Las Vegas: Scandals: Prince Charming for 1 Night

“Seemed to be.”

As opposed to her confrontation with Maximillian. Her own father. “You’ll be there all night?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Good. I’ll expect your full report in the morning.”

“Will do, sir.”

Thoughtfully, Conner put the phone back in its stand. Should he go check on her? Or just let her cool off…He wasn’t too worried about her safety, not with Barton there standing guard all night. And Conner’d hired a cleaning crew to tidy up the apartment after the FBI was done with their evidence collecting, so she didn’t have to deal with that.

But, damn it, he missed her.

He’d been bored stiff all night, stuck at that stuffy ball with his stuffy family and the stultifyingly sophisticated Annabella Pruitt, slowly drinking himself numb. Or trying to. Unfortunately, he’d remained distressingly sober the entire time, despite the copious amounts of alcohol that had passed through his system.

Guilt?

Possibly.

Probably.

He wasn’t proud of the way he’d treated Vera. In fact, he was downright ashamed. What was wrong with him? Was he such a damn wuss that he couldn’t just tell his socially paralyzed father to take a flying leap if he didn’t like Conner’s choice of women?

Not to mention the whole Maximillian St. Giles thing. Conner should have pounded him into the dance floor like a wooden peg. Or at least shamed him into apologizing to his daughter, admitting he was being an ass.

So, why hadn’t he?

Because Conner was an even bigger ass, that’s why.

Setting his lips in a thin line, he strode into the hall. “Hildy!” he yelled. “Get the limo back here! I’m going out again.”

Naturally, Vera refused to answer the intercom. So Conner had to talk the security guard into letting him into the penthouse.

Luckily, he’d been introduced as Vera’s lawyer the other day after the break-in, so he didn’t have too much trouble convincing the man he was worried about his client and wanted to check on her well-being. The C-note deposited discreetly in his uniform pocket didn’t hurt either.

Conner found her in the bathtub. Up to her neck in bubbles, the mirrors steamed up and a dozen scented candles lit. The room smelled like a hothouse filled with damask roses. A bottle of red wine was propped on the edge of the tub. Half-empty. No glass.

The fake Quetzal was sitting on the tub’s front rim, winking in the candlelight like a multicolored disco ball.

“Go away,” she mumbled, not opening her eyes.

“How do you know who it is?” he asked, chagrined that she wasn’t worried and didn’t even check. He could be the thief returning, for all she knew!

“I can smell you,” she said thickly. “The demonic scent of wealth and temptation.”

Had he just been insulted? He made a mental note to change his cologne.

He stepped into the room and closed the door. “Sweetheart—”

“Don’t!” Her hand shot up from the water, fanning out a cascade of droplets. “Don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me, you…”

His eyes widened as she called him a very bad name.

Ho-kay, then. Looked like he wasn’t the only one drinking himself into oblivion. “Been watching reruns of Deadwood?” he muttered. Walking over, he plucked the wine bottle from the tub and deposited it on the marble vanity counter.

“Hey!”

“Any more of that stuff and you’ll drown yourself,” he said.

“Drown you, you mean,” she muttered. Then called him that word again.

Okay, so maybe he deserved the moniker. But he couldn’t help smiling. She was even more beautiful when she was calling him bad names.

“Vera, I’m sorry.”

“Tell it to someone who cares.”

“Look, honey, I know you’re mad, but—”

“Mad? Me?” She cracked an eyelid, gave him a gimlet eye and made a really rude noise.

“I can see you’re not going to make this easy on me.”

“Sure, I am. What part of ‘go away’ don’t you get? I’ll be happy to e’splain it to you.” She hiccupped.

He desperately wanted to chuckle. But he figured it would be the last thing he ever did. So he did the second best thing. Toed off his shoes and socks and climbed into the tub with her. They’d have to cut his tuxedo pants off him, but what the hell, he didn’t like this suit anyway.

“What the—” she sputtered, wheeling her arms to get away from him. But he just grabbed onto her and held tight as he slid down behind her into the water, leaning his back against the end of the oversize spa tub. “You are such a freaking Neanderthal,” she gritted out.

“So sue me. But I warn you, I’ll win.”

Damn, it felt weird taking a bath in his clothes. But she really would have screamed bloody murder if he’d gotten undressed.

Besides, he didn’t want to give her the wrong idea, either. He wasn’t here for sex. He was here for forgiveness. For her.

At least she wasn’t fighting him anymore. With a huff, she let herself fall back against his chest, closed her eyes again and refused to look at him.

Progress.

She sighed. “Conner, what are you doing here?” she asked him, sounding suspiciously uninebriated.

“Apologizing.”

“That’s not what it feels like,” she said dryly.

He realized his hand had unconsciously found its way to her breast and was gently fondling it. Since she hadn’t clawed his eyes out, he didn’t stop.

He kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry, Vera. I acted like a jackass. You have every reason to be angry with me, and I wouldn’t blame you if you never spoke to me again.”