When the door shut behind him, Max groaned. Oh, yeah. He was definitely getting bad karma for that one moment of gut-wrenching pleasure with the only woman he couldn’t have. Now he had to spend a few days in Vegas with her. Alone.
He fought down panic. Maybe he was overestimating his stock. Carina hadn’t made one reference to that night since her announcement. His ego still burned at not being able to tell his Victoria lusted after another man. One he’d actually met before. Even worse was the knowledge they’d had no sexual chemistry. He’d been desperate enough to create some, but her need to marry with her father’s pressure probably stirred panic. Their long conversation was fruitful, and she finally admitted her true feelings for Richard. He kissed her on the forehead and wished her luck, hoping he’d convinced her to take the leap and go after the man she loved.
As for Carina, she pretended nothing happened between them. She acted breezy. Friendly. Casual. Like they’d never had each other’s tongues in their mouths and he’d never had his fingers around her nipple.
Stop.
Vegas was business. She wanted to learn. There was no reason to panic over the idea of spending a few days with her.
The lure of a new deal sang in his blood. The hell with it. He loved Vegas. The heat. The adrenaline. The sin. He’d be seeing his old friend, play some poker, and do what he did best. Close a deal and find a woman for a little while. Someone to take his mind off Carina and get his head back in the game.
He grabbed the file and got to work.
• • •
Carina tried hard not to bounce up and down in her seat like a child, but being cool was getting more difficult. The limo coasted down the streets of Vegas and her senses short-circuited. A city that lived for one reason and boasted the goal from the rooftops: pleasure. A place to lose herself, her inhibitions, and finally get Max into bed.
Welcome to Vegas.
Max watched her with barely veiled amusement but she didn’t care. “Can we go see Celine Dion?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Hell, no.”
“Cirque du Soleil?”
His lip quirked. “Maybe. If I’m drunk enough.”
She stuck out her tongue and he laughed. “I refuse to let your jaded view spoil my pleasure. I dreamed of coming to Vegas and can’t believe I’m here. Do the showgirls really walk around practically naked?”
“Yes.”
“How many times have you been here?”
He relaxed back into the seat and Carina hid her hungry stare. Dressed in a dark business suit, with gold custom cuff links, his hair neatly tamed, he’d turn every woman’s head, including a Vegas showgirl’s. Animal-like grace trapped in civility. The bright red tie hinted at what simmered beneath the surface, and her fingers itched to rip it off in the limo, lower the smoked screen, and act out one of her naughty fantasies. Instead, she remained still and listened to his answer. “A few for business. Some for pleasure.”
“I bet. No Elvis weddings you annulled, right?”
“Brat.”
She smiled and stuck her head out the window, abandoning any demeanor of sophistication. The muggy air pressed down on her and sprung her curls into frizzy disaster but she didn’t care. They pulled into the Venetian Hotel and Carina laughed at the fake imagery of Italy around her. The sleek marble sculptures, numerous water fountains, and lush greenery beckoned her farther into the majestic opening doors. She expected Vegas hotels to be a bit over the top and glitzy, but there was an undertone of sheer elegance with the furnishings.
Michael stopped at the front desk. Her head bounced back and forth as she tried to take in the full power punch of the casino lobby. A giant golden sphere dominated the center of the highly polished floor, set off by soaring columns, large archways, and an elaborately painted ceiling to rival Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. The whirling array of textures, colors, and lushness fogged her senses with pleasure.
They received their key and were ushered to the tower. Up, up, up they climbed, until the giant from “Jack and the Beanstalk” seemed to be their neighbor. The elevator doors opened, and they keyed in their code and entered the penthouse suite.
Carina gasped.
She knew Michael and Max were very, very rich. From humble beginnings, she watched the family empire grow until they didn’t need to worry about paying bills, supporting Venezia’s shoe habit, or paying off a college education. The house was revamped, but she was still sheltered in Bergamo. Her surroundings never changed, and the inner person she was remained untouched by success or money.
But looking around the suite completely bedazzled her.
The open living room boasted a slate blue sofa, recliner, and gorgeous cherrywood furnishings. Rich canvas paintings of Italian scenes decorated the earthy, rich walls, and the floor-to-ceiling window showed off the city in all its glory. She remained speechless as she walked around and took in the fully stocked wet bar, the Jacuzzi tub, and the massive king-size bed with so many pillows she longed to stretch out and take a nap right now.
“I think I need to ask Michael for a raise,” she muttered.
Max laughed. “This is your business, cara. You’re family, so you’re a part of everything built, including the money.”
“I’m not comfortable taking advantage of something I never really worked for,” she said honestly. “I want to earn my own right to the money.”
His face softened, and for a brief moment, his baby blues filled with a fierce pride. “I know. You have character, which many women don’t exhibit these days.”
Carina snorted. “Plenty of women do, Max. You just find the wrong ones every time.”
“Can we give my lousy track record a break today?”
“Sure.” A flicker of guilt lit her eyes. “I’m sorry about Victoria.”
He shrugged. “You were right. As usual. At least she’s going after who she really wants.” He deliberately changed the subject and pointed toward the adjoining door. “I’ll show you your room.”