A HOME FOR THE HUNTER

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  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

  Epilogue

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  Chapter 1

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  Olivia Larrabee looked up from the blackjack table—right into the piercing midnight eyes of the most compelling man she'd ever seen.

  Something happened in her stomach—that down-too-fast-in-an-elevator feeling. If she hadn't had the high felt-topped table to lean against, she very well might have fallen off her stool.

  Olivia's face burned. She knew that to allow herself to be so strongly affected by the mere glance of a strange man at this juncture of her life said terrible things about her character. After what she'd endured just twenty-four hours ago, she certainly ought to know better.

  Oh, but he was so … mesmerizing. So completely a man. There was humor in the lift of his mouth, strength in the jut of his jaw and danger in his eyes. And there was absolutely no doubt about it. He was looking right at her.

  "Wake up, dearie." The blue-haired lady with the rhinestone-studded glasses who had the seat next to Olivia's nudged her in the ribs.

  Olivia stiffened and blinked. "Oh. Um. Yes." She forced herself to break the hold of the stranger's hypnotic glance and to sneak another peek at the six of hearts and the seven of clubs that she'd been dealt. She beamed a smile at the dealer. "Umm. Hit me."

  The dealer peeled off another card. A king. Just what she didn't want to see.

  "Bust." Olivia said the word she'd heard the other players say when their cards totaled more than twenty-one. She turned her cards over.

  The blue-haired lady clucked her tongue. "Bad night, eh, dearie?"

  Olivia sighed. Then, trying her best to appear cool and unconcerned, she glanced up and scanned the busy casino, seeking again that incredible pair of consuming dark eyes.

  But the stranger was nowhere in sight. She felt ridiculously bereft, more solid proof of the meagerness of her character.

  The blue-haired lady was peering at her sympathetically. "You all right, honey?"

  "Yes, I'm fine." Olivia forced a polite smile. "Thanks." She gathered up what was left of her chips and slid off her stool. Then she headed straight for the change cage to get coins to play the slot machines.

  Half an hour later, her arm was tired from pulling levers. She'd failed to hit even one jackpot, though she'd put more than two hundred dollars in quarters into the machines.

  She was feeling glum—and not because she was losing. But because she knew that when her jumbo cup of quarters was empty, all she had to do was get more. All Olivia ever had to do was get more. In fact, it was probably silly for her to be playing the quarter slots. The least she could do, rich as she was, was to go and waste her money in the dollar machines. She could be down over a thousand now, instead of a mere two hundred. She could feel more like something was at stake here, even though she knew it wasn't.

  To the only daughter of Lawrence Larrabee, owner of Larrabee Brewing Company, a thousand hardly rated as pocket change.

  It was awful to be rich. Especially when it was your father, not you, who had earned all the money. Olivia didn't know how other undeservedly wealthy people felt. But she herself felt a little guilty all the time. A little wasteful, just on principle. Which was why she'd come to Las Vegas, to learn to lighten up a little.

  Or at least lightening up was part of it.

  But, of course, there was more.

  The brutal truth was, she'd discovered her fiancé naked in the arms of another woman and known she had to get away. The alternative was too dreary: to spend weeks wandering around her beach house in a bathrobe, feeling like it was just too much trouble to wash her hair.

  No, she'd decided. She was not going to sink into some dismally predictable depression. What she needed was a visit to the gaudiest, most gloriously wasteful place in the United States. In the crowds and excitement, she would forget all about Cameron Cain and the way he'd betrayed her.

  And maybe a little of the glitter would rub off on her. She'd pictured herself wearing red velvet and throwing around some of the money she hadn't earned. In her mind had been the idea that such profligate spending would not only help her to forget how empty her existence was, but would also teach her to take life more as it came.

  But so far she wasn't doing very well. She was wearing red velvet all right. By Kamali. But every time she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the casino's gold-veined mirrors, she thought of Fantine in Les Miserables. She was just one of those women who looked like a refugee from a used-clothing store, no matter what she wore.

  Beyond her disappointing appearance, everything she played, she lost. And losing wouldn't have been so bad, really. If she only could have lost largely. But Olivia was too naturally frugal to bet large. And even all the tension and excitement around her wasn't helping to change that. If anything, it was only making her failure to do anything on a grand scale seem all the more evident.

  The single bright spot in this whole questionable enterprise had been that shared glance with a stranger half an hour ago.

  "Pitiful," Olivia mumbled to herself. "Utterly pathetic."

  "You using this machine, sweetheart?" another blue lady inquired.

  Olivia wondered morosely what it could be about her that made older ladies call her things like "dearie" and "sweetheart." Olivia suspected that, though she was a grown woman and had been for years, other people did not consider her fully mature.

  "Well, hon?" the lady prompted.

  "No. I'm done. You go right ahead." Olivia took the lady's veiny, zircon-encrusted hand and pressed her full cup of quarters into it. "Win a jackpot on me."

  The lady's rather faded blue eyes lit up. "Well, thanks, hon. You're a doll."

  The woman's obvious pleasure at such an unexpected windfall cheered Olivia. "Think nothing of it, sweetie." She tossed the words over her shoulder as she flicked her crimson skirt out of her way and headed for the craps tables.

  There, she stood to the side and watched for a while, thinking that craps was a very fast game. Olivia had heard somewhere that it was the true gambler's game. She didn't know about that, but it certainly was confusing.

  Still, she wanted to try it. So once she had the general idea of how it was played, she dared to join in. She put her chips on the numbers and listened to everyone shouting and chattering and watched the man at the money box rake in her chips every time the dice were thrown. She was losing, she could figure that out.

  But when the dice came around to her and she tossed them, the other players made appreciative noises. Apparently Olivia had won for them.

  After she'd thrown the dice twice, everyone else at the table passed up their turns to roll. The dice kept coming back to her. And she threw them, paying no attention to her own bets. The other people at the table cheered her on and threw chips at her. It was actually sort of exciting. And it was nice to have everyone thinking she was wonderful and shouting at her to "do it one more time, baby!"

  For a few minutes Olivia almost felt expansive. She tossed her head and laughed and talked to the dice before she threw them. She could have sworn she was actually starting to forget her troubles and have a good time.

  But then she was assailed. There was no other word for it. Olivia was assailed by the feeling that someone was watching her. It was eerie. And it broke her concentration on having a good time.

  Soon enough she found herself casting frequent furtive glances all around. She saw no one looking at her but the money man, the man with the stick, and the people around the table. And they all had good reason to look at her. They were wondering if she was going to throw the dice or not.

  Olivia threw the dice agai
n. But in the very act of tossing them, she couldn't help speculating if it might be he who was watching her—he of the mesmerizing midnight eyes.

  The very thought that he might be observing her now, during her little moment of glory as the darling of the craps table, sent a sweet shiver all through her. She had a fleeting moment of absurd fancy in which she actually dared to imagine that he'd taken one look at her and known he'd never forget her. Now he was following her around the casino, stalking her, awaiting just the right moment to—

  Around the table there rose a collective groan.

  It appeared she'd rolled a bad one.

  Olivia put her ridiculous fantasies about a man she didn't even know completely from her mind and concentrated on winning more money for her new friends at the table.

  But it was too late. Her lucky streak with the dice was over. When she rolled the next time, everyone groaned again. The man beside her grumbled something rude about her under his breath and rolled the dice himself instead of passing them. Suddenly craps wasn't any fun at all.

  With a sigh Olivia departed the table. She trudged through the casino, looking for the next diversion. But nothing caught her eye.

  So she went out the main doors and stood on the sidewalk for a moment and stared up and down the Strip. She saw bright lights and huge marquees that advertised the ever-popular game of Keno and progressive slots and the most famous entertainers in the world.

  And she saw neon, a river of neon. Flashing and flowing. More neon than in Times Square in New York. It pulsed and whirled against the desert night sky. It awed her. And in a strange way it soothed her.

  She wondered what time it was. She wasn't wearing a watch, and in the casino there seemed to be no clocks anywhere. As if time were not allowed in Vegas.

  She thought of moving on, to the MGM Grand or the Tropicana. She could see what another pleasure palace had to offer. But then again, wasn't one casino like another in all the ways that mattered?

  Oh, that was a bad attitude to have. She knew it. How was she going to forget her problems and learn to take life as it comes with an attitude like that?

  Determined not to give up yet, she started down the sidewalk. And then she realized she was hungry. The casino where she was staying—the one she'd just left—advertised lobster with drawn butter for $9.95. A bargain.

  And, though she knew from long experience that really fine food rarely came cheap, Olivia Larrabee had never been able to resist a bargain. She turned so suddenly that she bumped right into a rather portly urban cowboy who just happened to be walking behind her. He grunted as she stepped on his snakeskin boots.

  "Oh, I am so sorry, I—"

  "Think nothing of it, little lady." The man was tipping his Stetson at her.

  But she hardly noticed what the stout cowboy was doing. Because just past his beefy shoulder, she saw him—the compelling stranger who had watched her at the blackjack table.

  The stranger had just come out of the casino behind her. And she knew, from the way his eyes narrowed as she spotted him, that he'd left the casino because he was following her.

  "Er, miss … you okay?" the beefy cowboy was asking.

  She smiled vaguely without looking at him. She was not taking her eyes off the stranger this time. This time, if he turned and disappeared, she would be watching as he did it. She wouldn't be left with the eerie feeling that he had vanished into thin air. "I'm fine. Just fine."

  The cowboy grunted and moved on. Olivia stood on the sidewalk and stared at the stranger. He returned her stare for a moment, his look both defiant and knowing. And then he started to turn away.

  "Wait!" The plea was out of her mouth before she had time to tell herself that the last thing she needed in her life right now was to go chasing after some man she didn't even know.

  The man in question froze where he was, just outside the gilt-framed glass doors to the casino. Around him and between him and Olivia, people jostled and shifted, flowing like so much flesh-and-blood neon in and out of the big doors.

  "Don't go." She only mouthed the words.

  But he heard them, she was sure he did. He knew what she had said.

  Through those deep-set dark eyes he regarded her with extreme wariness. In the garish yellow light of the casino entrance, his pale hair and brows had a gilded look. His skin was rich bronze against the white of his dress shirt. On his tanned cheeks, there was the shadow of a beard. He managed somehow to look both rumpled and lazily elegant.

  There was something feral about him. He was like those lions that survive in the African deserts. A little too lean, dangerously hungry. But no less king of the beasts for all that.

  Olivia decided all over again that he was the most thoroughly masculine man she had ever seen.

  And just as she reached that decision he shrugged and began walking toward her.

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  Chapter 2

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  As she watched him stride toward her, Olivia knew very well that she was behaving most unwisely. If she had any sense at all, she would turn quickly and walk away.

  But she didn't turn. Somehow, she couldn't turn.

  He reached her. They stood regarding each other. People going by shot them curious glances, even bumped them once or twice. But they paid no attention.

  "Give me a reason why not." His voice, pitched low, was like a long, gentle stroke from a knowing hand.

  The desert wind swept up the street, blowing the bloodred velvet in a swirl around her ankles, causing his tie to flip up and over his shoulder. With a boldness she hadn't known she possessed, Olivia caught the tie and smoothed it back into place, then quickly snatched her hand away.

  "Well?" He lifted a brow.

  "Well, what?"

  "Give me a reason why I shouldn't go."

  She looked past his shoulder and then back at him once more. "Because…" A few strands of her hair blew across her mouth. She caught them, smoothed them away.

  "Yeah?"

  She couldn't think of a thing except, Because I don't want you to go. And yet that would sound so obvious, so dull. She didn't want him to think her dull. She stared up at him, suddenly tongue-tied, her unaccustomed boldness blown away with the wind. She felt her skin begin to flood with agonized color. "I, um…"

  "Tell you what…" He smiled; a strange smile. Ironic and yet so tender. '"I'll give you a reason. You just say yes or no. And I'll be gone. Or I won't."

  She coughed, feeling nervous now. "What reason?"

  He actually chuckled. It was a warm, teasing sound, one that enticed and intrigued her as much as his speaking voice had done. Then he asked, without preamble, "Scared?"

  The truth was all that came to her, so she gave it. "Yes." Then she asked, "Was that the reason?"

  "No. I just wanted to know. And don't be."

  "What?"

  "Scared. I would never hurt you."

  "Oh."

  "But take my advice."

  "What?"

  "Never trust a man who says he'll never hurt you."

  She stared at him for a moment. And then she burst into laughter. He laughed with her, standing there on the street, buffeted by the crowds and the night wind. Several people passing by stopped to look at them. Those who stopped smiled knowing smiles. But Olivia didn't notice. She saw only the stranger.

  Then he said, "Have dinner with me. Now."

  She hesitated. "Is that the reason?"

  He nodded. "If you have dinner with me, then I've got a reason not to go."

  She confessed, "Well, I am a little hungry."

  "Is that a yes?"

  "I shouldn't."

  "Yes? Or no?"

  "I…"

  "Think about it. Take a minute. I can wait." There was a gold pillar behind him, one of the six that adorned the porte cochere of the casino. He backed up and leaned against it. "No rush."

  She laughed again, then composed herself and asked, "What's your name?"

  He answered after a brief pause, "Jack Roper."r />
  Jack, she turned the name over in her mind and decided she liked it. It was hard and direct and no-frills masculine.

  She volunteered her own. "I'm Olivia." But then she hesitated. She dreaded giving him her last name.

  Whenever she said her last name, people would ask, "Larrabee, as in Larrabee Lager?" She hated when people asked that. She didn't want Jack Roper to ask that. For once, she just wanted to be a woman, talking to a man who found her attractive. Not the heiress to the third-largest brewing company in the western United States.

  So she picked a last name from a marquee across the street, the last name of a certain country and western singer. "Loveless," she told Jack. "I'm Olivia Loveless."

  He grinned. "Loveless? You're kidding."

  "No, I'm perfectly serious."

  She gave him what she hoped was a no-nonsense frown. And as she frowned, she was thinking that really, she shouldn't be lying to him about who she was.

  But then again it was so nice, for once, not to have to go into all that.

  And besides, who was he really, anyway? She knew nothing about him or why he seemed to be following her.

  Because he thinks I'm beautiful.

  Oh, right. Sure, a more reasonable voice seemed to say.

  Okay, fine. If not beautiful, at least appealing. He finds me appealing.

  And that's supposed to be reason enough that you should have dinner with him, a total stranger?

  Given how many fabulous men like him have even bothered to look twice at me so far in my life, you're darn right.

  It's dangerous. Downright dangerous, said her wiser self. Picking up a man on the sidewalk in front of a casino is just asking for trouble.

  I wouldn't be picking him up. I'm not going to his room with him, for heaven's sake. Only out to eat.

  Oh, get real.

  I need this, I really do. My ego's been decimated by what happened yesterday. Pitiful. Purely pathetic.

  And I've never done anything like this in my life. I never take chances. It's time I took a chance.