Once A Gambler. Carrie Hudson

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СКАЧАТЬ Dane said three hours later as she lay sprawled on top of his bed watching him undress. “The crackpot of the century shouts Chicken Little warnings at you at my opening, you actually fall for it, and now you’re jumping on the next flight to Deadwood?”

      “Actually,” Ellie commented, rubbing the ache in her temples, “it’s not a straight-through flight. It’s—”

      “God almighty, Ellie.” Barefoot, he sauntered closer, working the diamond-studded platinum cuff links out of his sleeves. “Maybe you should be passing out dollar bills to the hopeful drunks down on Los Angeles Street, or…or better yet, buy stock in video recorder technology.” Dane tugged off his shirt and tossed it onto the leather club chair near the walk-in closet.

      Ellie rolled over and buried her face in the royal-blue down comforter. Dane’s scent clung to it and she turned her head. There was no arguing with his logic. Of course he was right. She shouldn’t go. But she was going. As soon as she got rid of this headache.

      “And while we’re on the subject of believing, could we just, for one minute, celebrate the fact that the critics freakin’ loved my movie tonight? It was a smash. Did you hear the applause at the end? There’s even some Oscar buzz already.”

      She was a terrible person. A terrible, terrible person. “I know,” she said. “Congratulations. That’s really…wonderful, Dane.”

      “Thank you,” he said, his weight on the mattress tumbling her sideways toward him. He rolled her over and settled himself down on top of her. There was no mistaking what he was after. A little victory dance after his victory. But she wasn’t in the mood. In fact, she was having trouble remembering the last time she’d been in the mood for sex with Dane.

      Sliding a coppery strand of hair out of her eyes, he kissed her on the cheek. “Hey, I know you miss your sister. But, babe, she’s gone.”

      He said things like that, so offhand that he might as well have been talking about a misplaced parking ticket. Or his ex-wife. It made Ellie wonder sometimes if she was making a mistake. Had she settled? Or was she being too critical?

      “And this guy…he’s probably a junkie. A wacko. A fan. I’m hiring some personal protection for you.”

      Ellie’s fingers dug into his chest. “Absolutely not,” she insisted. The last thing she wanted was some LAPD flunkie shadowing her every move. That was Dane’s job.

      She frowned. Wait. That didn’t sound right.

      “Who knows what that lunatic was really after,” he said, kissing her jaw.

      “He told me the answers were in the trunk. That photos didn’t lie. And something about time running out. He said I only have two days.”

      “Yeah. In two days we’ll have that freak in custody.” He dropped his mouth onto her neck to explore the pulse throbbing there.

      She willed herself to enjoy his kisses. But her mind was elsewhere. “Two days. That’s the anniversary.”

      He sighed. “Who wouldn’t know that from just reading the papers?” Intent on his pursuit of her attention, he nibbled at her earlobe.

      “But the trunk thing…how would he know—”

      He paused long enough to tilt a “C’mon” look at her. “Just a wild stab…but, something that might be in a grandmother’s attic…?”

      She slid her arms around his neck. Right, she thought. Dane Raleigh, the voice of reason. He was good for her. He was. Who else would put up with the emotional chaos of the past year?

      She should just put aside all the doubts about him that had been cropping up lately like bad weeds. He was everything she’d ever wanted all wrapped up in a neat, gorgeous package. He wanted the same things she did: a home, a family—the whole deal. And the fact that he made the most of his engagement to her when he was doing press junkets really shouldn’t cancel out all the positives about him. He had good hair, an innate ability to accurately predict the stock market and—

      “So,” he murmured, adjusting his attention to the plunging vee of her dress, “just try to relax, forget about him.”

      —and…of course there was something else.

      She closed her eyes, willing his mouth to wash all thought of that tall, badly dressed man out of her mind. Think about Dane’s mouth. Think about what his hands are doing to your breasts. Think about—

      “Besides,” he added, dragging his palm up her thigh beneath her gown, “I’ve already called a real estate agent about your grandmother’s house. They’re gonna auction off what’s left inside and sell the place.” His mouth paused over hers. “It’s already been on the market for a week.”

      She struggled to push him off her and sat bolt upright. “What?”

      He rolled to his side, supporting himself on one elbow, looking wary. “Well, yeah. It’s time to put all that ugliness behind you, Ellie. Let it go.”

      “Let it go? Who…who gave you the right to tell me when it’s time?” The ache in her temples came rushing back.

      “Look, I knew this might upset you, but it’s for the best. Linea and I discussed it, and we thought it was a good idea. That place is like an anchor around your neck.”

      “My mother? You went behind my back and—I can not believe you. My grandmother left that house in Deadwood to us. To Reese and me.”

      “Damn, Ellie, calm down. You’ll get the money.”

      She launched herself off the bed and paced to the closet and back. “This isn’t about the money. You know I don’t need money. And since when are you and Linea so damned chummy? I mean, it’s all I can do to get a monthly text message from her. And that’s usually about how perfect you are for me and how she can’t wait for our upcoming nuptials which, she assures me, she will try her very best to attend, barring any unforeseen movie parts that might interfere.” Her voice had risen a shrill two octaves, but she didn’t care.

      Apparently amused by her outburst, Dane sat down on the corner of the bed and folded his arms across his chest. “We’re not chummy. I called her, is all. I thought selling the place would be good for you. For us.”

      “You did? Really? Well, it’s not. It’s not good. I hate that you did this without even consulting me.” The swell of anger that gathered inside her was like a wave that wouldn’t stop rolling toward the shoreline. It had replaced the grief that had pushed her under for months after Reese’s mysterious disappearance from Grandma Lily’s attic, and it came up at times like this, irrational and a little wild. Talking about Reese as if she were merely an episode in Ellie’s past seemed like a betrayal. Assuming the worst about her sister made her furious.

      He shrugged his shoulders. “You’re not…altogether rational about that house, Ellie. It’s just a house. A piece of real estate. It’s not going to bring your sister back.”

      Right. She gathered up her evening bag and the four-inch heels she’d kicked off and hopped on one foot, slipping them back on. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe going to Deadwood won’t bring her back. But that house is mine and Reese’s now. And we get to say when we sell it. And I am going tomorrow.”

      “Ellie—”

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