Sucker Bet (Vegas Vampires #4)(11)
Author: Erin McCarthy

"Fine, thanks, Reginald. How are you tonight?"

"Oh, can’t complain." The doorman was tall and broad and held the door cheerfully for Gwenna. Then he seemed to realize Nate was actually with her as opposed to just randomly walking behind her. "Who’s your friend?" he asked, voice dripping with suspicion.

"This is Detective Thomas. He’s here to ask me some questions." Gwenna stopped and put her hand on the doorman’s sleeve. "I was at the train station and I found some poor man’s body. He’d been killed, Reginald. It was horrific."

"What!" Reginald looked outraged. "That’s no good, Ms. Carrick. That’s just wrong."

"You’ve hit it exactly."

"Does Mr. Carrick know?"

"No, thank God. And let’s not tell him just yet, okay?"

"Sure, whatever you say."

"Thank you, dear."

Maybe it was being British, but sometimes Nate thought Gwenna sounded a hell of a lot like his grandmother. Yet she was young and beautiful, not a wrinkle or orthopedic shoe in sight. The contrast was a curiosity he wanted to explore. There was something totally enigmatic about her. The pieces to the puzzle seemed to jumble more, and none of them fit anywhere that he could find.

"There’s a restaurant over here that is only open for breakfast. It’s just a little diner thing. We can go in here if you like." She paused in the entrance to the grand lobby, skirting a glass end table. "Oh, wait, I have a better idea. We’ll go in the spa. It’s closed for the night and it has really lovely velvet couches."

He wanted to suggest they just go up to her place, but he knew that was wrong on a whole lot of levels. One, it would sound like a come-on, which he didn’t mean. Not really. Two, he had just lectured her on dangerous behavior. Encouraging her to take a strange guy up to her room—even if was him—would encourage her carelessness. He had to take the high road, even if sitting in a darkened spa sounded way less appealing than just hanging out in her place. She’d said she had a suite, and he was betting it had a killer view of the Strip. But the truth was, the whole fact that he’d followed her in his car to the casino in the first place showed his judgment wasn’t all that rock solid at the moment, so he should just let her call the shots. He wasn’t even sure what the hell he was doing there.

Maybe that wasn’t true. It had to do with Kyra, and the fact that he felt a little sick to his stomach, lonely, sad, and angry. He hadn’t wanted to go home, but neither did he want to hang out in the lobby of a busy, crowded casino. Going to Gwenna’s suite would probably be a mistake, though, given his shaky frame of mind, so the spa was really the best all-around idea.

And shit, if he lost it and blubbered, at least the lights would be dim.

"Sounds like a plan."

She smiled at him, and Nate felt something he sure in the hell shouldn’t. It was a kick of lust, right where it counted. Which scared the crap out of him. The mind was weak at the moment, yet the body still was totally functioning, which made this a bad thing. A stupid idea. This was him with his head up his ass if he went up that elevator with her.

He went.

Which meant he was a total idiot.

But he was on the edge, and he knew it. Everything he felt, everything he’d lost, the hurt, the fear, the bitterness, swirled around inside him and threatened to take him down. He was going to crack, soon, the pressure pulling inside his skull, the lack of sleep, that last phone call to his parents, the indignity of yet another mindless murder on tonight of all nights, pushing and tugging at him.

It was Gwenna Carrick or a bottle of Jack, and she was a hell of lot more attractive than him drunk.

"What floor?" he asked as they stepped into an elevator with a thirty-something couple who were leaning dangerously close to each other.

"Sixteen."

Gwenna glanced over at the pair dressed in cocktail party clothes. Nate watched her eyes widen a little at the fact that the couple were now making out vigorously. With lots of hand, tongue, and leg movement. Well, that was special. Shifting a little to block her view, aware that the guy’s hand had just gone up the woman’s skirt, Nate tried to think of something inane and conversational to say. "So…"

He had nothing. Especially since Gwenna had moved a little to see around him.

Instead of being appalled at the public fondling, she looked curious. Intrigued. She wet her lips. His own immediate and painful reaction to that was an instant boner. No hesitation, no slow inflate, just up, hard, and ready to go.

Which was more disgusting than the happy gropers behind him. He couldn’t understand how he could get an erection on the same night he’d been to a crime scene and watched his sister die. It was like confirmation of everything he’d ever been told by his grandmother—his animalistic male body was totally disconnected from his emotions.

On the other hand, maybe it was just a coping mechanism of some kind. Distract him from the rough stuff with a simple physical response. That sounded right-on with what a therapist would tell him.

But he was starting to think maybe he should have stuck to the Jack Daniels idea, because the last thing he or Gwenna Carrick needed was a one-night stand.

The elevator dinged right as the woman let out an encouraging moan in the small space, and her back slammed against the wall from a particularly aggressive lunge at her br**sts by her guy.

"This is our floor," Gwenna said.

Thank God.

They stepped off as Gwenna murmured, "Well, those two are in for a fun night."

"Doesn’t feel very fair, does it?" he said, glancing into the empty spa as she used a key card to open the locked door. "They’re going up without a care in the world to bang each other’s brains out, and here we are. Day from hell for both of us."

She glanced back at him, blue eyes filled with compassion. "I think it’s safe to say yours has been worse than mine."

Damn, she really was beautiful. Just pale and soft, all pink lips and shiny hair.

What would she do if he just reached over and kissed her? If he just grabbed on, held tight, and buried himself and all his thoughts inside her?

She’d probably kill him or file a rape report.

God, he was wrecked. He needed to go home. "Maybe I should just go, Gwenna. I’m f**king walking the edge here… I don’t think I’m very good company."

"Don’t go." Moving in closer to him, her hair brushed along his jaw, her petite hands touching his chest. "I want you to stay."

Then she tilted her head up to look at him, her fair skin stark in the muted glow from the overnight lights.

"Why?" he asked, standing stiffly, aware of how soft she felt, how delicate and feminine, and how much bigger he was than her. The scent of her was delicious—fruity and womanly, with a hint of coffee—and Nate wanted to run his fingers through her pale, silken hair and just let it go, let it all go.