Las Vegas: Scandals

And hurting Silver.

And possibly murdering Candace.

“Damn it! I don’t want you going to work tonight,” Conner said, slamming his fist on the steering wheel. “I’ll pay your salary—whatever you would have made.”

She stared at him for a moment, then smiled weakly. “I know you just want to help, but…I can’t do that.”

“I’m not trying to buy you, Vera.”

“I know that. But, no, thanks.”

It took them ten minutes to drive the block and a half to the Diamond Lounge parking lot. By the time they got out of the car and he escorted her to the stage door, she’d composed herself completely. He didn’t know how she could be so calm. Or so stubborn about accepting his help. A man had just tried to kill her!

Since Conner wasn’t an employee of the club, the guard wouldn’t let him in the side entrance.

“Be careful,” he admonished Vera, giving her a worried kiss. “I’ll be in the audience all night. If you need me just yell.”

She smiled and touched his cheek. “My hero.”

He knew it was just teasing, but her endearment made him feel warm all over. Or maybe it was just the hot Las Vegas night wind. People had given him a lot bigger compliments, accompanied by far more substantial rewards than a smile. So why did every little thing this woman do affect him so deeply?

He made his way around to the front, directly to the head of the line of schlubs waiting to get into the exclusive club. As an Old Las Vegas landmark, the Diamond Lounge was extremely popular with tourists and locals alike. But it didn’t surprise him that the bouncer immediately recognized him, either from the society pages, or because he’d been part of the stir last night.

“Evening, Mr. Rothchild. Welcome back,” the brawny man said, ushering him past the velvet rope.

After paying his exorbitant cover, he was immediately shown to the same table as last night, right in front of the stage. He suppressed a chuckle of amusement. Had Vera really told them he was her sugar daddy? He wouldn’t put it past her. She had a wicked sense of humor, that woman.

This time a whole bottle of champagne appeared on his table, served by a pretty petite brunette who displayed her nearly nude body invitingly for him as she poured.

He was so not interested.

A beautiful redhead came out onstage in a sexy French maid’s outfit and for the next fifteen minutes did a very energetic number with the center pole. The men perched on the bar stools arranged against the edge of the stage cheered and groaned in approval.

Conner drained a glass of champagne and was actually bored. He was only interested in seeing one certain, particular woman take off her clothes. And the thought of her doing it in front of all these clowns was making him want to swallow the whole damned bottle.

He checked his watch. Eight-thirteen.

Vera didn’t come on until eleven.

Hell. It was going to be a really, really long night.

He was out there.

Conner.

Why did the thought of that one man being in the audience put butterflies in Vera’s stomach and impossible feelings in her heart? Feelings of warmth and affection, and sadness and regret, all balled up in one giant knot?

She was falling in love with the man. That’s why.

Despair filled Vera as she prepared to go out onstage. For the first time ever, she didn’t want to do this. Wished she’d chosen a more conventional means of making a living. Hadn’t let a thousand men see her wearing nothing more than a G-string.

Stop it! she told herself.

There was nothing wrong with what she did. And it wasn’t as though she’d had a lot of choice.

As Jerry the stagehand pulled back the curtain for her, she thought about all the times she’d strutted out onstage and enjoyed the heck out of it. She’d loved the power of her female body over the punters. Loved the effect she’d had on them, reducing strong, intelligent men to blithering bundles of testosterone willing to give her everything they had for just one more peek. Loved that she was giving a thrill to those who had no one, and to those with someone waiting for them a reason to go home and give that woman a thrill of her own.

And then she thought of Conner, out there, waiting for her to come out and perform. How terrifying was that? Because suddenly she realized there was nothing she wanted more than to have him take her home and give her a thrill.

She was nothing if not realistic. She knew a man like him would never love her back. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy him while he still wanted her. And he did want her. Anyone with eyes could see that.

So why was she wasting time? The man was out there, waiting, needing to be seduced. Quickly. Before Agent Duncan found Darla and the Quetzal-crazed maniac, and Vera had to go back to her old life.

This life.

Without Conner.

The long chords of her organ music started. Her cue.

She fluffed the skirt of her faux wedding gown and gave her breasts an extra push up.

Okay. This was it.

The man didn’t stand a chance. When she was done with this performance, he’d be putty in her hands.

At least for a little while. Longer if she was lucky. Until life intervened and he came to his senses.

But in the meantime he’d be hers. All hers.

Her very own Prince Charming.

For one magical night.

Chapter 10

Conner sat back in his seat, exhaled a long, long, long breath and willed the goose bumps running up and down his arms to go away.

His body was painfully aroused, throbbing hard and craving satisfaction.

The woman was a witch, pure and simple. She’d bewitched him. Again. Totally. Thoroughly. Unabashedly. She’d danced her dance of the seven veils with that gossamer white wedding costume, and he’d been as lost as King Herod, ready to throw whatever she wished at her feet. Money. Fame. His heart on a platter.

Damn. How pathetically cliché was this? Rich man falling for a much younger stripper, willing to alienate his family, his friends, his entire social circle, to be with her.

How could he even consider it?

He’d be on the front page of every tabloid, laughed at behind his back. His career would suffer. His family would be embarrassed. Probably end up being disowned by his overly socially conscious father.

All because he suddenly couldn’t imagine his life without Vera Mancuso in it.

And yet, there it was.

He wanted her anyway.

He wanted her.

But he just couldn’t. Couldn’t do that to his family. Couldn’t toss aside everything he’d worked so hard to achieve.

There had to be another way.

A way to have her, all to himself, but not expose either of them to the severe downsides of a relationship like theirs.

Relationship.

He shuddered, and even more goose bumps broke out on his flesh. What was he thinking? There must be a—

“Mr. Rothchild?”

With a start, he came back to the present. Vera had left the stage ages ago, and another girl had replaced her. Ever since, he’d just been staring into space, his mind whirling in a chaos of growing panic.

He turned to see a middle-aged man with an obviously expensive but still oddly ill-fitting suit standing by his table. “Yes?”

The man extended his hand. “I’m Lou Majors, the manager, Mr. Rothchild. Welcome to the Diamond Lounge.”

Ah. If it wasn’t Lecherous Lou himself. Conner projected his voice over the bass-heavy stripper music blaring from the loudspeakers, “Thank you. Won’t you join me?” It never hurt to schmooze the enemy.

“Don’t mind if I do.” The manager snapped his fingers at a hostess, who hurried over with another bottle of champagne. This time it was Cristal. Nice.

Also pretty nervy, because Conner was the one who’d end up paying for it. Not that he cared. Beat the hell out of the cheap stuff he’d been drinking.

“Enjoying the floor show?” Lou asked politely, leaning in so he could be heard.

“Absolutely. Some parts more than others.” Conner sent him a knowing, male-bonding-type smile.

Lou smiled back amiably. “Couldn’t help but notice. You’re acquainted with Miss LaRue, I take it?”

LaRue? Oh, right. Vera’s stage name. “Yes. Met her here, actually. Yesterday.”

At the reminder of the disruption, a shadow of annoyance passed through the manager’s eyes but was quickly gone. “Her lawyer, I take it.”

Conner winked lasciviously and leaned in closer. “Who could resist?” May as well go for broke. If the scumbucket thought she had a wealthy protector, he’d never dare fire her. “But I’m no longer her lawyer. I passed her case to a colleague. ” He lowered his voice, confidential-like. “Conflict of interest, if you get my drift.”

He did. Lou couldn’t have looked more pleased if Conner’d just handed him a stack of hundred-dollar bills. Which no doubt was exactly what the old roué had in mind. “I see.” Several seconds went by as the manager regarded Conner. Finally he said, “Mr. Rothchild, I have a very special offer to make you.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Lou beckoned, rose and led him through the club to the sweeping red-carpeted staircase that led upstairs. On the way up, he refilled his champagne flute and handed it back. “I think you’ll be very interested in this unique opportunity.”

They ducked into the same VIP room as yesterday. Conner raised a brow questioningly. “What’s this all about?”

Lou cleared his throat. “Are you the kind of man who likes…private parties, Mr. Rothchild?”

His brows rose higher. “That depends on who’s invited.”

“Men such as yourself. Wealthy. Discriminating. Discreet.”

Suddenly, it hit him. Good Lord. If this was going where he thought it was going, the Parker case just got a huge break. “Go on.”

“The ladies are of the highest caliber, of course. Only the best, most beautiful women are in attendance. Women who will cater to your every whim.”

Lou looked at him expectantly, the man’s crude excitement coming through loud and clear. Whether it was excitement over the prospect of the power he wielded over helpless beautiful women, or the prospect of all the money Conner would have to spend to attend that shindig, he couldn’t guess. Suzie Parker had told him the attendees paid five thousand dollars each for an invitation to these exclusive gentlemen’s house parties.

But Conner was a very, very rich man. He could get any woman he wanted for no more than the cost of a drink. His reputation was well-known.

He shrugged, playing it cool. “There’s only one woman I’m interested in catering to me,” he said, feigning indifference to the whole thing. “And I’ve been told in no uncertain terms she doesn’t do private parties. Of any kind.”

Lou’s eyes narrowed, his lip curling. After a brief pause, he said, “What if I could change her mind?”

Whoops. Not the direction Conner’d meant to go. He scrambled for a reason to refuse, but Lou beat him to the draw.

“I’ll make you a deal. If she’ll do a party here in the VIP room with you, you’ll give my other invitation a try.” Because he was so sure after one visit, Conner’d be sucked into the decadence.

Hell, that’s what a man got for cultivating his reputation as a player and a heartbreaker all over town. Which, ironically enough, he’d done in order to avoid breaking hearts. He’d never been interested in hanging with one woman for more than a few days.

Before now.

Temptation loomed large. On both counts.

This was an unprecedented opportunity to help Suzie Parker by witnessing firsthand what she’d been forced to do. To gather hard evidence against the culprits running these parties and shut them down for good. So other innocent girls weren’t caught in the trap, lured by the money into selling themselves short.

Not to mention being able to have Vera all to himself in the VIP room, driving him crazy with her delectable body, dancing up close and personal.

Except she’d be madder than a coyote if Lou made her do it. She’d probably never speak to Conner again.

Which could, of course, solve that other problem. The one where he was about to throw away his whole life to have her. No sense doing that if she wasn’t even speaking to him.

He hesitated. Just long enough for Lou to pull out his cell phone and make a three-word call. “Send her up.”

Oh, crap.

Vera was sitting at the dressing-room mirror touching up her makeup and listening to Tawni prattle on about some man she’d just met. Some computer IT guy from New Orleans.

“Always wanted to visit the Big Easy,” Tawni said. “Do you think I should go?”

“Is he married?” Vera asked.

Tawni flung out a hand. “Who cares? We’re not talking about having the guy’s kid, here, just a little fling!”

“Which can lead to all sorts of heartache for everyone involved, especially if he’s married,” Vera pointed out. “I’d ask before I even considered it.”

Tawni sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Wouldn’t want to have my eyes scratched out by some dumb punter’s irate wife.”

“Very sensible.”

“What about your guy?”

“I have no guy.”

Tawni snorted. “Yeah? Then who was Mr. Tall, Rich and Handsome in the front row drooling into his champagne? For the second night in a row, I might add. The one whose ten-million-dollar mansion you happen to be staying at?”

Vera swiveled on her stool to face her friend. “We haven’t slept together.” Well. Not technically. It didn’t count when only one of the parties got off and there was no bed involved. Right?

Tawni’s eyes bugged out. “Are you insane? What are you waiting for?”

Vera sighed dreamily. “Nothing, anymore. I decided to seduce him tonight.”

“Good plan,” Tawni said in exasperation. “Jeez, girl, the man is worth megabucks. You’ve got to hurry up and soak him for all he’s worth!”

She shook her head, feeling a loopy smile spread on her face. “No. I couldn’t. It’s not like that. He likes me. Respects me.”

Tawni slapped her hands to the sides of her face. “Are you out of your mind? Respects you? Look at yourself in the mirror, Vera May Mancuso. Does that look like the sort of woman a man has any kind of honorable thoughts about? Mark my words, he’s after something you’ve got, but it ain’t R-E-S-P-E-C-T.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter. I’ve decided to give it to him anyway.”

Something in her voice must have given her away. Tawni gasped. “Oh, sweet heaven. You’re in love with the man! My God, girl, you just met him yesterday!”

“I know. Totally insane, isn’t it? I took one look at him, and it was like…like I’d been zapped by a magic wand or something. Bells rang. Stars exploded.” Or maybe that part was just the stage lights reflecting off the incredible ring she’d been wearing. The Tears of the Quetzal. She’d been blinded by its hypnotic brilliance. No wonder some lunatic had become obsessed by it.

Tawni was still staring at her incredulously.

Vera held up a hand. “I know. I’m certifiable. Believe me, I wasn’t going to touch him—” much “—but oh, God, Tawni, I want him. I want to feel what it’s like to be with him. Just once. Don’t worry, I’m not fool enough to think it’ll last.”

Sympathy filled Tawni’s gaze. “Oh, sweetie, you do have it bad. Come here, girl.” She stretched out her arms, and Vera went into them, grateful for a hug, grateful for a friend who knew exactly what she was going through. No matter how jaded they pretended to be, their hearts still broke like everyone else’s.

“You’re right, sweetie,” Tawni murmured. “Don’t you worry about the future. You go for it. Get all the loving you can out of him. Just hang on to that precious heart of yours. Don’t you give that to any man, you hear?”

Vera nodded. “I won’t.”

But it was too late, and they both knew it.

Still, she told herself, at least she’d have some amazing memories.

She pulled back from Tawni’s hug, filling with a jittery kind of excitement. She really was going to go for it.

Jerry poked his head in the door just then. “Miss LaRue?”

She looked up, surprised. She wasn’t on again for another two hours. “Yeah, Jerry?”

“Lecherous Lou wants to see you. Upstairs. Room seven.”

Now what? Lou knew she was absolutely adamant—Okay, wait. Maybe…“Do you know if there’s anyone with him?” she asked Jerry.

“That rich dude’s been panting after your bod.”

Excellent. “Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.” Jerry left. She met Tawni’s I-told-you-so gaze in the mirror. “Don’t say a word. Not a blessed word.”

“Did I say anything? Here, look, this is me not saying a single damn thing.” Tawni made a zipping motion over her lips as Vera gathered her skirts and headed out the door. “You go get ‘im, girl,” she called after her. “Make the boy wish he’d never been born with that thing between his legs.”

That was the whole idea. For now. But later, after they went home, she’d make him glad again. Oh, so very, very glad.

And her, too.

“There you are, my dear,” Lecherous Lou said when she swept into the VIP room.

Conner was standing next to him, looking too handsome for his own good. Damn, the man was fine, as Tawni would say. Broad shoulders; square jaw; long, hard, muscular legs; strong hands. And those eyes. She’d never known eyes so bone-quiveringly sexy as those hot-as-the-desert hazel ones gazing at her from under his perfectly shaped masculine brows. “Vera,” he said in greeting.

“Hello, Mr. Rothchild,” she said with demure formality. “Lou. What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“I think you know what Mr. Rothchild would like, Vera,” Lou said. Subtlety had never been his strong suit.

She allowed herself a coy smile at her would-be lover. “I’m pretty sure that would be illegal. Wouldn’t want to get any of us into trouble with the law, would we?”

Those perfect brows flicked. She’d caught him by surprise. He’d been expecting her to flatly refuse, as she had yesterday.

“Of course not!” Lou blustered. “Nothing illegal. Just a standard lap dance, that’s all. The VS1 Special.”

Which was code for total nudity.

She swallowed.

She’d avoided this for so long that the words almost stuck in her throat. “All right,” she said.

Omigod, what was she doing?

What they both wanted. That’s what.

Lou almost fell over. He’d been expecting a total refusal, too, and to have to threaten her with her job. “Get lost,” she told him. “Before I change my mind.”

He was out the soundproof door, and the gauzy curtains were drawn closed faster than she could blink.

“Surprised?” she asked Conner when they were alone.

The lingering shock and the slight parting of his lips belied his causal stance. “I could have sworn you don’t do lap dances.”

“This isn’t a lap dance.”

“Strange. I’m pretty sure that’s what you just agreed to.”

She smiled. And took a step toward him. “Then, it’ll be our little secret—” and another step “—what we really do.”

That’s when he started to get nervous. And in spite of himself, excited. She could see his body reacting to the fantasies in his mind. The ones she’d planted there. “Vera? What’s going on?”

“I hope you’re prepared, Mr. Rothchild,” she said, lowering her voice to a throaty purr, and with one finger pushed him backward onto the divan. “To be seduced.”

Chapter 11

Vera seduced him slowly, minute by minute, inch by inch, the way she’d done onstage earlier. If Conner had any notion of resisting her, the man could just forget it.

She was an expert at very few things, but this was one of them. She knew how to make a man want her.

Not that he needed any help in that department. He’d made no secret of his desire to sleep with her. He hadn’t pressed her on it, but only because she’d told him no. The man was a true gentleman, just as he’d said.

And now he would get his reward.

Well. Sort of. She knew he’d do his damnedest to follow club rules and not touch her. It would be pure torture on him. Heck, for both of them. But it would make the coming night all the sweeter, once they got back to his place.

She adjusted the music to a low, bluesy song she loved, and took her place in the middle of the small room. He sat sprawled on the divan, looking like a tiger who couldn’t quite believe a kitten had wandered into his cage.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said.

Making her fall for him all the more.

“I want to,” she assured him. “Just relax and enjoy the show.”

“I already did. You were incredible onstage. It felt like I was the only man in the room and you were dancing just for me.”

“You were.” She smiled and started to sway her hips to the music. “And I was.”

His eyes darkened, his smile going sexy. “What brought on the change of heart?”

“You,” she said simply. And let her body take over.

She knew all the moves, but suddenly they had a whole new meaning for her. She wanted to seduce this man, body and soul. Wanted to entice him. Enthrall him. Make him pant. Make him sweat. Make him never, ever forget this dance of temptation…

Or her.

Slowly, she peeled off her wedding gown. Taking her time. Moving her body to the music. Teasing him. Provoking him. Making the anticipation last and last. Until she was left wearing only the lace corset, stockings and shoes. The G-string of tiny seed pearls she’d selected for tonight hardly counted as attire.

His gaze devoured her, lingering on the special wax job her line of work demanded.

“Like what you see?”

“I’d like it a whole lot better closer up.”

She smiled. “Yeah?”

He looked relaxed, arms lying along the back cushions of the sofa, his legs spread wide. But she knew it was a hard-won facade. There was a film of sweat on his forehead that had nothing to do with the outside night heat, and the pulse on the side of his throat throbbed wildly. Not to mention that solid ridge in the front of his pants. “Oh, yeah.”

She moved closer. He swallowed.

He couldn’t touch, but there were no such restrictions on her. She put a knee to each side of his, kneeling on the red leather divan with her hands on his shoulders, and straddled his lower thighs. Keeping distance between them.

“This better?” she asked.

“Not nearly close enough,” he murmured darkly.

The fabric of his suit was smooth and luxurious, cool to the touch. But the man in it was sizzling. She ran her fingers down his shirtfront. “Mmm. You’re hot,” she observed.

“Burning up,” he agreed.

She peeled off his jacket and tossed it aside. Loosened his tie.

“Take it off,” he ordered huskily.

“Why, Mr. Rothchild…”

“The tie.”

She obliged, using the length of silk like a sex toy. Drawing it off slowly, teasing him with the end, glancing at his wrist debating whether to tie him up to the iron ring attached to the wall above his head.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned.

She smiled, setting it aside. “Later, then.”

“We’ll see about that.”

One by one, she teased his shirt buttons open. Touched his broad chest. Reveled in the feel of his skin under her fingers. In the soft scratch of the curls of masculine hair. He shifted under her, and she could feel the slight trembling of his thighs.

She wet her lips and brushed them over his. He groaned softly. “You’re killing me here, you know that.”

She put her hands to his chest, rubbed her thumbs over his tight nipples. “Hope you have nine lives.”

He sucked in a breath, lifted his knees and tipped her into his chest. “Not fair,” he gasped.

She tilted her head up, taking her time pulling her body away from his. “Who said anything about fair?”