Raising the Stakes

A woman answered on the first ring. He knew who it was even before she identified herself. He’d have known that voice in his sleep.

“Dawn speaking,” she said pleasantly. “How may I help you?”

Gray cleared his throat. “I need some assistance out here.”

He hung up before she could say anything, counting on her either not recognizing his voice or recognizing it and knowing she had no choice but to deal with him since he was a guest. A minute passed. Then a door in the alcove wall opened and she came toward him. One look at her face and he knew she’d identified him right away.

“Mr. Baron,” she said politely, “how may I help you?”

“Miss Carter,” he replied, just as politely. She was a concierge? He’d dealt with hotel concierges for years. Okay. Let her do her job. “I was wondering…what’s the hottest show in town?”

She looked relieved. He knew she hadn’t been expecting such a simple question.

“Well,” she said, after a few seconds, “there are a couple of them. It all depends on your own preferences.” She hesitated. He didn’t say anything. “For instance, there’s the national road show of—”

“Have you seen it?”

“No. No, I haven’t, but I’ve heard that it’s wonderful. On the other hand, if you’d like to see something you can only see in Las Vegas—”

“Let’s put it this way.” He dredged up a smile he hoped would identify him as one of the good guys. “If you were going to get tickets to see something, what would you pick?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you.” She smiled and he felt his gut knot at the kind of smile it was, dismissive and phony, a smile you flashed when you didn’t want to insult the guy at the door who was trying to sell you ten magazine subscriptions for the price of one. He thought about yesterday, how good it had felt to coax an honest curve from that soft-looking mouth, and wondered what it would take to make that happen again. “I really don’t have much time for that sort of thing, Mr. Baron.”

“Gray,” he said. “Surely the man who rescued Spaceman Teddy from certain death in the desert is a man you can address by his first name.”

That put feathers of pink into her cheeks. Good. Let her be embarrassed. All this formality pissed him off. He’d been feeling pissed off a lot, thanks to her.

“Gray,” she said, as if the word were a bone caught in her throat. She reached for the phone. “I’ll be happy to arra

nge for tickets, if you’ll just tell me what you’d like to see.”

“You pick it.”

“I can’t do that. I don’t know your tastes.”

He wanted to tell her that she did, that she was to his taste, all that hair he longed to unpin, that soft-looking mouth, but what the hell did that have to do with his business here?

“Of course you can,” he said pleasantly. “I’m a tourist. You live in this town. You must have an idea what’s good and what…” He stopped, took a breath. “Are you involved with O’Connell?”

The pink in her cheeks turned crimson; she stared at him as if he’d just committed a social faux pas of hideous proportions and maybe he had, but he had to do whatever it took to get past that shield, didn’t he? Wasn’t that why he was trying to get her to go out with him?

“I beg your pardon?”

“I asked you if you’re involved with—”

“That’s none of your business!”

“Is that a `yes’?”

“No! It is not a…” That delicate chin angled upward just like her grandmother’s. He knew she was trying to control her temper. Good. At least he was getting some reaction from her other than dismissal. “Do you want me to see about those tickets or don’t you?”

“That’s why I asked the question, Miss Carter. If you’re involved with O’Connell, the answer is `no.’ If you’re not—if you’re not, I have another question.”

“Which is?”

“What night are you free?”

“I’m not,” she said, biting off the syllables with staccato precision.