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  A group of people entered the bar, chattering and laughing. She recognized the first cowboy as Kade, the guy who’d hit on her the other night. The second cowboy she assumed was his brother, the bull rider. A couple followed them in, a curvy brunette in skintight jeans and a tall, lean cowboy with his arm draped around her shoulders as he guided them all to a table. He glanced across the bar and their eyes met.

  Her throat knotted. It was Ty. And he was with Cassie.

  Shit. The last person Ty had expected to see tonight was Monica.

  Her eyes widened with surprise and then narrowed again as they swept over Cassie. He knew that look all too well. “Pardon me a minute,” he excused himself from the group and made his way across the bar. He tipped his hat. “Didn’t think I’d see you here, but since you are, would you like to join us?” He nodded to the table.

  “No, thanks,” she replied tight-lipped, clearly seething. “You move lightning-fast, don’t you, Ty? Me just this morning. And now Cassie? Is that why you were in such a big hurry to leave? One woman a day isn’t enough for you?”

  “I said why I had to leave.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I told you I had business to take care of. Important business. This ain’t what you think, Ms. Brandt, but even if it was, I told you I answer to nobody. I’m not about to tell you how to live your life, and I don’t cotton to anyone dictating mine. Now, if you’d like to come and join us, I’ll be happy to introduce you around.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’m leaving.” She stood. “Good-bye, Ty.”

  Something about her tone and demeanor suggested far more than just “good night.”

  “Goodbye? What do you mean?” he asked.

  “It means I’m done, Ty. Done with Las Vegas. Done with this hotel. And especially done with you.”

  He watched her walk out with his hands clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to go after her. But what would he say? Apologize for something he didn’t do?

  Fuck that.

  Once again she’d jumped to conclusions when he’d done nothing wrong. He was sick and tired of her thinking the worst of him, and what was the point of explaining himself when she didn’t give a shit about his world anyway? He turned back to the table with a pasted-on smile.

  Hours later, after Just Call Me Phil disappeared with Tamara on his arm, and Ty finally managed to peel a tipsy Cassie off his lap and get her into the limo, he returned to the bar to find Delaney waiting for him.

  “Wasn’t sure you’d be back,” she remarked.

  “It’s a bad idea to mix business and pleasure,” Ty said bitterly, his thoughts returning to Monica.

  “What a surprise,” Delaney remarked dryly. “Admittedly, I didn’t credit you with either the scruples or the self-restraint.”

  “If you’ve got something on your mind, just spill it, Delaney. I’m too fucking tired for our normal bullshit.”

  “Fair enough,” she agreed. “I won’t bust your balls anymore, especially after tonight. It couldn’t have gone any better, Ty. You made yourself look like a damned hero to that man.” She raised her glass in salute. “He wants to partner with you. Says he’ll even loan you the rest of what you need for the renovations.”

  “That’s fantastic!” Ty slapped the table.

  “Not so fast, Ty. There’s one little caveat . . . he wants controlling interest.”

  Ty’s elation evaporated. “No deal, Delaney. I’ve put too much into this place to just hand it over.”

  “For all intents and purposes, you’d still be the one in charge, Ty. It’s really no different than your arrangement with Tom.”

  “The hell it isn’t! It’s completely different! I’ve known Tom all my life.”

  “And I’ve known Uncle Phil. He won’t do you wrong, Ty.”

  “I’m not going to answer to someone else. I’d sell out completely first.”

  “Then it just may come to that. You aren’t going to get another chance like this, Ty. Seems to me you’d better sleep on it before you answer. Uncle Phil’s staying the weekend. That gives you forty-eight hours to decide.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Evan’s Gulfstream had just been cleared for takeoff from Henderson Executive Airport when Monica’s phone buzzed. Recognizing Ty’s number on her caller ID, she scowled at the phone and ignored the call. Whatever he had to say to her was too little, too late. She’d meant every word she’d said. She was finished. The sooner she left this desert wasteland the better. She was leaving Las Vegas for good—with Evan.

  Maybe he was a manipulative asshole at times, but at least he was willing to offer her a commitment. She didn’t love him, but maybe love wasn’t such a good bargain. Her feelings for Ty had only made her miserable. She deserved more from life and certainly wasn’t going to find it in Sin City.

  She glanced out the window at the mountains, an aching reminder of that sunrise with Ty. A text message interrupted that thought. She was about to delete that too, until she saw Tom’s name. The message that followed made her heart leap into her throat.

  Urgent. Tom’s had another stroke.

  “Oh my God! Stop the plane, Evan!” she shrieked.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped. “We can’t just turn around.”

  “Oh yes we can! It’s Tom. I mean it, Evan. Stop the fucking plane. I have to get off. Now!”

  For the second time, Ty found himself pacing the halls of Desert Springs Medical Center, waiting for Tom’s daughter. “Would you like some coffee, Ty?” the unit secretary asked.

  He recognized her as the plump redhead from the last time he’d been there, the one he’d never called for dinner. What the hell was her name again? “No thanks, Sugar,” he dismissed the offer.

  He’d phoned and texted Monica numerous times in the last hour, but she still hadn’t responded. Was she already in New York? Or maybe she was en route with her phone off?

  Just when he was about to dial again, she appeared, ashen-faced, in the doorway. His gaze briefly met that of the man standing behind her. He had both hands possessively anchored on her shoulders, sizing Ty up. Ty nodded and returned the favor. He didn’t need an introduction to know it was Evan.

  “Tom?” Monica whispered hoarsely, her gray eyes wide with fear.

  Fuck. Why did he have to be the one to tell her?

  He opened his mouth, but the words just wouldn’t come. All he could do was shake his head and open his arms. Monica gasped and then launched herself into them, hitting him hard with a body-racking sob. Ty shut his eyes and clutched her tightly to his chest, barely holding his own choking sobs at bay. They stood there for what felt like eternity, anchored to each other in shared grief while Rosa wailed in the background.

  “I’m sorry, Sugar,” Ty murmured into her hair. “He’s gone. But I’m right here, and I swear to God I’ll take real good care of you.”

  Here’s a sneak peek at the next novella in the Hotel Rodeo series,

  Two to Wrangle

  Available from Lyrical Shine in February 2016!

  Chapter One

  Ty Morgan licked his lips, which had never felt drier, and swallowed with a throat that had never been more parched as he sat staring through a lens of shimmering amber and gold. The row of bottles sat just out of reach on the top shelf in front of the antique diamond-dust mirror, the shelf he’d been painfully aware of but had been careful to avoid for seven long and sober years. But now he needed something, anything, to numb this desperate ache deep in his chest.

  The craving for a stiff drink that had begun hours ago as a soft, sultry siren’s call was now a steady and relentless pounding against his eardrums. Noticing the direction of his gaze, Gabby slid a foamy mug of beer in front of him.

  Ty pushed it away. “Jim Beam Black. Gimme a double.”

  If losing the one person he cared for most in the whole world wasn’t a good reason to get shit-faced, he didn’t know what was.

  Gabby’s brows drew together. “Thought you di
dn’t touch that stuff.”

  “Only on rare occasions,” he said slowly. “And this one is pretty damned rare. In fact, I’d even call it raw.” The man who been a surrogate father to him was gone.

  Gabby leaned her elbows on the bar, getting up close and personal, her brown eyes soft and sympathetic. “I know you’re hurting, Ty. We all are, but you can’t let this get to you. You’ve come too far to fall off the wagon.”

  “I was never on the fucking wagon,” he snapped. “I just didn’t want to drink anymore, okay? Now spare me the platitudes and gimme the bottle, Gabby, before I climb over this bar and get it myself.”

  Gabby pulled back reluctantly to retrieve the bottle, but poured only half the amount he’d demanded into the glass.

  Ty snatched it up and downed the bourbon in one burning swallow. Relishing the sensation of heat that spread slowly through him, he shut his eyes on a sigh. The welcoming warmth enveloping him was second only to being inside a woman, an experience he hadn’t enjoyed for far too long. The last time was the morning he’d shown Monica the sunrise from the terrace outside his bedroom. Then, only hours later, the only woman he’d made love to in his own bed in almost eight years had walked out on him and back into her ex-fiancé’s arms.

  Fuck that.

  He refilled the glass. The second shot went down smoother, but then again, his throat was still tingling from the first. He’d tried to tell himself he didn’t give a shit, but he did. The abject pain in her eyes when he’d broken the news about Tom had almost broken him. His feelings for her confounded him. Outside the bedroom they mixed about as well as oil and water, but between the sheets they were fire and gasoline. And he still wanted her.

  Even now, the thought of her made him ache in two places at once. He couldn’t understand why he was so damned attracted to a woman who hadn’t the slightest interest in his life or in his world.

  For weeks since Tom’s first stroke brought his daughter to town, he’d been wound as tight as an eight-day clock. He slumped back on the stool, finally beginning to relax a little. He reached again for the bottle. This time he didn’t bother with the glass.

  Gabby’s frown deepened to a scowl as he took a long, savoring swig. “Maybe you should slow it down a little, Ty. The memorial service is in less than an hour.”

  She was right, of course. He should slow it down. He should push the bottle away. A couple of good drinks usually just mellowed him out, but three was the limit. Any more than that always sent him over the edge. He stared at the bottle as reason warred with emotion, but the mind-numbing bourbon had already taken possession of him.

  “Some memorial,” he scoffed. “Monica has it all wrong if she thinks Tom would want everyone weeping and wringing hankies in some musty funeral parlor. He despised that kind of thing. He’d be the first to tell us to open some bottles and have a drink in his memory.” Ty slapped the bar. “Hell, he’d want an open-bar shindig.” Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, a slow smile spread over his face.

  Dressed in a black Prada dress and stiletto heels, Monica Brandt slid across the seat in her hired limo to join the man already seated inside. She gazed sightlessly out the window as the car swept away and merged smoothly into the flow of Las Vegas traffic, bound for the Desert Palms Crematorium. Her mind was still numb with disbelief, and her chest ached with the dull, incessant throb of grief.

  “Are you okay?” asked a familiar baritone.

  She glanced up, half expecting to see Ty Morgan’s whisker-shadowed and careworn face, but it was Evan’s instead. Evan’s eyes searching her face. Evan’s hand reaching out to take hers. This was a kinder, gentler Evan than she’d ever seen before. Although he despised emotional displays, he’d surprised her by remaining by her side instead of making an excuse to return to New York. Did he actually care about her loss, or was he just putting up a good front?

  “No,” she replied. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again.” She choked back a sob, but her burning eyes remained dry. She had no more tears left. She’d lost the only person who’d ever truly cared about her. Tom had taught her what it was like to be loved. Deep down it was the only thing she’d ever truly wanted—to love and be loved. But now Tom was gone, and it hurt beyond belief.

  Was it only a month ago that Tom’s first stroke had put her on the plane from New York to Las Vegas? Was it only three days ago that she’d boarded Evan’s private jet determined to return to New York? It seemed more like a lifetime ago. No, it actually seemed more like someone else’s life.

  “Look, I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through,” Evan said, “but he’s gone now. Once this is over, why don’t you come back to New York with me?”

  Did he really want her back, or did he only want the real estate she now controlled? Did it matter? Either way, she was selling out . . . severing all ties to Ty. Ty was the real reason she’d boarded the plane with Evan. Leaving Las Vegas with Evan was a knee-jerk reaction to seeing Ty with another woman, but Tom’s sudden death had brought her right back again.

  “I’m not ready to discuss it yet, Evan. It’s too soon.”

  “There’s nothing left to keep you here once you sell the hotel,” Evan continued. “Let’s start over again. Isn’t it what you’d planned to do before all this happened?”

  Was it what she’d planned?

  Her entire life she’d known exactly who she was and what she wanted—or at least she’d thought she had. Deep down she’d always craved love and acceptance but had settled for professional success. Until Tom had come into her life, her career had always come first and relationships a distant second, but now it seemed everything was shifting like quicksand under her feet.

  Who was she really and what did she really want? Was it a real estate mogul with an expensive penthouse apartment in lower Manhattan, or a swaggering cowboy and his rundown hotel on the garishly lit Las Vegas Strip? Putting logic aside, she searched her heart.

  It was Ty. There had never been any real contest. She’d fallen for the damned smirking cowboy almost the moment she’d laid eyes on him—and the acknowledgment only made her more miserable.

  It was Ty who’d broken the news to her and Ty’s strong arms that had held her as she wept. It had been too damned easy to fall right back into those arms and just as difficult to pull away again. But she had pulled away—to the safety of Evan, a man who didn’t love her any more than she loved him.

  Photo Credit: John Sobota

  Victoria Vane is an award-winning author of smart and sexy romance. Her work ranges from wild comedic romps to emotionally compelling erotic romance. Victoria is the founder of Embracing Romance, the Goodreads Romantic Historical Fiction Lovers and the Romantic Historical Lovers book review blog. Visit her online at www.victoriavane.com and on Twitter @AuthorVictoriaV, or find her on Facebook.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  LYRICAL SHINE BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2016 by Victoria Vane

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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  Lyrical Press and Lyrical Press logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  First Electronic Edition: January 2016

  ISBN: 978-1-6018-3410-2

 

 

 
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