The Best Bet

by Hebby Roman

  What would it be like to live here?

  Thinking about living here reminded him of his interview tomorrow. Where was his luggage? He didn’t care about his clothes or toiletries, but he needed his laptop with notes and articles for the interview. He wanted to go over what he was going to say, as well as his responses to the standard interview questions.

  Sliding his hand into his pocket, he withdrew her card. Adriana de Los Santos, Guest Relations, it read. He was tempted to call her and ask about his luggage—way too tempted. Adriana de Los Santos was a babe, a “hottie,” as his brother would say.

  He closed his eyes and conjured her image: petite but well-rounded in all the right places. Her severe business suit hadn’t even started to hide the lush promise of her body. Not only did she have a great figure, but she was gorgeous to look at with long russet hair framing a perfect heart-shaped face and wide-set, velvety-blue eyes. And remembering her full mouth was driving him wild, especially when he fantasized about the intimate ways she might use it.

  Exercising iron self-control, he placed her card on the coffee table, wanting to rid himself of temptation. The less contact he had with Miss de Los Santos, the better. He’d even noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding band, and he usually didn’t notice such things. He shook his head and drew a deep breath, hoping to cool down.

  He was afraid that she might be “on to him.” He’d already made several blunders about the limo and checking in. And she was quick because she hadn’t missed his confusion. He’d seen the surprise and suspicion on her face. At this very moment, she was probably checking him out.

  Groaning, he silently cursed his brother. Why hadn’t Damián warned him about the unique welcome he would receive, prepared him, so he wouldn’t come off as a rank greenhorn? Rafael answered his own question: because that wasn’t his twin’s way. His brother cruised through life on autopilot, oblivious to the mundane details that concerned everyday mortals.

  He paced the length of the living room and glanced several times at the door, willing his luggage to arrive, as promised. Checking his watch, he found it had been almost an hour since he’d come up.

  Rubbing his eyes, he realized the contact lenses were bothering him. He wasn’t accustomed to wearing them, and the change in pressure on the plane hadn’t helped. He wished he could take them out and give his eyes a rest, but that wasn’t possible. The contact solution and holder were packed in his bags.

  He snatched up the nearest phone and called down to the bellman’s desk. After giving his name, he was put on hold for several minutes. Then he was informed that his luggage hadn’t arrived. There was some mix-up with the airline and the hotel was working on it.

  Exasperated, he hung up the phone. He crossed to the coffee table and picked up Adriana’s card. But he replaced it on the table and grabbed his cell phone, keying in a query for his airline’s local phone number. After he’d hit “call” on his cell phone, the number rang at least twenty times before a clerk picked up.

  After a frustrating series of muddled conversations, he was patched through to the airline’s lost luggage department. Just when he thought he was getting somewhere, the baggage clerk asked for the numbers on his luggage tags.

  He didn’t have them. The limo driver had taken them. Irritated by the ridiculous situation he’d been thrust into, he tried to chill out and asked for the representative’s name and a direct line to the lost luggage department. Jotting the information on a hotel pad, he hung up.

  He walked over to the coffee table again and gazed at her card for the third time.

  The bank of phones shrilled in Rafael’s suite, making him jump and drop Adriana’s card. He grabbed the closest receiver, hoping it was the bell captain saying he’d found the luggage.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Adriana de Los Santos. Your luggage was lost by the airline. But you already know that, don’t you? The bell captain told me you called down.”

  Was it his imagination, or did she sound nervous? That was good because she made him feel as jumpy as a paratrooper without a parachute.

  “I need the baggage claim tickets for the airline.” He hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but he felt powerless. “I gave them to the driver and he—”

  “I know. I found the driver and got them.”

  “Do you want me to come down and get them?”

  She exhaled. “Mr. Escobedo—”

  “Please, call me Damian.” He congratulated himself for remembering to use his brother’s first name and not his own.

  “Damian, then. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, and I don’t want you to waste another minute of your vacation. I’ll be more than happy to go to the airport and find your bags, even if it means waiting all night for them. The staff of the Xanadu Resort is here to serve you.”

  “Sounds like above and beyond the call of duty to me. You don’t want to waste your evening, either.” He could think of a lot of other ways to waste her evening—ways that made his blood race.

  “Not at all. It’s part of my job. Any way that I can be of—”

  “Service,” he finished for her.

  She was beginning to sound like a broken record. Not that he minded. He could listen to her recite the Gettysburg Address all night and be as happy as a frog in a latrine. She had a low, husky voice, especially resonant over the phone. But he wished he could rid her of this employee and guest hang-up she had. Get to know her on a more personal level, a lot more personal, if he had his way.

  “Well, Mister, er, Damián, if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way to the airport.” Her voice held a note of defensiveness.

  He hadn’t meant to offend her by finishing her sentence. He just wished she would chill out on the service issue. “Can I come, too?” The question popped from his mouth.

  “That really isn’t necessary, you know. I’m more than capable of locating your bags.” This time, she didn’t bother to mask the exasperation in her voice.

  “I have the utmost confidence in your ability, Miss de Los Santos. But it’s my luggage, and I don’t usually duck my responsibilities.” It was a lame excuse, but he couldn’t tell her the real reason he wanted to go with her. “And I might be able to help, too. My luggage is black and lumpy and looks like everyone else’s. But I know I’d recognize my bags so you wouldn’t have to check all the tags.”

  She didn’t answer right away, and he could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. “As you wish, Damian. I’ll pick you up at the front entrance under the porte cochre. My car is a late model, dark blue Ford Taurus. Give me twenty minutes. Okay?”

  “Twenty minutes. I’ll be there.”

  He checked his watch and went to the nearest bathroom. The requisite toilet articles in tiny bottles were provided along with a hair dryer but no comb or brush. Turning on the cold water, he splashed water on his face and tried to ignore his itchy eyes. With wet fingertips, he smoothed down his hair.

  Leaning over the sink and staring at his reflection in the mirror, he wondered why he was pushing this. His ex-fiancée and what she’d done to him was never far from his mind. Except for a few arranged dates by his family, he’d avoided the opposite sex for the past two years. Adriana was attractive, but so were a lot of women. And he would only be in Vegas for a few days. A short-term fling wasn’t exactly his style.

  Maybe he’d assumed his brother’s carefree personality along with his identity. Whatever temporary insanity might be driving him, all he knew was that he wanted to see Adriana de Los Santos again.

  Chapter Two

  Adriana pulled from beneath the gilded and neon-clad Xanadu porte cochere, making a quick U-turn onto Harmon Avenue to avoid the glutted Strip traffic. As she headed toward McCarran Airport, the sun was setting at her back and the eastern mountains were turning purple. It was her favorite time of day in the desert city—twilight.

  Normally, she would be savoring the constantly shifting patterns of shadows on the mountains, breathing deeply and composing herself after a grindi
ng day at work, except for one small detail: Damian Escobedo, sitting next to her, close enough to touch. The scent of his spicy cologne teased her senses, making her acutely aware of him. His incongruous presence, as her Mamá would have said, made her as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

  He snapped his seat belt into place. “Thanks for letting me tag along.”

  “My pleasure,” she said, wondering again what he was doing here. Most high rollers would have hit the tables the minute they arrived. Their luggage could have ended up in Timbuktu for all they cared.

  She still harbored doubts about him, magnified by his unusual attention to his luggage. What could be so important about his bags? Was he smuggling in drugs to cover his gaming habit?

  She doubted it, mentally shaking her head. She must be watching too many late night reruns of Miami Vice. He really didn’t seem the type to engage in illegal activities. But what type was he? She wanted him to fit neatly in her little box for high rollers, but he didn’t and that bugged her. Besides, she hadn’t had the time to delve deeper into his background.

  Recalling that one moment when he’d looked her over and smiled his roguish smile, she fervently hoped he wasn’t going along to hit on her—that was the one part of her job she didn’t like. High rollers sometimes thought she was part of the guest package—typical men. But she’d learned how to handle their expectations, and though Damian was very attractive, she had no intention of getting involved with one of her guests.

  “Wow, those mountains are beautiful—all those shifting colors and shadows,” he said. We don’t have any mountains at home. They’re pretty cool.”

  Funny man. He was commenting on the scenery. Maybe he was as nervous as she was. But why? The thought nagged at her. “Yeah, sunset in the desert, it’s the best.”

  “So how long have you been in guest relations?”

  She guessed they’d exhausted the scenery. “About two years.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Yeah, I like it a lot.”

  Did she sound enthusiastic? She hoped so, because she did like her job. She enjoyed the challenge of keeping whales and high rollers happy. Snagging tickets no one else could get, setting up tours for the adventuresome, and getting reservations at posh restaurants kept her busy and engaged. Didn’t give her much time to think—and that was a good thing.

  “Do you mind if I ask what kind of surname is de Los Santos?”

  She turned onto a side street, leading to an airport parking area. “Sure, no problem. It’s Latino like your last name.” She glanced over at him. “My father is from Spain and my mother was Puerto Rican.”

  “Your mother…did you say was?”

  “Sorry, slip of the tongue. Didn’t mean to hint at my family’s history. It’s not very interesting.”

  “You might be surprised what interests me. Did you mean—?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “My mother is deceased.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how that would be. I have a large family back home. Sometimes they drive me crazy, but I wouldn’t want—”

  “Thank you, but it was a long time ago.”

  As she turned into short-term parking, she breathed deeply, trying to dislodge the tightening in her chest and wanting to swipe away the tears burning at the back of her eyes. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and ran her finger over the nubby head of the plastic animal lodged there. She breathed deeply again, struggling to regain her composure. It had been over ten years since she’d lost her mother. When would the hurt wear out? When would the grief not be so fresh?

  He lightly touched her shoulder. “I can be an idiot sometimes. Please, accept my apology.” He sounded so sincere, her face flushed with heat and she knew she must be blushing. But she couldn’t afford such feelings, especially with a client.

  “Apology accepted.” She needed to change the subject. “What’s your family background Do you have any brothers and sisters?”

  “Too many.” He shook his head. “There’s five of us, three boys and two girls. My family is Mexican American from San Antonio, Texas. Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  “One brother.” She spotted a parking space and pulled into it. She turned off the engine. “Guess we’re here.”

  He grinned. “I’m ready. Lead on.”

  She liked his grin and appreciated him trying to lighten the conversation after they’d blundered into her own personal tragedy. Actually, she liked everything about him, especially his sensitivity. And that was what scared her.

  #

  Rafael stood in the baggage claim area, hands thrust in his pockets, feeling as unnecessary as a ruptured appendix in an operating room. Adriana leaned over the baggage clerk’s desk, pointing at his computer screen. She handed the clerk his luggage claim tickets.

  “Can you put a tracer on these numbers?” she asked.

  The baggage clerk squinted at the tags. “Sure, no problem. Just give me a minute.” He jabbed at the computer, his fingers flying over the keys.

  Adriana had moved behind him, watching his efforts. “See, there they are.” She pointed at the screen. “Whoa, back up. Flight 1341, where is that?”

  “Uh, Los Angeles. His bags went to Los Angeles.” The clerk shrugged.

  She shot the man a look. “What’s the next flight back from LA?”

  Por Dios, she was good, Rafael realized. Not to mention how attractive she was. From this angle, he could study her to his heart’s content. She was completely focused on getting his luggage for him and not paying attention.

  By today’s standards, her suit was demure, the skirt reaching to the middle of her knee. Even so, it revealed her shapely calves, rounded and taut. And the long suit jacket, double-breasted and buttoned tightly beneath her chin, did nothing to disguise the curve of her hips or the swell of her breasts.

  As she leaned over the desk, one wave of her long, auburn hair fell forward, partially obscuring her features. Not that he needed to see them. They were indelibly imprinted on his mind.

  When he’d commented on the mountains, he’d been thinking of her eyes. The mountains here seemed to change colors, shifting shadows of dark purples and blues, like the color of her eyes. He groped for the right word: indigo. That was the word he wanted.

  But as beautiful as her eyes were with their long black lashes, it was her mouth that turned his guts inside out. Full-lipped and sensual, curved at the corners as if she were secretly smiling, her mouth was the stuff of dreams.

  Wet dreams.

  She shook hands with the baggage clerk and walked toward him.

  He drew himself up and banished his lustful thoughts. His face turned warm at her approach, and he hoped she couldn’t read his perverted mind. He bent his head and studied his loafers, coughing loudly to clear his throat.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I’m fine. Just a touch of allergies. Guess I’m not used to the desert air.”

  “When I was a child, people moved here to escape their allergies. But they planted so many trees and bushes from back east that they brought the allergens with them.” She shrugged. “People can’t seem to leave well enough alone.”

  “You’re right.” He raised his head and gazed at her. The florescent lights overhead made her red-brown hair shimmer, emitting sparks like a flame.

  “I finally managed to get a definite answer from the airline. Your bags will be on the eleven o’clock flight from Los Angeles tonight.”

  Checking his watch, he said, “That’s three hours from now. Too long to wait. I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. How about having dinner with me?”

  “I...I... Normally, I’d be more than happy to show you Vegas, but unfortunately, I have a prior commitment.”

  “Oh, okay,” he said. He could feel the smile fading from his face. He ducked his head again, wanting to hide his disappointment.

  “I’m sorry. Maybe tomorrow night,” she said.

  His head popped up. “Real
ly, tomorrow night? It’s a date then.” His face was tight, stretched from ear to ear in a shit-eating grin. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. She couldn’t go out tonight, but she’d agreed to a date for tomorrow. Now he really had something to look forward to.

  They were quiet during the drive back to the hotel, exchanging only perfunctory words, which was more than okay with him. He didn’t want to break the spell, didn’t want to give her a reason not to go out with him tomorrow night.

  When she dropped him off at the entrance to the hotel, Adriana assured him that his luggage would be in his room by midnight.

  Letting himself into his empty rooms, he wondered what he should do with himself for the remainder of the evening. He wasn’t much of a gambler and though he was hungry, the thought of eating alone downstairs didn’t really appeal. Maybe he’d order room service and a movie.

  Switching on the light in the larger of the two bedrooms, he found clothing spread on the king-size bed—a complete change of clothes. There was a pair of Polo slacks and a pullover similar to those he was wearing, along with new boxer shorts and socks. Picking up the shorts, he was surprised to find that they were his size.

  How could she have known unless she’d paid more attention than he realized? The thought gave him pause. Entering the bathroom, he discovered a full complement of toilet articles: a razor, shaving cream, comb and brush, toothbrush and toothpaste, and deodorant.

  She’d thought of everything, and her thoughtfulness made a lump rise to his throat. Maybe it was just more of her efficient customer service, but he couldn’t ignore the consideration and personal touch that had gone into the gesture.

  He strode into the living room and grabbed her card from the coffee table. She’d probably already left for her commitment, but the least he could do was to leave her a voice mail, thanking her.

  She surprised him by answering on the third ring.

  “You didn’t have to do it, but it’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me,” he said.

  “Damian?”