Taking a deep breath, she drew in a fair amount of humility along with the oxygen. “I owe you an apology. I have no business passing judgment on your behavior. Mine isn’t all that different, as you so correctly point out.”
His expression softened. “Thanks for that, Giselle.” He came closer and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I owe you an apology, too, though.” His gaze searched hers. “I was eager for you to help me figure out the situation with Cynthia. You seem to really get her. It’s not fair if I turn around and reject your advice.” He kneaded her shoulders with a gentle touch. “Bottom line, I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me, too.” She saw the kiss shimmering in his eyes. Letting that happen would be so natural, but they had places to go and booby traps to deal with. One kiss would lead to two, and twenty, and . . . wild monkey sex. “We should go, or we’ll never get to that cabin.”
“When you’re right, you’re right.” With a final squeeze, he stepped back. “Besides, I don’t want to hurt you.”
She decided giving him some hints would be okay. “Actually, the Epsom salts did wonders.”
“Oh?” The glint returned to his eyes. “Care to elaborate?”
“No.” She grabbed her leather jacket, which still lay over the back of the sofa. “That’s for future reference. Right now we need to drive up to a mountain cabin and see if Cynthia and Bryce have found a way to soak you.”
“And after that?”
She smiled. “Epsom salts work miracles. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
Luke dropped his Lexus into third gear as he navigated the winding roads leading to the pine-covered slopes of the mountains. As the desert vegetation gave way to evergreens, he found himself thinking more about Giselle’s miraculous recovery than his little sister’s rebellious behavior. That wasn’t good.
His revved-up libido could take a hike. He needed to concentrate on the problem with his sister, and besides, Giselle might not be as recovered as she claimed. They were driving up here to check out Cynthia’s latest message, not to find a suitable spot to get naked.
Giselle put her window down a couple of inches and inhaled. “Smells great out there. I love pines.” Then she shivered and closed the window. “Chilly, though.”
“That’s the beauty of living in Vegas. You can go from the warm desert to the cool mountains in no time. Lake Mead’s in the other direction, so Vegas has it all.” He sounded like the damned Chamber of Commerce, and he knew exactly why. He wanted to gauge her reaction to the city, in case . . . well, just in case. He was a fool to keep hoping, but every time he looked at her, he was more convinced than ever that she was the one.
And it wasn’t all about sex, either. Silly as it sounded, he liked the way they argued without getting nasty about it. She stood up to him, but she fought fair. She had the qualities he looked for in a friend.
“Obviously you’re happy living here,” she said.
“I am. It’s where I grew up, so that’s part of the reason. But I’ve seen other parts of the country, and Vegas suits me. I like the energy of the city, the mild winters, and the chance to head for the mountains or the lake for a quick change of scenery.”
She nodded. “That’s good.”
Although he would have preferred a more enthusiastic response, at least she hadn’t disagreed with him about the city’s appeal. “Are you happy living in San Francisco?”
“Oh, yeah. The cool air, the fog, sailboats on the bay—love it.”
So it wasn’t only her job holding her there. That was discouraging. “Ever considered another part of the country?”
“Nope. Besides the fact that I love the area, my family’s there. I’m very family oriented.”
“I used to be.” Whoa, that sounded pathetic. “The plain fact is, most guys would love to be in my shoes. I have plenty of money and the freedom to do what I want if I keep the corporation on an even keel.”
“Sounds like a nice life.”
“Exactly. Of course, Mr. Thatcher is hoping I’ll get married and have a bunch of kids so he’ll have something to do. I found out this morning he’s bored out of his skull.”
“So that’s Mr. Thatcher’s dream. What do you want?”
You. But he couldn’t say that. “A better relationship with my sister.” He hadn’t meant to say that, either, but it was the truth. Now that his mother was in France, Cynthia was the only family he had close by. Fighting with her felt terrible and he wanted it to stop.
“You know the way to get that, right?”
“Yeah, give in.”
“It’s not giving in, Luke. It’s letting go of your role as the father figure and becoming a brother and a friend.”
The idea beckoned to him like an oasis in the desert. “As I’ve mentioned before, my dad would roll over in his grave at the thought of her dancing with the Moonbeams instead of finishing her education.”
“Yes, but he’s not here,” she said gently. “Expecting you to run the corporation is one thing. Putting you in charge of your sister’s future is unfair. Of course she’s not going to give you the same respect she gave your dad. If my brother tried to tell me what to do, I’d spit in his eye.”
That made him grin. “I bet you would.” Spotting a street sign ahead, he slowed the car. “There’s the turnoff.” The road was gravel, which made him doubly glad he’d brought his car instead of Giselle’s rented motorcycle. Patches of snow lay in the shadows created by the tall pines.
No one else was on the road, so he braked the car and pulled out his cell phone. “I’m sure they’ve left and Owen followed, but let me double-check.” He glanced at his text messages. “They took off about an hour ago. Owen tailed them to . . . the Silver Crescent? Damn it! They’re running us around in circles.”
“She’s trying to prove a point.”
Luke glared at the text. “Well, she’s pissing me off.” His phone chimed. “I’ll bet that’s her, gloating.” He read the text. “Game is over. Time to talk. Meet us here at eight o’clock.”
“Eight o’clock tonight? That’s ten hours from now.”
“I know. But Cynthia loves the number eight. We used to play Crazy Eights when she was little, and then in junior high she found out that turning an eight on its side was the sign for infinity.”
“And it’s the difference in your ages.”
He nodded. “That too. I wonder if they’re in the penthouse yet.”
“Oh, dear.”
He looked over at her. “Yeah. She could have a field day. Mr. Thatcher would have waited for my signal before he brought in housekeeping.”
“Smart man, but if nothing’s been done in the penthouse . . .”
He met her gaze. “Then the bedroom is as we left it—sheets covered with chocolate, pillows on the floor, bed a tumbled mess. There won’t be much doubt what went on there last night. She’ll figure that out right quick.”
“So will Bryce.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, so they find out we had sex.”
He lifted his eyebrows.
“Well, so it was over-the-top sex, with chocolate mousse cake spread everywhere and our clothes strewn on the floor.”
Luke speed-dialed Mr. Thatcher. “Maybe they’re not in the penthouse. Maybe they went to Cynthia’s apartment. That’s logical. I don’t have a key to her place, so they could hide out—hello, Mr. Thatcher? Please send a cleaning crew up to the penthouse ASAP. Thanks.” He disconnected. “Call me old-fashioned, but I’d rather not have my little sister creating mental images of what went on in that bedroom.”
“I agree. I’m not wild about having Bryce check out the aftermath, either. He knows I’m not a vestal virgin, but I’m not in the habit of advertising my sexual adventures.”