Vegas Royals (Love Inc 0.50)

“Elizabeth. You have issues with trust.”

“What?”

“There’s money available for counseling—”

His comment takes me off guard and makes me furious. “You think so?” I demand, cutting him off. “Maybe Lyndsey could see me. Do herbalists take insurance? I know they’re great advice givers, so maybe I could fly out—”

I’m still going—verbal vomit, that’s what Cross would call it—when the dial tone sounds.

My mouth hangs open and my eyes fill up with tears. “I need counseling?” I slam the phone down with all my might, feeling the impact in my fingertips as I whirl around to face the empty kitchen.

At least, it’s supposed to be empty. I’m supposed to curl into a ball and sob, because when I get this mad, it’s the only thing I can do to discharge my anger. Instead, I find myself staring at Hunter West.

6

Hunter

HER FACE IS blotchy, like she’s been stung by a bunch of bees. I can tell she’s close to crying because her sea blue eyes are glowing, and she’s got them wide, the way women do when they don’t want tears to spill and smear up their eye makeup.

Her wavy, red-brown hair is messy, hanging just above her shoulders, and I want to run my fingers through it.

Shit.

I shouldn’t even be here.

I noticed the gate open and thought it was weird; the housekeepers always shut it. And housekeepers are the only ones coming and going lately. I keep an eye on the place because I want to buy it soon; its acreage backs up against my lodge, which is where I was heading when I made this detour. When I saw the unfamiliar car and found the door unlocked, I threw on my superhero ape.

Fucking stupid. I shouldn’t be in Libby DeVille’s childhood home without an invite, standing in this massive, outdated kitchen with her, just like I shouldn’t have lingered when I heard her conversation with her father.

I tell myself to keep this brief—after all, Priscilla’s waiting for me—but my feet aren’t listening. I take a small step closer, my eyes never leaving hers, even as she looks me over, Lakers cap to boots.

“Asshole father?” In the tomb-like silence of the house, I’m surprised at how deep my voice is.

I can see her shoulders rise and fall; she’s trying to control herself. Judging by the bit I heard, it makes sense that she would be worked up. If his reputation is anything to go on, Benjamin DeVille didn’t do much for his wife or daughter when he was with them, and does even less now that he’s left town.

Libby smooths the pained look from her face and crosses her arms. “How much did you hear?” she asks me with a slight wince.

“Enough to know you’re probably not the one in need of therapy.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, running a hand back through that silky hair. “Wow, well that’s embarrassing.”

If only she could be a fly on the wall at the family home in NOLA back when I lived there with Dad, Rita, and my half-sister, Amber. This wouldn’t even register on our drama-ometer. I want to tell her that, but I’ve got no clue how.

Libby chews her succulent lower lip, and it’s my turn to stare her down. I’ve only seen her once since the night of the party, and that was from a distance; I’m surprised to find she’s looking more like a fit, trim, spin-class type than the curvy bombshell I remember.

She plays with the ends of her hair, and I let my gaze roll from her low-cut royal blue sweater down her loose jeans to her suede shoes—some kind of moccasins. Even with the weight loss, she looks cute. Casual. I feel a pleasant tingle just from being near her.

Finally her eyes flick up to mine, like she’s waiting for me to say something. So I do. “What do you need money for?”

Her mouth draws up like she’s sucking on a lemon. I like this face on her. The you-should-be-ashamed-of-yourself face; it’s kind of sexy mistress. To top it off, she arches her eyebrows primly. “That’s not really your business, Hunter West.”

Maybe not, but I have a pretty good guess. “Is it the governor’s son?”

Her eyes flash, dark blue now. “The son the governor cut off and sent to a shitty hospital because he’s a dickhead who deserves to be ridden out of California on a rail?” Her cheeks flush. “You probably shouldn’t ask me about that right now.” I watch her delicate eyebrows meet as her sea blue eyes narrow to slits. “What are you even doing here?”

Her eyes wander the expanse of my chest and I know she’s taking in the size of me. I saw the Mace on her key chain in the parlor, and I wonder if she’s feeling nervous.

I nod toward the back of the house, relaxing my shoulders so maybe I look a little friendlier. “I saw the gate open and wanted to check in on things. I own the property behind you.”