Waking Up in Vegas: HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance Read online

  “I am not going anywhere with you. Except to find a lawyer to help us do whatever we need to do to erase the past twenty four hours.”

  She was certainly tenacious, he’d give her that. But if wine-making had taught him anything, it was patience. “Eat up. We have tickets for the show tonight.”

  “What show?”

  “Cirque du Soleil, of course.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I couldn’t keep my mouth shut last night, could I?”

  “Is it so bad that I know so much about you, your dreams and desires, and want to make them happen? All you have to do is sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  She clamped her mouth shut and focused on her food but her demeanour still screamed defiance. Max could hardly blame her. If it was him with no memory of their marriage, he’d probably also balk at the thought of being trapped. No matter how gilded the cage.

  Only for him this didn’t feel like being trapped. It felt like coming home. It felt inevitable.

  So he humoured her mood. He had no doubt she’d thaw when she had some time to absorb last night’s events or remember them, whichever came first.

  By the time their chocolate soufflé and coffees arrived, she’d warmed enough to question him about his studies and about the vineyard. These were easy questions, readily answered without too much thought, and when they were done and he’d paid the bill, she even let him take her hand as they walked out the hotel.

  It was rather nice to walk hand in hand with a man who made her heart beat as fast as any adrenaline rush. They circled the vast plaza in front of the Bellagio Hotel and paused to look at the hundreds of fountains dancing in the waning light. A light breeze lifted the spray off the fountains and drifted it across to where they stood. The fine mist brought welcome relief from the heavy evening heat.

  The sky overhead was the colour of blood, full of the drama and passion that only the desert could produce, a million specks of dust reflecting the sun’s dying light.

  For a mad moment she closed her eyes and wondered what it would be like, to let herself fall dizzyingly in love with someone, to give in to the passion.

  She’d believed she was in love with life. But a sneaky feeling had started to creep up on her today, perhaps even since last night, that she hadn’t really been alive until she’d met Max. She’d done crazy things before, tried every adrenaline rush she could find, and loved the thrill of being on the very edge of terror, yet somehow simply being with someone who warmed her from the inside out, was a whole different kind of rush.

  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been in lust before. This was … different.

  Max stood behind her, one arm wrapped loosely around her waist, and she couldn’t tear herself out of his embrace. She leaned against the railing, watching the water catch the setting sunlight in a million rainbows. She sighed. It felt too damned nice to be held.

  Clearly it had felt pretty nice yesterday too for her to have done the unthinkable and married Max. What had possessed her? If only she could remember…

  “What are you thinking?” he whispered in her ear.

  “I wish I could bottle and sell moments like these. Soon it’ll be dark, and the magic will be gone.” She shivered. Nothing ever lasted. Nothing stayed the same. Change was the only constant. Relocation, death, amnesia.

  The only way to cope when the things you loved were gone was to not let yourself feel. And with Max, she was very much in danger of letting herself feel.

  She shook herself. “Let’s get going. I don’t want to miss the show.”

  She wasn’t surprised to find their seats were the best in the house. Max did nothing by halves, it seemed. Since her first job in Vegas had been scalping tickets, she had a pretty good idea how much they’d set him back. Most people booked months in advance, and he’d made one phone call and got the very best.

  If there was one thing she’d learned about Max today, it was that his wealth hadn’t come as a recent windfall. He had that casual attitude towards money that marked him as born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth.

  Clearly there was a lot of money in wine. The kind of serious money that could easily buy a ticket to Europe and a couple of months’ worth of beer and pizza.

  But at what price to her soul? She couldn’t do that to him. Being shackled in marriage was bad enough. Being used was a step too far. She wouldn’t do that to anyone, and especially not to Max, who had an honourable streak a mile wide, even if he had some very old-fashioned ideas.

  After the show, they wandered through the Bellagio’s very own indoor botanical garden, and then sampled cocktails on a poolside deck, in one of those private cabanas that Phoenix had only ever seen in brochures. She stuck to rum-based cocktails. They were way safer than champagne.

  Max quizzed her on where she lived and laughed at her behind-the-scenes stories from rock concerts she’d attended. He wasn’t like the famous or rich people she’d met, and she’d met more than a few in the nomadic life she’d shared with her father. Rock stars, record producers, even an A-list actor or two when they’d lived in LA. And she’d been spectacularly unimpressed by them all.

  Max was different. He wore his wealth like a comfortable skin. There was no bling about him, just a certain expectation that he would always have the best. She’d love to see him in her drab little apartment in the far from fashionable suburbs. She couldn’t even imagine it.

  He carried himself with that air of assurance that he could have anything he wanted. And tonight he made it very clear he wanted her. The fact that for five whole minutes she allowed herself to contemplate giving him exactly that was a measure of how good he was at getting exactly what he wanted.

  They strolled down Fremont Street, wandering among the pushing crowds beneath the neon signs, bombarded by voices, the heavy thump of music and the scent of fast foods.

  Max held her hand and it felt like a life-line. Since her father’s death she’d felt adrift, rootless but somehow in Max’s company, laughing with him, talking with him, she felt anchored and safe.

  It was very tempting to give in. What could it hurt? Just one more night. She’d already done the worst anyone could possibly do on a first date by marrying the man. Surely one night couldn’t do any more damage?

  So when they magically found themselves outside the Mandarin Oriental all the reasons she’d kept him at bay through the day seemed very hard to remember.

  She pulled her hand out of Max’s and faced him. It was definitely easier to think without his touch accelerating her heartbeat and muddying her thinking.

  “I should get home,” she said. It was a half-hearted attempt. She forced herself to sound more certain. “And I need a good night’s sleep before I go to work tomorrow… because I know for a fact Khara didn’t volunteer to take that shift too.” The daytime tips weren’t as good as the night shift, and Khara was working to put herself through college.

  Max slid his hands down her arms, from shoulder to elbow, and she shivered in spite of the intense June heat.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

  No, she wasn’t sure. She was far more used to giving in to her impulses than denying them. But look at the mess she’d made already - she was married to a man she barely knew. Hell, she was married. That was enough.

  “I’m on the day shift tomorrow, so I get off at six. We could meet then if you want. I’ll need to collect my clothes from you, and we should talk about filing papers.”

  His eyes narrowed, but his voice stayed level. “As you wish.”

  He dropped his hands from her arms, and it was as though a chill breeze suddenly swept between them. He summoned one of the hovering cabs.

  “This has been a truly magical day,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “It doesn’t have to end, Phoenix.”

  “Of course it does. There’s no such thing as magic. Today has been like a dream, but every dream ends when we wake up.”

  “I’m not a dream. I’m real, and I’m not going anywhere.
”

  She shook her head. “You and I don’t live in the same world. We don’t even breathe the same air. You live up there,” she waved at the soaring heights of the luxury hotel towering above them, “and I live in a motel with very thin walls.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way. I want us to try to give this marriage a shot.”

  The thought of giving up her motel room for his hotel suite was very tempting. But she shook her head. “I serve drinks to the people in your world for a living, Max. I’m invisible to most of them. You actually saw me, and for that I’m very grateful. But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t belong in your world.”

  She stepped into the cab and shut the door firmly in his face. It took all her effort not to look back as the cab pulled out into the traffic.

  Chapter Three

  Phoenix couldn’t wait to get out of her work clothes and into a long hot bath. She’d been on her feet ten hours straight, she was hot, tired, and she couldn’t get a certain roguishly charming winemaker out of her thoughts. Even though he hadn’t returned her call.

  Her mouth watered at the delicious, spicy scent wafting down the motel corridor. It made a pleasant change from the heavy fried grease smell from the apartment next door. The smell would have to keep her going until she’d changed out of her work uniform and ordered take-out.

  She slipped her key into the latch and opened the door. The scent wafted straight out of her apartment. She blinked in surprise.

  Max stood at the stove she never used, stirring a pot of fragrant…she sniffed the air…Thai curry, with coconut. Yum, another favourite.

  “You cook?” Silly question considering what he was doing. Why hadn’t she asked the more obvious question of what are you doing here? Or better yet: how did you get in?

  He grinned, and as if reading her thoughts, “Your landlady let me in.”

  So much for that privacy she’d been promised when she signed the short-term lease.

  “Well at least you’ve saved me a trip.” She kicked off her shoes and threw her purse and a large manila envelope onto the white melamine coffee table. “Those are the divorce papers.”

  Turns out Khara’s brother was a divorce lawyer. She’d almost suspected a set-up but her friend had seemed truly contrite.

  I can’t believe you don’t remember she’d said. It was as if you were under some sort of spell. I was so sure this was it: Love with a capital L.

  That was the champagne, she’d replied.

  “You shouldn’t have.” Max’s tone was dry. “Have a bath and I’ll pour you some wine.”

  Too tired to argue, she headed for the bathroom which wasn’t much bigger than the closet in his fancy hotel suite. She ground to a halt in the bedroom doorway. A large designer label suitcase lay on the bed. It certainly wasn’t hers.

  “What the hell is this?” she demanded.

  “I told you, I really want us to give this marriage thing a shot and show you that we belong together. Since you don’t want to stay with me in my hotel, I checked out and came here.”

  This was verging on stalkerish. She was sure she should care more but all she could think of was…“There’s only one bed.”

  And he would never fit on the two-seater sofa.

  “There was only one bed in my hotel room but that didn’t seem to matter.”

  She wetted her lips. A sane and sensible young woman was not supposed to go weak at the knees at the thought of sharing a bed with her stalker. Nor was she supposed to have fantasies that involved him, her and that same bed.

  She pressed her eyes shut.

  “You might want to hurry with that bath. Dinner’s nearly ready.”

  She shucked off her clothes as she headed to the bathroom. Another surprise awaited her there. Steam clung to the walls and frosted the mirror. He’d already run her a bath. Complete with scented oil, rose petals and candles.

  All he had to do was throw in the champagne and she’d be screwed. Literally.

  She submerged herself in the rose-scented warmth and closed her eyes. Baths, dinner, wine. She could get used to this. If being married meant being waited on hand and foot, then perhaps it wasn’t so bad.

  Who was she kidding? Everyone she’d ever known who’d married had ended up divorced. Those that made it through, like her parents, and Max’s, just landed up with unbearable pain when their partner died. She’d been through that pain twice already and that was more than enough for one lifetime, thank you very much.

  When her skin grew wrinkled she finally clambered out the bath. If Max wanted to stick around, then he was about to experience Phoenix as he’d never experienced her before. She grinned as she pulled on her rattiest t-shirt (her father’s souvenir of a Megadeth concert a lifetime ago) and her least flattering pair of drawstring sweat pants.

  Max had a glass of crisp white wine ready and waiting for her. She took it straight to the couch in front of the television, flopped down, and began to channel surf, deliberately ignoring the table set out ready and waiting. Complete with the crystal vase of yellow roses she’d left in his hotel room.

  If she’d hoped to annoy him, it didn’t work. He brought his own glass of wine to the sofa and sat beside her. Since it wasn’t the largest sofa in the world, his arm slung across the back was as good as slung around her shoulders. She could lean right back into the solid comfort of him…

  She shifted as far away as she could.

  “If you prefer, we can have dinner on TV trays,” he suggested.

  She sighed. It was pointless trying to push him away. He invaded her space, her senses, no matter what she did, and an increasingly large part of her enjoyed it.

  “The table will be fine.” She gulped down a mouthful of wine. “Hey, this is good. Another one of yours?”

  His mouth quirked. “Not quite, but it’s from my homeland … my father’s homeland.”

  “Where is that?”

  He shook his head. “You won’t have heard of it. It’s a small independent nation called Westerwald.”

  She hadn’t heard of it. “You were born there?”

  The television’s flicker reflected in his deep azure eyes. “I was raised there.”

  Which would explain that trace of an accent. “Tell me about it.”

  He shifted beside her and not entirely coincidentally, his arm slipped around her shoulders. His touch was as good as she remembered.

  “The principality is formed around one of Europe’s larger rivers. The modern capital is the city of Neustadt, though of course like everything in Europe it’s not new at all, but a few centuries old. The city is where the government is based, and the major industries, mainly electronics, but the most beautiful part of the countryside is up river. It’s a magical place, rich in folklore and fairy tales, with mountains on either side of the winding river, ancient castles and small medieval towns.”

  She was fascinated. His voice had taken on a lyrical quality, and she could tell his love for his homeland ran deep. She could picture the place so clearly. She should definitely add this little country she’d never heard of to her Bucket List. “What language do they speak?”

  “Since it sits at the crossroads of Europe, the people speak everything. German, French, Dutch, Flemish, and their own dialect. They even speak English.”

  Good, then she would be able to get around on her own. Maybe even get a job and stay a while. “You said it’s a principality. Does that mean there’s a prince?”

  “Strictly speaking, it’s an arch duchy ruled by the Arch Duke. But all his sons and grandsons have the title of Prince.” He removed his arm from her shoulders and rose. “We should eat before the food gets cold.”

  She followed him to the table.

  The curry was delicious. “Are you this good at everything you do?”

  Oops. That wasn’t quite what she’d meant to ask, even if it’s what she’d been wondering.

  He grinned. “I did a cooking tour of Thailand a few summer’s ago. Aside from Thai food I ca
n just about scramble an egg.”

  She laughed. “Then I guess breakfast is my responsibility.”

  Another oops.

  His grin widened. “Was that an invitation to stay the night?”

  “Since I don’t seem to have any say in the matter, you can stay. But you have to promise to keep to your side of the bed.”

  “Now where’s the fun in that? I thought you were a whole lot more adventurous.”

  With her mind and body, yes. With her heart? Not so much.

  After dinner they curled up together on the sofa and watched mind-numbing TV, not usually Phoenix’s entertainment of choice, but it felt surprisingly comforting to just do nothing with Max. Though if he was even half as aware of her as she was of him, then neither of them had a hope in hell of absorbing what they were watching.

  Her eyelids began to droop. Two late nights in a row had begun to take their toll.

  “Don’t fight it,” Max said gently. He wrapped her arm around his neck and lifted her off the sofa.

  “We’re making a bit of a habit of this,” she mumbled, as he carried her across the threshold into her narrow bedroom with its beige walls, navy striped curtains, and the same nondescript framed prints that hung in a thousand motel rooms across the country. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing like the bed we shared the first night. Not that either of us got much sleep, I think.”

  “You remember?”

  She shook her head wearily against his shoulder. She’d given up trying to remember. It only hurt her head.

  He laid her gently on the bed and folded the navy bedspread over her. Then he brushed a kiss across her cheek. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.

  For a long while she drifted on the edge of sleep, aware of his movements in the other room as he cleared up the remnants of dinner. But she couldn’t sleep.