Weekend in Vegas!: Saving Cinderella!. Jackie Braun

by name for the first time. Trusting Alex.

      She gazed directly up into his eyes. “You’re not sure you can make it a success.”

      “Or that I want to try. Failure isn’t an option, and it needs…something.”

      She stood there for a minute, just studying him, as if conducting a computer scan of his thoughts. He’d never had anyone pay that much attention to him, at least not in that way. Women were attracted to his money, his power, maybe even to his looks. But Alex was different. She aimed straight for the core of what made a person tick. He wasn’t sure his soul could survive that kind of close examination.

      “It’s not a very impressive place. You can back out and I won’t be offended,” he said. But he hoped she would come.

      “Why?” she asked. “Why now? Why me?”

      He didn’t want to examine all the reasons. He didn’t want to dig that deep, look inside himself that closely, but he could tell her one true thing. “Because you see possibilities other people miss.”

      “And if there are no possibilities?”

      “I want you to be brutally honest.”

      She gazed up at him with those soft blue eyes. “I don’t like hurting people.”

      He held her gaze. “You can’t hurt me.” But he knew he lied.

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

      ALEX looked at the sad little collection of buildings, and her heart broke for whoever had once tried to make a go of this property and given up. It wasn’t near the bustling Las Vegas strip, the cottages were small, parts of the chapel were tumbling down, and yet…

      “Beautiful scenery,” she said, noticing the stark red rocks in the distance.

      “There’s that, and also isolation.”

      She studied the little cluster of buildings, the small attempts at hominess, planters where non-native plants had died long ago, and the remains of an arching trellis outside the little chapel.

      Wandering inside the adobe chapel, partially open to the elements where glass was missing from the deep cut-outs of the windows, Alex stood soaking in the atmosphere. It was the most basic of structures, a bare wood floor, plain wood pews with slatted backs. There was no light source. Someone had scribbled graffiti on the big timbers that held up the roof and on the white walls.

      Outside there were benches on the path connecting the cottages, their canopy frames empty and skeletal. Everything was silent, deserted, empty.

      Alex noticed other little imperfections—the faded blue door on one cream cottage, a crooked welcome sign over another door, the flowers painted over the entrance to the chapel that would never have occurred naturally in this landscape and yet…

      “There’s something rather charming and winsome about it,” she said.

      “You don’t have to say that.”

      “I know.”

      “Who even uses the word winsome anymore?”

      “I guess I do.”

      Wyatt smiled. “Winsome it may be. Commercial? Doubtful.”

      “And yet you bought it.”

      “I did.”

      Maddening man. He knew she was looking for an explanation of why a man who owned one of the most successful, state-of-the-art hotels around had purchased this clearly not-likely-to-be-commercially-successful property. In fact, she was willing to bet that of all the properties available at the time that Wyatt bought this, few had been so…sad.

      “You’ll want to make changes.”

      He hesitated. “I always make changes. Change is good.”

      “How long have you had this?”

      “A while. More than a year. Almost two.”

      “And yet…no changes?”

      “Not yet. No.”

      “Why? It can’t be lack of funds.”

      “No. Money isn’t a problem.”

      “So why no changes?”

      She waited while he seemed to consider the question. “It has to be right, and yet…I like it how it is, even though I know it’s not marketable.”

      She laughed. “You sound so frustrated with yourself, but I don’t see what the problem is. If you don’t need the money, and you like it as it is, why not simply leave it alone?”

      “To what purpose?”

      “Everything has to have a purpose?”

      “Some people think so.”

      “Do you?”

      “Let’s just say that I grew up in a world where everything had to have purpose and worth.”

      She opened her mouth.

      He shook his head. “Don’t ask me more, Alex. I’ve already told you more than I’ve ever told anyone. I don’t discuss it.”

      “You don’t like to talk about it because it’s painful.”

      He turned those beautiful wicked green eyes on her. “You are an amazing woman.”

      “Because I asked you a personal question?”

      “No. Because you asked me a personal question about my shady past when I just told you that I don’t discuss it.”

      “It was rude, wasn’t it?” And yet she was consumed with the need to know what made Wyatt tick. She was pretty sure that part of that was pain, and her own heart clenched with pain at the very thought. Which should have totally alarmed her.

      This was the very kind of thing she had warned herself about a hundred times. She should back away, maintain a distance. Instead, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from moving forward.

      “Why do you want to know my motives?” he asked, catching her off balance.

      “I…I don’t know.”

      But that wasn’t strictly true. Wyatt interested her far too much, and feeling even one drop of longing for him could lead her straight to heartbreak. In the past, even with the wrong assumptions she’d made about men, she’d at least had some reasonable chance of success, but with Wyatt that chance was nonexistent. There would never be more than physical attraction on his part. And yet when she looked into those green eyes, and saw that he wasn’t as stoic as most people thought, she couldn’t help wanting to know everything about him. She couldn’t stop herself from feeling things she should be running from.

      To her surprise, he chuckled. “You have to be the most straightforward woman I’ve ever met. Do I refuse to talk about my past because it was painful? Well, it certainly wasn’t pretty. My mother didn’t like children, and the uncle she left me with liked them even less. He believed in child labor and that a fist was a useful tool in the parenting toolbox. For my part, I was hell on wheels and not the kind of person you’d want to know. As for why I don’t discuss my childhood…it doesn’t fit the image I’ve created for myself as owner of McKendrick’s. A pathetic story isn’t good for a business in a city based on having fun, and since I intend to be successful, I keep my ugly childhood hidden from view.”