Sucker Bet (Vegas Vampires #4)(2)
Author: Erin McCarthy

"No. Nasty. Impolite."

She rolled her eyes.

"See? That is what I’m talking about. This isn’t like you, Gwenna."

Everyone thought they knew her. They expected her to sit down and shut up, and for most of her life she’d done just that. But while she would always strive to be a kind and compassionate person, she no longer wanted to be an undead doormat.

"Maybe this is the new me."

"Well, it’s highly unattractive."

Any patience she’d been trying to hold on to disappeared. "Why the hell are you here? And how did you get into the casino anyway?"

"I’m vice president of the Vampire Nation. We had a series of cabinet meetings in your brother’s offices."

"You’re not supposed to come up to this floor." Immediately she regretted making such a petulant statement. She sounded like a six-year-old.

"Why not?" He leaned toward her, suave and sophisticated in his dark charcoal gray suit, his hair trim and tidy, little flecks of silver on either side of his temples. "Are you afraid of me, my dear? You know I only have your best interests in mind." He brushed her hair back off her cheek softly. "I love you."

She hated when he did this. Back when she was mortal, his words and charismatic touches had made her weak in the knees and willing to give up her virginity to him. Now it just grated on her nerves and made her wish she really did know Slash’s staking skills. There were times she’d love to just skewer Roberto like an Italian shish kebab.

"Right, then. You love me. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me before you leave?"

He dropped his hand and the false charm. "Have you talked to my daughter? Has Brittany had the baby yet?"

Just when she thought she had the upper hand on him, he was utterly brilliant at ripping the rug out from under her. It hurt like hell that he had a daughter, conceived with no forethought in a random moment of selfish pleasure in the back of a seventies strip club, when Gwenna herself would never be a mother again.

"I’m not at liberty to discuss Brittany or her baby with you."

Roberto frowned at her. "Just tell me if she’s alright."

"She’s fine."

"And her due date is next Friday?"

"Yes." That was the truth after all. No need to mention that she’d already given birth.

"Aren’t you going to invite me in?" he asked, gesturing toward her suite.

"No."

"Gwenna," he said, his voice exasperated.

"What?" She felt just as annoyed. What in hell did he want from her? He’d already had the best three hundred years of her life, and while she probably had a pound of flesh to give him, she wasn’t feeling generous. Or masochistic.

"We were happy together."

Oh, God, he was going to take it there.

She sighed and leaned on her doorframe. "Sometimes. Sometimes not. Now will you please just go? I’m not in the mood to play this game tonight."

"I’m not playing games. I love you."

Roberto touched her face again and she shivered, which he mistook for passion. He leaned closer, while Gwenna gathered her resolve. There had been a time when she would have just let him, simply because it was easier. Easiest still had been locking herself away in York and never having to deal with him. But she refused to allow him such total control over her anymore.

Roberto’s fangs let down as he bent his head. Gwenna clapped her hand over his mouth to prevent his teeth from sinking into the flesh of her neck. "We’re divorced, Roberto. And I don’t need a f**k, buddy."

She darted back into her suite and closed the door on his shocked and appalled face. Hands shaking a little, she listened to him shout her name in utter horror. She’d never used the f word before. Maybe she’d thought it to herself, but it had never crossed her lips. And she’d done it with such force and vehemence. It was seriously liberating, and she felt an adrenaline-like rush rip through her.

"I can’t believe you just said that… Gwenna Donatelli! Open this door." He was screaming and pounding so hard, the door shook.

"It’s Gwenna Carrick , damn it!" she yelled right back.

She never yelled. Ever. And the total silence from his side of the door confirmed that for the first time in almost a thou-sand years she had shocked Roberto into complete speechlessness.

Let the past stay where it belonged. She was ready for a new millennium.

Nate Thomas focused on the woman in front of him, trying not to think disparaging blond jokes as he ignored the crime-scene team scuttling around the body. Either he was running on too little sleep, or this woman was a dimwit, because they’d been talking for ten minutes and he’d yet to figure how the hell she’d managed to stumble across a murder victim behind a monorail ticket vending machine.

"So you came here from the casino, the Ava?" he asked carefully.

"Yes."

"Why? Where were you going?"

"Here." Her finger pointed down to the ground as she hugged her thin arms to herself.

"To Harrah’s?"

Her head shook slowly. "No, to here. This spot."

"Right here. In the station. This was your destination?" He didn’t think many women would consider hanging out at the train station on the Strip a good time for a Thursday night, but hell, what did he know about the opposite sex? Diddly-squat for the most part.

A quick sweep from head to toe showed this particular woman to be five foot one or two, a hundred and ten pounds, fair skinned, blue eyes, delicate facial features, and short fingernails, painted a vivid red. She was dressed in loose jeans, way looser than current fashion dictated, a form-fitting red T-shirt, and brown leather sandals. No earrings, no makeup except for that shiny lip stuff, and no watch. Large ornate gilded ring on her right hand, which was almost overpowering for her small fingers. Not a hooker, that he could say with certainty, but otherwise not easy to read.

Nervous eyes darted left and right and had trouble meeting his. "Yes. I was planning to meet someone here."

That was progress. "Who?"

"Um. A guy."

Or not. Nate really was tired. He’d been up for seventy-two hours, easily, and he had a pounding headache. He shouldn’t have even answered this call, but he had the most experience, and several other detectives were on vacation for spring break. But his brain was foggy, his patience thin, and his witness was either intentionally uncooperative or not the brightest bulb in the pack.

"What guy? A friend? A boyfriend?"

"Well, not exactly a friend. Definitely not a boyfriend. More like an acquaintance."