Chapter Fifteen

 

Noah paced the room, waiting for Libby to emerge from the bathroom. She’d been in there for forty minutes. And while she’d taken a shower, she didn’t usually spend much time on makeup or fixing her hair. She didn’t need to. Libby was a natural beauty—inside and out.

He hated that most of the men she’d known hadn’t looked much beyond her beautiful face and body. Had he done the same thing at first? He gave himself a serious self-examination and concluded that while her physical appearance had grabbed his attention, it was her personality that had made him want to see her again.

He’d never met a woman like Libby St. Clair, and he was positive he never would again.

He sure as hell hoped this plan to make her see him in a different light worked.

“Lib,” he called through the door. “How much longer are you going to be?”

“I’m not feeling well. I think I should stay in tonight. You go ahead without me.”

A momentary twinge of concern seized his stomach, but he pushed it away when he took into account that she’d protested vehemently about wearing the black dress. He had no idea what it looked like, Gram had held it in a wadded-up ball, but Libby—who was never embarrassed about anything she wore, wedding dress in a steak house aside—didn’t want him to see her wearing it.

There was no way in hell she would get away without showing him.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he answered. “Get out here. The blackjack tables are calling our names.”

She didn’t answer but the door cracked open an inch.

“Come on, Lib. How bad could it be? If you look like a clown, you can change. I promise.”

“It might make me look like I’ve made an unwise career choice, but I don’t think it’s a clown you have to worry about.” The door opened more and she stepped out into the doorway.

She stood still, shifting self-consciously. Something in his brain registered that she was acting out of character—other than the wedding dress, he’d never seen her self-conscious—but all the blood that usually went to the reasoning part of his brain had rushed to his crotch.

She grimaced. “That bad?” 

He still couldn’t answer. He couldn’t do anything at all except stare at her. From Libby’s reaction to Gram’s demand, he’d suspected it was a sexy cocktail dress, but nothing could have prepared him for this—a sleeveless black dress that clung to every sexy curve, the hem hitting her mid-thigh. And the neckline . . . oh, God. The neckline. The V dipped below her breastbone, cradling the sides of her breasts like he longed to do with his hands. Something in his head signaled him to lift his eyes from her cleavage to her face, but that view was just as enthralling. She’d put on more makeup than usual and had made her eyes smoky and her lips red and shiny. Her hair was in a loose up-do, similar to the one she’d worn on her wedding day, but a few tendrils hung next to her cheeks, showing off the small diamond solitaire earrings she always wore.

A groan escaped her parted red lips. “I’ll change.”

“No!” he barked without thinking. The only way the dress was coming off was if he stripped it off her himself.

“But I look like a hooker.” She put her hand on the doorjamb and jutted her hip to the side. If anything, she looked even sexier.

Get your shit together, McMillan.

He didn’t trust himself near her, yet his feet propelled him forward anyway. “No, Lib. You definitely do not look like a hooker.”

“But—” Any further protest died on those gorgeous full lips as she stared up at him.

He stood directly in front of her now and it took every bit of self-control he possessed to keep from pulling her into his arms and kissing her. But it wasn’t time for that. He still needed to prove himself.

“You’re wearing the tux,” she murmured. Her gaze locked with his as her fingers played with his lapels. It was a delicate, fluid gesture—like they’d been together for years and placing her hands on his chest was the most natural thing in the world.

He let a slow, lazy smile spread across his face. “I might as well get my money’s worth out of it.” He winked. “Thanks for picking black instead of powder blue.”

She cringed, but then a grin lifted the corners of her mouth. “I wanted mauve.” Her shoulder lifted in a delicate motion that held him captive. “But I did let Mitch pick out everything.”

“Well, thank you, Mitch,” he murmured, trying unsuccessfully to keep his voice light.

Her gaze dropped to her hands and she stiffened slightly, as though realizing what she’d done. He expected her to jerk her hands away, but she kept them in place, her palms flat and her fingers splayed. “I think I should change.” Her words were soft and uncertain.

“No, Lib. You should definitely not change.” Dammit all to hell. His body was resisting this untested concept of self-control and his voice had taken on a sultry tone.

To his surprise, she pressed herself against him—only slightly—but enough to tell him that she was ready and willing.

God help him, so was he.

Don’t fuck this up, McMillan.

He took a step back. “So now that we’ve settled that, let’s go play some blackjack.”

Confusion swept over her face, and perhaps a bit of hurt, but she gave him a wavering smile. “Okay.”

Gram hadn’t thought to pack Libby a purse to go with her dress, so she left her faded Indian print bag in the room. Noah stuck her license in his wallet in case she needed it and reached out a hand to her. “Let’s go.”

She hesitated before taking it, but then she let him thread his fingers with hers. He knew he was sending her a confusing mix of signals. Part of him needed to know that she wanted him physically as much as he wanted her, but his gut told him the time wasn’t quite right yet. Not if he wanted his plan to work.

They walked to the elevator hand in hand, and when the doors opened, he released her and followed her into the car, moving his hand to the side of her hip.

She gave him an inquisitive glance, but the seven other people in the elevator stopped her from asking questions. She was taller tonight, wearing shiny, black, fuck-me heels that spiked his lust even higher.

Libby St. Clair was the sexiest woman he had ever known and he had no idea how he was going to keep his hands to himself all night. Let alone sleep with her in the king-size bed in their room.

God help him.

The door opened and a well-dressed middle-aged man stood in the entrance. His gaze landed on Libby’s face and quickly zoomed down to her cleavage. Noah’s hand tightened on her hip and he locked eyes with the asshole as the guy made a move toward Libby. The look in Noah’s eyes made him hesitate and alter his course.

Libby’s body sank into Noah’s side, and he glanced down to see if she’d noticed the silent exchange between him the fucker who was now sneaking glances at her ass. If she had, she didn’t let on.

The top of her head hit right under his chin and the smell of her shampoo filled his nose—jasmine and a faint hint of apples. It was her scent and he realized now that he’d missed it the last couple of days. The complimentary hotel toiletries she’d been using smelled fine, but this . . . well, this was the essence of Libby St. Clair.

The elevator reached the first floor and Noah kept his arm around her as the doors opened, then ushered her into the hall and toward the gambling area. Several people from the elevator followed them, including the guy.

The fucker was still checking out her ass.

Noah tensed, about to turn around and confront the bastard, but Libby looked up at him, her mouth pursed in disapproval. “I have no idea what’s gotten into you tonight. Just ignore him.”

His eyes widened in surprise. 

“Yes, I know when guys are checking me out. It’s a survival skill,” she teased. “Ignore him.”

“But—”

She pulled him aside and waited until the guy passed them, giving Libby a slight backward glance before rounding a corner. Noah jerked against her hold, but her fingers dug into his sleeve. “Noah, I think it’s sweet how you’ve taken on this protective role, but beating the shit out of someone in my defense isn’t going to help a thing.” She gave him a dazzling smile. “Now come on. You promised to spot me a few games of blackjack.”

Sweet? Protective role? He forced himself to calm down, surprised at how outraged he was on her behalf. How many times had he himself checked out a woman? It had to be equivalent to the number of breaths he’d taken since his birth. But this was his Libby—she was a person with feelings, not some mannequin to be ogled.

Dammit, taking a good look at himself in the mirror sucked donkey ass.

She reached up and kissed his cheek and then rubbed the spot with her thumb. “Don’t let this ruin our night.”

“You said you hate to gamble.”

She stared into his eyes for several seconds. “It depends on what I’m gambling on.”

Before he could respond, she grabbed his hand and pulled him along. Could she be talking about him? Them? Was she thinking about a quick fling or something more? Maybe she was talking about moving to Seattle. Or even choosing a new deodorant. The possibilities were endless.

He barely registered where they were going. The truth was, he hated Caesar’s Palace, but Scott Abrahams was staying there, and as massive as Vegas was, it made sense to stay in the same place. He hadn’t heard from Tiffany, and that had him more than a little worried. He still hadn’t let her know he only wanted information from her, but he’d deal with that when the time came. 

Libby headed for one of the blackjack areas, but Noah pulled her back. “We should eat first. You have to be starving.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m not hungry.”

“We have to eat sometime tonight and we’re all dressed up. How about I make a reservation somewhere? We can play for an hour or two and then have a late dinner.”

She pondered it a moment. “That’s a great idea. Maybe Gram can join us.”

Gram. He’d almost forgotten about her. So much for a romantic dinner, not that it was going to be one. His current plan was to woo her until they got to Seattle, then tell her how he felt. Her one-year celibacy plan was an issue, but he was pretty sure it was only a protective measure. If she insisted on following through with it, he’d respect her wishes and wait.

He pulled out his phone and looked up a contact. “How about if I make reservations at Blue Willow for four at eleven? If Nana Ruby decides not to come, it’ll be no big deal to go from four to three.” When she seemed to hesitate, he added, “I ate there last time I was in Vegas, and it’s pretty nice.”

“But is it expensive? With the hotels and the food . . . I know we’re splitting the cost, but I spent a lot of money on the . . .”

Her voice trailed off and he knew she was talking about the wedding. She’d mentioned that she’d paid for most of it herself, without her mother’s financial or emotional support. She’d barely let Mitch pay for anything, which seemed odd considering she had given him everything he wanted. But she hardly had any money in the first place, so she had to be broke now.

“Don’t worry about the cost. Tomorrow’s your birthday. You only turn thirty once. Consider it my birthday gift to you.”

The mention of her birthday sent a dark shadow over her face and she turned toward the gaming area again. “I need a drink.”

“What do you want? I’ll get you one.”

“I can get my own drink,” she said defensively. “You take care of getting chips.”

The memory of the asshole in the elevator was still fresh in his mind. “I think we should stick together.”

She laughed, but the sound was devoid of any humor. “I know how to handle men, Noah. Just like you know how to handle women. It’s what we do best.”

His mouth gaped open. It was the truth, but it was hard to hear it put so bluntly.

She shoved his arm. “Go on. I’m going to flag down that waitress. What do you want?” 

Beer wasn’t going to cut it tonight. “Gin and tonic.”

She lifted her eyebrows, but something was still off. “Going for the big guns tonight, huh?”

She cut off his response by flagging down a departing waitress. When she noticed he was still standing there watching her, she mouthed go with an exasperated look.

After he made the reservation for the restaurant and bought a hundred dollars’ worth of chips, he found her sitting at a blackjack table. She had the rapt attention of the two men who sat to her right. They looked to be in their thirties and both were fairly good-looking and obviously interested in her. Libby was playing with a small stack of chips in front of her, picking them up and letting them drop into a stack with a rhythmic clink.

“Mississippi, you say?” she asked, her voice sultry. “I’ve never been to Mississippi. Is it as hot as they say it is?”

She was flirting with them. 

He stuffed down his anger and jealousy. As far as she was concerned, they were nothing more than friends. Still, he’d never tried to pick up women when they were together. He’d told himself it was out of respect for her, but now he knew it was because he’d loved her all along. Apparently she didn’t feel the same limitation now that she wasn’t with Mitch.

Noah stood back and watched her, surprised she didn’t realize he was there. It was obvious the two guys hadn’t put it together that they knew each other. She leaned forward, batting her lashes, and put her hand on the hand of the man closest to her.

He’d never seen her this way. She’d always been real with him, even that first weekend before Josh and Megan’s wedding. Still, he’d always suspected she was an accomplished flirt. Her current performance confirmed it. This wasn’t the woman he knew, and dammit, it was hard to see her this way.

“Libby,” he said, trying to keep the tightness out of his voice. “Where’d you get the chips?” He already knew, but dammit, he wanted her to admit it.

She turned and flashed him a brilliant smile, but there was something dark in her eyes. “Craig here was kind enough to loan me a few. Wasn’t that sweet?”

The two men were now giving their full attention to Noah. He glared at the man on the end, whose reddening face identified him as Craig.

Craig slid off his stool. “We didn’t know she had a boyfriend, man. She told us she was waiting for her friend. We thought her friend was a she.”

Both men grabbed their chips and Noah said, “Hey, don’t forget this.” He tossed a twenty-five-dollar chip across the table toward them.

They scurried away and Libby looked up at him with a lazy grin that didn’t reach her eyes. She pushed a glass toward him. “Here’s your drink.”

He reacted before he had time to think it through. “What the hell was that?”

“What?” she asked innocently. “Are you going to play or not?”

The dealer’s eyes narrowed, waiting to see how this played out.

This wasn’t how he’d hoped things would go at all. “I thought you’d sworn off men for a year.”

A sheepish look covered her face.

What had made her go from welcoming his touch minutes ago to practically blowing him off for two strangers? Then it hit him.

She was terrified.

She was scared to admit she wanted something more with him. So her instinct was to prove she didn’t need him by finding some guy for a meaningless one-night stand.

He was still upset, but he forced himself to see this as progress. He smiled even if he didn’t feel like it, then reached for her chips and slid them away. “These are luckier,” he said, replacing them with part of his stack.

There was worry in her eyes when she met his gaze, but it vanished in an instant, replaced with another performance. “And what do you have for luck?”

His smile turned more genuine. “You.” Then he added, “Gram said your dress was lucky, remember?”

She nodded and turned her attention to the table.

They put some chips down and the dealer dealt them their hands. After fifteen minutes, Libby was twenty dollars richer and Noah was ahead by fifty. “I told you it was our lucky night,” Noah told her with a wink.

A waitress passed their table and Libby got her attention. “Another mojito, please.” 

Libby shot Noah a questioning glance and he shook his head. “I’m good.”

They spent the next thirty minutes at the table, both of them winning some and losing some, then Libby finished her drink and stood. “Let’s go do something else.”

They scooped up their chips and moved away from the table. Libby wobbled slightly, so Noah took her arm. “Why don’t we get something to eat?”

“What time is it? I thought you made dinner reservations for eleven.”

“It’s around nine-thirty, but we haven’t eaten since this afternoon. I’m hungry. Let’s get a snack.”

“I thought you wanted to gamble.”

“Let’s sit at the slot machines. We can grab something to eat while we play.”

“Okay. But first I have to go to the restroom.”

“Of course you do,” he chuckled. “I’ll go get something to eat and meet you at these slots right here, okay?”

She studied him for a moment. “Afraid I’ll ditch you?”

His breath caught. “Should I be?”

A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “No, you’re safe for now.”