The One Who Got Away. Jo LeighЧитать онлайн книгу.
wasn’t going to be too difficult, as Lisa had already said she was beat, and get Taylor to himself. So they could talk. That’s all. Talk about Steve.
Steve paid off the cab, then turned to the small group. “We’re going to our room. We have to be up at the crack of dawn to pick up Lisa’s mom at the airport.”
“When’s our mom coming in?” Taylor asked.
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Do you need me to get her?”
“Nope, we have it covered.” Steve kissed his sister on the cheek. “But thanks. Why don’t you and Ben go have some fun? Win a little dough.”
“Right,” she said. “You know how lucky I am with cards.”
Steve laughed. “Okay, so don’t play poker.”
“I still maintain that you cheat every chance you get.”
He held his hand up to his chest as if shocked. “Me? Never.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Thanks for the dinner, you two. We’ll catch up with you tomorrow,” Ben said.
“Great.”
Lisa said good-night, then took Steve’s hand. Taylor watched them walk into the hotel. Ben watched Taylor.
“This is weird as hell,” he said, as soon as they’d entered the lobby.
“I’ll say. Did you have any idea?”
He shook his head. “Last I heard, he was thinking about buying another boat.”
“He asked me to quit my damn boring job and come work for him. He said I was a fool for wasting my life,” Taylor added.
“So what changed?”
Taylor shook her head. “Love?”
“I don’t know…”
Ben wanted to touch her again, as he had on the way out. Gently, palm to the small of her back. He wanted to feel her quiver. Instead, he put his hands in his pockets.
“I want to talk to Mom about it,” Taylor said. “Maybe she knows.”
“Good idea.” He stopped just before they reached the main casino floor. “Are you too tired for a drink? We could go outside by the pool.”
She smiled and he thought he detected a slight blush. “That sounds great.”
“Good.” He took her hand, which might have been better than touching her back, and led her through the youngish crowd. Everyone was on the right side of dressy, trying to look hip. The music, loud enough to make people shout to be heard, was only the coolest rock. Right now they were playing Stevie Ray Vaughn from his second album. Although there were lots of people playing video poker and slots, they were mostly silent, concentrating on whatever voodoo they had to mesmerize the machines. The real hubbub came from the craps tables.
Ben and Taylor threaded through the winners and losers until they got to a hall leading past a couple of high-end restaurants, to the door to the pool. A guard stood at the exit, and they had to show their room keys.
After that, they stepped into a lush, green paradise. The pool area, one of the prettiest in Vegas, had a lot of night swimmers gliding about, mostly by the swim-up bar and the water blackjack tables. But that’s not where Ben wanted to be. He led Taylor past the purple lounge chairs and the swaying palms ’til they passed the huge bar. Once there, they climbed a few steps to reach the cabana level. He hoped he’d find one empty, and luck was with him. During the day, the cabanas could be rented for a bundle, but after ten, if you were lucky, you could homestead. The refuse from another party still cluttered the small round table, but that wasn’t a problem.
He ushered Taylor to one of the green padded chairs, and he sat next to her. The television in the corner was off, which was what he wanted, and the overhead fan was on, creating a nice breeze in the semiprivate space. He’d like it even better if he could close the curtain, but he didn’t want to scare her.
“This is unbelievable,” she said. “I haven’t been here before, but I’d heard about the cabanas.”
“They’re not easy to reserve,” he said, “although sometimes you can get lucky.”
She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. It was a sight he wouldn’t soon forget. The long stretch of bare thigh, the perfection of her knee, the subtle curve of her calf. To say nothing of the arch of her foot, and the seduction of her high black heel. He felt as mesmerized as a compulsive gambler staring at a royal flush.
It was the waitress that brought him out of his daze. She of the black leather short-shorts, leopard-print vest and perky smile. “What can I get you?”
Taylor ordered a piña colada, he got a scotch on the rocks. The waitress cleared their table, then hustled off, leaving them in the relative quiet. The music, now something by Tom Petty, wafted in along with the laughter and muffled chatter from the group at the bar.
Taylor leaned toward him. “It’s good to see you, Ben.”
His gaze moved up to her eyes radiating fondness that touched him unexpectedly. “You, too.”
“You probably know how horrible Steve is at gossip, so I don’t know much of what’s happened to you other than you’re now a private investigator. Are you happy?”
“For the most part. I like being my own boss.”
“That makes sense.”
“But I still work with the NYPD a lot. More than I figured.”
“Interesting stuff?”
“Occasionally. Mostly it’s the kind of footwork that takes a special know-how.” He chuckled. “That makes it sound like I’m some Colombo or something. I meant that I do the kind of background checks that don’t make it into the NCIC. Paperwork traces, poking into things that might get dicey for the force. That kind of thing.”
“I think it sounds fascinating.”
“How kind of you.”
“I’m more interested in your personal life. Again, according to my brother, you’re divorced.”
“For two years now.”
She ran her hand down her thigh to her knee. Not scratching, just an unconscious gesture that held him rapt. Odd, because it had been a hell of a long time since he’d been spellbound by a woman. Maybe it was the memories. Or the fact that he’d had to get up before God this morning and he was getting punchy.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Was it bad?”
“I can’t think of a divorce that isn’t. But we’re friends. In fact, we still occasionally make a night of it.”
Taylor’s brows lifted.
“Not that much of a night. Alyson’s gay.”
Taylor’s brows stayed lifted.
“You can imagine how that went over with all my cop buddies.”
“Oh, my.”
“At the very least. But I don’t think I’m too emotionally scarred. I vent my anguish by boycotting all reruns of Ellen.”
Her laughter hit him low, like a vibration right in the balls. It felt good, too good.
The drinks arrived, and she tried to pay. He used his best scowl, and gave the waitress too large a tip. Once they were alone again, he sipped his scotch, aware that it was either going to make him drunk as a sailor or put him to sleep. “So what are we going to do about this wedding thing?”
Taylor twirled her drink with her straw. It made the little umbrella spin. “I’m not sure there’s anything we can do. Or should.”
“Are