Chapter One
The Country Love Collection
Other Works by Dr. Rebecca Sharp
Acknowledgments
About the Author
“Woah there, darlin’. I see you lookin’ for drinks to refill, but my glass is almost empty. Why don’t y-you stay and warm my leg here for a shake while I finish my bourbon.”
I blinked in horror as the middle-aged man with a handlebar mustache, cowboy hat, and a look that made me feel dirtier than a pig in mud, latched his hand around my waist and hauled me onto his lap.
If this was how my one night—and first time in Vegas—was going to go, I’d drive back to Tahoe tonight.
In my thirty-one-derful years, I’d never been to Vegas—though the city of shimmer and sparkle, sex and sin, was a lot farther from New Jersey, where I’d lived up until last year. Up until my world crashed down. Up until I decided that the only thing to do when everything felt like it was falling was uproot myself and move across the country to Lake Tahoe.
New place. New job. New life.
And now Vegas.
A city of lights and strange characters, colorful games and potent concoctions. It was a real-life Wonderland where up was down and wrong was right—where wrong was rule. Only I wasn’t Alice and though I hadn’t followed a rabbit here, my friend, Bunny, was the reason we’d chosen it for our girls’ weekend.
Well, she wasn’t really a friend. She was a friendly co-worker who’d only invited me out for drinks once or twice before—when she realized I’d overheard her ask the two women in accounting whose offices were across the hall from mine. A pity invite.
I’d accepted this was a pity invite, too.
I was plenty used to those during my life; it was obvious I wasn’t like the rest of them—tall, fake eyelashes, fake lips, fake nails…skinny.
They weren’t mean. The best way to classify how they chose to interact with me was not proactively. But we were all getting fired come Monday. And I’d always wanted to see Vegas.
So, it was the more the merrier to celebrate—or commiserate—our upcoming terminations.
Plus, the thought of sitting around all weekend knowing that Monday held the proverbial noose for my neck made me want to curl up into a ball and go on an Oreo diet.
I was just getting settled in Nevada. Comfortable. Comfortable to live again. To dream again. Comfortable to want things for myself again.
And now, the hotel I worked for was being sold—had been sold. And I was going to be trying to regain my balance after one more knockdown.
The Arden Corporation is now the owner of the Lake Tahoe Resort and Casino. More information to come.
No one saw it coming. No one heard any rumors. Not until that mass email with miniscule explanation was sent out on Monday.
All week, the tea swirling around the office was that the new owner would be laying off staff in order to cut costs when he got into town on Monday.
So, my momentary friends planned a night in Vegas, and I’d tagged along. But seeing how they disappeared on me while I ran into the bathroom to adjust my dress, I was starting to regret my choice.
No regrets, Carrie. Not anymore.
Still, it was their fault I was wandering around the casino floor at the Bellagio wearing a sparkling and clingy silver dress hand-picked by the Great Gatsby himself for the even greater occasion of a night out on the Strip.
It was eye-catching. And for a Jersey girl with some curves, I thought it would be too much. But when I looked in the mirror, seeing the way it flattered my full breasts and wide hips, highlighting my light-blonde hair done in big curls, all I felt was a wash of confidence I thought I’d never experience again.
Though it didn’t change the fact that I also looked like one of the showgirls out on the floor and eager to please.
Maybe that was why this cringe-worthy cowboy thought he could grope me like this.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said with my best manager voice, one that was a blend of perfectly professional and transparently threatening. “If you will please unhand me. I do not work for this casino, though I wish I did so I could have you removed for harassment.”
I sounded a bit like a schoolmarm, but that was usually as much of a deterrent as anything.
He stared at me, tilting his head for a second, but then his eyes glazed over and he just laughed.
Laughed.
“I like when they play hard to get.” And with that misogynistic crap, he looked back to the Blackjack table in front of him and picked up his cards.
Bastard.
Gritting my teeth, I tried to twist from his grasp only to feel beefy fingers curl and crunch into the side of my dress and painfully lock me against him.
That was it.
Maybe I should scream. Call for help. Accuse him.
I huffed. I was tired of men taking advantage of me, and just like I handled Andy, I was going to handle this asshole all by myself.
I looked to assess the fat fingers digging into my waist, and suddenly there was another voice. One without a sexist Southern accent. One that was powerful and commanding in the dangerously unassuming way. One that was close enough to send a parade of tingling sensations down my spine to pool low in my belly and giving my dress a run for its money the way the sudden warmth shimmered all over my body.
“That’s a nice five of hearts and jack of clubs you have there,” the voice mused.
I looked up to meet light brown eyes—the color a blend of warm sugar and sand as they danced with determination, drawing my attention to every feature of the most handsome man I’d ever seen.
Those eyes were perched on strong cheekbones and an aristocratic nose, a jawline that seemed to be cut sharper than the next deck—so sharp that I was able to see it underneath the short-trimmed beard that masked most of his lower face except for his lips.
My mouth parted.
He casually took up the empty seat at the high stakes table, drumming his fingers on the felt top as though it belonged to him.
His gaze swung up as though he was looking for something or someone in the ceiling before it locked on me like a hot, protective shield.
A slice of perfect white teeth flashed through his lips, the ends curling up in this devastating way that felt as though when they turned, they turned a key that locked me in his spell. And out of all the sights I’d seen today, out of all the lights, all the glitz, and all the things so outrageous to make sure they were never forgotten, the memory of his smile was the only souvenir I’d take home with me.
A smile that was the greatest risk and the greatest rush to linger in its presence.
“Did you—” the pervert sputtered, glancing down at his cards, his cheeks turning Roulette red, as he gaped at the man who’d just sat down next to him and told the rest of the table what his cards were. “How dare you,” he accused as though he were able to do something about it. “You can’t look at what’s mine. Fucking cheater. I—I’ll have you arrested, you hear me? I would’ve won that hand. I’ll have you arrested for cheating me out of what’s mine.”
I had the strange urge to laugh.
In truth, I felt like Princess Leia trapped against Jabba the Hut, the sheer mass of him able to hold me prisoner but unable to defend himself against the man who moved with the subtle, calculated strength and precision of a jaguar.
The gorgeous rule-breaker flashed me a ‘don’t worry’ glance, and I couldn’t help but be intrigued by his cool confidence, coming over and nonchalantly ruining the very large pot for Mr. Greasy-Groper.