“Do you have a massage scheduled too?”
“No. I’m not a spa kind of guy. While you’re getting pampered, I’ll probably make a run to the T-shirt shop. You might take a look in your bag and see what I missed. I can pick it up while I’m out. Then, to be honest, I’ll probably take a nap. I expect we’ll have a late night, and I’d hate to fall asleep on the craps table.”
“I don’t know how to play craps.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll teach you. There’s a lot I can teach you while we’re here in Vegas. All you have to do is ask.”
Gillian couldn’t help it. Her gaze stole past the open door of the bedroom he’d claimed as his own. At that moment, thoughts of Jeremy were very far away.
Unfortunately, they returned following a fabulous massage that left her peaceful and relaxed when she sat to enjoy a delicious spa lunch of champagne, chicken salad, and fresh mixed fruit. Her server was the spitting image of Erica, sans the baby bump. The young woman was attentive and sweet as could be, and Gillian left her an excellent tip, but by the time she sat in the stylist’s chair for makeup, blow-dry, and style, her mellow mood had disappeared. On top of her encounter with the Erica doppelgänger, she now sat in a salon that was bursting with babbling, bubbling brides.
They were everywhere. When Gillian said as much to her stylist, the woman laughed. “Oh, and this is the slow season for brides in Las Vegas. You should see it on Valentine’s Day. You can’t throw a bag of rose petals without hitting a bride around here, then. Speaking of weddings, we just got our new polish colors for June. Some beautiful pastels. Would you like to see them?”
“Pastels? I don’t know that pastels suit my mood.” Gillian went with lady-killer red.
At the end of her spa afternoon, she returned to their suite, propelled by three glasses of champagne and a slow burn. She looked great, she knew, but oh, such ugly emotions churned inside of her. She arrived to find Tucker’s bedroom door firmly shut, a long-stem red rose lying atop a note on the coffee table that read: Meet here at 5:00 for cocktails.
She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes. All she needed to do was dress. She headed toward the second bedroom, trying to recall what Tucker had packed for her. Shoes, she remembered, because he’d pulled out her go-to pair of black heels and her “dinner with clients of the bank” little black dress. Dang it, the bra she was wearing didn’t work beneath that dress. Had he packed underwear? OMG, had she been so out-of-control that she let Tucker McBride go rummaging through her panty drawer?
She stepped into the second bedroom and stopped abruptly. “Whoa.”
A dress lay spread upon the bed with a flat, black velvet jewelry box and a folded note beside it. Her mouth went dry when she read Tucker’s bold, masculine hand. Red is the color of fire and blood, of strength and power and passion. You wore red the day we met. I hope you’ll wear it tonight. Red suits you. —T
She blew out a breath and reached for the dress. It was a silken sunset, a bold, rich red shot through with a golden shimmer. She held it against herself and turned toward the mirror. The neckline plunged, but not trashy low. The hem was a little shorter than she ordinarily wore, but not so short that she’d be uncomfortable. She had to try it.
She kicked off her shoes and pulled off her top and turned to throw it toward the bedside chair. That’s when she noticed the shopping bag. She murmured, “More?”
Oh, yes, more. Definitely more. Lingerie. Red. Perfect for the dress. And shoes. Not just any shoes, but—OMG—Christian Louboutin. Glossy, sleek red snakeskin with stiletto heels.
Now, her heart began to pound, and she sank into the chair. She’d never owned a pair of Louboutins. They were wildly expensive and ridiculously impractical, but how, oh how she’d always coveted a pair. She never would have spent the money on them. She’d never received them as a gift. Not from Jeremy, and he’d loved to see her in high heels.
Tucker McBride gave her Louboutins. He’d given her the shoes, the dress, and the lingerie. The spa. This hotel. The last-minute trip. Everything first class!
From the man who just two days ago talked about eating worms for fuel.
Red is the color of fire and blood, of strength and power and passion. Red suits you.
“Oh, Tucker.”
Finally, she reached for the item she’d saved for last. Her mouth was dry as she opened the jewelry box. “Oh, Tucker,” she repeated in a breathy voice upon recognizing the antique hair combs, the ones from the cave. How did he happen to have these with him? Why would he give them to her? She couldn’t accept a gift like this. Any of it, really. It was all too much.
And yet, he’d gone to so much trouble, so much thought. Gillian couldn’t throw his generosity back in his face either. And Tucker wasn’t the type to make a grand gesture like this if it wasn’t something he wanted to do.
I’ll be gracious and accept his gifts. Maybe insist the combs are simply a loan.
Her conscience appeased, she giggled like a schoolgirl and dug in.
Everything fit. At two minutes to five, she touched up her lipstick, tucked it, her ID, a credit card, and a couple of tissues into the bra pocket she always carried in her luggage and gave her reflection one final look. “Fire and strength and passion,” she murmured. Yes. Tonight, Tucker was right. Red suited her mood.
She opened the bedroom door and stepped out to meet her date. Tucker stood at the bar, mixing what appeared to be martinis. Seeing her, he froze. “Holy hell, Glory.”
She gave him a slow once-over. A suit. A gray three-piece suit, a white shirt, and a necktie! Red with black stripes. The Spit and Polish Tucker far exceeded her fantasy. Her fingers itched to reach for that tie. “Holy hell, yourself. The T-shirt shop, Tucker?”
He flashed a grin that she felt clear to her Louboutin-shod toes. “The dress was in the window. I couldn’t pass it up. Great decision I made, by the way. You look incomparable.”
“Thank you. For the compliment, the dress, the shoes—oh, the shoes! And, for—” She touched one of the hair combs, then waved her arm around the suite. “For all of this. It’s too much. Way too much.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
“But the expense! I didn’t—”
“Enough. There’s oil and gas on my family’s ranch, Gillian.” He handed her a drink. “You are welcome. I enjoyed shopping, and the shoes were for me as much as for you. I intended to give you the combs on Valentine’s Day, but the timing was never right. Now, tell me about the spa. Did you run into anyone famous?”
She sipped her drink. Funny how Jeremy never missed a chance to let people know he had money, but Tucker came from generational wealth and never let on. That was so much more attractive.
“Gillian? Famous folk?”
She shook away the thoughts of her ex. “If I did, I couldn’t see them for all the brides.”
“The brides?”
She told him about the bundles of bubbling happiness in the salon. Tucker frowned. “I didn’t think about all the weddings when I chose Las Vegas for your escape. That was bad planning on my part.”
Gillian shook her head. “Are you kidding? All of this? This is a fairy tale, Tucker. You’ve given me a fairy tale just when I needed one.”