Chapter Seven

Reagan

I can’t believe Taryn agrees to dinner, but she does. I feel like I’m floating as I walk out of Strict Nécessaire, this beautiful woman at my side. My hand itches to grab hers, but with the way she’s been so pissy at my sense of humor, I know she’d just snatch it away. The sunny Las Vegas weather lifts my spirits, and soon, Taryn and I reach La Casa Mirabelle, one of the most exclusive restaurants in town, courtesy of my overachieving brother.

“So…” I glance sidelong at my gorgeous companion. I can’t believe how good it feels having her next to me. How right. “How are you feeling?”

She shoots me a look, like she’s trying to gauge if I actually care or not. “Not great,” she says. “I mean, I feel good about the benefit show. How much did Nixon tell you?”

“Not much.”

“I bet you didn’t even ask,” she says, grinning in a way that makes me feel both guilty and aroused. It’s the first real smile I’ve pulled out of her today, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I didn’t,” I admit. “But you can tell me all about it. Let’s make sure we have appetizers and dessert so we have enough time.”

“I thought this dinner was needed to talk about Dante?” Taryn shoots back, losing her happy look. “Or did you have ulterior motives?” She looks away, her cheeks beginning to burn red.

I know what she’s thinking, and I might as well address the elephant in the room.

“No ulterior motives, Taryn. Last night was beautiful and I don’t regret it, but I don’t expect anything from you.”

That seems to both set her mind at ease and disappoint her at the same time. Interesting. But for now, it feels safer to stay on a neutral topic.

“Now tell me about this benefit.”

She sighs. “It’s for Helping Hands & Hearts. It’s the first time Nixon’s done something like this before, but he’s really excited. He put me in charge of designing Strict Nécessaire for a fashion show preview, and it’s been a ton of fun. Bailey and I have been working all day, but I think it looks good. I should go back after dinner, though. I need to make sure everything is perfect. I don’t want any detail overlooked. It’s just how I roll.”

As Taryn talks, it strikes me how beautiful she looks when she’s feeling so passionate about something. As much as it kills me to admit it, I’m reminded of how she escaped the town car last night – there was that same flash and spark in her eyes.

“I can tell you’re really excited,” I say as we approach the hostess stand. Normally, you need a reservation weeks in advance, but it helps when your brother owns the casino. “Your store looked great, by the way.”

Taryn yawns, barely concealing her wide mouth behind her hand. “Sorry,” she says, giving me a guilty look. “I’m exhausted. I think I got like, four hours of sleep last night. And I don’t see much more in my future. At least not until the benefit’s over.”

“Yeah. Staying out dancing all night really does that to a person?”

“You’re the worst,” Taryn groans before gently swatting me on the arm. “I did no such thing. I was up all night in my condo, planning for the benefit.”

I give her a shoulder check. “I’m kidding. I know it wasn’t even midnight when Cruz dropped you off at your condo. I wish you would have waited so I could see you safely inside.”

Taryn doesn’t reply.

“Hey…” I stop dead in my tracks. “Taryn, come on. I’m only joking. I know I have a strange sense of humor, but that’s always been my thing. When Nixon Caldwell is your older brother, you have to struggle for face time with your parents. I learned to compensate by cracking jokes all the time. At least my dad appreciated it.”

Taryn narrows her green eyes as if she thinks I’m blowing smoke straight up her ass. “You do have an odd sense of humor.” Tapping her chin with one finger, she gives me a curious look. “You know, I think some people would interpret your sense of humor as a little over the top. Like teasing crossing the line into offensive.”

“I didn’t mean it in that way,” I say, wanting nothing more than to defend myself. I want that censuring expression off her face. More than that, I want her to truly understand me. As a man. What makes me tick. I wonder if she even wants to know. “Really, I was just trying to make you laugh.”

“Hmm.” She clearly doesn’t believe me.

“Hey. Come on, I was kidding.”

“Okay.” She draws out the syllables and plants her hands on her hips like she really means business. “Sorry to have it confused.”

I force a shrug, willing away the feeling that I’ve fucked it all up before it even really began. It’s strange. I’ve never had a problem with people finding me distasteful before. I wouldn’t have climbed to the top of the legal ladder in NYC if I was an equal opportunity offender.

I can’t stand the fact that Taryn doesn’t understand my sense of humor, one of the qualities people usually admire most about me. Her nostrils flare, and I think she’s about to lash into me again, but instead, she sighs and rubs her stomach.

“I’m weak with hunger,” she teases as her belly rumbles again.

I laugh at her, but I’m becoming even more determined to feed her before she falls down. In distressed jeans and a black top, she looks none the worse for wear. She’s still gorgeous, still makes my heart skip a beat. But I can tell she’s exhausted. There are panda circles under her eyes, and those green orbs don’t flash as much fire as they normally do.

“This way, please,” the hostess says, grabbing leather bound menus, and leading the way.

“Thanks,” Taryn says as she’s seated and a napkin is dropped into her lap. I’m almost surprised she let me get away with this. She seems like the kind of woman who’d be offended by the gesture of an expensive meal. Like she wants to be the one in charge and not the one receiving the attention of others. At least that was my impression last night. But then again, I’m starting to realize that there’s a lot about Taryn that I assumed but really don’t know.

“Welcome to La Casa Mirabelle,” a uniformed server says, bowing low at the waist. “Something to drink?”

After picking a bottle from the wine list, I glance around the décor of the restaurant. Nixon’s outdone himself, and I’m impressed. The place is luxurious yet understated, especially for Vegas.

“What a lovely ambiance,” Taryn says on a giant yawn. “God, I’ll be lucky if I don’t fall asleep and face plant in the crème brulee.”

“Don’t worry,” I say, reassuring her. “Wine is great for staying awake.”

Taryn flushes – at least, I think she does. It’s hard to tell in the dim lights of the restaurant. We hold eye contact for a long time before she pulls her menu close and starts rifling through, making small sounds under her breath.

“So,” Taryn says. “Are you in town for long?”

“As long as Nixon needs me.”

She stifles a laugh, covering her mouth with a delicate hand.

“What? What’s so funny about that? Can’t fathom the idea of a New Yorker in Vegas for more than a raucous weekend?”

Taryn shakes her head. “No. It’s just…your names. What were your parents thinking?”

“They were very patriotic. My mom loved America and all her presidents. So, you hate my name? Some say Ronald Reagan is the best president in recent history. I can be just as charming as my namesake.”

Taryn shakes her head again, blushing. “No,” she says after a long pause. “No. I don’t hate your name. Your mom was certainly original.”

We lock eyes, and a shiver of lust crawls through my body. I want her again, right on the table. I could easily pull her legs open and have her as the first course. Her green eyes are bare of makeup, and her chestnut hair is pulled back in a messy bun, but I still want to pull her close and kiss her until she stops being irritated with me.

When the server arrives to deliver our vintage Syrah, Taryn orders a rare leg of lamb and I pick a filet. Taryn gazes at me as soon as we’re alone. Her eyes pierce through to my soul, and for a single heartbeat, I see some crazy image of a home and a family.

My own.

“I’d like to see you out on the town again,” I offer. “Especially if it involves more dancing. You’re really talented.”

Taryn nibbles on her full lower lip. “I was tipsy. And before, well…” She trails off. “Never mind, it’s not really important why.”

“No, tell me.”

“I’m a trained dancer in spite of what anyone may say or think. Sixteen years of formal lessons. You probably don’t remember, but I was a musical theater major in college. But even though I still have a passion for it, I really just danced and sang in a sexy but classy cabaret performance at the Mona Lisa to make money to buy my shop.”

“That must have been a sight.” I grin, not letting on that I know all about it. “And I do remember you being in plays in college. It makes me reminisce about the old days, back at UNLV.”

Taryn sighs as she fiddles with her fork. My gaze is immediately drawn to the elegance of her fingers. God, I wish they were traveling down the expanse of my chest and then…lower.

I wonder if she’s still angry with me from earlier – she’s incredibly hard to read. Part of me thinks she hates me. But I can’t deny the look in her eyes. It’s a look I’m not used to seeing from women, especially not from women as beautiful as Taryn. Most stunning women wear their lust or their manipulation on their sleeve but never their heart.

“Yeah, well…” She hesitates, chewing on her lip and I see a flash of dainty, white teeth. I wish she wouldn’t keep drawing attention to her mouth. It’s got me all hot and bothered imagining the things she could do with it. Do to me. I drain the contents of my wine glass. “Things have changed a lot since then. I’m a different woman.”

“I’d like to think I’m different, too,” I say, leaning close. For some reason, I can’t stop myself from getting physical at every opportunity. “I mean, college was years ago.”

“Don’t say that,” Taryn snaps. Jesus, when will I stop hitting every nerve? “It makes me feel like I should be farther along in life than I am right now. Like I’m old and useless.”

I can’t help it – I suppress a chuckle.

Taryn glares. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “I just pictured you with little old lady glasses and a bag full of knitting.”

For a moment, I think Taryn’s about to snap at me again, but to my relief, she breaks into laughter, too. She laughs so hard that tears prick her eyes, making them a deep emerald shade. I could lose myself in those eyes.

“That’s about how I feel most days,” Taryn says, dabbing her eyes with her napkin. “At least, when I get home from Strict Nécessaire. If I thought it would be a best seller, I’d knit a dozen sweaters. I already have the cat, so I’m all set.”

“I know how you feel,” I say, shaking my head. “When I first got out of law school, twelve-hour days were the norm for me. It was so bad, and everything was so tense that I couldn’t even sleep when I finished working for the day. So, the other junior partners and I used to go down to bars and drink until we passed out. Then we’d get home, sleep for two or three hours before getting up and going right back to the office. I’m surprised I didn’t kill myself.”

“Damn,” Taryn says. “Actually, that sounds like my first year getting the store up and running. But I doubt that you’d be interested in that.”

“God, I was hungry.” Taryn moans before taking another bite of French bread dipped in olive oil. “This is heaven. So, what did you want to talk about? Dante, right?”

I can tell just from watching Taryn’s face that the mere act of saying his name brings her down. She can join the club. I can’t think of a single person on this earth who actually likes the asshole. When his mother died, he lost his only fan.

I pull some papers from my bag and pass them over. “I’ve highlighted everything that needs a second look, so just take a moment and glance over these documents.” I hand her my card. “And call me if you need any clarification, I know that’s a lot of legal jargon.”

Taryn nods, takes the folder, and a frown creases her forehead. “Why are you doing this, exactly?”

As I explain about helping Nixon, the server brings our entrees. Taryn and I fall silent as we cut into our meals, chewing, sipping, and casting lingering glances at each other. It’s the best steak I’ve had in ages, but that’s because of the company, even though the food is stellar.

“No,” Taryn says. “I didn’t mean why are you helping your brother. I meant why are you helping me?”

Because you’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen, and I can’t stay away from you. I’m starting to think of you in a different way. Like my wife and the mother of my children. You’re making me want to stay.

But of course, I’d never admit to such musings. Instead, I shrug and let the question bounce off me. “Well, you’re in business with Nixon, and that obligates me to help you, too. And the others,” I add, a little too quickly.

If Taryn caught my slip, she doesn’t show it. “That explains it. It’s really nice of you to leave everything in NYC behind to rush out here.”

“I try to be a nice guy.” I glance at her empty plate. I love a woman who can relish a good meal instead of picking at lettuce leaves. “You want anything else?”

Taryn grabs the dessert menu and peers down. I try to signal the server, but he merely nods before dashing off into the kitchen. So much for five-star service.

A few seconds later, cheers and whoops fill the restaurant. Taryn’s eyes snap up, and she glances around to find the hubbub.

“Can’t go anywhere in Vegas without some crazy bachelor party interrupting everything that’s calm and classy,” she says, sipping her wine.

The sounds grow louder and louder, and I crane my neck, glancing about as I wonder if I should tell Nixon about it. High-end diners don’t like this kind of crap when they’re spending a Benjamin for their meal. The servers are all in one big bunch, singing, and clapping. One of them is wheeling a big ass cake with sparklers.

“It’s some kid’s birthday,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “God, you wouldn’t think that people would take a kid here for a celebration. This isn’t really a…child appropriate venue.”

“Yeah, well, it’s Vegas,” Taryn says, brushing off the spectacle. “You’d be surprised what people try to get away with. I remember a couple of years ago, I was closing up shop and a bunch of people got thrown out of the Penthouse Club down the street. It was because they’d tried to bring a seven-year-old kid inside. Who does that?”

“Lucky kid.” I grin. “I probably would have been game to see my first naked woman at seven. Well…maybe not seven, but probably by ten, I’d have been all over it. Luckily, my dad kept all of us boys on a pretty short leash after my mom died.”

“I’m having a hard time imagining you at ten,” she says, swirling her wine around in her glass. “What type of woman were you looking to see…naked?”

“Oh, you know – blonde, fake tan, big tits.” I shake my head. “Not my type at all anymore. That’s strictly the stuff of schoolboy fantasies before a man discovers that it’s what’s underneath all that skin that really matters.”

She looks pleased. I’ve finally said something that doesn’t piss her off.

It’s my first win, and I’ll take it.

Relish it.

I finish my wine off. “Want another bottle?” I’d do anything to keep her here longer.

“I should really get back to the store,” Taryn says. “We’re not quite–”

The commotion with the servers and cake escalates to epic proportions, and I feel like I’m smack dab in the middle of one of those huge Broadway musical numbers that Taryn lusts after, and I’m feeling irritated.

For once, Taryn and I are connecting in a special way. She’s letting her guard down, allowing me more intimate access to her soul, and this spectacle kills the ambiance. I hadn’t pegged my brother as the flaming birthday cake kind of guy.

“Happy, happy birthday! From all of us to you! We wish it was our birthday so we could party, too! Hey!”

I look up and groan. The servers stride closer and closer. To my surprise, they stop right at the side of our table, singing at the top of their lungs.

“May all of your happy, happy birthday dreams come true, happy, happy day!”

Looking up at Taryn, I see her stare at the servers in utter shock. Oblivious to her discomfort, one of the servers reaches for the cake and slides it in front of Taryn.

“Happy birthday! Make a wish, young lady!”

The whole restaurant claps as the servers fall into a blessed silence. Now, the only thing I can hear is the sparkler on top of Taryn’s cake crackling and fizzing.

Taryn looks up at the server and frowns, her lovely forehead creasing with the effort. When she speaks, her deadpan voice takes all the wind out of everyone’s sails.

“It’s not my birthday.”