Last Dance

by Velvet Vaughn

  Last Dance

  Velvet Vaughn

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2018 VELVET VAUGHN LLC

  ISBN: 978-0-9992011-3-8

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Visit Velvet's website at: www.velvetvaughn.com and her Facebook Fanpage HERE.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my family.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to sincerely thank the members of my Velvet Vaughn Street Team who help spread the word: Cindi R., Debbie M., Gary A., Karen D., Karen J., Lisa B., Tammy T., Lisa B., Sharon W., Paulyn A and Shelley C. I’m so thankful for all of you and truly appreciate your support. I would also like to thank my social media guru, Kristy O.

  And as always, a huge thank you to my mom. I couldn’t do this without you!

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Notes

  About the Author

  Prologue

  If Mason Rossi had to listen to the “Wedding March” one more time, he’d flat-out lose it. Like, he’d seriously go troppo, as his Aussie coworker Wyatt Hollister might say. In other words, he’d end up blowing a freaking gasket.

  He had nothing against the tune, per se, but he’d suffered through a whirlwind of weddings the last few weeks that would test even the most romantic soul and he was so over it. First Olivia Larrson and Alex Mylonas tied the knot, then Talia Cohen and Hunter McGrath. Next came Hillary Billings and Reed Steele, followed by Grant Colton and Melody Franklin. The latest had been a blowout wedding of epic proportions. Sawyer Oldham and Harlow Duquesne’s nuptials were an over-the-top affair that featured the President of the United States—also known as Harlow’s grandmother—and about a thousand of their closest friends. All nice events, all, thankfully, ancient history.

  He’d walked down the aisle before and one time was more than enough for him. He’d loved Abby once, or he thought he had. They’d met while serving in the military. The connection had been instant, and they landed in bed soon after. They’d been deliriously happy, so tying the knot had been an easy decision. But marriage turned out to be nothing like he’d expected. Abby hadn’t been faithful, and he’d been miserable.

  I do’s were fine for his coworkers. He just never planned to partake again. Hell, the song said it all: Dum, dum, da-dum. He translated that into: marriage—dumb, dumb, da-dumb idea.

  He’d endured plenty of the pitying looks at each of the ceremonies, especially by the women in attendance. It was as if his friends were afraid he’d fall apart or something. Yes, his wife had died tragically. Actually, she’d been murdered by the stalker targeting Kaitlyn Colton Bradley. But his marriage had been over long before her unexpected passing.

  Though he didn’t love her anymore, Abby’s death still left a hole in his heart. Just because he didn’t want to be her husband any longer didn’t mean he wanted her gone from the earth. He was reasonably sure they wouldn’t have remained friends if they ended the marriage, but he didn’t wish her any ill will. She’d cheated on him. Repeatedly. But his answer to that was divorce, not death.

  He’d dated several women since Abby. Slept with more than a few. But he had no desire to risk putting his heart out there again. In his experience, love hurt. A big slashing sword through the chest cavity, leaving a gaping, exposed wound. Wasn’t worth it.

  He smiled at Martha, the elderly woman with a silver cap of hair who handed him a ticket for his tuxedo. She didn’t ask questions, but she had to wonder why he was dropping it off to be dry cleaned once a week. Maybe she thought he was a male escort or something. It’d explain the salacious winks she kept sending his way that he studiously ignored.

  He hoped to heck he didn’t need to wear the tux again for a very long time. He felt like an imposter each time he donned the penguin suit. He wasn’t tuxes and champagne. He was t-shirts and beer.

  Tucking the receipt into his pocket, he waved to Martha as he turned to leave the shop. A little bell chimed when he opened the door. Slipping on his sunglasses, he stepped into the fresh Autumn air. Though it was early, the humidity was already creeping up the charts. It’d be a scorcher today.

  He noticed a woman walking his way, her long, blond hair flowing around her shoulders like a golden cape. Her stride was both graceful and powerful. She looked like a conquering heroine. Her attention was focused on the cell in her hand, which she apparently used as a speaker phone. She was totally oblivious to the world around her. He appreciated her tone legs, her thighs sleek and muscular beneath a floral combination of a skirt and shorts. He thought they might be called skorts. Though she wasn’t overly tall—he’d estimate five-four or five-five—her legs looked a country-mile long.

  A noise caught his attention. The deep, pounding beat of a radio cranked full volume. The ground seemed to shake with the reverberations. His eyes rounded when the car jumped the curb and careened onto the sidewalk—directly towards him. Though he was in the flight path, he wasn’t worried about himself. All his focus was on the gorgeous blond with her back to the rapidly-approaching threat.

  “Look out,” he called, lurching forward. He wrapped his arms around her and jerked her out of harm’s way at the last second, flattening them both against the side of a building. She gasped as her phone flew from her hand and judging by the crunch, it was now flatter than a pancake beneath the car’s front tire. Another crunch. And rear tire.

  “What the hell are you doing? My iPhone!”

  He winced at the words screamed directly into his ear canal. Damn, he was afraid it might’ve shattered. Then the woman slammed a solid fist against his chest. The car brushed past them, too close for comfort and he crowded her against the brick wall, shielding her from about four thousand pounds of angry machine. He tried not to notice the feel of her supple breasts pressed against his chest. He really did. But it was impossible. It was only after the car bumped off the sidewalk and sped away, leaving a sickening stench of burnt rubber in its wake, that she realized the danger. All the fight left her in an instant and he stepped back, giving her room.

  “Oh, my God,” she breathed. “That car…the sidewalk…” She abruptly broke off, her long, elegant throat working as her hand covered her heart. She shoved a lock of flaxen hair from her face with a shaking hand. “It was coming right at me?”

  No
sense in lying. “Yes. It was.”

  “I had no idea. You saved my life. Thank you.”

  #

  Cassidy Swain’s heart was about to explode right out of her chest. One minute, she’d been talking to her mother, trying to describe the space she’d found that would be perfect for her dream dance academy. She’d said goodbye and disconnected and the next thing she knew, she’d been tackled by a muscular giant. Her beautiful rose gold iPhone flew from her hand and crashed to the sidewalk. The shell casing might’ve protected it from the fall, but not from the thick rubber tires that squashed it as flat as a fly beneath a swatter. It was only after she felt the breeze from the car that barely missed them that she realized what had happened. She’d almost been run over, and that muscular giant had saved her life.

  The man had forced her against the wall of a building and then plastered his body over hers, protecting her. He didn’t even know her, yet he didn’t hesitate to put his life on the line to save her. Thank you seemed too insignificant for what he’d done.

  Thank goodness she’d disconnected the call with her mom, a world-class worrier. She’d have been out of her mind wondering what happened. It wasn’t like Cassidy could call her back right away and explain, either.

  She stayed propped against the rough brick, trying to regain her bearings and her breath. She was afraid her legs were too shaky to hold her. Lifting her head, she took her first good look at the muscular giant and gasped. Goodness, he was stunning. Dark hair cut military short. Square jaw with chiseled features. Laser blue eyes that focused on her intently. Heavily muscled with not one ounce of fat. She was five-five and he was at least a foot taller. The man was absolutely magnificent. She’d felt his strength first-hand when he’d effortlessly lifted her off the ground. Though she’d been outraged at the time, she’d also felt protected. Weird.

  “Do you want to call the police?”

  It took a moment for her brain to process the question. She’d been so engrossed in cataloguing his impressive assets: tall, dark hair, beautiful eyes, full lips, smokin’ hot body. What was the question again? Oh, right, did she want to deal with the cops? She pushed off the wall, glad to discover her legs held. “No. I doubt there’s anything they could do, and I didn’t get a good look at the car.”

  “I did.”

  He said it with such authority, she had no doubt he’d memorized the make, model and license plate number as well. “Thanks, but I have an appointment I can’t miss.” She glanced at the jagged pieces of plastic littering the sidewalk and winced. “And I need to replace my phone.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  She jerked her gaze to his. “I wasn’t complaining. A crushed phone is better than crushed bones.”

  He smiled and she stumbled until her back met the brick again. Good Lord, she thought he was handsome before, but when he smiled he was almost too pretty to look at, like gazing at the sun. Straight white teeth and dimples. He had dimples!

  The smile fled as quickly as it appeared, replaced with apprehension. He took a step towards her. “Do you feel okay? Are you dizzy?”

  She shook her head, brushing away his concern. “No, I’m fine. I don’t know what else to say but thank you, though it seems inadequate.”

  “No thanks necessary.”

  With a tip of his head and one last smile, he was gone. She watched him stride away, the back view just as fine as the front. She fought the irrational urge to call out to him. She didn’t want him to leave.

  It wasn’t until he disappeared around a corner that she realized she didn’t even ask his name.

  Chapter 1

  Mason Rossi asked himself for the thousandth time how he let himself get roped into this assignment. He was a good person, he thought, kind to old ladies and animals. He donated both time and money to charities. He always helped a friend in need. But this was going a little too far, he grumped to himself.

  He was currently perched in one of the buttery-soft leather seats of the company luxury Gulf Stream, sitting across from newlyweds Sawyer and Harlow Oldham. They were winging their way across clear blue skies to the City of Angels. Harlow had been invited to compete in the latest installment of Dancing With the Celebrities, a reality show that paired famous people with professional dancers, for what purpose, Mason had no idea. He’d never seen the show.

  He didn’t have anything against dancing—scratch that. He hated it. Sure, dancers were athletes, but it just wasn’t his bailiwick. He’d rather take a hit from a four hundred-pound linebacker than step foot on a dance floor. Abby forced and coerced him to dance at a bar once and he was pretty sure his lumbering movements had caused more than one patron to bust a gut in hilarity. His jerky gyrations made Elaine from Seinfeld look like a prima donna.

  Sawyer Oldham asked him to accompany them as a precaution to protect Harlow for her duration on the show. He couldn’t say no to his coworker and friend, so he put aside his reservations. He’d have to suffer through watching hours of it, especially if Harlow made the cut each week. He’d probably have to down a couple of Red Bulls to keep awake.

  Their bosses were treating this assignment like any other case. Luke Colton and Logan Bradley had given them the full support of COBRA Securities and all available resources. He hoped they wouldn’t be needed. They didn’t anticipate any issues arising, but it was better to be prepared. Harlow would be competing on national television each week, putting her directly in the limelight. They didn’t want to take the chance of some wingnut who disagreed with her grandmother’s policies attempting anything.

  He glanced over at the couple, their heads bent close as they murmured softly to each other. They were lost in their own little world. He rolled his eyes. Great. Not only was he forced to watch something he had absolutely no interest in, for possibly weeks on end, he had to put up with the lovebirds who couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other. At least the hotel suite featured two rooms. He prayed the walls were soundproofed.

  Originally they planned on staying in Logan and Jade Bradley’s house in the Hollywood Hills. Their boss and his Academy Award-winning wife kept the home for when they needed to be in LA. But Dancing With the Celebrities personnel booked a room for Harlow close to the studio. BeBe Davis, the COBRA Securities office manager extraordinaire, finagled an upgrade to a two-bedroom suite for no extra cost. Rumors swirled around the office that she was part witch—a good one, of course.

  According to Harlow, the least amount of time they’d need to be in LA was two weeks. She would meet her partner tomorrow and then they would practice a routine for seven days. The live show was set to air a week from tomorrow. Harlow and the other celebrities would each attempt one dance and then the judges would critique their performance and award scores based on skill, technique and showmanship that would count for half of the total, with audience votes making up the other half.

  When Harlow announced that she’d accepted the invitation to compete, Tyler Redmond, their resident computer genius, declared that he could guarantee Harlow won the audience vote each week. Harlow made him promise on a computer hard drive—his version of a Bible—not to do anything but vote one time, as allowed by the show’s rules. She wanted to do this on her own. Tyler tried to argue, but finally gave her his word he wouldn’t use his proficient—and sometimes borderline illegal—hacking skills to interfere.

  Mason had no idea if Harlow could dance, but she was elegant and graceful, and she’d win the audience over with her charm and personality. He hoped she took home the trophy, even if it meant he’d have to endure several weeks of mind-numbing boredom for that to happen.

  He closed his eyes, and as they had so often the past two weeks, his thoughts drifted back to the beauty with flaxen hair and eyes a crystal blue. He remembered what it felt like to have her tight body pressed against his. Even though she was a foot shorter, she fit against him perfectly. She’d been tone and muscular but soft in the right places. He didn’t even know her name. Why hadn’t he asked? At the time, walking
away seemed like the best option. Now he wondered what the hell he’d been thinking. He should’ve at least gotten her number so he could check on her, make sure she was really okay after the idiot driver almost plowed them down.

  “Lady and gents, we’re approaching La La Land,” Wyatt Hollister announced over the intercom, pulling him from his thoughts. “Please stow your trays and move your seats to upright position. And Mr. Oldham, kindly leave your pretty bride alone so she can buckle up. I’ll have you on the ground in a jiffy. Weather in Los Angeles is a balmy seventy-six and sunny.” Wyatt was their pilot and fellow agent. After he dropped them off, he’d be headed back to Indiana. Lucky bastard.

  A soft hand squeezed his arm. “Thank you again for coming, Mason,” Harlow said, making him feel guilty for considering hiding out in the bathroom so he could accompany Wyatt back home. “I know you aren’t a fan of the show, so I appreciate it.”

  He smiled at her. “I’m happy to do it.” And he was. He wanted her to do well. America would fall in love with her as quickly as Sawyer had. Yep, they’d be here for weeks.

  #

  Cassidy Swain woke early and slid on her running shoes. She’d placed her black mesh racerback tank and Lycra shorts on the dresser before she went to bed, so she made quick work of removing the t-shirt she slept in and pulling them on. After stopping in the bathroom to use the facilities and secure her hair into a ponytail, she grabbed her new iPhone and inserted it into her arm band. She popped the wireless earbuds in place and removed the spare key she kept inside the band.

  The ocean air wrapped around her when she stepped outside, the sound of waves crashing against the surf soothing her soul. She locked the door and stowed the key in the zippered compartment on the band and then scrolled to her running playlist. “Let’s Get It Started” by the Black Eyed Peas clicked on and she bopped her head in time with the beat as she looped the band around her upper arm before securing the Velcro strips in place.