Page 12 of The Cowboy and the Bombshell
The only person from NYC that I had ever forged any kind of relationship with was my youngest half-sister, Daphne. She was thirteen years younger than me, but she was caring and kind and always went out of her way to make me feel like I wasn’t a blight on the family name, much to Constance’s disgust.
Maybe, just maybe, I would find that Penelope was more like Daphne than the other two. And maybe I could find a way to not lose my cool every time I was around her. It would be difficult. She made me feel such conflicting things. First, the attraction, which was warranted, but unwanted. Second, the anger, due to her New York roots.
I moved through the ridiculously huge house and past the kitchen that no one with Pennington for a last name had likely ever actually cooked in. Snagging a glass of bourbon on my way, I stepped outside on to the back deck, the stone tiles warm beneath my bare feet.
The property was spectacular, even if I hated to admit it. With its impeccably landscaped drought resistant yard, sprawling pool, and an outdoor kitchen that would have been my grandfather’s dream, it was exactly what you would expect of Las Vegas luxury. At the far west of the city in a gated golf course community, Harold’s home looked out over miles and miles of gorgeous hills and scrub brush of the Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area. The jagged low peaks in varying shades of reds and oranges and browns were almost enough to remind me of home, and the hills that McNally and I spent so much of our time in outside Austin. Leaning back against the house, my glass dangling from my finger tips, I took in the view as the sun began to set. This house, this location at least, was exactly the kind of place I would pick for myself if I had the opportunity.
That was another thing that pissed me off. Harold and all the ways he seemed to know me. I didn’t want him to know me. He didn’t deserve it.
Like with this project.The Alamo Hotel and Casinowas a dream come true for me. Taking all the things I loved about the hotel business and blending it with all the things I loved about Texas, it was the project of a lifetime. And the bastard knew it, too. It was as if he custom designed it to torture me, reminding me that no matter how hard I fought it, he was still my father and he still understood me.
I hated it.
I watched as the sun made its way to the horizon, casting warm light over the surface of the pool, making the blue water sparkle gold and crimson. I was still lost in the view when I heard a sound from the front of the house. Turning back toward the massive glass door that connected the outdoor living space with the indoor, I moved into the shadows, wanting to see who was here before I announced my presence. I supposed Harold had a staff for this place. It wouldn’t do to scare them off right away. I watched the front door as muffled sounds reached me, like someone fumbling with the key, when finally, the door swung open.
I stared in shock as Penelope Lund stumbled in the front door of Harold’s house, her arms full of bags and boxes, each with a different designer label. Of course, the New York girl couldn’t just head to Walmart and grab some shirts to tide her over until her luggage was located. She had to hit the expensive shops and load up on brand names to make her Instagram followers all really jealous.
What the hell was she doing here, anyway?
She set her packages down next to the door, looking around the place with wide eyes. Likely seeing the dollar signs in every piece of furniture and decorative wall hanging in sight. I sneered from my hiding place, my lip curling in disgust. Turns out she was just like every other New York bitch I’d met after all.
I watched as her gaze moved to the back yard, catching the sunset and turning to head in my direction. I stayed hidden, following her with my eyes as she passed me and moved toward the pool, her head looking side to side and appreciating the view, just as I had earlier. I went to move out of my hiding place just as she bent down to touch the pool water, trailing her fingers through the small rippling waves like she’d never seen a backyard swimming pool before. The soft sigh she released reached my ears, and she stood and turned, gasping as she finally noticed me, her hands coming up to protect her from what she undoubtedly thought was an intruder. That was a mistake, of course, because I was supposed to be here; she was the intruder.
Her second mistake was taking a step backward. In her haste to distance herself from what she thought was danger, she stepped backward and dropped directly into the pool, disappearing below the surface with a squeak and a huge splash.
Shit. This girl was a mess.
She almost immediately popped back up again, her blonde hair now plastered to her face and her white blouse now plastered to her breasts. I took a quick peek while she was wiping the pool water out of her eyes. I’d had a feeling was hiding a killer body under that dirty shirt, but having her shirt rendered almost transparent by her impromptu swim proved it.
She coughed and sputtered, looking at me as I stood above her, hands on my hips, and sent her my best glare.
We both spoke the same words at the same time.
“What are you doing here?”
I paused, letting her make her way to the shallow end. She climbed the steps, shoulders hunched and her head bowed, as the weight of her wet jeans made walking cumbersome. As she rounded the side of the pool and headed back my way, I could see panic in her eyes. I could also see that, while Las Vegas was likely a mite bit warmer than New York in the first week of February, the wind off the canyon was definitely cool, if her pebbled nipples were any indication.
She caught me looking and hastily crossed her arms over her chest. I raised my eyes to her blue ones with a smirk, letting her know I’d seen everything worth seeing and there was nothing she could do about it.
Clearing her throat, she met my glare and asked again, “What are you doing in Mr. Pennington’s house?”
“I think the better question is what are you doing here? I’m supposed to be staying here. You’re breaking and entering,” I threw in, even though I’d seen the key in her hand. But I was hoping to get a rise out of her. She didn’t disappoint.
“Mr. Montgomery, I did no such thing!” She placed her hands on her hips in indignation and puffed up her chest, drawing my eyes back to her breasts. Realizing what she had done, she crossed her arms again before continuing. “Mr. Pennington had a key for me because I have been invited to stay here. I was expecting a roommate, but you are certainly not Daphne.”
That had me frowning. “What do you know about Daphne?”
Penelope looked at me curiously. “Mr. Pennington said that she would be staying here at the house with me during the duration of the project. He said that the house was big enough we wouldn’t even notice each other.”
I growled deep in my chest. I had a feeling I knew what was going on. “Did Mr. Pennington,” I said the name with a sneer in my voice. “Say that you would be staying with Daphne specifically? Or did he just mention a roommate?”
“I’m sure he mentioned her,” she said slowly, but I could tell by the slowly dawning shock on her face, that she wasn’t sure.
“Miss Lund, think hard. What did Mr. Pennington say, exactly?”
Penelope released a huge sigh, the color draining from her face as the implication of what was going on hit her too. “Kid,” she said quietly. “He said that his kid would be staying here. But I had assumed…”
“Yeah, well, look what that got you. You know what they say about people who assume things.”
