Las Vegas Nights: At Odds with the Heiress. Cat Schield

      He exhaled impatiently. “Will you stop trying to act like nothing is wrong when it’s obvious you’re upset?”

      “Of course I’m upset.” She let her temper flare. It terrified her to let down her guard around him. “Shouldn’t I be? I was attacked and whatever the thief took tonight might have damaging consequences for my family.”

      “Right now what you need is sleep.” He held out his hand.

      His suggestion made sense, but she didn’t move. It was far nicer to be in the same room where she could be comforted by his reassuring strength. But telling him that would give him too much insight into how she thought.

      “You’re sending me to bed?” She let him pull her up and forced a mocking smile. “Most men would be escorting me there.”

      “Then most men are jerks for taking advantage of you in such a vulnerable state.”

      Vulnerable? If that’s how he saw her, she’d given far too much away tonight. “Most men can’t help themselves. They find me irresistible.”

      “That’s a pretty powerful feeling for you, isn’t it?”

      She set her hand on her hip, a trace of spunk returning. “What’s wrong with feeling powerful?”

      “Not a thing. Unless you have to be that way all the time.”

      “I don’t.” But she was lying. Being strong was how she’d survived being a child star and how she’d struggled back from the dark years of partying too much and falling once too often for the wrong guy. “There’s nothing that I can do right in your eyes, is there?”

      She turned away before the longing to throw herself at him grew too strong to resist. Her feet felt heavy and sluggish as she crossed the living room. With each step she took, her heartbeat slowed. She hoped he’d come after her, sweep her into his arms and carry her the rest of the way to her bed. When that didn’t happen, she closed her bedroom door and left a trail of clothes to mark her passage. Naked, she fell into bed.

      But the weariness that dragged on her limbs didn’t reach her mind. Scarlett lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, and turned the theft of the files over and over in her head. Had the thief taken them without seeing what they were because he was in a hurry? Or had he broken in specifically because he wanted something that was in them?

      She’d gone through her family’s files a dozen times. The only damaging item was the fact that Harper’s father wasn’t Ross Fontaine, and Scarlett couldn’t imagine Penelope hiring someone to steal the files. It had to be something else. What had she missed?

      Closing her eyes, Scarlett sifted through the contents of her father’s file, but all she got for her efforts was an increased throbbing in her head. Ross had been a rotten husband, but that wasn’t exactly a huge secret. He’d preferred his women young and single so there weren’t any jealous husbands. And he’d been more ham-fisted than ruthless in running Fontaine Hotels and Resorts to have made any enemies among the other hotel owners in Las Vegas.

      Scarlett just couldn’t see why the guy had wanted the files. And then she recalled the rest of what was in the box. Caught up in the drama surrounding her family, she’d only glanced through the other files once.

      Most of the material had been about Tiberius’s brother-in-law, Preston Rhodes, the current chairman of the board and CEO of Stone Properties, which was headquartered in Miami, Florida. Like Fontaine Hotels and Resorts, Stone Properties owned hotel and resort properties all over the world.

      Scarlett had once asked Tiberius why he didn’t work for the company his father had founded and learned how his brother-in-law had schemed to get Tiberius kicked out of the family business so he could take over.

      No surprise, then, that Preston had never set foot in Las Vegas. Stone Properties had one hotel on the Strip: Titanium. Run by JT Stone, Tiberius’s nephew and namesake, the five-star hotel sat several blocks north of the trio of Fontaine hotels.

      An hour ticked by, bringing her no closer to sleep. Logan’s presence in the living room was far too distracting. At last she got up and slipped into a hot-pink cotton lounge set. She stood with her hand on the doorknob for a few minutes, debating what excuse she’d use for wanting his company. In the end it didn’t matter because when she reached the living room, Logan was nowhere to be found.

      Her disappointment was difficult to ignore as she headed into the kitchen for a bottle of water. Instead of drinking it, she set the cool bottle against her still-aching jaw. The coolness washed through her and without warning, tears sprang to her eyes. Normally she’d blink them away and shove down her unhappiness. Never show weakness. She’d learned that early in Hollywood. But being abandoned by Logan was too much on top of everything else she’d gone through tonight.

      As the tears began working their way down her cheeks, the door to her suite opened. Heart pounding in sudden alarm, Scarlett was too overcome by panic to move. When Logan stepped into view, she was awash in relief.

      “You came back.”

      His gaze swung in her direction. “I never left.”

      “You weren’t here when I came to get water.”

      “I stepped outside to talk to Lucas.” He gestured with his cell phone. “I didn’t want to disturb you.” As he spoke, he narrowed the distance between them. “Is your jaw still sore?”

      He’d moved within reach and before she could question the wisdom of her actions, Scarlett pressed herself against his strong body. She wrapped her arms around his waist and felt him tense. But when his hands touched her shoulders, it wasn’t to push her away but to gather her still closer.

      “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re safe.”

      And for the first time in a long time, she knew she was. Letting someone take care of her wasn’t comfortable for Scarlett. She’d developed a deep and wide streak of distrust not long after reaching puberty. The older brother of one of her fellow actors had cornered her in a dressing room and stuck his tongue down her throat. Afterward he’d threatened to say she’d come on to him if she told anyone what had happened. She’d been twelve years old at the time and was just beginning to understand what it meant to be a woman.

      “I’m not always strong,” she told him, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “Usually I’m terrified that what I’m doing is completely wrong.”

      Logan stroked her hair. “You’ve sure fooled me.”

      “That was the idea.”

      * * *

      Logan drew Scarlett toward the couch. They sat together in the middle with little space between them. Scarlett snuggled against his side and her lips curved into a dreamy smile when his arm came around her shoulder. It was a serene, domestic moment, unlike their normally tempestuous encounters. The invasion of her home had cracked her shell, knocking her off her game.

      For the first time he didn’t question whether this was honest fear or just a performance to make him sympathetic toward her. He’d seen her acting range. She could transform herself into whatever played into a man’s fantasy. Since he’d criticized the way she dressed, he’d noticed her wardrobe had become more professional. Was she donning another costume, one designed to win him over? Did she even comprehend what she was doing? Or was it second nature to her?

      “You’re a hard woman to read, Scarlett Fontaine.”

      Tonight, she’d been as rattled as he’d ever seen her. So much so she couldn’t bring herself to tell him she was afraid.

      Her sigh brushed his neck. “I hate to admit it, but you bring out the worst in me.”

      He was silent a long moment. “Why is that?” He asked the question, not expecting she’d tell him the truth.

      “I guess I want too much for you to like me.”

      Her declaration caught him