculative gleam lit his eyes.
Sorry she’d brought it up, Rachel waved away the question before it led Victor to any crazy ideas about her talent. She’d never been interested in following in Sasha’s footsteps that way. “Never mind. Does Sasha know about the rumors?”
“No, she’s not answering the phone.” He shook his head like an exasperated parent dealing with a wayward child. In truth, less than ten years separated him from her and Sasha. “Listen, we can fix this. But we’ll need your help.”
“Sure. How?” She’d do anything for her sister. Always had.
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br /> “I’m not exactly sure yet. But you’ll go along with whatever we decide, right?”
She didn’t like the calculating way he’d asked for her compliance. “It depends.”
“Well, right now, because of this little trick, Sasha’s reputation is in jeopardy. Yours isn’t. I’m going to come up with some explanation, and you’ll need to go along with it.”
The potential consequence of her actions hit Rachel like a bucket of ice water. After spending years defending, covering, and insulating her twin, Rachel’s instinct to protect Sasha came naturally. But to let Victor think he could use her however he decided went too far.
Then again, if the scandal ruined Wicked Vixen, Rachel would be out of work, too. Contrary to what Victor said, it had put her in a vulnerable position. Who would hire her with scandal as baggage? No one.
Rachel had always been the more realistic and levelheaded of the girls, and sometimes it sucked. Too bad her levelheadedness had been absent when she’d agreed to the idea. Still…. “I don’t think Sasha would agree to lie—”
“Well, she didn’t seem to have a problem lying to hundreds of people earlier. Now we have to deal with the fallout.”
Though she hated his harsh assessment of what they’d done, Rachel could hardly argue the point. And she couldn’t deny that if it weren’t for Victor, no one outside Long Beach would have ever heard of Wicked Vixen to begin with. She’d be smart to do as he said, except it didn’t sit well with her at all. He could spin it to somehow pin it all on her. If that happened, even if she continued to work with the group, publicly she’d be the bad guy. They’d joke about the whole thing on the radio and rip her apart in the news rags while her sister went on her way.
“Excuse me, is there a problem?”
Rachel spun to find Mark Travis taking a casual sip of his drink, his gaze moving between her and Victor. Had Mark heard their conversation? Absorbed in it, she had no idea how long he’d been standing behind her.
“Hello.” Always quick, always networking, Victor extended a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mark. I’m Victor Paul, Wicked Vixen’s manager.” Slow to accept the greeting, Mark finally shook. Victor barreled along, motioning toward Rachel, “And this is—”
“Rachel Turner,” Mark supplied and held out his hand toward her, as well.
Dazed, she reached for it. Warmth from his grasp seeped into her and spread up her arm. A calloused thumb brushed her wrist before he let go. She shivered but hid it by shifting to allow them all to face one another.
“I’d hate to interrupt. Were you finished?” The slight tilt to Mark’s lips belied his regret. Rachel nodded, unable to speak, and wondered if she’d somehow given away her desire for escape. He asked, “Well, then, would you care to dance?”
Before leaving, Victor jumped in. “Excellent. Rachel, we’ll talk later.”
Surprise overriding any self-editing ability she possessed, she blurted, “You remembered my name?”
“Of course. Beautiful women tend to stick in my mind.”
The flirtatious line surprised a laugh from her. “Good one.”
His answering smile set off a swarm of butterflies in her belly. She used the action of stuffing the note inside her purse to allow a chance to steady her breath and hands. First the mysterious invitation from Madame Evangeline then the unsettling discussion with Victor, and now Mark Travis was seeking her out. She needed to pull herself together.
Done with the stalling tactic, she returned her attention to him. “I’d love to dance.” I’d love to do a lot of things with you. Dancing was only one of them.
Running her fingers over the soft wool of the jacket to take his offered elbow, she imagined the hours of guitar-playing that must have helped sculpt the hard muscles evident beneath the fabric. Butterflies morphed into tiny phoenixes, her cheeks warmed, and the heat spread south to reach between her legs. She wasn’t sure which she found more inconvenient.
On the dance floor, Mark tugged her waist to pull her close. With one hand clasped in his and the other resting on his shoulder, she followed his lead. He danced with the same confidence and style as he walked—sure, commanding, and…so incredibly hot.
Thanks to the four-inch Louboutins Rachel had borrowed from her sister, the top of her head barely reached his chin, but high enough, if she dared, to rest her temple against his cheek. Though tempted to find out if the stubble along his jaw was as soft as it looked, she didn’t dare. But, oh, how she wanted to. At least they were close enough that the spicy scent of his cologne surrounded her.
A love song played, its lyrics about longing the perfect fit for her one-and-only dance with the man she’d admired so long from afar.
“You didn’t come back.” His voice, rough and low, vibrated against her cheek.
She tilted her head to meet his gaze. The intimate proximity allowed her an up-close-and-personal view of his brown eyes, their color reminding her of the amaretto she favored.
His hold on her shifted, bringing them closer, the difference slight, but welcome. The nerves at her waist sizzled under the weight of his palm, while his thumb rubbed the exposed skin of her back. She shivered again from the simple touch, and an answering heat flared in his eyes.
“I…I got called away to help my sister.” She stumbled on the near lie. But, truth be told, she never dreamed Mark would give her a second thought after she’d left, his disinterest so plain to see.
“Sasha?”
So he knew who she was then? “Yes, she’s my sister.”
“Your twin.”
Rachel allowed him to spin her before replying. “That’s correct.”
“I didn’t realize at first. The glasses threw me off, as did your hair.” He smiled then. “Even so, you two are not identical.”
Aside from her and Sasha’s obvious style differences and voices, very few people were able to tell them apart. A knot formed in Rachel’s throat. She didn’t like where his comment appeared to be leading or the way his movements slowed and his brow furrowed.
He met her eyes. “Was that you on stage tonight?”
Chapter Three
Rachel’s steps wavered before she came to a stop. “Excuse me?” Her whispery voice shook.
Mark glanced around. They stood still in the sea of dancers. Perhaps he should have waited to confirm his suspicions, at least until the song ended. It had been nice holding her in his arms, moving to the music. He hadn’t danced with anyone since…Claire.
Shit, had he sabotaged it?
He led them out of the way, not wanting their conversation to be overheard. The open terrace would be a good place to talk.
Though it had been in the eighties earlier in the day, the temperature had dropped at least thirty degrees. Mark shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, but Rachel didn’t seem to notice. Spotting a vacant, dark corner, he steered her there.
“Is that what this is about?” She snapped open her purse and withdrew a card. “What do you want?”
“What are you talking about?”
“This note. To meet you at midnight. I can’t imagine this is about money, so what are you after?”
What the fuck?
“I’m not after anything. And I know nothing about a note or meeting you later.” He wanted to see the card, but with the way her fingers gripped the paper, creasing it, he thought twice about asking.
“So you’re telling me you don’t know a Madame Evangeline?” she asked.
“No.”
“Well, it seems she has come to the same conclusion about the performance you have. I’m supposed to think it’s a coincidence?”
“Listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know who this Madame Evangeline is, or what she has to do with you taking your sister’s place on stage. I just have to be honest—it’s not fair to the fans who came to see your sister. But it was a good performance.” Mark spoke the truth about that, but he couldn’t agree with what Rachel had apparently done.
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��How did you know?”
“As I said, you aren’t identical.” He refrained from explaining how he’d studied her on screen, captivated by her eyes and lips. There wasn’t just a twin resemblance to the features of the woman standing before him; they were the same. Exactly the same.
Rachel shook her head and the wind tugged a few strands free of her hairdo. “So you really don’t know anything about this message?”
“No. What does it say?” She handed it to him and his eyebrows rose as he read. “1Night Stand?”
But more importantly, all her heart’s desires?
She shrugged. Even in the dim lighting provided by the hanging lanterns, he could see her cheeks redden. Meanwhile, the cold air began to seep through his shirtsleeves.
One-night stands weren’t really his thing. At least not anymore. Over the last couple of years, he’d tried to fill a few of his nights that way, but he’d developed a taste for more meaningful relationships. Though Mark always had his daughter to consider. He didn’t introduce Kelsey to just anyone. From the day she’d been born, she’d been the light of his life. But in the three years since his wife had passed away, Kelsey had also become the center of his world. Everything he did, he did for her. So he’d become very selective, and—if he was honest—a little bit lonely, as well.
“This is obviously some sort of mistake,” he said, handing her the card. “Let’s go inside. You look cold.” He took her elbow. Okay, so he’d started to get a little uncomfortable in the October Nevada night.
As they rejoined the indoor reception, someone stepped onto a raised platform. “Can I have your attention, please?”
Mark led Rachel to an open spot to hear the announcement. A flash from a camera brought his attention to a photographer off to the side, who nabbed two more pictures of them before training the lens on someone else. Rachel glanced at Mark, biting her lip, her expression unsure. Since she still wore his jacket, he imagined conclusions would be drawn. But, funny, he only hoped they’d get her name right. He’d hate for them to mistake her for Sasha. Hopefully, the glasses would be a tip-off.