Secrets and Seduction Las Vegas (Sexy Italian Imports Book 1)

by Laura Breck

  “I’m free for a few days. It’ll be nice to see you. What time do you think—” She heard a siren in the background. Then another.

  “Monica, I’ve gotta run. But I’ll see you soon.” He hung up.

  She flopped back onto her pillow and checked her calendar for the next few days. Not too crowded. Then she groaned. Her house was a mess! And her refrigerator was empty.

  And she hadn’t cut the grass in weeks. Hells bells, she’d better get her butt in gear.

  She rolled onto her side and pulled the sheet up over her shoulder. After just a couple more minutes of sleep.

  ****

  Monica sat on the couch, tired but happy. After seeing her patients, she spent the day cleaning, shopping, and getting her legs waxed—just in case. She expected Joe to show up hours ago, but he probably got a late start. Maybe he was stuck in traffic.

  She smiled. What prompted this visit? He sure didn’t seem like the spontaneous type. Their calls and text messages dwindled over the last few weeks, and she expected their friendship to die a quiet death.

  Turning on the television, she watched a couple of sitcoms and a couple shows on The Travel Channel then fell asleep. A screeching bird woke her around midnight—The Travel Channel was at a wildlife preserve on Sanibel Island, Florida.

  She checked her phone and saw one text message. “Sorry, won’t make it this week. More later.”

  “Bastard!” She made a rude gesture in the general direction of Los Angeles and stomped into the kitchen. The steaks she bought were aging on the broiler pan in the fridge. “Jerk.”

  She turned the oven on and slid the steaks under the flames. What better way to ease her anger and frustration than by mauing down fifty dollars’ worth of beef.

  She poured a glass of the pricey red wine she selected and drank half. “More later,” she snarled. He couldn’t even call?

  The wine mellowed her in a rush, and she made a resigned face.

  She’d heard the sirens in the background when he’d called. There must have been something big going on in LA.

  “Ugh!” She was not a patient woman! Flipping the steaks, she smiled wickedly.

  She’d send him a reply as rude and calculated as his original message.

  She jumped up and sat on the counter, opened her phone, and replied to his text message. When the steaks were done, she brought them, her wine glass, and the bottle to the living room and turned on an old Dirty Harry movie. She knew exactly how Clint was feeling when he said, “Go ahead, punk, make my day.”

  ****

  Late that night, Antonio read Valerie’s text and saw the therapist’s name and the ridiculous picture of him holding the ice cream. He hit Delete then swore, undeleted, and saved the name and number of the therapist in his contacts list.

  “What kind of a name is Jarrodd?” He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. That was petty. His anger still urged him to delete, but he wanted Valerie and would do whatever it took to overcome his issues and get her back. Shit. Why couldn’t he control himself last night? Now he had to apologize to her. Again. She thought it was just anger. It went a lot deeper.

  He walked around his dark penthouse with a glass of red wine. He’d just showered and threw on a pair of jeans. His bare feet were silent on the hardwood floors. He looked at his furniture—modern, black leather and steel. A woman would know where to put a rug or pillow or lamp. It looked sparse as far as decoration. One of his brother’s paintings, a Dante Daniato original, hung over the fireplace, but he didn’t own a vase or a statue. He would ask Valerie to help him make it more like a home.

  He walked to the wall of windows and looked down. The pool and spa glowed ethereal blue thirty-six floors below. He envisioned Valerie and him swimming then coming up here for a glass of wine. The expensive bottle he opened tonight…he wanted to share it with her. The women he used to pick up wouldn’t appreciate this fine wine. Once or twice a month, on nights he wasn’t working at the club, he went out to bars, with friends or alone, and invariably found a dancer or chorus girl looking for a good time. Since the evening at Caesar’s Palace, he wasn’t interested in a one-nighter. He wanted Valerie.

  He sipped his wine and looked down The Strip. He lived in the middle of the casinos, and he could visualize her in her bed looking at the same lights, the same moon. He gave a disgusted laugh. She was probably looking at his building, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. A drop of water from his hair hit his chest, and he wiped it off. It reminded him of her tears. She was crying as he left her house, left her standing in the driveway.

  He’d said something vindictive and rode off.

  He ran a hand through his hair. God, he was an asshole. He blamed it on the stress of hiding so much from her. He needed her. But he couldn’t have her and keep his weekend life a secret from her. He had a choice to make, and a therapist might be the best way to work through it. He’d been in therapy before but never told them the truth about his stripping. Of course, he never felt so much motivation to make a change.

  The next morning, he called the therapist, and because of a last minute cancellation, was lucky—or unlucky—to get an appointment that same afternoon. He tried to write, but his mind drifted to what he would tell the therapist. In a new document on his computer, he listed the things he wanted to cover with him. He would lay it on the line, get everything out, and see what the reaction was.

  Sitting back in his chair, he deleted the document. It felt odd revealing something he worked hard to keep secret for five years. He closed his eyes and pictured Valerie, in her office, looking at him with intense desire in those beautiful eyes. At Caesar’s Palace, her body draped in the sequined gown that made him insanely jealous of the quarterback. At the restaurant, her face after she climaxed then reached for him—ready to give him pleasure. Then in tight jeans, climbing onto his bike.

  He wanted her with a passion more intense than his love of writing. But was it more intense than the high he got on weekends when he became Carlos?

  ****

  Wednesday evening, he pulled up to her guard house in his Ferrari, gave his name, and the guard let him in immediately. Surprising. She hadn’t cut him off? He drove to her house, rehearsing what he’d say.

  A big Mercedes sat in her driveway. Was it the quarterback’s? He stopped for a moment. Should he leave, come back another evening? No, he’d do it tonight. She could slam the door in his face, but at least he’d see her.

  He rang the doorbell, repeating Jarrodd’s advice. “Examine whatever’s making you angry and deal with it internally, not externally.” Antonio smiled, recalling the fascinated look on the therapist’s face when he told him he danced for money on weekends. He asked Antonio why a millionaire would crave such attention-seeking entertainment. The same question Antonio had been asking himself for three years, since the money started rolling in and he no longer needed to work to survive.

  Her face appeared for a second in the glass on the side of the door then she opened it…but just a few feet. “Antonio.”

  God, he wanted to grab her and kiss her, but instead he smiled and held out a bottle of wine, from the same case as the one he drank alone earlier in the week. “Peace offering?”

  She wasn’t looking at the wine but at his clothes. He wore a cotton, button-front shirt, shorts, and sandals.

  She smiled. “Your legs are showing.”

  “Thought I’d give you a thrill.”

  “You know how to get a girl excited.”

  He took a deep breath. “May I come in? I’d like to talk.”

  “Well…” She made a sour face. “I have company.”

  “I can come back.”

  “You’re welcome to stay. It’s my parents. We’re just sitting down to dinner.”

  He paused a minute, not excited about meeting her parents when their relationship was this new, and this turbulent, but wanting to spend time with her. “I’m fine with that if you don’t think it would be a problem.”

  She smiled b
rightly, her eyes sparkled, and she stepped back. “Please, come in.”

  She wore a pink fluffy sundress that made him think of cotton candy, and his mouth watered, wanting to taste her sweet lips. Reminding himself the parents were in the next room, he gained control of his libido and handed her the bottle of wine.

  She looked at the label. “Thank you. This is a beautiful wine.” Then she whispered, “I’m going to hide it until after they leave.”

  “Great.” They would be alone later.

  She set the bottle in the kitchen, and he followed her into the living room. Her parents sat on the love seat, holding cocktails.

  “Mom, Dad, a friend dropped by, and I’ve asked him to join us for dinner.”

  Both her parents stood. He could see where she got her good looks. Her dad was tall, with graying black hair and green eyes. Her mom looked like her but shorter, with short hair. They both wore suits, probably came directly from work. He felt underdressed.

  “This is Antonio Daniato. My mother, Dena. My father, Scott.” They shook hands and exchanged greetings.

  Her parents sat and stared at him like he was a virus under a microscope—something they needed to exterminate before it attached itself to their daughter. Good thing he didn’t wear his usual jeans, T-shirt, and motorcycle boots, or they’d really have something to stare at.

  Valerie asked him, “Would you like a cocktail?”

  “Whatever you’re having is fine.”

  “Gin and tonic?”

  “Perfect.”

  “I’ll be right back.” She went to the kitchen.

  “So,” Scott asked before Antonio got the chance to sit, “how do you know our daughter?”

  Plopping into a chair, he put his ankle on his knee and braced himself for a polite grilling. “I’m an author, and Valerie and I are…working on a project together.” Technically true, they were trying to find the blackmailers.

  “Really?” Dena looked skeptical. “She hadn’t mentioned that. Might we know any of your work?”

  “I write under the name Grey Thornton.”

  Scott sat forward. “Of course! I’d heard the enigmatic Grey Thornton was a Las Vegan. I’ve read many of your novels. It’s interesting to meet the man behind the crime.”

  “Thanks.” He laughed. “I try not to take credit for the crime.”

  “Remember, Dena, the book you read in Belize last year? That was one of his.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I remember. Very disturbing.”

  “That it is,” Antonio agreed.

  “Your writing style is rather sharp.” She turned icy blue eyes on him.

  Valerie brought his G & T, handed it to him, and sat in the chair next to his.

  “Valerie was actually helping me with that the other day.” He smiled at her. “She suggested I infuse more romance in my writing.”

  Valerie squeezed her lips together to hold back laughter and stared at her drink. Was she remembering how she seduced him by retelling her erotic dream?

  Dena looked between Valerie and him. If she had half the intuition her daughter possessed, she knew what was going on. She swirled her glass, making the ice clink. “I’m surprised you’d want to change your writing style. On the advice of one person.”

  Valerie smiled at him, her blue eyes sparking with mischief. Did she enjoy his being in the hot seat?

  “Valerie’s perceptive to what drives people to emotional attachments.” He winked at her. “I’m only in touch with what motivates men.”

  The men laughed, but Dena frowned. “Why would you want Valerie to consult on your books if you don’t share the same viewpoint?”

  Antonio nodded. “Good question. I like the fact that she challenges me. She breathes new life into everything I do.” He looked at her. It was true, for his fiction as well as his screwed up life.

  She sighed, still watching him but now with a dreamy look in her eyes.

  A bell went off in the kitchen, and Valerie blinked. “Um…are we ready to eat?”

  “Starved,” Scott said.

  Dena stood. “Can I help you?”

  “Thanks. Would you set another place at the table?” She went into the kitchen, and he followed her parents into the dining room. Dena set another place while Scott and Antonio made small talk about sports.

  Valerie carried in a platter of fantastic smelling chicken. “Dad, would you pour the wine, please? Antonio, could you help me with the rest of the food?”

  He followed her, and in the kitchen he grimaced. “That was tough.”

  “You’re doing very well.” She handed him a bowl of roasted potatoes and a basket of bread, which he immediately set down. He put his hands on her hips.

  “I’d do much better if I knew you were still my friend.”

  “Friend?” She laced her fingers in his hair and pulled him to her for a passionate kiss. She used her tongue to tempt him, to make him respond. And his response was immediate and hard. She whispered against his lips, “How many friends do you have who kiss you like that?”

  “None I can think of.” He captured her lips, pressing his body along the length of hers.

  Dena called, “I need another glass…”

  As he broke away from Valerie, Dena came into the kitchen. “Oh, no. I was afraid of this.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Valerie stayed calm. “Mom, please don’t make this awkward. We can discuss it over dinner, if you’d like.”

  Antonio could think of a few less confrontational things to discuss over dinner, like politics, religion, taxes.

  Dena turned her gaze on him. “Would you please give us a minute?”

  He smiled and nodded, grabbed the potatoes and bread, and escaped the kitchen.

  “Valerie.” Dena spoke. “We’ve tried to protect you from this sort of man. Is this your way of rebelling against us?”

  He kept walking, glad to be out of the war zone. In the dining room, he picked up a glass of wine and took a few swallows.

  “Did she catch you two?” Scott asked, sipping his wine.

  “Pardon?”

  “She went to find out what was going on in the kitchen. I can only assume there was something going on?”

  Antonio shrugged. “Just a kiss. But it seems we will be discussing it at dinner.”

  “Wonderful. That’s what I love about having a drama queen for a wife and a shrink for a daughter.”

  Antonio smiled. “Well phrased.”

  Scott held out his glass. “To an interesting family life.”

  Antonio tapped his glass to Scott’s. “Never a dull moment.”

  They drank the rest of their wine, Scott refilled their glasses, and they stood by the table, waiting for the women.

  Valerie came in first, smiling, carrying a salad. Dena followed, her face flushed, her lips pursed, and shot Antonio an angry glance as she set his water glass down. Valerie’s mother sat across the table from him. This would be a good test of his newly acquired anger management skills.

  Valerie explained the two new recipes on the table and warned them with a laugh that they assumed all risk. She wouldn’t be liable if they became sick.

  Antonio hadn’t smelled anything this appetizing since his mother had cooked for him.

  He ate like a tourist at a free buffet. Everyone complimented her on her new creations, and, as they finished, she winked at Antonio. A warning?

  “Dad? Mom, Antonio, and I were talking in the kitchen and thought it would be good to get something out in the open.”

  “Yes, dear, what is it?” Scott picked up the wine bottle.

  “Antonio and I are more than just working together. We’ve begun a romantic relationship.”

  Dena set her fork loudly on her plate. “And what about Troy? You two seemed quite infatuated for the last few weeks.”

  Antonio caught Valerie’s gaze and waited for her response.

  “He and I ended it Friday.”

  Antonio couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips, loving the polite way s
he phrased it.

  “He’s such a nice boy.” Dena shook her head.

  Valerie smiled. “Sometimes the person who seems perfect is not the right one to be with.”

  Antonio was impressed with her insight. “I care for your daughter. We’re in the early stage of this relationship, but I think we can make it work.”

  Valerie looked more surprised than anyone.

  “Did you ever think,” Dena asked Antonio, “she might be too…young for you?”

  She meant inexperienced, and he accepted her warning. “I understand that, while we’re only a few years apart in age, our life knowledge is dissimilar.”

  Dena laced her fingers together, her face showing agitation. “Our family comes from a different social network than what you’re used to.”

  He nodded. She was saying Valerie was out of his league. True.

  Dena waited for him to respond, and when he didn’t she tipped her head. “Do you fear our Valerie may be—”

  “Slumming?” He snapped the word.

  She held up her hands. “No, I’m not saying that.”

  But when she didn’t clarify, he figured that was exactly what she was saying.

  Antonio hadn’t expected that form of attack. He looked at Valerie, who stared at her plate. “No, I hadn’t thought of it. I don’t see her as the type of person who plays that sort of game.” He turned to Dena. “Do you?”

  That evidently caught her by surprise, and Dena threw her napkin on the table.

  Scott figuratively stepped in between him and Dena. “I think we should back this up a bit. Valerie, let’s have more wine and get to know one another a little better.”

  Antonio looked at Valerie and saw a sweet smile on her lips for him. Her eyes were a soft blue.

  She’d been testing him, letting her family interrogate him. Seemed he’d passed.

  Valerie stood. “Let’s all move to the living room.”

  They brought their glasses, and Scott carried the wine bottle.

  Valerie started the conversation. “Antonio is originally from Italy. From the Tuscany region.”

  They chatted for an hour before Dena stifled a yawn. “I think it’s time for us to head home, don’t you, Scottie?”