“Yes. They’re surprisingly comfortable. What were you two discussing?”
“Jealous?”
She tipped her head to the side. “Yes, I think I am.”
He laughed. “Don’t be. It was only business.”
“She didn’t seem like just an employee.”
“You’re right, she’s not.”
“Is she your lover?” Shelby asked, though she hadn’t gotten that intimate vibe from the two of them.
“No. More like a kid sister. I really try to make the Chimera like a family. So many people come here alone and…”
Hayden knew loneliness. It was one of the things they’d both had in common. Something Shelby hadn’t had to lie about when they’d been dating long ago. Her mother had always been working, just like Hayden’s dad. It had given them some unexpected common ground.
She tucked her hand under his elbow. “You’re a nice man.”
“Sometimes.”
He escorted her out of the main lobby to the escalators that led to the mezzanine level. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“To the stars.”
“We’re going flying?” This was the man who’d swept her off her feet years ago. He’d offered her the fantasy of romance and she’d lapped it up without thinking of the consequences. Like those sunset airplane rides in his Cessna. He’d taken things that she’d never imagined she would do and made them happen.
“Not tonight. Last year I had a planetarium built. Well, Deacon and I did.”
“Who’s Deacon?”
“Deacon Prescott. He owns the Golden Dream. We work together on a lot of projects. I thought we’d have a drink under the stars before dinner.”
“Isn’t that going to be a little awkward with all your other guests?”
“No, Shel. I closed down one of the theaters. I’d rather my guests stay in the casino anyway.”
“More money to be made that way, right?”
“You know that money makes the world go round.”
“Yes, I do.”
He slipped his hand under her elbow and led her through the mezzanine. He was stopped twice by his employees with questions that he had to take. Owning Bêcheur d’Or made her understand how demanding running any kind of business could be. She’d checked in with Paige early this morning and had a conference call scheduled for tomorrow at 9:00 a.m. with the builders of the next boutique in Washington, D.C.
Finally they entered a long corridor that was sparsely occupied. The piped-in music wasn’t some generic Muzak but the sophisticated beauty of Wynton Marsalis playing the trumpet.
Shelby closed her eyes and wondered for a moment if this might have been her life had she made a different choice all those years ago.
“Vegas has changed in the last ten years,” she said, though she suspected it was the changes inside herself that made the city seem so different.
“Yes, it has.”
“Did you have anything to do with that?” she asked to fill the silence and keep her mind off the uncomfortable feeling that maybe she hadn’t changed as much as she wished she had.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She paused and tilted her head to the side to study him. She knew without a doubt that he was on the image committee and the development committees for the Strip. Hayden wouldn’t chance leaving any detail that could affect his business to someone else.
“Yes. I like how sophisticated your hotel is, but that doesn’t change the fact that one block over, the area is still a little sleazy.”
“Everyone is looking for something different in Vegas and we like to say we can accommodate any type of poison.”
“What about me?” she asked, wondering what he thought about her was dangerous. What you think of yourself is the only thing that matters. But she’d never held herself in high regard.
“What about you?” he asked. He pulled her into a small alcove.
She felt secluded from the rest of the world with the wall at her back and Hayden blocking her front. He stared down at her with an unreadable expression and she shivered deep inside, realizing how much of life she’d been missing since she left this man.
Because she’d never been able to really trust a man enough to let him affect her the way Hayden always had. She swallowed against a dry throat and said, “What’s my poison?”
“Only you can say. I suspect that it’s a mix between the gritty reality of where you grew up and this.” He gestured to the ornately decorated hallway.
“What about you?” she asked, not willing to dwell too much on how gritty her reality had been.
“I’m the center ring, master of ceremonies. Making sure that whatever reason—fantasy or desire—you brought with you gets fulfilled.”
There was a husky sensuality in his voice. She looked up at Hayden, into his deep blue eyes, and realized that he wasn’t all show and both of them knew it.
Hayden liked the feel of Shelby’s arm under his hand. The lobby of the planetarium was actually between his hotel and Deacon’s Golden Dream. They’d funded a wing together last year that would enhance the experience for their guests. He also had a traveling Impressionists exhibit down the hall in the art museum.
Most people came to Vegas for a reason and Shelby’s was probably just profit motivated, but his gut said there was more. He wanted to know more about those reasons.
Hayden had asked the head chef, Louis Patin, to send up champagne and strawberries for a predinner snack, and one of the hostesses handed a wicker basket to Hayden as they entered. He took Shelby up the back stairs into one of the VIP rooms.
“Give me a minute to get everything set up,” he said.
“Can I help?” she asked.
“No. I’ve got it.” He gestured toward the plush velvet covered seats positioned in front of the low wall. “Enjoy the show.”
She sat down and Hayden watched her carefully cross her legs, then shift to find a more comfortable position on the chair. The slit in her skirt widened and he realized it was a wraparound type and that only one or two buttons were keeping that silky fabric in place.
He caught a glimpse of her thigh before she pulled the fabric over her leg, covering it up. He sighed and then turned to open their champagne.
She was watching him as he poured the liquid and handed her a glass. The material from her skirt slipped free of her fingers. It slid down her leg. The woman had great legs.
“Why are we playing these games, Hayden?” she asked, running her fingers along the length of exposed skin. The stars had begun to appear on the planetarium ceiling, and soft classical music began to play.
“I wasn’t aware we were. We both like to flirt,” he said, lightly touching his glass to hers then moving back to regard her. Her flesh looked so soft and tempting in the muted lighting in the room. His own fingers tingled with the need to caress her. He clenched them and sipped the bubbling drink.
“I thought you were the master of ceremonies. Flirting is where we both try to pretend that we’re not still attracted to each other.”
“Is that what you’ve been doing?” he asked. Already his blood was flowing heavy and every nerve in his body said screw talking and take her. She didn’t want the niceties he put on when he was trying to be a gentleman instead of the gambler he