The One Who Got Away. Jo LeighЧитать онлайн книгу.
and glamour made him itchy, but this was Steve’s wedding, and he’d have gone to the far side of the moon for that.
It puzzled him, however. Steve Hanson had been his closest friend since the fifth grade, and while they hadn’t lived in the same town since college, they still got together twice a year to go deep-sea fishing. It made things easier that Steve owned the boats. Five of them, actually, all moored in his and Steve’s home-town, San Diego. Steve had eschewed the white-collar life of his father to follow the beat of his own drum. He’d started out with one boat, The Golden Mermaid, and had increased his fleet by a boat every other year for ten years. He’d made himself a good life, and as far as Ben could see, he was a truly happy man. What Ben couldn’t see was why he was about to change all that.
He hadn’t discussed his plans with Ben, or the reasons behind his decision. There had just been that one phone call where Steve had asked him to come to Vegas, to be his best man. He’d said his fiancée’s name was Lisa, and that she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He’d also said that he was going to keep the fleet but move to Kansas, and work for her father at his aerospace company. That was the kicker. The puzzle. Steve hated corporate life, had broken his father’s heart by not taking over the family insurance business. So why now? Why her? Why marriage?
The cab turned into the big driveway, underneath the huge guitar that was the Hard Rock logo. The lot was crowded with every kind of vehicle from Hummers to limos to beat-up Chevys. At the entrance, a uniformed doorman tried to help but Ben took his suitcase to the front desk. His room, on the fourteenth floor, was ready and after a long walk through the noisy casino, and another down a silent padded hallway, he reached it.
The parlor of his deluxe room had gold walls, green carpeting, a semicircular couch with a round black coffee table, a wet bar and, behind purple drapes that framed French doors, a fabulous view of the Strip. The bedroom wasn’t quite as fancy, but nice. Two queen platform beds with leather headboards, a built-in TV instead of the usual armoire and another spectacular view.
He tossed his suitcase onto the bed, then noticed the light on his phone blinking. He punched the numbers to get the message. It was Steve, sounding chipper, asking him to dinner. They were to meet at the front desk in about three hours, long enough for Ben to have a shower and a nap. The last part of the message was that Taylor would be joining the party, and that she was looking forward to seeing him.
Taylor.
Ben hung up the phone, but he didn’t move. She’d been a little kid when he’d first met her: Steve’s baby sister. She’d followed them wherever she could, always wanting attention, always wanting to be let in on the fun. They’d ditched her as often a possible, and he could still remember her tears.
But mostly he remembered the last time he’d seen her. It had to be ten years ago, just after she’d graduated from high school. He’d been at his folk’s house for their thirtieth wedding anniversary, and had stayed on for a week while they’d gone on the second honeymoon cruise to the Virgin Islands he’d treated them to. Taylor had come by on a Friday afternoon and she’d stayed until Sunday.
She’d grown into a beauty and when she’d come on to him, he hadn’t the will or the strength to turn her away.
The weekend had been one of the most exciting of his life. She’d been a wildcat, and he’d loved every second of it. She’d cried when he’d said goodbye, but he’d known the tears were more about the end of a fantasy than any real heartbreak.
Taylor had been heading off for college, for a whole new life that had nothing to do with childhood crushes. He’d returned to the New York police force, determined to become a sergeant. By the time he’d settled back into his regular routine, he’d felt certain she’d forgotten all about him.
It would be good to see her again. According to Steve, she’d never married. Smart girl.
Ben glanced at the clock, and got up. He didn’t want to be late for dinner.
TAYLOR CHECKED herself out one last time before she had to leave. Her hair wasn’t too horrifying, although she would have to buy some kind of conditioner that would give it some lift. She’d put on her makeup with care, and felt she’d hit the right combination of come-hither and stay there. After trying on every item of clothing she’d brought, she’d ended up wearing a cute little Michael Kors she’d picked up at a ritzy secondhand store. It was black, sleeveless, and skintight, with kicky leather shoulders that made her boobs look much bigger than they were. She’d have to hold in her stomach the entire night, but it was worth it. She wanted Ben’s jaw to drop the moment he saw her. She sucked in harder. Realizing that she couldn’t go the entire night without a breath, she gave it up.
So she pooched. He probably had love handles.
She got her purse, made sure she had her room key, and headed off to the elevator, her pulse racing faster with each step.
By the time she reached the casino level, she was practically hyperventilating. What had she been thinking? She hadn’t seen the man in ten years, she had no idea what his life was like. For all she knew, he could have brought a lover with him. Steve hadn’t mentioned anything about Ben being attached, but then Steve was a notoriously bad gossip. He’d had all kinds of famous people on his boats, and had he ever brought home one juicy tidbit? Never. She hated that.
And she hated the butterflies in her stomach. This wasn’t going to work. Taylor leaned against a large display case exhibiting stage clothes worn by Shania Twain. The woman had to weigh twelve pounds, the outfit was so tiny. But that was beside the point. Taylor had to do something, and do it now. She could go back to her room, call Steven and say she didn’t feel well, but that would only delay the inevitable. She couldn’t stay in her room the whole week. What made oodles more sense was for her to forget about her Man To Do plan and just go enjoy her brother’s happiness. Forget about Ben and his cheekbones. If he looked anything like he had, there was no way he would be single. No woman could possibly resist him, and living in New York, he was up to his deliciously square chin in stunning babes.
She straightened her shoulders, flicked her hair back and pasted on a smile. Tonight, in fact this whole week, wasn’t about her. It was about her brother. For heaven’s sake, she hadn’t even met Lisa yet, and she was going to be her sister-in-law. With that thought firmly in mind, she once again headed toward the lobby, letting the sounds of bells, coins, music and chatter ease her way.
So what if she didn’t get her Man To Do? She had her vibrator, and that was a relationship she could count on.
BEN SPOTTED STEVE standing near the Jimi Hendrix display. He had his arm around a tall, slim blonde. She was frowning, but even so, she was pretty. A different kind of pretty for Steve. The women he went for tended to look like Playboy Bunnies. They partied like Bunnies, too. But Ben didn’t get that feeling from Lisa. She was dressed in white slacks, a pale blue top and a white jacket, tailored, classy; more Midwest than So Cal. Her hair was neat, not quite to her shoulders, and her shoes and purse were both white and conservative. She looked like she’d be right at home in a country club or on a golf course, not on one of Steve’s boats.
Ben kept on walking, shaking off his first impressions. One thing he’d learned the hard way was that looks don’t mean squat. He’d judge Lisa for who she was behind the Ralph Lauren look.
Steve turned, and grinned like he’d just caught a two-hundred pound swordfish. “Ben, you old bastard!”
Ben shook his head. Some things didn’t change, thank God. “I didn’t know they let people like you in here. Where’s security?”
Steve let go of his girl and gave Ben a rib bruising hug. “Thanks for coming, man.”
“Oh, right. Like I’d let you get married without me? Someone’s got to tell her what she’s getting into.”
Steve laughed, that big hearty guffaw that was as distinct as his fingerprints. It made Ben feel like he was home.
“This—” Steve said, moving toward his lady “—is Lisa.”
Ben