“Can’t argue with that. Wait’ll you see the view from the penthouse.” The thought came to Luke that he’d never brought a woman up here.
Well, that would be because he hadn’t become involved with anyone since his dad died. Duh. Too damned busy. But he certainly intended to bring women up here at some point in time, when his life settled down and his sister stopped giving him fits.
With his mother’s blessing, he’d renovated the master bedroom and bath so it no longer resembled his parents’ bedroom. He was happy with the way it looked, although he wouldn’t be showing it off to Giselle.
But how ironic that the first woman he invited here was one he had no intention of sleeping with. The only people who had seen the final result had been Cynthia and Owen. His sister had liked it okay but thought it needed more color. She’d compared the suite to a hospital room, which wasn’t the effect he was going for.
Then Owen had seen it the day he’d supervised an update of the penthouse security system. Owen, a guy of few words, had said it was “nice.” That didn’t tell Luke a damn thing. Owen wasn’t exactly Martha Stewart, but Luke would have liked a little more commentary.
When it came to color, he was no expert, so he’d stuck with white. Even that had been trickier than he’d thought. Who knew there were so many shades of it? But he’d found one he liked called “linen,” and then he’d matched everything to that.
The suite resembled his image of heaven, with the pillows and quilts reminding him of fluffy clouds. He’d found some pictures of Greek temples, also white, and put those on the walls, which were also white. It all blended in beautifully. But it might be too monochromatic. He just wasn’t sure.
They stepped off the elevator, and he used a card key to open the black enamel, silver-edged double doors into the foyer. Then he moved back and let Giselle go in ahead of him. He did like the way she moved.
He wondered if she’d taken dancing lessons as a kid and maybe dreamed of making it a career. That would explain her defense of Cynthia. Maybe he’d ask her sometime.
They walked through the elegant foyer with its chrome tables and quarter-moon mirrors on either side. Fresh flower arrangements provided by his staff perfumed the air.
He left the envelope containing Cynthia’s picture in the foyer. He’d deal with it later. Right now he was interested in Giselle’s reaction to the penthouse. This was his home now, and he realized that he wanted her to like it. Why he even cared about her opinion was a question for another time.
He’d kept the living room decorated exactly as it had been when his parents had lived there. Muted lighting revealed soft leather sectionals in butter yellow. Pillows in every color of the rainbow were scattered around. Maybe that’s what Cynthia had meant. He needed some of those little square pillows in his bedroom.
The open floor plan included a linen-draped dining table on the left side of the room. Not long ago he’d taken out the two leaves to create a cozier setup. He didn’t intend to hold the kind of large-scale dinner parties his parents had enjoyed.
The kitchen was through an arched opening to the right, and the bedrooms were also to the right down a long hallway. Most first-time visitors missed those details.
Usually they were captured by the floor-to-ceiling windows that provided an unobstructed view of the Strip. His father had said the panoramic vista was worth all the effort of winning that lawsuit. Luke didn’t agree, considering it had shortened his dad’s life, but the view was spectacular, especially now that the sun had set.
The windows lined the west and north walls. Unless he was there to deal with the shades, a maid came in and raised them on the west windows just before sunset, so that even as you walked into the room you could watch the sun go down. He and Giselle had missed that show, but it didn’t matter. Looking north was a nonstop extravaganza.
In the foreground jutted the skyscrapers of Manhattan, with the Statue of Liberty and the Coney Island Cyclone roller coaster looping through the buildings. Beyond that, the distinctive Eiffel Tower spire glittered against the night sky. Across the way, streams of water jetted upward from the dancing fountain fronting the Bellagio.
Giselle walked toward the window. “That’s quite a view, Dalton.”
He came up to stand beside her. “My father never got tired of looking at it. Here, let me take your coat.” He helped her out of it before removing his still slightly damp denim jacket. He laid them both over the back of the sectional.
“I’d forgotten how over-the-top Vegas is.”
“That’s what fantasy is all about—going over-the-top.” He studied her profile. She had a high forehead and an aristocratic nose, both of which made her look intelligent and a little snooty.
Her mouth, though, was extremely lush. He could imagine that mouth sucking on a chocolate-covered strawberry. He stared at the lights of the Strip and reminded himself to focus on the mission—getting Bryce Landry out of town and Cynthia straightened out.
“It’s mesmerizing, isn’t it?” Giselle said.
“It can be. My dad used to love standing here and reveling in the fact that Harrison Cartwright was now denied this view.”
“But Harrison built Illusions, which provides a mirror image from the north end of the Strip.”
Something clicked when she said that. He looked over at her. “You’ve been on the top floor of Illusions, then?”
Her startled glance told him she hadn’t meant to say that. “Uh, yeah. Briefly.”
“It’s a very exclusive casino and hotel. Booked up months ahead, I hear. Getting into Illusions is tougher than getting into Fort Knox.”
“I’ve heard that.” She returned her attention to the view.
“I didn’t think to ask where you were staying while you’re here. I’m guessing you’re at Illusions.”
She kept her gaze on the sparkling lights and the constant flow of traffic forty floors below them, but her cheeks had become rosy. “The Cartwrights are family friends.”
He’d bet she hadn’t intended for him to know that. Earlier he’d asked how she’d learned about his problems with Cynthia. Now he knew. “You and Vaughn Cartwright had a little conversation before you came over to the Moon to see me, didn’t you?”
She turned to him, putting her back to the view. She looked beautiful standing there surrounded by the lights, and he wondered if he was dealing with a modern version of Mata Hari. If so, she wasn’t a very good spy. They’d been together a couple of hours and she’d already revealed her connection to the enemy.
“Don’t leap to the wrong conclusions, Luke.”
“Like what? I—” His phone pinged. “Could be from Cynthia.” Taking his phone from his pocket, he clicked on the message. He stared at the screen for a moment. “Busted.”
“What do you mean?”
He turned the phone so she could see the picture embedded in the message. “They must have hidden a motion-activated camera in that room.”
Giselle gazed at the image and sighed. “And now my brother knows I’m here and that I came unannounced. I’d better text him.” Taking out her phone, she typed a brief message. “Maybe this is just as well. I told him I really wanted to talk with him and I hoped we could get together soon. If he’s up for that, it might open the door for you and Cynthia to have a heart-to-heart, too.”
“I’d like that.” Except he didn’t know what he planned to say yet. The more time he spent with Giselle, the more his perceptions seemed to shift. He was no longer exactly sure where he stood on the subject of Cynthia’s future. Before he talked to her, he ought to figure that out.
Giselle tucked her phone away. “So where were we?”
He had to think about that. Surrounded by the gemlike colors of the casino lights, she was a vision. He’d been trying to ignore his attraction from the moment she’d walked into his office. Then he remembered they’d been talking about her connection to Vaughn Cartwright. Okay, that would help cool his libido.