“He’s not that bad!”
“He’s a killjoy. Whenever I meet him I feel like I should go sit on the naughty step.”
“You probably should,” I laughed.
Then I sighed, remembering the argument before I left.
“I think we’re kind of broken up at the moment.”
“Kind of? What does that mean?”
I explained the argument and watched Vanessa’s eyes flash with anger.
“He really tried to stop you coming, even though he knew we’d be here?”
I shrugged unhappily. “He said I was being selfish.”
“What a prick!”
“I don’t know, Ness. I wondered . . . maybe he’s right. He worries about me and . . .”
“No, he’s not right,” Vanessa said emphatically. “He should be on your side.”
“He is, it’s just . . .”
“No, Laney! If you want to skydive out of an airplane, he should be helping you achieve your dreams, not telling you it’s too hard, too dangerous all of the time. It’s not his life—it’s yours.”
“I know, but . . .”
“No more buts unless they’re tight, sexy ones on a cowboy. Deal?”
She held out her hand, and I shook it—she always made me smile.
“Deal.”
Half an hour later we were at the hotel and I felt like I could relax. My room was just as they’d said, with full disabled access. And they’d even found me a shower chair. I tipped the man who took me to my room and decided that if this standard kept up, I’d write to the hotel’s management to thank them.
“He was cute,” said Vanessa, as she unpacked my clothes and toiletries. “Do you need any help getting ready?”
“You’ve done enough,” I said gratefully.
“Wrong answer,” Vanessa said with an arched eyebrow. “Do you need any help?”
I smiled. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, sweetie.”
Vanessa winked and blew a kiss, before sashaying out of the room. Jo would be arriving shortly, and we were all meeting in my room before going for a few drinks and hitting up the slot machines, then dinner and dancing.
Or dinner and sitting.
Five hours later, I was dragging.
I’d won seven bucks and some change on the slots—woohoo!—then enjoyed a wonderful lobster dinner, before heading back to our hotel for dancing and more drinks.
Vanessa and Jo were still going strong and I was determined not to spoil their evening by admitting I was tired.
“Stop being a wimp,” I muttered to myself. “You’ve got the rest of your life to sleep—but right now you’re in Vegas!”
I glanced back to the crowded dance floor, my eyes tracking my friends, smiling as a cowboy with a large Stetson and no rhythm staggered up behind Vanessa, trying to attract her attention as he swung his hips randomly, completely out of time to the music. Cute, though.
Then I saw a man who captured my attention utterly.
He was easily the best looking guy in the room, although not the tallest or the most built. But he danced with an easy elegance that made him seem a thoroughbred among carthorses.
My God! That guy can move!
I was surprised when I saw his partner: a short, plump woman who was red in the face and gasping for air. It was hard to imagine them as a couple—even harder to imagine that the sexy guy had picked her up. Although they definitely weren’t dancing like brother and sister. Or mother and son. My smile disappeared because only one answer was left.
He must be one of those men I’d read about, a gigolo in all but name. It was a depressing thought.
I watched as the woman stopped dancing, clearly out of breath as well as out of her league, and definitely ready to call it quits. Her eyes darted away from her partner as if trying to find an escape.
When the man grabbed her arm, it was several seconds before he released her, reluctantly backing away. I realized that I’d been holding my breath as I watched the small drama unfold.
I inhaled deeply, still curious about what the man would do next.
He ran his hands over his hair as he searched around the room, his eyes ticking off the women he saw, some internal checklist that remained hidden to all but him.
But then his gaze flickered to me, and a wide smile stretched his full lips. He stalked forward and I automatically pressed myself backward in the chair, defensively crossing my arms.
“Hi, I’m Ash. Are you by yourself?”
I gave him a polite smile.
“No. I’m here with my friends.”
“I don’t see them.” He paused, his full intensity fixed on me. “Would you like to dance?”
He held his hand toward me and my eyes opened wide. Was he expecting to swing me around in my chair? Did he think I was that desperate?
I laughed at his nerve.
“No, I’m not dancing.”
He frowned, his hand still suspended between us. “But you like to dance?”
I stared, my gaze sinking into his, puzzled, annoyed. He hadn’t seen the chair?
Isn’t this what you wanted? I asked myself. A man who sees me and not the chair?
My expression softened as I met his intense dark eyes.