Wendy Etherington - What Happened in Vegas...

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

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To my editor, Wanda Ottewell. If you weren’t so

damn brilliant, I wouldn’t be losing you. Congrats

on the promotion, girl! No one deserves it more.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

JACINDA BARRETT dropped into the chair behind her desk with an uncharacteristic plop. “Wasn’t I just here?”

Her assistant, Andrew, handed her a cup of coffee. “We all were, honey. The auction has everybody hopping.” He leaned over her desk and whispered conspiratorially, “I think even the boss man stayed after five last night.”

Jacinda sipped coffee to hide her smile. If Sherman Pascowitz, chairman of Callibro’s Auction House since before Moses parted the seas, worked late, then the auction that was due to take place in less than a week must truly be extraordinary. And that fact added to her anxiety. She was only an assistant curator. This was the first time she’d been given the opportunity to take charge of an auction—and that was no doubt because her boss was currently on maternity leave. Still, Mr. Pascowitz could have chosen any one of the three other assistants.

“How many more items do we have to inventory?” she asked Andrew.

“About a hundred.”

“Then let’s hope this caffeine kicks in soon. Let me answer my e-mail, then we’ll get to it.”

Andrew spun and headed toward the door. “I’m there for you as always.”

Jacinda didn’t hide her smile this time. She faced her computer and began the process of sorting through her mail.

Andrew was an amazing asset to her office—and no doubt one of the main reasons she’d risen to the attention of the chairman after only working at the auction house for two years. Andrew was an NYU grad with an amazing eye for antiques. He was also a future fashion icon, at least as he told it.

Frankly, she thought his chartreuse suits and purple striped pants paired with sober dove-gray shirts were a bit over-the-top. But nobody—even the wildly conservative Mr. Pascowitz—seemed to care, since Andrew was completely brilliant.

Though she’d graduated at the top of her class, double majoring in history and business, she’d done so at University of Nevada, Las Vegas, which wasn’t exactly Harvard. And her family’s history involved lots of cocktail waitresses. Andrew came from big money, so he grew up with class, plus he was one of those IQ-off-the-scale people. She’d lucked out in a big way by having him assigned to her.

She was nearly through her inbox when the intercom beeped.

“Ms. Barrett, do you have a moment to meet with a potential client?” Andrew asked.

Andrew only addressed her formally when he had a VIP in the office, so Jacinda had to fight back a groan. She barely had half a cup of coffee in her. “Of course. Send him in.”

Seconds later, the door to her office opened and Andrew strode in, followed by another man. A gorgeous man wearing faded jeans and a white T-shirt. A man who had shoulder-brushing, black wavy hair, green eyes and a sculpted jaw.

A man she recognized.

Damn, damn, damn.

Half out of her chair, Jacinda swallowed her fears and held out her hand, praying she’d changed enough, hoping like crazy that enough time had passed and that a certain weekend in Vegas had been easily forgotten.

No such luck.

Their hands connected along with their gazes. Recognition sprang into his, followed by sexual awareness and amusement. “Ms. Barrett,” he said smoothly.

“Ms. Barrett, this is Gid—”

“Oh, she knows who I am,” Gideon Nash said, still staring into her eyes, still holding her hand.

Resisting the instinct to melt into a puddle as she desperately shoved aside memories of hot skin, heavy breathing and intense satisfaction, Jacinda pulled her hand back. She glanced at Andrew long enough to see his eyebrows lift, then he winked and left the room.

Jacinda, who’d run from a fight exactly once in her life, nearly ran after her assistant.

“Does he always dress like that?” Gideon asked, glancing back as the door clicked shut.

“Yes.”

“Is he color-blind?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Okay. Takes all kinds, I guess.” He faced her again. His gaze slid from her face down her body, leaving burn marks in its wake.

She fought against his allure, against memories she had no business recalling. It was as if the past six years faded away in a single moment. But, beneath the desire that somehow, inexplicably, hadn’t diminished, was an odd combination of fear and anger.

Hadn’t she fought, clawed and finessed her way out of her old life? Hadn’t she convinced herself wild, impulsive decisions led nowhere productive? Didn’t she now have the respectability she’d always longed for? Weren’t all the sacrifices worth her own office, an assistant and her first auction?

He settled into the chair in front of her desk. “I always thought that ‘it’s a small world’ expression was a bit trite, but here we are living it.”

She remained standing. Every advantage seemed vital at the moment. “I guess we are.”

His gaze flicked over her again. “You’re different.”

“You’re not.”

She remembered the same half smile on his face as he’d gazed up at her on the Vegas club stage where she’d danced for college tuition money, where she’d been anonymous and bold. Exotic and sensual. Half-dressed. Cheap. Hiding her ambition behind a stage name and thick layer of hair spray and lip gloss.

“What happened to Jacy Powers?” he asked, his voice deep and husky, just as she remembered it.

“Gone. She’s not coming back.”

“What a shame. I liked her.”

She closed her eyes briefly. Dear heaven. “I didn’t.” Opening her eyes, she forced herself to glare at him. “What do you want?”

“Is that any way to talk to a potential benefactor?”

Digging deep for the elegance she’d fought so hard to cultivate, she eased herself into her chair. “No, but since you’re not one, I feel perfectly comfortable being direct.”

“Oh, right. I forgot.” He smiled. “I’m just an adventurer chasing a pipe dream.”

Yet she’d still been tempted to follow him. She’d actually considered trading her future and her dreams for this man. “Aren’t you?”

“Most of the time. Aren’t you going to ask if I ever found the Diamond of Sierra?”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Talk about a pipe dream. “Did you?”

“Yes.”

Despite herself, she was impressed. During the brief time they’d spent together, he’d assured her he was well on his way to finding great treasure and achieving fame. Though their chemistry was fantastic, and he was charming and fun, she hadn’t believed a word he said. He’d shared too many characteristics with the endless parade of guys through Vegas’s casinos with dollar signs in their eyes and surefire plans to beat the house.