Las Vegas: Seduction: The Heiress's 2-Week Affair

“Either the ring, or a damn good paste imitation,” Natalie answered. But they all knew Candace. Her late twin couldn’t abide fakes. She took great satisfaction in flaunting the real thing. The stone had certainly looked real enough on the casino tapes she’d viewed. “When they interviewed her on camera last night, just before she walked into The Janus, Candace was waving her hand around for all the world to see.”

“Then anyone could have broken into her condo and killed her for it,” Jenna speculated.

“Yes,” Natalie agreed. “Except for one thing.” The two women and her father looked at her, waiting. “Candace knew her killer.”

“What makes you say that?” Jenna demanded, sounding almost hostile about the suggestion.

“There was no sign of forced entry,” Natalie told them. “The room where they found her was a mess, as if she was trying to fight off whoever she’d chosen to bring home with her. But it was obvious that she was the one who had opened the door in the first place.”

Harold sighed and sat down in the winged armchair that his wife had vacated. He closed his eyes wearily. “I always knew this was going to happen.”

The nature of Natalie’s job forced her to look beyond the obvious and delve deeper. She gave her father’s words a different interpretation. He wasn’t talking about her twin’s lifestyle.

“You’re talking about the curse, aren’t you?” Harold seemed almost beaten down, and he made no answer. He merely lifted his shoulders in a half shrug before letting them fall again. The ring was part of family lore, but to her recollection, her father had never elaborated on it. “Just why is this ring supposed to be cursed?”

“There’s no such thing as curses,” Jenna snapped. She ran her hands up and down her arms even though the day had been unseasonably warm. “I wish you’d all just stop talking about it.”

“It doesn’t matter why,” Harold told Natalie, his voice weary but firm. As far as he was concerned, the subject was closed. “It just is, Natalie. Let’s leave it at that.”

But she had no intention of tiptoeing around the subject because it seemed to upset her father and, for different reasons, Jenna. She didn’t like unanswered questions.

Natalie tried to make him understand. “Sure it matters. Say, if it was originally stolen from someone, then we’re looking at a revenge motive. If this is nothing more than some kind of ‘curse’ handed down through the ages, then we’re looking for some kind of wraith or ghoul, and we’re going to need to get ourselves a ghost buster.”

It took Harold a moment to realize that she wasn’t serious about the second half of her reasoning. He scowled at her. “This isn’t funny, Natalie.”

“No,” she agreed. “Death never is.” She studied his face. “Now, is there something more you want to tell us about this ring, Dad?”

There was no hesitation on his part as he barked, “No.”

There was something else going on here, she could swear to it.

“Then why do you look like you’ve got something to hide?” she asked, trying her best to keep her voice neutral.

“Stop badgering my husband,” Rebecca Lynn ordered as she walked back into the room. Ricky, mercifully, was nowhere in sight.

Natalie really hated the woman’s high-handed manner. “He was our father before he was your husband, Rebecca Lynn,” she informed her stepmother. Glancing at her father, she felt sorry for him. He suddenly looked a great deal older than his sixty years. “But, for now, I’ll back off.”

Harold attempted to flash a smile of thanks toward her, but the corners of his mouth hardly rose.

“We still haven’t talked about Candace’s funeral arrangements,” he pointed out heavily, uttering each word as if it weighed a ton.

“Oh God,” Rebecca Lynn moaned, rolling her brown eyes heavenward. “Just put her into the ground and be done with it.”

Natalie instantly took offense for her late twin. Granted Candace had a myriad of faults, but she was dead and deserved respect. She threw up her hands in exasperation. “I’ll take care of it, Dad,” she told him.

Harold looked as if a huge boulder had been lifted off his shoulders. “You really will?”

“Yes, I really will.” What choice did she have? She could see this “family meeting” degenerating into name-calling and buck passing. She didn’t need to be part of that. “As soon as her body is released, I’ll have Candace cremated and place her urn in the family crypt—beside Grandpa.”

Silver suddenly spoke up. “What about a service?” she wanted to know.

That was easy enough to address. “We’ll have a memorial service,” Natalie told her. “Just for the family.”

But even that drew an objection from Rebecca Lynn. Hostility entered her voice. “You’re not planning to include that woman, are you?”

They all knew that “that woman” was Rebecca Lynn’s way of referring to Anna Worth Rothchild, the ex-wife Harold had unceremoniously dumped in order to wed his current trophy wife.

“I most certainly am,” Natalie informed her. She would have invited her former stepmother even if it hadn’t irritated her present one. That it did was just icing on the cake. “Anna was like a mother to Candace.”

Fuming, Rebecca Lynn spun around on her heel and looked at her husband, expecting him to back up her position. “Harold!”

She was unpleasantly surprised. “She’s right,” Harold replied. He looked like a mongoose that had accidentally fallen into a snake pit.

Rebecca Lynn refused to accept defeat. “But she wasn’t her mother, was she?”

Her stepmother’s high-handed tone finally managed to arouse Silver’s ire. “If my mother wants to come, she can come,” the child-star-turned-pop-diva spat out.

Rebecca Lynn glared at her stepdaughter, barely refraining from a bevy of ripe words. She knew she was outnumbered, but refused to admit she was outmaneuvered. Turning to Harold, she delivered her ultimatum with a dramatic toss of her head. Flaming red hair undulated all around her.

“If that woman comes to the service, Harold, then I won’t.”

“And miss a chance to be photographed by the paparazzi?” Natalie asked, feigned surprise. The look on her face told her stepmother that she was as transparent as a glass of water. “I sincerely doubt that, but the choice,” she said pleasantly, “is yours.”

Furious, Rebecca Lynn stormed out of the room, cursing them all to several levels of hell, each hotter than the last.

Harold merely shook his head. Though he was still under her thumb, his new wife had lost much of her charm for him. “You really shouldn’t antagonize her like that, Natalie.”

In response, Natalie smiled at him. “Rebecca Lynn makes it much too easy, and I have such few simple pleasures.”

Harold didn’t bother commenting. Instead, he asked, “How’s the investigation going?”

As she started to answer, Natalie noticed Jenna edging closer, as if afraid she might miss something. That was a surprise, she thought. She would have expected that from Silver, who, thanks to Candace’s deceptive machinations, thought of Candace as her friend.

With five years between them, Jenna and Candace had never known a close moment—again, thanks mainly to Candace. But then, Natalie reflected, maybe she’d misjudged her younger sister.

It wouldn’t have been the first time her judgment had failed her, Natalie reminded herself.

Her father was looking at her expectantly. Did he think she was some kind of a magician? “It’s only been a day, Dad. I’m still following leads.”

An impatient sound escaped his lips. “And you’ll tell me when you find out who?”

When, not if. He either had a lot of faith in her or was playing the guilt card. Most likely the latter, Natalie decided.

A spasmodic smile came and went from her lips. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Do you have any, you know, suspects?” Jenna asked.

The immediate male population. Out loud, Natalie said, “Someone the camera caught Candace smiling at.”

Jenna’s eyes widened. Natalie thought she heard her stop breathing. “Who?”

“Unfortunately, the person was off camera, so we don’t know. But I’m doing my best to try to piece it all together.”

“If anyone can do it, my money’s on you, Nat,” Jenna said.

Natalie said nothing. She only wished she had half the confidence that Jenna had.

Natalie remained at the mansion another hour or so after her sister’s departure. Her father detained her with his incessant questions about the murder investigation, while stressing how crucial it was to locate the mystical ring that was all but a third party in all this. Finally disentangling herself from him, she went home to see if she could make any more headway with the copies of the tapes that Matt had given her.

It took a little doing before she could pull them up on her own computer. The computer, she had long ago decided, was not her friend.

But she did what she could and made progress using baby steps.

Engrossed, Natalie didn’t hear the doorbell at first. And then, when the repeated noise finally penetrated her consciousness, she decided to ignore it.

But whoever was ringing the doorbell patently refused to be ignored. It went on pealing, setting her teeth on edge.

With a sigh, Natalie rose from her desk and crossed to the front door.

She paused only long enough to get her service revolver.

In her experience, it was never a given who was on the other side of the door, and she had to admit that her father had looked spooked enough about this curse business to at least make her take a small measure of precaution. And even if she didn’t believe in curses, as a police detective she knew that she was a living, breathing target for some wacko looking to even some imaginary score.

“Who is it?” she called out as she approached the door.

“Delivery boy.”

Was that—?

No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be Matt. He didn’t know where she lived. She’d sold the condo where they’d been together, bought this place and took strict care to remain unlisted and off everyone’s radar. This was just her imagination, working overtime.

Reaching the door, she said, “I didn’t order anything.”

“Look, lady, all I know is that your name’s on this bill.”

Definitely Matt. She’d know his voice anywhere. But what was he doing here?

Still holding her weapon, its safety off, Natalie opened the door.

The gun was the first thing Matt noticed. “You can put that away,” he told her. Opening his jacket with one hand, he held the side out for her inspection. “I’m unarmed.”

After a long pause, she finally put up her weapon. But she still held the door ajar and made no move to get out of the way. “What are you doing here, Matt?” she wanted to know.

“Bringing you the dinner you abandoned earlier.” He held up the pristine white bag. The Janus’s logo was on the side. “Knowing you, I figured you didn’t take the time to stop and eat.”

Her eyes narrowed. I’m not the person I used to be. The one whose heart you stomped on. “You don’t know me,” she informed him tersely.

He looked as if he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Did you stop to eat?”

She realized she could lie and be done with it, sending him on his way. Why she didn’t was beyond her. “No, I didn’t.”

His mouth curved. “I rest my case. And I’d like to rest this—” he indicated the large bag he was holding “—because it’s getting hot.”

She frowned, then stepped back, opening the door wider. “I can’t help feeling like I’ve just opened my door to the Trojan horse.”

Walking in, Matt grinned at her. Her stomach tightened instantly. “Don’t worry, there’re no tiny men wearing armor in the bag.”

It wasn’t tiny men in armor she was worried about. It was the very large, very real one who was walking into her house that concerned her.

Chapter 10

Natalie pointed Matt toward her kitchen.

He crossed to it quickly, setting the bag down on the table. Then he went to the sink and ran cold water over his hands to take the sting out.

“So how did the family meeting go?” he asked in a conversational tone. When she didn’t answer, he looked at her over his shoulder. Natalie returned her weapon to its holster, putting the safety back on. “I figured you might want to vent a little.”

She handed Matt a dish towel to dry his hands. “Why are you being so nice?” she inquired.

Taking the towel, he dried his hands, then left the towel on the counter. “Why do you always have to question everything? Just accept what’s happening.”

Natalie folded the towel and put it back in its place. “I did that once and had my heart ripped out of my chest. I’m a little more cautious these days.”

His eyes were drawn to her hands. “You’re not married.” It was a rhetorical statement. He already knew that.

Her first instinct was to hide her hands behind her back, but she didn’t. Instead, she took out a handful of napkins from a supply she kept in the pantry.

“No.”

“Were you?” he pressed, watching her move about the kitchen. “Ever?”

She shot him an impatient look. “Did you bring dinner or a questionnaire?” And then she sighed as she took out two tall glasses from the cupboard. “No,” she answered stiffly. “I’ve never been married. I decided that the male species was just too unstable to build a relationship with or to trust.”

He had the good grace to wince. “Ouch.”

Moving Matt aside, she opened the bag he had brought and saw that there were two large covered containers inside it instead of just one. Natalie raised her eyes to his face.

“There’re two portions here.”

His expression was the soul of innocence. “I didn’t eat, either.”

Removing first one container, then the other, she placed them both on the table.

“And they’re still warm.”

He nodded interceptively. “They do some pretty magical things in that Rainbow kitchen.”

“The waitress was bringing these out eight hours ago—when I left,” she reminded him. Natalie opened the containers one at a time, and a small cloud of steam emerged from each.

He spread his hands wide, adding a little shrug at the end. “Like I said, magical.”

Yeah, right. “You ordered fresh portions, didn’t you?”

Why was he going through all this trouble for someone he’d walked out on? Someone he made no effort to contact in the last eight years? Why was he messing with her like this?

Matt held his hands up in front of her, his wrists touching as if he expected to be led off in handcuffs. “I always loved that steel-trap mind of yours. Take me away, Officer Rothchild.”

She had a very real urge to double up her fist and punch him in the arm.

“That’s Detective Rothchild,” she corrected, then shook her head and blew out a loud sigh, hoping that it would sufficiently distract him from seeing the involuntary smile on her lips. But Natalie could see by his grin that he hadn’t missed it. “Idiot,” she pronounced.

There was no arguing with that. “In more ways than one,” he assured her.

This time, her sigh was weary. “Why are you talking in riddles?”

The serious lapse was gone. “I thought women liked men of mystery.”

Oh no, he wasn’t going to suck her into an exchange of banter. She wanted some kind of answers.

“We were way past the ‘liking’ stage once, Schaffer.” Taking out two forks and steak knives, she deposited them on the table, then took down two dinner plates to join them. “You were the one who left, not me.”

He watched her move around, taking in every fluid motion. A deep-seated longing took root. “We can still be friends.”

“No,” she replied emphatically, “we can’t. I’m not one of those broad-minded women who thinks that turning her exes into ‘pals’ is the adult thing to do.”

He looked confused. “Then why did you ask me to help you?”

Natalie deposited the contents of one container onto a plate, then followed suit with the other. She flung the empty containers into the lined garbage pail beneath her sink before answering.

“Because, whether I liked it or not, I needed your help. You got me the tapes—thank you,” she tagged on as an afterthought, the two words all but burning her tongue as she uttered them.

He knew that cost her, and he couldn’t help being amused. “You’re welcome.”

“And having you there got me an ‘audience’ with your boss.” She needed to rule her father’s chief rival out. “I can bluff my way through this, but the fact of the matter is, I’m a pariah as far as investigating my sister’s murder goes.”

“You are too close,” he pointed out.

So much for his taking her side in this, she thought bitterly.

“No one else is close enough,” she countered. “It’s a high-profile case, but let’s face it, we’re not exactly without dead bodies in this town. This isn’t Parker and Davidson’s only homicide.”

“And it is yours?” Matt questioned. He was well aware of the fact that the LVPD’s homicide division was understaffed.

There were open cases on her desk but none that mattered to her as much as this one. Besides, she couldn’t work on them off the job.

“I’m on bereavement leave,” she reminded him, “so, yes, right now it is.” Moving from the table, she crossed to the refrigerator to get a diet cola for herself. “You want a soda? Or something a little stronger?” she added, recalling that he didn’t much care for diet drinks and that was all she stocked in the way of soda.

He opted for the latter. “A little stronger.”

She waited for him to follow up his choice with something more specific. “What?”

You.

Matt wondered how she’d respond if he’d said that out loud. Probably tell him to go to hell. But he was there already, because seeing Natalie and not having her was much harder on him than he’d ever thought it would be. “Vodka, if you have it. Or beer,” he amended. From where he sat, he could see into the refrigerator. There were a couple of bottles in the door. “Anything, really. I’m easy.”

She turned around, holding two bottles of beer in her hands.

“No,” she replied. “You’re not.” Taking a bottle opener out of the drawer, she flipped the cap off one bottle and then the other. Natalie handed him the first one and rather than sit down, she remained standing over him. “What are you doing here, Matt?”

He avoided her eyes. He’d gotten good at lying, but he never could to her. Which was why he’d left a note in his wake rather than stay to talk to her.

“I told you, I wanted to bring you dinner.”

Liar. “Is that the only reason you’re here?” she pressed. “To make sure I eat?”

This time he did raise his eyes to hers. “That, and because I still like looking at you, Natalie. You are still one of the most beautiful creatures God ever created.”

Wow…he sure did know how to press her buttons. How to torture her.

“I can’t do this,” she told him suddenly. “I can’t do this.”

He didn’t follow her. “Do what?”

“I can’t sit here opposite you and pretend I don’t feel anything, that I don’t still—”

She didn’t get to finish.

Pushing his chair back, Matt was on his feet, sinking his hands into her hair, tilting her face up to his. Immobilizing her lips by feverishly pressing his own against them.

The explosion that occurred within her came just as suddenly. The bottle slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor. It didn’t break, but sent up an amber wave that managed to christen both her bare legs and the legs of his slacks.

The splash barely registered on the perimeter of her mind. She was otherwise occupied.

The heat that flared between them swiftly mushroomed in depth and intensity.

Eight years.

Eight years she’d gone without making love. Without feeling like a woman. Everything within her rallied forward to rekindle that old, familiar feeling of sheer ecstasy.

Logically, Natalie knew she should be pushing him away. Knew she should be calling him names and accusing him of all sorts of things, of using her vulnerability to satisfy some inner selfish need of his to see that she still wanted him. Right now, he had all the proof he could want—and didn’t that go a long way toward feeding his ego?

But even so, she couldn’t make herself stop, couldn’t pull back. Couldn’t even get her hands to stop their frantic movements as she yanked away at his clothing, stripping him of his shirt, his slacks, his underwear, anything and everything that could get in the way of what she so desperately needed.

And she was thrilled to feel his hands on her, doing the exact same thing. Making her clothes vanish and her body sizzle.

Within seconds, Matt had her on the kitchen floor, his hands and mouth making love to every inch of her with the enthusiasm and zeal of a dying man in the desert who had stumbled onto an oasis filled with water and fig trees.

His mouth was everywhere, setting her skin on fire.

Natalie moaned and twisted beneath his lips, eagerly scrambling toward the light, toward that supreme burst of incredible sensation that she hadn’t experienced for so long.

For forever.

It was weak of her and she knew it, but she didn’t care. All she wanted in this moment in time was to stop feeling like a member of the living dead. And only Matt could do that for her. Could make her feel, however briefly, alive again. He was the only man she had ever wanted. The only man she had ever loved.

How had he managed? Noble intentions or not, how had he been able to stay away from her for so long when she was life itself to him? Not to mention that kissing Natalie’s lips was the single biggest turn-on he’d ever experienced.

The more he kissed her, the more he wanted her.

He’d known it would come to this. The second he had agreed to return to Vegas to oversee the overhauling of the security system at The Janus, he’d known that somehow, some way, he would end up here, making passionate love with Natalie.

And feeling whole again.

He hadn’t fully realized the extent of just how diminished he’d felt all these years without her until just now.

He didn’t want this to ever end.

He didn’t want to live another day without having her in it. Nothing had changed, but he so fervently wanted it to.

Unable to hold back, pivoting on his elbows, Matt slid into her. He caught his breath, feeling her quicken around him as he entered.

Matt groaned, struggling to hold back for just a few more moments. He was determined to bring Natalie up with him, determined to have her share the moment. Because it had never been about self-satisfaction, not even the first time. It had always been about her, about them, about the magic they created together.

Feeling Natalie begin to frantically move beneath him, Matt locked into a rhythm, going faster and faster as the ever evolving sensation urged him on to race to the top of the mountain, then seized him in its grip.

He heard Natalie cry out his name, felt her arching beneath him to absorb every nuance of the climax he’d brought to her.

His heart surged.

With every fiber in his being, Matt struggled to prolong the feeling, to postpone, as long as humanly possible, the dizzying descent back to earth. And to reality.

But even as the euphoria began to softly loosen its hold on him and slip away, Matt held her tightly to him. Just glorying in the feel of her beside him.

“You tip every delivery boy this way?” he murmured the question against her temple, his lips brushing against her hair. “Because if you do, you might be onto something.”

Her heart still hammering the last stanza of the “Anvil Chorus,” Natalie turned her body into his. His playful mood was infectious. “I was a born-again virgin until just now.”

One eyebrow arched as he looked at her quizzically. “Born-again virgin?”

That was the way she’d come to think of herself. “I haven’t been with anyone in eight years. So I figured that pretty much qualifies me as a beginner if not born-again virgin altogether. So I figured…” She let her voice trail off as she shrugged.