Twenty minutes later, Rafe parked his truck in a numbered space in an underground garage at the Pura Vida. The setting sun crept through the concrete poles holding up the building and painted the floor with flared stripes of orange.
Roxy glanced around. “You live at the hotel?”
“The condos.” He got out and closed the door.
The truck alarm beeped as Roxy followed him toward the elevator. Rafe hit the up button. “What floor are you on?” Roxy asked when the doors slid open and they stepped inside.
“Eighth.” He hesitated inside the elevator, his hand hovering over the panel. “Do you want to hit the button?”
“What?”
“Sorry.” He hit number eight and the doors closed. “I’m used to people asking me what floor so their kid can push the button.”
“Kids. How many kids do you get in Vegas hotels?”
“You’d be surprised.”
She probably would be surprised. When she was a kid, her parents always warned her about the shenanigans that happened on the Vegas strip, usually as they drove by on their way to somewhere else. The lights and people were so interesting to a five-year-old. But after she snuck up to see what her parents were watching on TV one night, she was convinced shenanigans were gremlins, so she was always afraid to visit.
Rafe slid a card over the reader at one of the dark blue doors lining the hallway. With a click, the door unlocked and he pushed inside.
Afraid. That was a mistake. The hardwood floor in the front hall of the condo led straight into the living room with its floor to ceiling windows. Sun glistened on the buildings at the southern edge of the strip. The city looked practically angelic. “This is beautiful.”
“The view is nice.” Rafe walked past Roxy into a small kitchen. Cherry Shaker-style cabinets lined the side wall and wrapped around an island with a black quartz countertop and three bar stools. He pulled a package from the refrigerator and set a pan on the stove. “How do you like your steak?”
This was like speed-dating. Not that she’d ever done that, but you heard things. What was the question? “Steak?”
“Dinner.”
“Medium.” She took a better look around. A tan L-shaped couch faced both the window and the TV hanging on the righthand wall. A foosball table sat next to the kitchen. She could see an open bedroom door behind the table.
White, black and brown pillows lined the cherry headboard of a king-size bed made up with a brown and white comforter. The matching nightstand held a phone charger and a simple silver lamp.
His bedroom—if she wasn’t mistaken. Her eyes moved back to the bed. Where he slept. Visions of Rafe stretched out naked underneath his sheets fluttered through her inappropriate head. Those inappropriate thoughts meant she had to stop staring at his bed before he noticed—or her nipples went hard. Whichever came first.
“Can I help?” She turned to Rafe just as he finished searing the meat and slipped the pan in the oven.
“Nope. I got it.”
He hadn’t noticed her gawking. Nice.
“Keep ogling my bedroom if you’d like.”
Dammit.
“Or go inside and take a closer look.”
Even though she wanted to take that look, there was no way she’d do it with him thinking she was ogling anything. She didn’t ogle. If she did, she kept it private—where ogling belonged.
“Do want something to drink?” He slid a small pot of water on the stove and started the burner. “I have Merlot, Corona and water.”
“Corona, please.”
He pulled out two bottles from the bottom shelf and used an opener before putting them on the counter.
She took the closest one and leaned against the island-slash-breakfast bar. “Do you have a condo at every hotel?”
“No. Just this one. If things pop off and we work too late and they have an opening, they’ll give us a room for the night. Kind of like I did for you.” He leaned an elbow on the counter and took a pull of his beer. “This is my home.”
Roxy raised her eyebrows. “With throw pillows?”
Rafe shrugged. “The condos come furnished.”
The throw pillows made perfect sense then, but that left another decorating question. “And the foosball table?”
“I didn’t see the point of a kitchen table when I have the bar here, so I gave it to Marinda.” He took another drink.
“Marinda?”
“My nanny.”
“You have a nanny?”
“Had a nanny. My mom passed away when I was in third grade. Marinda was my nanny, and then my dad’s second wife. She was like a mother to me.”
“Is she still with your dad?”
Rafe laughed, a hollow unfunny grunt. “My dad doesn’t keep people around. He’s living in the highlands with his fifth wife and their three-year-old son.”
“The southern highlands, where you lived in college.” She remembered that house. Large and ridiculous. “There were pictures all over the house of your dad with a woman. Was that Marinda?”
Rafe took a pull from his beer. “That was her. She was around until college, when my father decided he didn’t need her. I just like to make sure she’s taken care of.”
“That’s nice of you.”
Rafe played with the mouth of his beer, winding the neck between his fingers. “I don’t know about nice. She’s my family.”
“She had a friendly smile, from what I remember.” It had only been one party, but she’d made sure to soak up the environment.
He cocked his head, mouth quirking. “You noticed that?”
It was Roxy’s turn to take a drink before answering.“It was a small town. Everyone noticed everything.”
“Like when you cut your bangs junior year?”
“I didn’t cut them. Sarina did.” Her bangs had been crooked. Short enough to stick straight out. She’d be mad at Sarina, but Roxy had forced her to do it. “How did you know that?”
“Small town.” He smirked but didn’t elaborate.
“Nice subject change.”
“I liked it.” He shook his head and set his beer down, turning around to dump a box of Minute Rice into the boiling pot. “What about your parents? Do they still hate each other?”
“Talk about noticing.” Warmth spread through her chest. He remembered when she’d talked about her parents.
“It’s a small town. Everyone notices everything.” His smirk was almost predatory, so she almost threw up her hands and surrendered. Almost. If he wanted to snatch her up and eat her, she was game.
What was that?
Red clawed at her face at the thought of snatching, eating and gaming. Stop! His lips moved but she couldn’t hear anything over the sexual innuendo rushing in her ears.
She needed to focus and get her mind out of his pants—or her pants. All thoughts needed to be pants-free—but not him. He needed to wear pants. Her too. They were still wearing pants. That was good. “What?”
“How are they doing?” The side of his lip edged up. “Your parents.”
Oh yeah, them. How were they doing? “They’re fine as long as they aren’t in the same room. Did you know my parents weren’t together? After my dad left my mom, she met a woman and fell in love… I guess that’s how that works. I don’t know. Anyway, my mom and Danielle are going strong, but my dad is dating someone named Stormy and she’s two years older than I am. She wants to be besties and for me to call her Mom. I can barely call her Stormy. Who would do that to a kid? It’s not even a name. It’s a weather system. We were in high school at the same time. How do you call someone you went to high school with ‘Mom’?”
If there wasn’t enough red crawling up her neck before, now she could power the letters in the Vegas sign. As usual, she became socially awkward with him around. She rambled. Not that she was the picture of articulation when he wasn’t around, but she seemed to be able to tone it down. Or maybe it was that no one noticed.
“I’m glad they both found someone. That’s how that works if you’re lucky.”
“Weren’t you married?” The heat receded from her cheeks as she held back an eye roll. The man was making her dinner and giving her safe harbor. He deserved steady eyes for thoughtfulness. “Were you lucky?”
“Not a chance. You’ve heard all about my marriage disaster. How about you?”
“I don’t have a marriage disaster.” That would require a marriage. She hadn’t found anyone worth even attempting that walk of shame.
“You’re lucky.” He fluffed the rice in the pot before pulling out two plates. After portioning out two scoops of rice on each plate, he took the steaks out of the oven.
A couple knives and a couple forks later, they were sitting at the bar cutting into the most tender steak Roxy had ever eaten.
“This is amazing. Where did you learn to cook like this?” She took another bite. And another.
“Marinda.”
“Tell her thank you.”
“I will.” He attacked the steak and rice same as her, as if he hadn’t eaten in months. “Did you always want to be a process server?”
“Since third grade.” She tried, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling. No one wanted to be a process server. “Most kids wanted to be a doctor, mermaid, or a mermaid doctor. But not me. I dreamt of serving paperwork to angry people.”
“So, if this isn’t the dream, what is?”
“What’s your dream?”
“You first.” He took a drink of beer.
“Private investigator.” She looked down and her plate was empty. When did that happen? “You know, like Sherlock Holmes, but with girl parts.”
“Thank goodness for the girl parts.”
“Your turn. Are you living the dream?”
He leaned back in the chair and moved his empty plate to the side. “The dream was to be a cop.”
“You could find another police department. North Las Vegas. LA.”
“Dreams change.” He waved at the condo around them. “Anyway, why would I leave here? I have a great job that pays me well, and I oversee security for twelve properties all over the United States. As soon as I think things are getting slow, someone comes up with a new scam and we have to adjust and find a new way to handle things.”
“It sounds like this is the dream.”
“It is.” He smiled and stood. Taking the dishes to the sink, he rinsed them before putting them in the dishwasher. “Did you want to watch a little television? Or are you tired?”
“I should probably go to bed.” Going to sleep in Rafe’s bed sounded pretty good. She just needed to talk him into getting into the bed with her. Unless he was putting her on the couch. That thought made her sad—and not just because couches notoriously led to back pain. Either way, both of them needed their rest. “We need to find Presley tomorrow.”
“Yeah, we should start early.” He closed the dishwasher and hit the button. A slight hum came from the machine as he wiped his hands on a towel hanging from the handle of the stove. “Let me show you to your room.”
Disappointment snaked through her. Your room. He turned down a hall to the right of the entry door. She hadn’t even noticed the hall when they’d first come in. Which wasn’t her fault. That view was killer.
She followed him down the small hall to a bedroom.
“I’ll bring you some clothes.” He disappeared from the room, and she was left alone. Where she would sleep. Alone. Not wrapped in Rafe’s arms.
More disappointment, and not because of the room.
It was a nice room. Queen bed with a blue comforter. A small bedside table with a silver lamp. Over the bed, a painting with white flowers standing at attention across a black and mustard canvas.
“These should fit.” Rafe came back carrying a toothbrush and travel toothpaste on top of a pair of sweatpants and a tee.
She took the stack from him and fingered the plastic packaging. “A toothbrush?”
“I have a few extras for when I travel.” He pointed out the door. “There’s a bathroom over there.”
The clothes were nice. Thoughtful. But the toothbrush and toothpaste. It was too much. He was too much.
A bubble of gratitude skipped in her throat. “Thanks for this. Tonight. Everything.”
“No problem.” He headed toward the door but stopped and twisted his head to look at her. “Come get me if you need anything.”
“I will.” Or not. There was nothing she could possibly need that she would feel comfortable coming to get him. She watched him leave and stared at the open door.
She could ask for a glass of water.
She could ask for a shot of whiskey.
As long as she didn’t ask for the one thing she really wanted. His hands. His body. Him.
He’d asked her to his place and didn’t make one move. Didn’t even try. That told her more than she wanted to know.