A HOME FOR THE HUNTER Read online

  Time you acted like a complete idiot, you mean.

  So? She threw caution to the desert wind. I'm doing it.

  Though her wiser self was still calling her a fool, she granted the incredible stranger a nod. "Okay, Jack. I'll have dinner with you. On one condition."

  He came away from the pillar. "Name it."

  "That it will be my treat."

  He gave her that odd smile again. Ironically tender. "Fair enough."

  A little flustered by the intense look in his eyes, she cleared her throat and tried to think what to do next. "I, um, don't know Las Vegas very well. In fact, I arrived this morning and I'm staying right here, in this hotel and casino. This is the first time I've been outside of it since I got here. Where are you staying?"

  "Right here, too."

  "Oh, well. Isn't that a coincidence?"

  He shrugged.

  She forged on. "Anyway, just now I was going to go back inside and try the lobster. But if you—"

  He took her arm, causing a pleasant little shiver to course through her. "I'm no native, but I know a couple of good places. Come on. We'll take my car."

  She reminded herself that she was not going to get carried away with this. She looked at him levelly and refused to be pulled along. "Jack, I hardly know you. I will not get into your car with you right now."

  His expression was rueful as he released her arm. "Sorry. So it'll be the lobster, I suppose."

  "Is the lobster that bad?"

  "Hell, I don't know. As a matter of fact, I'm not much on seafood."

  "I'm sure there are other things on the menu. Choose one of them."

  "I will. Let's go."

  The lobster, while it didn't compare with what Olivia enjoyed at her favorite restaurant in Malibu, was certainly acceptable. Neither stringy nor rubbery, it had enough flavor that Olivia was sure the crustacean had been alive not too long ago. She hadn't been allowed to choose one from a tank, but for the price what could she expect?

  And anyway, it was the man across the table, not the quality of the food, that interested her. Not surprisingly he ordered rare steak and seemed quite happy with it when it arrived.

  He watched her as she expertly cracked the claws and removed the sweet meat. "Amazing."

  She glanced up from her work. "What?"

  "That's a damn messy job. But somehow, you do it—" he sought the right word "—so tidily."

  "Yes. I'm a tidy eater, all right."

  He must have picked up on her ambivalence because he asked, "You don't like being tidy?"

  "I'm not tidy, in general." She sucked the last shred of meat from a claw without making a sound. "I'm tidy when I eat. But in most everything else, I'm a mess."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I don't pick up after myself."

  "You mean you're not a good housekeeper?"

  "To put it bluntly—" she picked up her glass of Chardonnay and toasted him with it "—I'm a slob."

  He sat back in his chair and regarded her.

  She waited for him to tell her in some charming way that it was all right to be a slob. After all, if he wanted to please her, that would be the next thing for him to say. It was certainly what her ex-fiancé-as-of-yesterday would have said. Cameron had been a real pro at telling her how wonderful, how charmingly quixotic, how terrific she was in every way.

  But Jack Roper only shrugged, as if whether Olivia "Loveless" was a slob or not was her own problem, not his.

  She suddenly felt a little ashamed that she'd never had to pick up after herself, so she added, as if it mattered, "But I'm neat in the kitchen. And I'm quite frugal, as well."

  "Why the kitchen?"

  "I once took an expensive cooking class." Very expensive. Olivia had spent six months in Paris studying the art of French cooking. In fact, her dream had once been to become a professional chef. But in the end she hadn't been good enough to get a job in any of the really fine restaurants. And eventually her father had convinced her that it was patently absurd for a woman of her means to be cooking in the kind of restaurants where, as a rule, she would never deign to eat. He'd suggested she buy a restaurant of her own to cook in, which somehow had felt like it would have been cheating. So she'd refused.

  She told Jack, "I have a great respect for the art and the science of meal preparation."

  They looked at each other for a moment over the candle in the middle of their table. She was aware, once again, of how very dark and deep his eyes were, especially in contrast to his pale gold hair. And of how much he attracted her—and how little she knew about him.

  She sipped from her wine again. It was kind of nice, really, she thought. Not knowing him. Like one of those lovely old romantic movies. A movie with the word "stranger" in the title. Strangers in Las Vegas, perhaps.

  He suggested quietly, "Tell me more. About yourself. About Olivia Loveless."

  The stress he put on the phony name made her wonder. Did he know it wasn't hers? She looked down at the white tablecloth and back up into his eyes just as the busser cleared her dishes away.

  "I'm…"

  "Yeah?"

  She squared her shoulders. If he knew, he knew, she decided. And if he wanted to confront her with her lie, he could just go ahead and do it. She told him, "I'm just an ordinary woman."

  He lifted a white-gold eyebrow but didn't say anything.

  "I'm from Los Angeles." It wasn't much of a lie. She lived in Malibu. Her house was right on the beach. Her father had bought it for her as a Christmas present, a few years ago, from a movie star who'd needed a lot of money fast. "I'm here for a few days while I'm between jobs."

  That was the truth. Technically. She'd quit her job as a "regional representative" for Larrabee Brewing Company only the day before. It hadn't been a real job anyway, just a meaningless position created by her father to ease her guilt about all the money he'd given her that she'd never earned.

  "So while I'm in Las Vegas, I want to forget my troubles," she said, "and have a good time."

  "And are you?"

  "Forgetting my troubles?"

  He nodded. "And having a good time."

  She gave him a slow-spreading grin. "Now I am."

  "Good."

  "Dessert?" the waiter asked.

  They agreed they'd have coffee.

  Once the coffee was served, Olivia asked the question she'd been trying to form all through dinner. "When I turned around and saw you outside the casino, were you following me?"

  His eyes seemed even darker than before, and fathoms deep. "Yes, I was." He sipped from his coffee. "I'd been following you for a while by then."

  "You had?"

  "Yeah. I was watching you at the blackjack table."

  "I know." She stirred her coffee, though there was no reason to. She took it black. "I saw you."

  "I felt like an idiot."

  She looked up. "Why?"

  "No one ever catches me staring." She detected a hint of a smile on his lips. "If I'm looking at all, they don't know it. But there's something different about you."

  "Different?"

  He shrugged. "Yeah. Different. Unusual."

  She frowned. "I'm unusual?"

  "Yeah. You say that you're ordinary, but you're not."

  "How do you mean, unusual?"

  "Well, it's partly that you're so small boned and pale. And then there's that dress."

  "What? You don't like my dress?"

  "It's different, that's all."

  Olivia looked down and stirred her coffee some more, paying great attention to the unnecessary task. She was thinking that maybe the things Jack was saying about her weren't exactly flattering. But somehow, the way he said them, they made her feel complimented, anyway.

  "I watched you at the craps table." His voice was low, caressing.

  The surge of feminine pleasure she felt was instant and utterly shameless. She remembered the absurd little fantasy she'd indulged in right before she'd thrown the dice and her lucky streak had ended. She'd imagin
ed him watching her. And now it turned out that he had been.

  He added, "But you didn't catch me that time."

  "No," she murmured softly, watching the coffee swirl in her cup. "I didn't catch you."

  "Stop stirring that coffee."

  Her hand went still.

  "Look at me."

  Slowly she raised her head and met his eyes. "But you spotted me out on the sidewalk."

  "Yes, I did."

  "You turned around so fast, I didn't have a chance to disappear."

  "Umm-hmm."

  "That's twice you caught me."

  "That's right."

  "Nobody catches me." His gaze was so strange. Unreadable. Far away and yet probing.

  Olivia had a sudden, disorienting sensation. A feeling of being utterly, completely, out of her depth. She pushed the feeling away and forced a rather brittle laugh. "Well. Should I be sorry?"

  "Probably."

  "That's too bad. Because I'm not." She took a sip from her overstirred coffee. "I think it's time to change the subject."

  "To what?"

  "We could talk about what brings you to Las Vegas."

  He considered for a moment. "Business."

  "What kind of business?"

  "Do you really want to know?"

  Now she was the one considering. At last she said, "I thought I did, when I asked."

  "But?"

  "Well, now that I think twice, I'm not so sure. Is it something that's bothering you, this business of yours?"

  He didn't answer right away, but then he said, "Yeah, I guess it is bothering me. Just a little."

  "I mean, you don't really want to talk about it, do you?"

  "No." His eyes were wary again. "To be honest, I'd rather not get into it."

  She knew just what he meant. She had no urge at all to tell him what had brought her to Vegas. Now that she was finally having a nice time, the last thing she wanted to talk about was how she'd caught her fiancé with another woman and run off to Nevada to keep from suffering a major depression.

  An idea came to her. "Tell you what."

  "What?"

  "We hardly know each other."

  "So?"

  "So let's keep it that way. For now."

  He looked flummoxed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  She laughed, pleased that she'd managed to catch Jack Roper off guard for once. In general, Jack struck her as a man who rarely allowed himself to be caught off guard. And he'd already confessed that he'd been unable to stop staring at her earlier in the evening.

  Because she was so unusual.

  Her heart, which up until a little while ago had felt like a lead weight in her chest, was starting to seem as light as spun sugar. Maybe this spontaneous trip to Vegas had been the right idea after all.

  It was only a little more than twenty-four hours from the moment she'd discovered her fiancé in the arms of his executive assistant. And yet here she was, having dinner with a mysterious and compelling man and somehow actually managing to hold her own with him. The momentary feeling of being out of her depth was long gone.

  "Are you going to answer my question?" he asked.

  "What question?"

  "You said we hardly know each other and that you wanted to keep it that way. What did you mean?"

  "Oh, that." She gave an airy wave.

  "Yes. That."

  "Well—" she sat forward "—what I meant was, let's not talk about the ordinary things, the mundane things. Not tonight, anyway. We're strangers in Las Vegas. And let's enjoy being just that."

  He took a sip of coffee. "It's an interesting idea."

  "Does that mean you agree?"

  He seemed to study her. "If I did, what would we talk about?"

  She put her forearms on the table and leaned on them. She was warming to the idea. "Oh, everything. What we think. What we like. What we don't like. Opinions and observations. But no personal facts. Nothing about what you do or what I do or what our everyday lives are like. Nothing about our family problems or any of that stuff. We could save all that for later." She found she was blushing. She sat back a little and added, "I mean, if there is a later, of course."

  "Of course."

  "So what do you think?" She was so pleased with the idea that she bounced a little in her chair.

  He chuckled. "Hell. Why not?"

  "We have a deal?" She stuck out her hand.

  He took it and gave it a firm shake. "You bet we do, Ms. Loveless."

  "Brussels sprouts," he said much later. They were sitting in a pair of wing chairs next to an areca palm in a little alcove they'd discovered right off the lobby.

  "Brussels sprouts." She pondered a moment. "In any form?"

  "Yeah. It doesn't matter how you serve 'em up. I hate 'em."

  She didn't realize that what she was thinking must be showing on her face until he said, "I mean it. There is no way you can serve me a Brussels sprout that I would eat."

  "I know this little place on Sunset in L.A.," she told him. "They make a Brussels sprout quiche that is out of this world."

  He looked at her sideways. He was clearly disgusted. "Quiche?" he asked. "Quiche? Next to Brussels sprouts, I hate quiche worst of all."

  "A macho and ridiculous prejudice," she informed him.

  "Get that nose of yours out of the air." He reached from his chair to hers and brushed her nose with a forefinger. Then he peered more closely at her. "You have freckles, you know."

  "I know. I've always had them."

  "They're cute. You're cute, to tell you the truth."

  He sounded like it pained him to admit this, which Olivia found funny. She laughed.

  "What is so funny?" He looked noble and wounded.

  "Nothing. Everything."

  "Start with everything and go on from there."

  "It seemed like it almost killed you to say you thought I was cute. I've noticed that about you, Jack."

  "Oh, right. You're some big expert on me already… You've noticed what?"

  "That you're not exactly lavish with compliments."

  He sat back in his chair and sipped the drink that a cocktail waitress had just served him. In the casinos there were cocktail waitresses everywhere. "I should be more lavish, is that what I'm hearing here?"

  She smiled softly. "No. You shouldn't. You should be just like you are. A little too blunt. An honest man."

  He looked away. She knew at that moment that he hadn't been completely honest with her. But she wasn't really bothered by whatever he was holding back. She'd had a magical evening, made all the more enchanting by its very unexpectedness. They'd talked of so many things. From football to favorite movies. But they'd held to their agreement to keep their real lives out of it. So Jack Roper had a right to a secret or two.

  He was looking at her again. "It's late."

  She knew he was right. "Yes. So late, it's practically early."

  He set his still-full drink aside and stood. "Come on." He reached down. "I'll take you to your room."

  She twined her fingers with his and let him pull her to her feet. His touch was warm, his grip strong. Her heart beat faster. She relished the little tingle she felt all through her body, when all she'd done was take his hand.

  In the elevator she pushed the button for her floor. They rode up together in silence, fingers still entwined.

  She was careful not to think ahead to the precarious moment that was fast approaching, when they would stand at her door.

  And then the moment was upon her. They faced each other.

  "The evening was perfect," she said.

  "Yeah, it was."

  "Thank you, Jack."

  "My pleasure."

  "I…"

  "Yeah?"

  He waited, still lightly clasping her hand. She looked at his mouth. She'd been looking at his mouth all night. It was a tempting mouth. Chiseled on top, slightly fuller below.

  Oh, what was the use of kidding herself? She wanted his kiss. She wanted to feel that
tempting mouth against her own. Just once before they said good-night. Or goodbye.

  He let go of her hand. She sighed at the loss of his touch.

  But then his palm was gliding up her arm, the caress burning, teasing her through her red velvet sleeve.

  "Olivia." He said it so tenderly.

  She tipped her face up to his. "Jack, I know we agreed not to get personal." Her voice was more breath than sound. She made herself continue. "But there's something I have to know."

  "Name it."

  "Are you married, Jack?"

  He shook his head very slowly.

  "Engaged?"

  "No."

  "Living with anyone?"

  "Well…"

  Her heart seemed to sink right down into her red satin shoes. "Oh, Jack."

  "There's this damn tomcat, see."

  "What are you saying, Jack?"

  "There's a tomcat. I've been calling him Buzz, because the hair on his head is so short it looks like a buzz cut, you know? He hangs around my apartment. He seems to think he lives with me."

  Sweet relief coursed through her. It must have shown on her face because he said, "Don't look so happy. The damn cat won't get lost. I'm hoping by the time I get home he'll have given up and moved on."

  She tried to look more solemn. "So your only roommate is a cat?"

  "Or so the cat seems to think."

  "I'm just so glad to hear that."

  And she was, oh, she was! Now, there was absolutely nothing standing between her and Jack and the goodnight kiss she'd been dreaming of sharing with him.

  And of course Jack must want to kiss her, too. He had followed her around the casino for half the night, waiting for just the right moment to step forward and introduce himself. He'd shared a meal with her, and they'd talked for hours. He desired her. It was obvious. Why else would he be with her now?

  But maybe he didn't want to push her. After all, they'd only just met.

  Olivia smiled. He was probably only waiting for a little signal from her, that was all. Olivia swayed toward Jack, lifting her mouth and letting her eyelids flutter closed.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

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  Jack Roper gazed down at Olivia's soft, enticing lips. He wanted to taste them.

  But there was no damn way he was going to.

  Because he knew that the minute he put his mouth on hers and pulled her slim body close he would completely forget the real reason he'd spent the evening with her.