Secrets and Seduction Las Vegas (Sexy Italian Imports Book 1) Read online

  He squeezed a little too hard, and his eyes narrowed.

  Was it a warning? She nodded slightly and pulled her hand from his. She wouldn’t expose him if he kept her secret.

  He looked as relieved as she felt. She didn’t want to make a scene in front of the mayor.

  “Good to see you, Ms. Kane.”

  The mayor piped up, “Dr. Kane. Best psychologist in Las Vegas, in my wife’s opinion.”

  Everyone laughed at the mayor’s stab at humor, but Valerie barely heard the joke. Amazing. Grey Thornton. She lowered herself into her chair and watched as the mayor introduced Sherry and Antonio around the table.

  She’d read a few Grey Thornton novels. Their graphic, violent nature, the erotic sex-without-love scenes, and unhappy endings hadn’t made her a fan.

  Why would a writer, a popular writer, need to blackmail her cousin? It couldn’t be for the money, could it? Maybe they’d been involved romantically at some time in the past, and he wanted revenge. She’d ask her as soon as she could make a call.

  The mayor jokingly invited Antonio to join their meeting. “Subjects that might interest you, Daniato.” He looked at Valerie. “What is your agenda item today, Doctor?”

  She cleared her throat. “We’re discussing how runaway teens are affected by legal prostitution and nude dance clubs.”

  The mayor said, “Valerie’s our expert.”

  “Really?” Antonio looked at her, his face radiating anger. “She doesn’t look young enough to be a runaway. In which area does your experience lie, Doctor?”

  Her eyes popped wide open, and her face heated instantly. Did he just ask her if she was a prostitute or a nude dancer? What happened to their unspoken truce? What had she said to make him angry?

  Everyone at the table looked at her then looked at Antonio. The silence was deafening. Then the mayor cleared his throat. Oh, crap. She needed to diffuse the situation quickly.

  She forced a laugh. “I realize you’re teasing, Mr. Daniato, but you’d better watch your step. In this town, you never know who has Mafia connections…oh.” She smiled at the mayor. “Sorry, sir.”

  The group laughed, but Sherry looked confused, and the mayor leaned closer to her. “During my last run for reelection, rumors were spread about my connection to the mafia.”

  One of the committee members added, “Rumored, but never proven in court.”

  The mayor shrugged, grinning slyly. “No comment.”

  As she looked into Antonio’s eyes, Valerie’s forced smile slipped. She couldn’t read the meaning in his intense stare, but she couldn’t look away—and neither did he.

  His date broke the spell by sliding her hand into his and rubbing the side of her breast on his arm. “We should get going, Antonio.”

  He shook the mayor’s hand and nodded to the committee in general. With one last glance at Valerie, he escorted Sherry from the restaurant.

  She watched them leave, feeling the aftermath of his gaze. He was angry. He knew her name. And he was obviously volatile. Damn, this wasn’t turning out to be a very good day. She blinked and brought herself back to what the mayor was saying.

  “That was interesting,” he commented to no one in particular.

  She shrugged and said the first thing that came to her mind. “He and I had…an animated discussion recently. He must still be a little worked up.”

  “You’re quite the diplomat, Dr. Val.” He winked.

  She smiled. The mayor had been a family friend since she was a child. He was a kind, gracious man, and she liked him more every time they spoke. She couldn’t say the same for Antonio Daniato. He was an ass.

  And the ass was sitting on the back bumper of her SUV when she left the restaurant a half hour later.

  Chapter Two

  Antonio watched her walk toward him. In her gray jacket and skirt, she looked thinner than she did at the dog park. She put on sunglasses against the bright summer sun. Only nine in the morning, but it was already damn hot, at least ninety degrees.

  Leaving the relatively cool spot in the shade off the back of her Lexus, he stood. “Can we talk?”

  She stopped three feet from him. As if he would bite.

  “Of course.” Her tone sounded clipped, professional.

  “Your office?”

  “Why my office?” she asked, tipping her head.

  He wanted to see her eyes, but it wasn’t possible through her dark glasses. Those amazing blue eyes. If he created her as a character in a book, he’d describe them as the color of the summer sky when she smiled, and the turbulent sea when she was angry. Or scared, like back in the restaurant. Damn right she should be scared.

  He crossed his arms. “Unless you want to talk here and risk being seen by the mayor.”

  She nodded, opened her phone, and pressed buttons. Was she checking her schedule or calling her Mafia connections to come and have him disposed of?

  She snapped her phone closed. “I’m free for another half hour. Do you want to follow me?”

  “I know where your office is.” Earlier, after he dropped off Sherry, he called a friend at the license bureau and got Valerie’s office address and vehicle description.

  She paused. “You do? How…” She shook her head then pressed a button on her key, and the door locks popped. “All right, I’ll meet you there.” She walked a wide path around him and slid into her Lexus.

  Walking toward his Harley, he heard her doors lock and smiled. She was wise to be so careful. He kick-started the motorcycle and took off. The heat rising from the pavement smelled like burning oil and instantly dried his throat.

  In his mirror, he saw her pull out of the lot behind him.

  Valerie. Pretty name. Pretty face. After their initial encounter, he studied her picture on his camera, at first to memorize her face so he would recognize her if he saw her again. Then she began to intrigue him. What motivated a beautiful young woman to become a blackmailer? She had a successful career, and she was somehow involved with the mayor. But the way she arrogantly taunted him at the restaurant—was she looking for a thrill?

  Within minutes, he pulled up to her office, parked his bike in a shaded spot under a palm tree, and walked to the front door. Impressive building. New construction, adobe design, an upscale office in an exclusive part of town. Being the Psychologist to the Stars must pay well. Or was this bought with blackmail money?

  The receptionist looked up from her computer as he entered the waiting room, and her eyes widened. A security guard got up from his seat in a corner and watched him. He must look rough in wrap-around sunglasses and black leather jacket.

  Before being mistaken for a criminal, he said, “I have an appointment with Dr. Kane.”

  The guard and the receptionist exchanged glances. She picked up the phone and spoke then pointed the way. “You may go right in, sir.”

  Valerie must have entered through another door.

  He walked into her office and closed the door. She sat behind her antique wooden desk and gestured to the chair in front of it. “Have a seat.”

  God, she was sexy. He could almost feel all that long, black hair sliding through his fingers. He’d look down into her eyes and brush his lips over her perfect skin then graze her shiny pink mouth. He looked closer. Did she put on lip gloss for him?

  She cleared her throat.

  Back to reality. He glanced at the honor society pin on the lapel of her suit. Beauty and brains.

  He shrugged out of his jacket and looked around the office. Tan leather furniture, new by the smell of it. Shelves filled with books lined one wall, and nondescript art hung between windows that faced the mountains. There was a Kleenex box on every table.

  He tossed his jacket onto her shrink couch and, when he turned back, caught her looking at his ass. Nice.

  He smiled. “On the couch?”

  “Um, ah, no, just right here in the chair.”

  She was stammering. Good. She felt the tension between them, too. The looks they shared at the restaurant, lon
g minutes where they connected. He shook his head. Whatever was heating up between them needed to cool off. She was a blackmailer; she knew about his double life, had the nerve to allude to it in front of the mayor. But it would be a bitch to keep his hands off her.

  As he took a seat, she set a bottle of water on a coaster on his side of the desk.

  “Why didn’t you steal my car that night?” All business, no small talk for Dr. Kane.

  He twisted the top off the bottle and took a drink. The cold water washed the desert out of his throat.

  “Your car? Or the rental car?”

  She shrugged her eyebrows. “Okay, so you did your research.” She watched him closely. “The rest of the money was in there. The keys were in the ignition. Why didn’t you take it? Save me the trouble of making the drop-off.”

  “You’re assuming I’m the blackmailer?” He’d play her game, judge her reactions.

  “Yes.” She tapped her fingers on the desk. “Why else would you be there? At the exact time and location I was there to pick up the money.”

  He pulled a folded paper out of his back pocket and tossed it on the desk. “I put the money there.”

  She picked up the paper and read then looked at him through narrowed eyes. “You dropped the money off at noon and sat in the tree for nine hours?”

  He shook his head. “No, I was watching from a vacant house. I climbed the tree at dusk, about an hour before you got there.”

  She spread the paper on her desk. “Interesting story.” She looked unconvinced.

  “All right, your turn, princess. Why were you there?”

  She stared at him for a minute then she sighed, and a look of resignation crossed her face. She opened her desk drawer, took out a paper, and handed it to him. The writing looked the same as that on his note. A man’s writing, his private investigator told him. Dr. Kane had an accomplice.

  He read, “An hour after sunset tonight. The dog park in Henderson.” He read the rest and tossed the paper on the desk.

  He’d call a friend at the Nugget and ask him to check into downtown surveillance cameras capturing the pawn shop area. He’d see if she really made the drop-off, and, if so, who picked it up.

  He asked, “Have you gotten any more letters?”

  “I don’t think so.” She looked flustered. “No. I haven’t.” Her eyes shifted around the room then focused on him. “Have you?” She clasped her hands together and tried to affect a poker face.

  Damn, she was hiding something. Her guilt paraded in her eyes.

  He took the latest note from his pocket and read, “Great trick...” The letter used his other name, Carlos. He wouldn’t give Valerie any ammunition, on the slight chance that she wasn’t the blackmailer. “Great trick…climbing the tree and getting your money back. But you only succeeded in doubling the amount we want from you.” He skimmed the note; nothing else she needed to hear. “It details the next drop-off.” He folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket. “You going to be there?”

  She shook her head. “I’m done. The blackmailers have the money I delivered.”

  “You’re not the designated pick-up girl?”

  She stood and walked to the window, looked out, then turned toward him. “I’m not associated with the blackmailers, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  At eye level, he noticed how long her legs were. His fingertips itched as he thought about caressing the soft skin behind her knees. His gaze moved up her body to the pink blouse under her suit coat. Feminine, but all business. Sexy in a way that made him want to peel off layers of her clothes.

  He had to get closer. He stood and walked to her side, catching the smell of her perfume—spicy, warm, vanilla—and it made him a little crazy. Make that crazier. There was something about her. They’d be good together.

  “Bella.” He touched her shoulder.

  She smiled, shy, sensual.

  She fascinated him, mind and body. “You are beautiful, you know.”

  She looked at his face, his hair, and his lips. Spent a long time on his lips then met his eyes. “You aren’t so bad yourself.” She gave him a look that made his stomach clench and the blood rush to his genitals.

  Looking down into her eyes, he recognized what he saw. Desire as raw as his own. When did she start wanting him? When he roughed her up in the park? Or when he called her a prostitute in front of the mayor? Shit. There was no accounting for taste, was there? She should tell him to go straight to hell, but instead she looked at him as if she wanted him. Right here in her office.

  Something snapped; like Hoover Dam busting apart, he couldn’t hold back. He put his hands on her shoulders, pulled her close.

  She tipped her head and opened her mouth a fraction of an inch. Did she know what her body language invited? He growled low in his chest as his eyes warned her he would have her. Now. He moved slowly, closing the distance between their lips, giving her the chance to say no.

  But she didn’t. Her breathing quickened, her eyelids drooped.

  His lips brushed hers and he hardened in his jeans. He kissed a path to her ear. “Tell me, bella, tell me his name.”

  “Um.” Her breath came unevenly. “What?”

  “Tell me your partner’s name. I’ll go beat the shit out of him, and we’ll call it even.” He felt her stiffen. “Then we can see where this…” He slid his hands down her back and pressed her against him. “…takes us.”

  Her hands flattened on his chest, and she tried to push him away. “Why do you insist on believing I’m one of the blackmailers?”

  With his fist under her chin, he tilted her face up so they stood nose to nose. “Just admit it, princess. You gave yourself away at the restaurant.”

  She shoved against him, and he let her go. “How did I… What did I say?”

  “Very convincing. You put up a good front, but I know you’re lying. I can see it in your eyes.”

  She put her hands out, palms up. “I’m not lying.”

  Her face seemed sincere, and for a second he questioned his suspicions. He stepped back and crossed his arms.

  She dropped her hands and pressed them to her thighs. Sweaty palms meant guilt, didn’t it?

  He said, “Tell me what you were doing at the dog park.”

  She pointed to her desk. “You saw the note. It told me to—”

  “It could be a fake. A way for you to make yourself look innocent.”

  “I am innocent.” She heaved a sigh. “This conversation is going nowhere.” She stepped toward the door. “Now, if you don’t mind—”

  “I do mind.” He blocked her path, his anger boiling to the surface, as it did so often lately. Pointing his finger at her face, he said, “If I get one more letter, I’m going to come after you. It’s going to be public, and I promise it will be humiliating.”

  He turned his back to her, walked to the couch, and grabbed his jacket.

  Behind him, her voice snapped low, angry. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He turned to face her. “Why? Because you’re the mayor’s protégé?” He walked to the door and opened it, looking back into her furious eyes. “How will he react when he finds out what you’ve been doing for a little extra cash?”

  Her eyes narrowed, her hands fisted at her side. “Euro trash bastard.”

  He stared at her. “Don’t fuck with me, bitch.” He walked out.

  ****

  Valerie watched him leave, her body shaking from anger and fear. She inhaled the smell of his cologne: spiced wood and espresso. Add desire to her list of troubles.

  She fell into her chair and closed her eyes, methodically calming herself, but the first indicators of an anxiety attack manifested. Rapid heartbeat, a smothering feeling, and dizziness—like being outside herself.

  Rubbing the “sore spot” near her left collarbone, she repeated her relaxation mantra. “I am in control, I am relaxed, and I am breathing.” After six repetitions, she was breathing, relaxed, and again in control.

  She grabbed her phone an
d called her cousin. “Betina, it’s Valerie. We have to talk. Something’s gone wrong.”

  Betina whispered, “Not on the phone. Your office? Tomorrow at nine?”

  She pulled up her calendar. “Perfect. Tomorrow’s my day off. No one will be here. Come to the back door.”

  The actress sighed. “You sound frantic. Take a bubble bath, or have some wine.”

  She bit back a nasty response. Betina wasn’t the one in jeopardy of losing her license—publicly and humiliatingly—as Antonio promised.

  At seven that evening, Valerie pulled into her garage, glad to be in her oasis away from the world—her house in a gated, guarded community in Summerlin. She stepped out of her SUV and walked past her black Thunderbird convertible. Driving it always relaxed her, but tonight she was too tired. After dealing with Antonio then a full day of patients, she looked forward to that glass of wine and a bubble bath.

  When she flipped on the kitchen light, the cherry wood, stainless steel, and black marble decor enticed her to cook something flamboyant. But her stomach rumbled painfully, so she pulled a low-calorie entrée from the freezer and tossed it into the microwave.

  She walked upstairs to her bedroom. Gazing out the wall of glass that ran the length of the house, she looked down at the pool and whirlpool then beyond to the view of The Strip and downtown.

  When she’d gone away to school, she’d brought a lighted picture of Vegas and fallen asleep watching it every night. She’d asked her architect to design this house so she could see the lights of the valley from every room.

  She unbuttoned her jacket and stepped into her closet. Even after a year, she couldn’t believe her luck. She was back in Vegas and truly grateful to find a meaningful place in the community. Her practice was thriving and lucrative, she volunteered on her days off, and the mayor consulted her on matters that affected people’s lives.

  Although she grew up with the glamour of Las Vegas, to her it was just a small town with a bright facade. But it was home, and this blackmail situation could irreparably damage her reputation. She paused and asked her higher power for a little assistance with Antonio Daniato.

  After slipping into shorts and a tank top, she went back downstairs. In the kitchen, she reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of wine and poured a glass. She transferred her single-girl’s dinner from the plastic bowl onto a plate and carried it and her wine glass outside onto the patio. Under her bare feet, the concrete felt hot, and a soft evening breeze moved the ninety-five-degree air around her.