by A. C. Arthur
“My truck’s just over here,” he said, directing her toward the parking lot.
As she walked beside him he noticed how tall she was. At six feet two inches, the top of most female heads came midchest to Brock. Noelle, however, was at shoulder level, which was actually the perfect kissing height. The minute that thought crossed his mind, Brock knew he was doomed.
“It was ninety-three degrees when I left Vegas, with eighty-five percent humidity,” she was saying when Brock had to blink quickly and refocus once more.
Lifting a hand she pulled her hair together, then fanned the back of her neck. “What’s it here, about one hundred percent humidity? I thought that since you were close to the Chesapeake Bay, it would be much cooler.”
Brock took a deep breath, inhaling the sultry air of which she spoke. He needed to get a grip. She just stepped off the plane and was being nothing but cordial to him and here he was with the beginnings of sexual thoughts about a woman he’d known less than ten minutes.
“The evenings are cooler,” he added, quickly cringing inwardly because he felt his remark sounded idiotic. “Here we are.” Grateful, he unlocked the doors to his Ford F-350 truck and stood at the passenger side ready to help her up.
“Great ride,” she commented, and there was that smile again.
Brock felt it, as plainly as she felt the heat, that little tug in his gut as her mouth spread wide, her high cheekbones made even higher. And her eyes—he’d heard it said before that eyes sparkled, he’d even seen it written in the poetry he’d been forced to read in his literature class in college. Yet Brock had always found the euphemism sappy and unrealistic, until today. Until Noelle.
Damn, he’s uptight, Noelle thought the minute he slammed the door.
Pulling her seat belt over her chest and making it click, she shook her head. He was also fine as hell. Normally the rugged look wasn’t her preference, but then she’d never seen a man wear a pair of jeans the way Brock Remington did. He walked with a slow precision that put you in mind of hot summer days, winding porches with white wicker furniture and tall glasses of lemonade. With his tight ass and a slow eastern drawl she’d bet there were women lined up to date him.
Okay, calm down, that’s the absolute last thing she should be thinking.
Once inside he immediately started the truck and Noelle looked out the window, giving up on casual conversation. She’d broached the usual subject, the weather, and he’d just about brushed it off, opting for more clipped answers than actual participation. So if he wanted to be quiet, she could oblige. She had a lot of things going on in her life that could bear thinking over.
Not that she was a fan of giving her problems a lot of thought. Then again, the way she’d been dealing with things so far hadn’t proved successful, so why not go for the change now?
Surprise, surprise, what should be the first issue to come to mind? Luther Simmons. Now that was a chapter Noelle was glad she’d finally closed the book on. As hot and intense as their affair had been, its demise followed a similar suit. Luther had come into her life like a whirlwind. She’d met him one night at the casino, watched him lose a few grand at the blackjack table without breaking a sweat, then stopped by to speak to some of the regulars and ended up leaving the table with him. He’d waited for her to finish with her shift, at which time they’d shared her favorite cappuccino and chocolate chip cookies that evening at the restaurant.
She’d been instantly overwhelmed by his charm and his quick wit. Surely a man like this couldn’t be a free agent, Noelle distinctly remembered thinking. And yet the next evening when Luther showed up at the blackjack table once more she’d been elated to see him. The physical aspect of their relationship happened fast, too fast, and before she knew it she was spending all of her free time in Luther’s arms.
Finally, as were so many things in her life, her time with Luther became too good to be true. And before the end of the second month that they’d been together she found out he was married.
Leaving him alone had been a no-brainer at that point; unfortunately, Luther was the hard-headed type. For the next four weeks he’d bombarded her with phone calls and gifts and then the pop-ups at her job started. Afraid that Linc, or worse, Trent Donovan, the ex-Navy SEAL turned private investigator with a fuse as short as her baby finger, would find out, and on the advice of her friend, Karena, she’d obtained a restraining order. Somebody probably should have warned her that those pieces of paper were just about worthless when it came to a man like Luther.
He wasn’t your typical stalker in that he wasn’t slashing her tires or breaking into her house—which would have been almost suicidal, since she still lived with Jade and Linc. No, instead, Luther sent her text messages, e-mails and letters by mail, all asking her to give him another chance, to give their love another chance. Luther was definitely not a threat—he was what they called a lover, not a fighter. So in the twisted world of stalkers, Luther was very low on the totem pole and Noelle was not afraid of him.
What she was, however, was tired. Sick and tired, to be correct, of all the drama. It seemed as if her entire life had revolved around the word. Whether she was a magnet for it or somehow thrived from the chaos, it was always there.
She’d told Jade a little bit about Luther, only because her sister was a constant worrywart where she was concerned and when she overheard a heated conversation Noelle was having on the phone with Luther, she’d questioned her. Jade had wanted to run directly to Linc, but Noelle had stopped her. Thank God.
The last thing she wanted was to bring this type of mess into the Donovan family. They’d all been so nice and loving to her over these past two years that she owed them so much more than to have some crazy married man trying to win back the affection she’d so foolishly given him.
“Cheer up. My house is air-conditioned,” Brock said as he watched her still sitting in the seat staring straight ahead. He’d gotten out of the car and had been holding the door open for a few minutes now, waiting for her to get out.
When she still hadn’t moved he touched a hand to her arm. She jerked, then those hypnotic eyes found his. He swallowed and willed himself not to have any other reaction. “You all right?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice just a little agitated because for a moment she’d forgotten where she was and who she was with. “I’m fine.” Pulling her arm out of his reach, she jumped down from the cab.
And just like that she moved past him, walking along the pathway toward the side door of his house. Taking her luggage out of the car, Brock figured that whatever was on her mind was her business. The fact that she now looked almost haunted shouldn’t have bothered him. And yet, it did.
His house was gorgeous. As far as spacious rooms, hardwood floors and a terrific view of the water went. However, it was a little on the empty side where furniture was concerned.
The concept that less meant…well, less, continued on into the kitchen where alongside the stainless steel appliances and on top of the blue-flecked granite countertop was a coffeemaker, with the smallest coffeepot Noelle had ever seen. Next to the pot was a medium-sized canister of decaffeinated coffee in a pretty average brand. There was a dishwasher but it looked barely used, no fingerprints at or near the handle as you’d usually see with stainless steel. Beside the dish drainer to the right of the double sink she spied a mug, one bowl and one spoon inside it, probably left over from his breakfast. It was quite neat for the kitchen of a man, riding close to the definition of sterile. However, it fit right along with Brock’s seemingly uptight demeanor.
But it was when they walked out onto the screened porch with its brick-encased fireplace that Noelle felt something slightly different. The furniture was made of heavy oak with deep, inviting cushions in a soft caramel tone. Rugs, not Oriental but plush and functional, aligned the tiled floor. There were coffee tables and end tables, but they only held lamps and the remote control to the entertainment system that lined one entire wall, she assumed. The fireplace looked well u
sed, just as the chair closest to it. He sat there, she imagined, put his feet up on the table and read one of the books stuffed into the bookshelf in the living room.
“You spend a lot of time out here?” she asked, letting her hand touch the softness of the chair before sitting down.
“I do,” he admitted with a slightly questioning tone.
“You’re not a man of many words, are you?” Noelle asked, already assuming she’d get another one- to two-word response.
“I get by.”
She nodded and retained a knowing grin. This was going to be a long, dismal summer for her—getting by on his sparse answers and trying to make sense of them.
“So let’s talk about the casino,” she said because there was no use trying to discuss anything else. Brock Remington was not a talker. That was fine—she wasn’t here to talk or to get to know him. She was here to work and that’s all she planned to do, no matter how well he wore his jeans.
Chapter 3
It was all about business, Brock reminded himself as he pulled out the blueprints he’d retrieved from his office and laid them on the coffee table on the porch in front of her. She bent forward, letting her elbows rest on her knees as she surveyed them.
She wore jeans, fitted to perfection, he might add, and a T-shirt with “Las Vegas” in glittering, swirling letters across her breasts. If Brock had ever wanted to be something in his next life it would be those letters. Looking as if it was costing her dearly to sit still, she tapped her feet on the floor while she studied the papers.
For a moment Brock wondered if she even knew what she was looking at, then chastised himself for assuming that just because she was gorgeous and stacked like a Playboy magazine model that she didn’t have an ounce of sense. Linc had told him how she’d obtained her degree and still took managerial classes to keep sharp on the job. He’d be wise to remember that instead of the way that denim hugged her plump bottom.
“This is a different concept you’ve used,” she was saying.
Taking a seat in his favorite chair, Brock nodded. “Most casinos are designed to spread out, with gaming facilities going horizontally and hotel towers on top. My architect and I decided to break from the norm. Luckily Linc approved.”
She nodded. “I can see why he did.”
Taking that as a compliment, Brock cracked a small smile. “Do you like it?”
He wasn’t prepared for her to look up at him in response, but she did. She didn’t smile, but the twinkle in her eye said she was pleased. “I do. I think it’s more than functional—it’s unique. Having a dash of gaming, entertainment and suites on each floor is a great opportunity for us to capitalize on every guest.”
“Exactly. The idea is that no matter where the guest goes in the facility they’ll have options of where and how to spend their money.”
“And that’s the name of the game.”
She did smile then and he joined her, relaxing a bit. She was in his space, a place where he normally didn’t allow women he barely knew. But since he’d known they would need to work long grueling hours to get the Gramercy II up and running, he’d been the one to suggest to Linc that she simply stay at the house with him instead of getting a hotel room. Surprisingly, both Linc and Noelle had thought that a wise idea.
When they’d toured the house he’d been on edge, wondering what she thought about what she was seeing. He didn’t put a lot of time and energy into decorating, much to Josette’s dismay. He functioned on the bare necessities, which could come off as sparse to some. But since he never entertained, beyond having Josette and Kent over to light up the grill, it didn’t matter.
Speaking of which, he said, “I planned to put a couple of steaks on the grill for dinner. Is that okay with you?”
“Ah, yeah. That’s fine. I like steak.”
He nodded. “Good.”
“What I don’t like are all these windows.”
Brock looked around and frowned. “It’s a screened porch,” he said in defense.
“What? Oh, no, not here. The porch is nice. It’s comfortable and probably relaxing after a long day’s work.” She tapped a finger to the blueprint. “I’m talking about at the casino. You have to know that reminding the guest of the time distracts them from gambling. They’ll realize how long they’ve been at one table if they can see that when they came in it was daylight and now it’s dark.”
He felt like an idiot. Of course she was talking about the casino.
“Normally that’s true,” he said, clearing his throat. “But we’ve designed some special effects lighting that will change the moods. So the guest isn’t reminded of the time but entranced by the ambiance.”
She looked to be thinking that over, her hair brushing over her shoulders as she nodded. “That might work. Now what about here? What’s this?”
“The waterfall cove,” he answered. “People in this region are in love with the water so we decided to keep that as the recurring theme. Instead of something as ostentatious and played out as pyramids and Egyptian or Venetian themes, we thought we’d simply let nature take its course, per se.”
“Your architect is a genius. Who’s the interior designer? I’ll need to meet with them sometime this week to go over how this theme is being incorporated. I think something subtle, classic lines, use of basic materials, copper, bronze, stuff like that will go well with the natural flow. Oh, and I want to make sure we’re being as green as possible.”
“Green?”
“Yes, as in the environment. Wherever possible we need to conserve, recycle, save the Earth.”
Brock held up a hand as she looked like she would go into more explanation. “I get it. Kent Foster is the architect. He has an even more talented wife. Come to think of it, she’s better looking than Kent, too.” He laughed. “I’ve contracted her for the interior designing.”
“Keeping it all in the family, huh?”
Brock instantly sobered. “They’re not my family,” he snapped, and the air around them chilled.
It was like walking on eggshells, Noelle thought dismally. She’d replayed their conversation in her mind at least three times since he’d bolted up out of the chair and began readying the grill for their steak dinner, she supposed.
After the third time she figured to hell with it. If he was some crazy, emotional head case she could do without that drama. Hadn’t she had enough of that going on in her life already? No, she definitely was not in the mood. Therefore, her next thought was that she had no intention of dealing with Brock Remington on any level other than their work on the casino. In that area he seemed knowledgeable, confident, not nearly as agitated.
From the moment she’d introduced herself to him he’d acted as if she’d done something to offend him personally. Which, by the way, in her past could have been entirely true. But Noelle was no longer that immature girl. She’d grown in the years she’d known the Donovans, in the time she’d watched her sister find the happiness she deserved. So again, she had no idea what Brock’s problem was.
Hearing her cell phone chime, she stood, walked to where she’d placed her purse on the chair closest to the doorway that led into the house and retrieved it. After checking her caller ID first, she breathed a sigh of relief to see it was Jade.
“Hi,” Noelle said with a smile.
“Hi. You didn’t call when you landed so I worried.”
“You always worry.”
“That’s what big sisters do. So how’s it going? How was the plane ride? Is the Eastern Shore as beautiful in the summer as the brochure says? How’s Brock? Are you being nice to him?”
“Whoa, hold on with the interrogation.” Noelle chuckled then looked over her shoulder to see that Brock still had his back to her, still focusing on getting the grill started. But as a precaution Noelle moved into the foyer of the house, out of his earshot.
“The plane ride wasn’t as bad as I thought. Flying on a private jet is much more relaxing than going commercial. As for the scenery, from what I’ve see
n it’s nice. Lots of trees and grass and pretty flowers. It’s hot as hell here, though.”
“You’re used to the heat.”
“No, Vegas heat is dry. This is sticky, sultry, but I shall survive.”
“Ok, so how’s Brock? Linc said he just had his house built a couple of years ago. Is it nice?”
“It’s a beautiful home. And it’s right on the water. There’s a small village just a few miles away that he said we’d visit maybe tomorrow to get more of the Eastern Shore feel. But I had a tour of the house and it’s okay, if you like this sort of thing.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Even though she knew Jade couldn’t see her, Noelle shrugged. “I mean, it’s really nice, a little sparse for my tastes, but I get the impression he’s a man with minimal needs.”
“Where is he now?”
“Making dinner.”
“Oh, a man that cooks. That’s heavenly. Linc can barely warm a bottle for the girls, let alone cook a meal.”
“Calm down—it’s on the grill. That’s like second nature to them. If a man can’t handle a grill, he’s got real issues.”
Jade laughed. “Well, I just wanted to check up on you and make sure things were going smoothly.”
I wouldn’t exactly say smoothly, she thought, remembering the way Brock had just about raced away from her and their conversation. “I’m not on vacation, Jade. We’re going over the plans for the casino and I suspect we’ll get right to work tomorrow. It’s no big deal.”
“It’s just that you’ve never been this far away from me, so allow me a little worry for the time being.”
“I’m fine.” While Jade loved the progress Noelle had made—loved the fact that Noelle was no longer partying all night, sleeping most of the day, and basically tossing her life away—she still felt the need to protect her. Noelle respected that to a certain extent because for so long she had depended on her sister for everything—but now she didn’t, now she was standing on her own two feet. No matter what sticky situations they still seemed to walk her into.