At Odds With the Heiress (Las Vegas Nights 1)

Her heart twisted in fond melancholy, but she kept her voice light. “Las Vegas is home these days.”

“Bah. You’re an actress, not a hotel manager.”

“I used to be an actress.” She thought back over yesterday’s conversation with Logan. “At least when I got work, which wasn’t often.”

“You are a wonderful actress. You just weren’t getting offered the right parts.”

She couldn’t argue with him there. What she wouldn’t have given for a role with some meat. Something that scared her a little and forced her to stretch. She’d never been a fame hound, although with her sex appeal and early success, she was well-known to the gossip magazines and paparazzi.

“That’s why I’m calling,” Bobby continued. “I have something you’d be perfect for.”

Scarlett sighed. She’d heard that before. Bobby had brought her numerous opportunities, but his opinion of her talent always seemed to clash with those of his directors. Still, it was nice having someone of his stature in her corner even if she never did get the part.

“I’m really happy here, Bobby.”

“Nonsense. You’re an actress. You need to act.” The producer switched tacks. “At least come to L.A. and take a meeting.”

“There’s no point. I’m committed to staying here and managing the hotel.” She didn’t explain about her grandfather’s contest or the pride she felt for all she’d accomplished in the past five years. “You’re a darling for thinking of me, though.”

“I’m going to send you the script,” Bobby continued, ignoring her refusal. When he had his mind set on something, it took an act of God for him to change direction. “Don’t make any decisions until you’ve read it through.”

Knowing it was dangerous to open the door even a crack, she nevertheless heard herself say, “I’d be happy to give it a read. But I can’t promise anything.”

“You will once you’ve finished. Gotta run. Love you.”

She barely had a chance to say goodbye before Bobby hung up. Stewing in a disorderly mash of dread and excitement, Scarlett quickly showered and dressed. At seven forty-five, a knock sounded on her door. Her hair was still up in hot rollers and she hadn’t finished applying her makeup. Cursing Logan’s early arrival, Scarlett quickly stripped out the rollers and shook out her

hair. A second knock sounded on her door, this one more insistent, and she raced to answer it.

“You’re early,” she declared as she threw open the door. But instead of Logan, a man in a ski mask stood at her door. “Who—?”

Before she could finish, his fist connected with her jaw. She saw stars. Then darkness.

Six

With each hour that passed, Logan found himself growing more impatient for the evening ahead. By the time six-thirty rolled around he was positively surly, or at least that’s what his executive assistant had called him. Then Madison had complained about his bad temper when he’d arrived home.

Now, as he negotiated the eastbound traffic back to Fontaine Richesse, his mood perked up alarmingly. Damn it. He was looking forward to spending the evening with her. To seeing what sort of delectable outfit she’d prepared for him. To letting her steal food off his plate and wheedle out of him intimate details about his life. Why had he agreed to have dinner with her? He should have insisted on meeting her at her office during the regular workday when he wouldn’t be tempted to linger for a nightcap in her suite.

A nightcap that might lead him to forget how quickly she turned on the charm. He would find himself seducing her and believing it was his idea. He’d have her naked and writhing beneath him before he realized she’d orchestrated the entire event. He simply couldn’t let her manipulate him that way.

By the time he arrived at Fontaine Richesse, he was running five minutes late. He dialed Scarlett’s cell, but she didn’t pick up. That was odd. She was rarely beyond arm’s reach of her phone. Driven by an irresistible sense of urgency, Logan’s pace quickened as he made his way through the casino. By the time the elevator deposited him on Scarlett’s floor, he was deeply concerned at her lack of response.

Rounding the corner to her suite, he noticed the door was wide-open. When he spied her on the floor, he ran the rest of the way down the hall. He entered her suite just as she lifted a hand to her jaw and opened her eyes. He knelt at her side as she groaned in discomfort.

“What happened?” he demanded, his throat constricting as he surveyed her for damage.

“I answered the door and a man hit me.” She sounded bewildered and weak.

“What did he look like?”

“He was wearing a ski mask.” She blinked in disbelief. “All I remember is that his hand shot out. Then everything went black.”

“How long ago?” Logan dialed the Fontaine Richesse’s security office.

“It was quarter to eight. Someone knocked. I thought it was you at the door.” Her gaze found his. “I was mad at you for showing up early. My hair wasn’t done and I hadn’t finished putting on my makeup.”

“You look beautiful,” he told her brusquely.