She imagined herself toying with the edge of that enticing V and trailing her fingers along her exposed skin. Definitely worth sacrificing the lacy bra, she decided.
She set aside her customary statement jewelry for understatement—a simple pair of earrings and an extra-long delicate silver chain dangling a tiny silver star charm. Rachel had bought that for her when they were both flat broke. As Olivia fastened it around her neck, the little star nestled between her breasts, right where she imagined the Stars quarterback would put his lips.
She shivered. First, they had to endure a long, boring dinner.
Las Vegas venues were brutally air-conditioned, and she dug out a vintage flamenco shawl that had been a gift from a Carmen fan. Bringing the ghost of Sevilla’s sultry Romani cigar maker along for the evening felt like the perfect good-luck charm.
A knock sounded on their connecting door. She draped the shawl over her shoulders and picked up her small evening purse.
At first, he didn’t say a thing. He simply stood there taking her in. Then he breathed a soft, flattering obscenity.
She tilted her head so her hair fell over one shoulder and breathed just deeply enough to swell the exposed inner slopes of her breasts.
He groaned. “You’re diabolical.”
Exactly what she wanted to hear.
*
The front desk called up to tell them their limo had arrived. It was early, but she and Thad were both ready, and they headed down to the lobby. As they settled into the car’s back seat, they were so focused on each other she barely heard the driver tell them that Henri had already left and would meet them at the restaurant.
“Just what we don’t need.” Olivia slipped the flamenco shawl higher around her shoulders. “More time alone together.”
Thad gazed at her legs. “The next three hours can’t go by fast enough.”
Olivia slid onto the bench seat that ran the length of the limo, putting a little distance between them. He gave her a lazy smile. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you tonight.”
She swallowed hard, let the shawl slip down over one shoulder, and relied on her acting skills for false bravado. “You worry about yourself, cowboy, because I’m in the mood for a long, hard ride.”
“That’s it! There’s only so much a man can take.” He grabbed for his phone and plunged in a set of earbuds. “You entertain yourself with some Candy Crush and ignore me. Dizzy Gillespie and I have a date.”
She smiled as he closed his eyes. This was going to be a night to remember.
But as she gazed at the limo’s blue and purple ceiling lights, her amusement faded. She’d dictated the terms. They would have tonight along with three additional days in Chicago before she went into rehearsals. In four more days, it would be over between them. There’d be no more hotel suites with connecting doors, no more late-night chats and early-morning breakfasts. Their relationship would end.
The thought of never seeing him again was a knife through her heart. She closed her eyes. Tried to shut herself off from the truth that had been nagging at her for days like a bad toothache.
She’d fallen in love with him.
Stupid! Once again, she’d fallen for the wrong man, but how could she not? He was exciting, perceptive, and rock-bottom decent. His intellect upended every stereotype about professional athletes. Whenever she saw him, her senses went on high alert, and denying the depth of her feelings for him wouldn’t change them. Besides, when it came to Thad Owens—denial was dangerous.
Thad was a powerful, ambitious man with a big life. His career had made him a second stringer, existing on the edge of Clint Garrett’s spotlight, but unlike Dennis Cullen, Thad would never be happy taking a back seat in his private life, and she could never be happy with a man unable to do exactly that. A man who’d be willing to follow her from Johannesburg to Sydney and on to Hong Kong. Who’d put up with her rehearsal schedule, her crazy hours.
Opera was her life’s blood. Its drama and grandeur fueled her. The euphoria of hitting impossible notes, of digging so deeply inside herself that she became the character. The exhilaration of having an entire audience stop breathing as they waited to hear what she’d do next. That was where her heart and soul lived, and she couldn’t give that up, not even for love.
His eyes were still closed, absorbed in Dizzy’s riffs. Thad represented everything she couldn’t have without giving up on herself. Without abandoning her destiny.
She had to use these next few days to build memories she could tuck away for the rest of her life. Memories she could unearth when she was alone in some distant hotel room or when she gave a bad performance or a critic was brutal. She would savor the memories and know she’d made the right choice.
Thad shifted on the back seat and punched a button on the limo’s overhead control panel. “Driver?”
She’d been so engrossed in her thoughts that she’d lost track of time. Now, as she looked out through the darkened limousine windows, she could only see desert. They’d left the lights of Las Vegas behind.
13
“Driver!” Thad shouted into the ceiling intercom.
The limo picked up speed—going much too fast—and the smoked-glass partition separating them from the driver stayed shut. Thad scrambled past her and banged on it. “Stop the car!”
The car swerved off the highway. She clutched the bar for support as they lurched onto a bumpy road. Thad regained his balance first. “Let me have that.” He grabbed Olivia’s silky flamenco shawl and began twisting it around his hand.
Olivia snatched up her phone and hit the emergency SOS button.
Nothing happened.
“Get back!” Thad pushed her behind him and slammed his wrapped arm into the partition window, shattering the tempered glass between them and the driver into pebbles.
The limo careened, throwing them both to the floor. As Thad scrambled to his feet, she tried again to use her phone. “I can’t get a signal!”
“Cell jammer.”
The car lurched to a stop.
Thad dove toward the broken place where the partition had been, but the driver threw open the door, killed the headlights, and jumped out before Thad could touch him. She leaped for one of the passenger doors, while Thad went for the other. They were both locked. He glanced toward the limo’s bar, looking for something to make into a weapon—a wine bottle or glass—but the compartments were empty.
“Whatever happens, stay behind me,” he ordered.
“This is because of me,” she cried. “You know it is.”
“Do what I say.”
A click. The rear passenger door flew open, and the dome light went on. “Get out,” a gruff voice said.
Thad pushed in front of her and stepped from the limo. Her flamenco scarf dropped to the ground as he blocked the door with his body to shield her inside.
This was all wrong. She should be the one protecting him. She made another desperate visual search of the interior. Nothing in the bar. Nothing in her purse except a room key and tissues. She dropped her cell and scooped up two handfuls of the security glass pebbles that had fallen onto the seat from the broken partition. Even though it was tempered glass, the edges bit into her palms.
“Move over,” that same gruff voice shouted outside. She could see nothing through the windows except the dark.
Thad stayed where he was, blocking the rear door. “What do you want?”
“Move over or I’ll shoot. Both of you! Out here!”
“Stay inside,” Thad ordered her.
She wasn’t having it. Keeping her fists clenched, glass inside, she pushed against him and wedged herself out of the limo into the emptiness of the Mojave Desert.
At first, she could see nothing beyond the ooze of dim yellow light from the limo’s interior. A jet flew overhead, maybe from Nellis Air Force Base, maybe from McCarran. As her eyes adjusted, she took in the hulking shape of the man standing outside the light. He wore a dark suit, but the brim of his chauffeur’s hat concealed most of his face. Was he the man who’d accosted her at the bookstore? They seemed to be roughly the same size, but so were millions of other men.