What Happened in Vegas.... Wendy Etherington

she supposed that would be a compliment.

      “She’d like you even better if you gave her back her emerald.”

      “It’s not mine to give.”

      “I’ll prove it belongs to my family.”

      “I look forward to it. Let’s table that. Tell me what you’ve been doing the last six years.”

      Surprisingly, he agreed to her cop-out, for which she was grateful.

      The auction had taken its toll on her stamina, and she needed a distraction from imagining the scandal if Gideon decided to go to the press with his story. Somehow, Mr. Pascowitz would manage to blame any problems on her. She’d seen him throw more than one staff member under the bus when his own back was against the wall.

      Setting aside thoughts about her boss, she focused on Gideon. However strange and unsettled his life as a finder of lost legacies seemed to her, he clearly relished every minute. He’d been to exotic places she’d rarely seen pictures of, much less dreamed of exploring. While he poked through antique stores, auction houses, pawn shops and estate sales, he also spent many hours in libraries and at universities doing research.

      He’d acquired an impressive art collection and learned to speak four languages. He’d interviewed everyone from royalty to the homeless. He’d located people and things that didn’t want to be found. He’d made sure thieves and swindlers were prosecuted. He returned necklaces, rings and even crowns to elderly, teary-eyed ladies.

      “Did they all have blue hair?”

      He put on a look of mock insult. “Are you doubting the credibility of my stories?”

      “You can certainly spin an excellent tale.” And they were probably true, if exaggerated. “What does your upper-crust grandmother think of her treasure-hunting grandson?”

      “She mostly approves.” He grinned. “Though she’d rather I donated more of my finds instead of turning them over to their privileged owners. She especially didn’t like me getting Marcus Capwell’s watch back for him.”

      “You mean former Senator Capwell?”

      Gideon curled his lip. “That’s him.”

      “Why didn’t she want you to get his watch back?”

      “He stiffed her for the tab one night after inviting her and her friends to drinks at a club.”

      She angled her head in confusion. “She’s ticked at him over a bar tab?”

      “It was a ten-thousand-dollar tab.”

      “Ah. That would do it. So why did you look for it in the first place?”

      “Because I’d hoped the trail would lead to some embarrassing places.”

      “And did it?”

      He grinned. “Definitely.”

      “That’s pretty bloodthirsty.”

      He toasted her with his beer bottle. “A good thing to remember when dealing with me.”

      She met his gaze directly. “You don’t scare me, Gideon. Nothing does. Not anymore.”

      He laid his hand over hers, his thumb covering the pounding pulse point at her wrist. “I never thought you were anything less than absolutely brave. In fact…” He stroked her cheek. “I think you’re pretty amazing.”

      She leaned back from his touch and looked away. “Deep down, I’m exactly the same as I was six years ago.”

      “A dancer?”

      “A survivor.”

      “That’s a good thing.”

      “Sure it is.”

      He inched forward, holding her jaw against his palm. “So, why are you embarrassed?”

      “I’m not.” She forced a smile, even as her mind walked again through the mansions she’d visited over the past few years, each containing priceless treasures, each perfect in every decorating detail, each refined and tasteful.

      Then she recalled the dingy duplex where she’d grown up: the stove that rarely worked, the stained carpet, the sputtering candles she’d light because the power was cut off every few months. The desperation and sense of being trapped, forever, in poverty.

      Gideon lived in the luxurious world; she pretended she had even an inkling of what kind of privilege was like. Gideon owned famous works of art; she still kept her pasties in her underwear drawer.

      “Can we talk about something else?” she asked.

      His gaze roamed over her face, and she thought he might push, but he surprised her again by nodding. “Seen any good movies lately?”

      “Not too many. I’ve been working long hours on the auction.”

      “We should go see that new murder mystery.”

      She shook her head. “Too dark. I like romantic comedies. That’s what Andrew and I usually see.”

      “You do, huh?”

      “Yeah. We usually agree on the same hunky actors.”

      “Oh, yeah.”

      Jacinda laughed at the less-than-excited expression on his face. “Mmm. Maybe not. How about TV shows?”

      There they actually agreed on a few, and the conversation reminded her of the qualities she’d seen in him the night they’d met. She hadn’t been attracted to only his smile, charm and gorgeous face. He’d listened when she talked. He was direct and opinionated, confident and understanding.

      And hot. Don’t forget very hot.

      “What time are your dinner plans?”

      “My—” She stopped, remembering suddenly that she’d told him she had previous plans to avoid having dinner with him. A lot of good that did. She’d hoped to avoid the intimacy of a restaurant, the implication of any kind of relationship. But they’d been pretty cozy for the past hour at the bar, and nobody looking at them would mistake them for strangers. The chemistry between them still existed. Maybe even stronger than before because they both knew how good they were together.

      That idea should send her scrambling for cover. She was supposed to be remembering that impulsive decisions led nowhere productive. She was supposed to be telling herself her job was at risk. She was supposed to be firmly on the side of the auction house.

      Instead, she wanted Gideon.

      Maybe it was the stories of his adventures. Maybe it was the reminder of the daring, sexually aware woman she’d been the last time she’d seen Gideon. He forced her to remember that she used to be outgoing. She used to have fun.

      These days she was always paranoid about doing or saying the right thing. She focused on advancing her career, on networking with guys instead of appreciating their smile or noticing the breadth of their shoulders in their expensive suits.

      In fact, she couldn’t remember the last date she’d been on. Why did doing her job well mean seriously neglecting her personal life?

      She’d had relationships with a whopping two guys since leaving Vegas. There were a few itches that a woman needed to scratch every so often and so few men able to oblige.

      At least not in the way she wanted.

      Most of the guys she met either wanted one night of Playboy-quality sex—complete with toys and video cameras—or they wanted a wife and mother to their children as of yesterday. The typical guy who had partied and screwed around, and now he had the big corner office and important partnership. He wanted the picket fence in Connecticut, complete with a lovely, amiable wife, who’d give dinner parties and laugh at his boss’s jokes.

      A lot of women with her background would leap over tall buildings in a single bound in order