Page 11 of Nothing Stays in Vegas

Cal and the other groomsmen looked around the open space, admiring the built-in, backlit, glass-front cabinets displaying frayed maps and collections of antique compasses and other maritime treasures. “Gorgeous. Adam, you spend a lot of time out here?”

“Hell, yes. I’m here about five days out of the week. Telecommuting and all that.”

“How you going to drag her away from this place once you guys get married?”

“Are you nuts? I’m moving in, sport.”

“With her parents? Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack, man. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair travel most of the year but Dette lives here year round. And even if they’re home, the place is big enough that if I want to do her over the mariner’s desk they won’t be able to hear her yelling out my name while I slap her ass.”

Cal tried to keep his lip from curling in distaste at the image Adam conjured, but ultimately had to turn away, making a mental note not to examine the gorgeous antique any closer.

“Well, that’s very generous of her parents to let you guys live here. They must be a close family.”

Adam snorted and shrugged noncommittally. “Not really, but Dette didn’t want to leave. I wanted in and the parents didn’t want to haggle about it anymore. So it all worked out. Let’s go check out the tavern downstairs. There’s a billiards room off the bar. I feel like giving all you gents a lesson in humility.”

Cal nodded, not that interested in a lesson from his ass-slapping friend, and followed behind the groomsmen as they filed out the door after Adam. He was happy Adam had found what he wanted in life, but something about the setup sounded off to him, not exactly an open-armed welcome from the Sinclairs, but what did he know? And Adam had always been a bit of a mystery to him, his behavior and motivations never something Cal could relate to, so why should he expect to understand the life the guy had walked into now. Somehow, he was sure it all tied back into politics, but he’d let Adam worry about that.

Sliding the pocket doors closed behind him, Cal peered down the hallways, dragging his feet in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Lara lingering in one of the many rooms.

“Dude, you coming or what?” Keith yelled from the spiraling stairs leading to the lower floor.

“Yep, right behind you.” No matter how big the house was, sooner or later he’d catch her.

Chapter Four

Hiding out in the staff kitchen, Lara managed to bake three batches of brownies, avoid any more discussion of her pretend trip to Vegas, and steer clear of Cal, Adam and Dette for the remainder of the night. The party outside had died down and now, from the window above the sink, she watched as lights began to blink out one after another in the main and guest houses. Feeling she’d effectively dodged the forced interaction bullet, Lara scurried down through the servants’ corridor to the main house and up to her room.

She flopped back on her bed, sinking deep into the thick duvet. She was blowing it. The night couldn’t have gone any worse. She had no idea what caught his attention, but something had clicked in Cal’s head out on the terrace. An instant of identity separation, if not complete recognition. She’d seen it in his eyes.

His gorgeous, deep, blue eyes.

What had she been thinking, staring after him like some kind of love-struck fool? She, foolishly, still wanted him and, at the risk of blowing Dette’s plan, she’d forgotten the charade, acted simply as “Lara” instead of “Dette” to get him. But the fact was, if Dette was going to keep her secret, Lara needed to do two things. She needed to stay away from Cal and, if she couldn’t, she needed to act like Dette. No more clues to help Cal figure out he’d been with the bride-to-be rather than the uncommitted, totally available, ridiculously confused maid of honor. There couldn’t be any more slip-ups. No more tells that gave her away—nothing for Cal to catch.

Climbing under the sheets, she stared at the oval of ivy relief in the ceiling. Her eyes tracked around and around it as she willed her mind to calm.

Damn, she practically licked her lips every time she saw him.

Enough.

It was time to let the chaos of the day go. Tomorrow she could get lost in the myriad details of wedding preparations, and banish Cal Daniels from her consciousness completely. She might actually end up grateful to Dette for leaving so many tasks for her “maids”.

Lara closed her eyes and tried to let the cool sheets soothe her into slumber. But it was no good. Every time she gave in to her fatigue, Cal materialized in her mind’s eye. His thick fingers skimming down her belly, his mouth pulling at her breast, his hips moving between her legs—No! Damn it, he’d been with her sister, she should be revolted. She was revolted. So why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?

Throwing her head back, she clutched the sheet in her fists and wondered how she was going to make it through the next five days.

Her eyes popped open.

A drive to PTown, that’s how. She’d stop into one of those funky sex shops, pick up a vibrator roughly the size of her arm—okay, who was she kidding, smaller than that—but something with more bells and whistles than she’d ever dreamt of, and she’d excise the sexual frustration demons that had been building in her for weeks. Satisfied and sated, maybe then she’d be able to get Cal out of her head. Damn she wished she’d thought of that earlier. The only way she could get one tonight would be to break into a store. Something told her that, in the harsh light of a jail cell, it wouldn’t seem worth it.

It was settled—tomorrow she’d buy a consolation present for herself and hope it was enough to get her through the next several days of insanity. Ahgg. Five more days.

Only Dette would make her wedding a full week affair that required every attendant to participate in the manual labor. Only her sister could screw up so royally by sleeping with the best man and somehow have it work out that Lara was the one to pay for it. When this was over, she was going to have to set things straight with Dette. No matter how justified the reason, no matter how much an accident it was, this had to be the last time Lara put Dette’s life first.

Letting out a frustrated burst of breath, she sat upright. Maybe some warm milk would help settle her nerves.

Lara rolled off the bed and slipped a cotton robe over her pjs, and padded barefoot downstairs into the kitchen. She loved this house late at night. The rest of the occupants had retired to their guest rooms and, with the lights off, it was the house she had grown up in. It made her feel like a little girl again.

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