 
# Hardened

# Vegas Nights

## Book One

# Ophelia Sikes

Copyright © 2015 by Ophelia Sikes /

Minerva Webworks LLC

All rights reserved.

Cover design by Ophelia Sikes.

Book design by Ophelia Sikes

Visit my website at OpheliaSikes.com

Newsletter:

http://www.opheliasikes.com/subscribe.asp

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and events are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

First Printing: February 2015

\- 1 –

Half of all author's proceeds from this book benefits battered women's shelters.

Trust In Yourself.

Hardened

# Chapter 1

" _What fire does not destroy, it hardens."_

\-- Oscar Wilde

The pair of walking-stick-thin women in front of me shrieked in delight, high-fiving each other, their skimpy, neon dresses riding even higher up their toothpick legs. "We're back in Vegas!" squealed the blonde, teetering against the wall of the narrow hallway which led from the plane to the terminal.

"I know! I know! We're gonna be even crazier this year!" giggled the brunette.

I put my head down and continued tugging at my small, black rolling bag. They seemed to be about my age – twenty-three, if I had to guess – but it seemed many years since I had been that carefree. Life hadn't been hard on those two, judging by the diamond necklaces and Cartier watches. In comparison, my own bag was ratty, stained, and dented in on one side. I was in jeans and a dark blue t-shirt. And I was completely exhausted.

The women bubbled on before me, undoubtedly off to pick up a massive, matching Coach luggage set from the carousel. The bags would be bulging with slinky dresses and gem-encrusted jewelry for their nights of high-rolling adventure.

My own work would be at night, as well – and I supposed it was certainly an adventure. But I imagined our paths were unlikely to cross.

I trudged into the terminal following the streaming crowd of hat-wearing cowboys and sparkling cowgirls. Apparently some sort of a rodeo must be in town, judging by the Western attire of most of my fellow passengers. Mid-December seemed a strange time for it, but this was Vegas, after all. It was always the right time for anything and everything.

We passed storefront after gloomy storefront closed down by metal gates. It was just after nine p.m. local time, but apparently Vegas's all-night reputation didn't extend to the airport terminals. The area was a ghost-town. The blocks of slot machines sat silent, no eager customers to push their buttons while dreaming of mansions and yachts.

I kept my head down as I walked and walked. Maybe this would finally be the city that would make it all work out. Or maybe, once again, I'd find myself boarding yet another plane, hoping against hope that my solution finally waited for me at the destination.

I glanced down at my bag, where my prize possession lay within. A Canon EOS60. Not the most expensive camera in the world, by a longshot, but it was all I could afford. When I'd dropped out of Georgetown, two years ago, I'd fallen back on my second dream, to be a photojournalist. I'd gone to New Orleans to interview the blacks about challenges in life in post-Katrina days. Then I'd gone to El Paso, to seek out Hispanics there to discuss the issues with immigration.

Time after time, the person took one look at my short, pale blonde hair, my ivory skin, and my rounded curves. Then they closed the door. I could see their thought as clear as day, shining in their eyes.

How could she possibly understand?

I sighed. I had to find a way to make it work. Here, in Vegas, I might be seen more as a part of their world. I was going to take a different approach here. I had managed to convince a major paper in Houston to send me out for a week to take a series of photos for a travel series. I could then do my own work off-hours and finally make a difference in the world. It would undoubtedly be utterly exhausting – but I knew somehow I would find a way to juggle both tasks at once.

The paper had wrangled forty-a-night rooms at the Luxor and given me a fifty-a-day meal stipend. That had sounded ample until I researched prices in Vegas and found that a lone burger could easily cost fifteen.

Ketchup was extra.

I looked ahead of me and stopped. A weary smile stretched my lips. Apparently someone at this airport had a sense of humor. A large, stone lizard had been sculpted to look as if it was climbing up out of the floor. It had a bright, welcoming look in its eyes.

That playful image could be perfect to illustrate one of the stories.

I plunked down next to my bag and bent over to unzip the main compartment. I drew out my camera –

Wham.

I was bowled over.

My camera – my precious, irreplaceable, last-chance-at-hope camera – went flying out of my hands. It sailed toward the lizard's shimmering concrete spikes.

My cry choked out of me in sheer panic.

A strong, muscular hand reached out and snagged the strap as easily as one plucked an apple from a low-hanging branch. Then he turned.

He was stunningly handsome. His eyes were sapphire blue, set beneath short-cropped dark hair. His face had a carven look to it, as if he'd been sculpted from granite. And his muscles ... clearly whatever he did in life, it was active. A firefighter? Bull wrestler? Strip-tease artist? Heck, here in Vegas, pretty much anything was possible.

A pair of giggles sounded behind me. I turned. It was the blonde and the brunette, their breasts straining against their skin-tight outfits as they bounced in glee. "Oh, Aedan! You were awesome!"

My heart sank, and I turned back to him. I took in his outfit more clearly now. The Rolex on his wrist easily cost more than everything I owned – all of which was either worn on my body or tucked in the bag at my side. With the exception, of course, of my camera, which dangled easily from his strong fingers.

He took a step toward me, his teeth glittering in a smile. "I think this is yours."

I snatched it from him with perhaps a bit too much snap. "It wouldn't have needed catching, if you all hadn't nearly shattered it."

The blonde rolled her eyes. "Well, missy, if you hadn't decided to stop right in the middle of the hall to rummage in your bag, we wouldn't have tripped all over you!"

The brunette grabbed her arm. "C'mon, Janet, let it go. Vegas is calling! And we can't keep Aedan waiting!"

Janet's eyes lit up, and she slid over to tuck her arm into his. "You're right, Kara! It's the Mandalay Bay, our new playground!"

I sighed. They were the next casino over for mine. I might end up running into them over the next week, if I weren't careful. But, then again, these casinos were massive. Surely the billionaire trio would be moving in vastly different circles than I would.

I certainly hoped so.

I turned the camera over in my hands, my heartbeat coming back to normal. It was all right. Nothing had been damaged. My precious dream was still glimmering before me, intact and possible.

My manners came back to me. This Aedan guy hadn't caused the problem, after all. And it was due to his quick reflexes that my life could aim along the path I'd set, for at least a little while longer.

I looked up to thank him.

They had gone.

# Chapter 2

It was nearly eleven p.m. on a Wednesday night – and Vegas was going full blast. The streets were mobbed with pedestrians in every outfit imaginable. Blondes in tight jeans strolled alongside red-heads in string bikinis and high heels. Yellow cartoon-inspired minions posed for photos with drunken college students. Cowgirls teetered down the street holding long-necked bottles of beers or foot-tall pink daiquiris.

I held my camera close against my body, turning to look up behind me at the Luxor. The hotel had upgraded me to a pyramid strip-view room, but with them being so far south on the strip, this really meant one could see the airport out the window and little else. Still, I didn't mind. I liked watching the planes coming and going. It reminded me that life went on around me; that people were reaching for their dreams.

Someday, maybe, I'd get to mine.

I knew I should be tackling the paper's official photos first, to get those out of the way. But the encounter with the two stick-figure women had prodded me into action. I wanted to explore Vegas for myself and find out what it was all about. Not the carefully crafted tourist spots that most people stayed within. But the _real_ Vegas.

I'd seen a photo-essay recently on Cancun, which explored the difference between the gated-in resorts that most tourists huddled in and the gritty streets where the locals lived. It had struck me hard just how many times these disparities lived side by side – and how the ones visiting often had no idea of the abject poverty of the other side which supported their easy lifestyle.

Perhaps I could do the same for Vegas. I could help bring its reality to life.

I'd seen a seedy motel only a few blocks away from the strip, on the shuttle ride in from the airport. That seemed an ideal place to start. Travelocity reviews indicated this was a locale well-known for its drug deals and prostitutes. And it was only a two-minute walk from a road glittering with emerald-cut diamonds and Cristal Champagne. If there were anywhere to find this difference in living conditions only yards apart, the motel seemed a good place to start.

I took a last look at the massive stone sphinx and obelisk before me, and the enormous black pyramid which sent a beam of light straight into space. Then I turned my back on them and began walking.

I wore my purse cross-chest and kept my hand over it and the camera as I moved east from the glittering strip. The world around me dropped almost instantly from Cartier and platinum to scuffed dirt and browning grass. I could hear the scolding voices of my mother and father, in their rounded Wisconsin accents, sounding in my ear. Warning me of the dangers of what I was about to undertake.

I shook them off.

I'd left home at eighteen for Georgetown and had never looked back. My parents had made it clear to me that their responsibility for me had ended the moment I became an adult. I'd gotten my full scholarship to Georgetown, worked two jobs, and all had seemed to be going as well as could be expected.

And then I'd dropped out.

I shook off the darkness, my gaze focusing. Wallowing in the past did zero good. I didn't own a time machine, after all. I had to keep my wits about me and focus on the here and now. This was where I could forge a fresh path.

I saw the flickering motel sign up ahead and shook my head in disgust. The grim surroundings exactly matched the horrific Yelp one-star reviews. I could almost see the cockroaches scuttling away into the darkness.

I patted my camera and steeled myself. Now to find some locals to talk with.

My eyes lit up. Luck was apparently with me at last. A red-headed woman teetered unsteadily toward me down the street, carefully balancing on four-inch bright-red heels. Her lipstick and painted-on dress matched those shoes perfectly. Her gaze stayed steadily on the stream of cars moving down the street, her gaze bright with hope.

I girded my strength. Here was my first test. I would walk up to her with an understanding smile. Slow and steady. I would next hand her one of my business cards, and open by saying –

A beat-up Civic pulled up alongside the curb, and the door was thrown open. A dark-haired woman called out in exasperation, "There you are, you imbecile! I told you not to try to walk to the Bellagio on your own. You went the wrong way! Get in, we're late for Happy Hour. Free daiquiris!"

The red-head tittered and climbed into the seat. And they were off.

I watched them go, my shoulders slumping. It seemed it was going to be harder than I thought to identify actual prostitutes here in Vegas. The outfits that clearly marked the women-of-the-night in El Paso were apparently normal night wear here in Sin City.

There was a burst of high-pitched laughter from the other side of the grimy motel, and I perked up. That crimson woman had hardly been my only option down in the dust and debris. Far from it. Undoubtedly the alleys were full of people just waiting to share their stories. I simply had to keep going and track down my first interview.

I walked past a beat-up Chevy Malibu whose rust-pocked frame was barely holding together. There was a rattling cough from one of the rooms above me, and a steady stream of traffic moved past on the busy road. Most cars held vacationers or conventioneers zooming off to another fancy club or high-priced dinner, giving little thought to the low-paid workers who kept their world smoothly turning.

My fingers clutched on my camera strap, and I nodded in resolution. I would do my best to change that.

I looked around the corner to the alley behind the motel. The brick walls were caked with grime. A fairly talented street artist had used their length to portray a curling green Celtic dragon, wrapped into a circle.

A sleek, convertible black Jaguar was pulled up at a sharp angle, as if it'd come in quickly with little concern for how it parked. And I could see why. A woman was sprawled in abandon on the hood, her head back, her mouth open in gasps of hot passion. Her fire-engine-red dress was scrunched around her waist and each stiletto-high heel was on the edge of the hood. I imagined they were digging deep gouges into the paint, but my bet was the owner didn't care.

He was in a black evening shirt, buttoned up, and I had to guess his matching pants were down around his ankles. The car hid that half of him. But I could see him rocking against her, his hand beneath the fabric at her breast, and whatever he was doing to her nipple sent her into a fresh arch of desire. His hips rose and fell with perfect control, and something shone in his eyes – as if his entire focus were on bringing her to the greatest heights imaginable.

Waves of longing coursed through me. I had never felt anything like that. Never. My overprotective parents had ensured I'd never dated in high school, and once I escaped to Georgetown ...

I pushed that thought away with well-practiced effort.

The woman's cries were growing in volume, radiating from her entire body, and she seemed not to care at all that any of the many passing drivers could easily glance into her alley and see exactly what was going on.

This was Vegas, after all.

His speed built up, her body spread, and then suddenly she was crying out as if her soul had been released from her core. She shuddered ... steadied ... and drifted back, limp, onto the black hood. Her legs splayed open.

My heart thundered against my chest, and I took a step back.

My foot caught in a ditch, and I stumbled. A soft cry came from my lips.

I could hardly have thought it was audible, what with the rush of the traffic and the cries of passion which had just filled the area, but his eyes came up and he stared right at me.

Aedan.

I gasped, my face flushing as hot as a Texas pavement in July.

I turned and fled.

# Chapter 3

The mariachi band was playing a rousing version of "Smells Like Teen Spirit," and I shook my head, taking another drink of my cactus margarita. I was in a small Mexican restaurant along the underground concourse connecting the Luxor and Mandalay Bay. The entire front of the dining area was open to the main concourse, and I could watch people strolling by in crisp tuxedoes and shimmering sequins, in strapless dresses and painted-on tops.

It was something to see.

The remnants of my delicious meal lay before me. The price for a burrito here fit nicely within my tight daily stipend, but I'd lost track of the number of drinks I'd had. They seemed to just keep appearing at my table and I hadn't wanted to frown on good fortune. Maybe this was just part of the way Vegas ran.

The band added a cha-cha-cha to the end, and the bar filled with enthusiastic, even rowdy, applause. The band was actually pretty good, and I'd heard my share of mariachi bands during my months in Texas. I suppose everything was just better in Vegas.

Or maybe it was this fifth margarita which made it seem that way.

The band came along to stand alongside me, smiling down. The leader was tall, with close-cropped hair and a wide grin. The large guitarrón in his hands was decorated with a braiding design along its edges.

His voice had a heavy Ottawa accent. "Good evening, miss. What might we play for you tonight?"

I giggled. "Canadian? Really?"

He grinned and swept a bow. "Vegas draws musicians from all over the world. Our accordion player is from Ukraine, and our guitarist is from Oklahoma."

I gave them an expansive smile. "Well, wherever you're from, you play very well."

He gave another sweeping bow. "Thank you. You're too kind. Good to have an appreciative audience, eh? So, what shall we play for you?"

A man's voice yelled out from the bar, "How about 'Fat Bottomed Girls!' " He and his three twenty-something friends dissolved into hoots of raucous laughter.

My face flushed bright red. I admit it. I wasn't a popsicle stick. My Swedish heritage meant I was more designed for lasting out arctic winters than performing gymnastics. But to have it shouted out for all to hear –

His spike-haired friend nudged him in his side. "Or ... or ... 'They Call Me Big Mama!' "

The gales were even louder this time.

I wished I could dissolve into salt and vanish into the floor. I fought back the tears which welled in my eyes.

I ... would ... not ... cry ...

A man's voice called out from the concourse. His voice was low, almost quiet, but somehow it carried across the room. "Why don't you four gentlemen move along."

I looked up in surprise.

It was Aedan.

The men at the bar blustered to their feet, their hands flexing and fisting. The leader, maybe twenty-five at most with blond close-shaved hair, looked like a poster boy for the Ku Klux Klan. Or maybe the Waffen-SS.

His small eyes narrowed. "Yeah, buddy, you're one against four. What'ya gonna do about it?"

The bully looked as if he'd been seeking a fight for days, and he'd finally gotten his chance.

Aedan just stared evenly at them, his face showing no emotion at all.

My heart hammered against my chest. Sure, Aedan was clearly in great shape, but the men at the bar weren't slouches. And, judging by their flaring eyes, they were hot and heavy for some action.

Four on one? What was Aedan thinking?

I swung my gaze to the bar-goons, my throat tightening in panic.

Spiked-hair was staring at Aedan in confusion, as if he recognized him. Then, suddenly, his eyes widened in shock. He took a step back, running into the bar. Then he cautiously nudged his friend in the side.

"Umm, hey, man, that's ... ummm ... that's Aedan."

Blond-guy's fists were rising now. "Who the fuck cares. Aedan who?"

Spiked-hair's voice dropped to a reverential whisper. "Just ... _Aedan_."

Blond blinked, looked again, and froze.

Seconds ticked by.

Blond carefully reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and dropped a wad of cash onto the bar. Then he skittered toward the concourse, his posse huddling against him like lost ducklings. They cut as wide a berth around Aedan's form as possible.

They quickly vanished into the din that was Vegas.

I giggled in relieved delight. Those guys were certainly losers!

Aedan moved into the restaurant to stand alongside me. His voice was low and concerned. "Are you all right?"

I drew elegantly to my feet. Well, that's how I envisioned it in my head. Somehow my hand snagged on my plate and my cactus margarita nearly tumbled over onto his pants.

Aedan caught me with an easy motion while steadying the drink. He looked over at the mariachi player. "Just how much has she had to drink?"

I found my voice. "The margaritas kept coming!" I insisted with mock exasperation. Or tried, at least. My tongue seemed to have some problem with consonants.

And vowels.

The Canadian nudged his head at the bar. "Those four, they were sending them to her. I was keeping an eye on her, ya know, eh? But here in Vegas –"

Aedan's voice dropped into a growl. "Yeah, I know. Vegas."

He put an arm under my shoulder, and I giggled at the warmth. He was certainly a sturdy man! Maybe he lugged boxes in the shipping area. I bet it took tons of sugar to make these margaritas. Tons and tons.

I looked down at my table. "But my bill! I haven't paid for -"

Aedan nodded at the Canadian. "Put it on my tab."

"Will do, Aedan," he agreed.

I struggled to pull free as he walked me back out to the concourse. "I pay my own way," I insisted. I struggled with my purse, coming out with a twenty which I then jammed into the neckline of his crisp shirt. I wondered where he'd been on the way to when he interrupted my little scene. A night at a fine restaurant? Maybe with his pair of harlots?

The thought steeled my spine. I turned to glare at him. "You can let me go now. I'm fine."

The last part seemed to come out more like "MMmmm Fnnnnn."

His voice was steady. "I'll just see you safely to your room first. Which hotel are you staying at?"

I pulled up, affronted. "Oh, no you don't! I'm not taking you back to my room! I know what you're like –"

He rounded on me, his voice tight. "You do _not_ know what I'm like," he countered, his eyes flickering with emotion for the first time this evening.

For some reason the vision of him making love to the blonde came to mind – his eyes, so full of power and focus. Desire shot through me like a force of nature, searing me.

I ruthlessly trampled down the yearning, and the heartache which followed twisted me into a cold icicle.

I yanked my arm free and crossed my arms across my chest. "I _do_ know what you're like," I snapped. "I saw you." My voice dropped. "With _her_."

For some reason the word came out as an epithet, as if he had been caught cheating on me. Which of course he wasn't. He was free to bang anyone he wanted on the hood of the amazing black convertible Jaguar of his. He was free to slide that luscious, hard body of his, expertly, against any woman he wanted, bringing her to the heights of passion that nobody on Earth had –

He growled and took up my purse, rummaging through it. By the time I got a muffled "Hey!" across my lips, he had my Luxor key-card within its slip-case, where I'd conveniently written down my room number.

He nodded in satisfaction. "All right, then. Let's get you home."

I gave a wry laugh as he got me in motion again toward the escalators up into the Luxor. "Home," I scoffed. "Yeah, home. As if I'd ever want to go _there_ again. You ever been to Wisconsin?" I snorted. "Of course you haven't. You're all Ferraris and Breguet watches. Like those guys at Georgetown."

I held off the darkness that came with that name, latching onto my diatribe. "Let me tell you about Wisconsin. Swedish miners. That's our heritage. Grateful to see the sun. Four seasons – Snow, snow, snow, and light snow. We're sad when summer comes, because we can't ice fish – for a few weeks."

We'd reached a bank of elevators somehow, and I was leaning up against the wall. I didn't remember how I'd gotten there.

I shook my head. "My parents said guys would only want one thing from me, and they were determined I wouldn't give it out until I was married. So they wouldn't let me date. You know how I spent the night of my senior prom? Tying fishing lures. Damned fishing lures for the damned ice fishing."

We were stepping out of an elevator. When had we gotten into it?

I hiccupped. "You know what my parents named me? My idiotic, Swedish, romantic parents? _Heidi._ Heidi! Like the little girl in the mountains! Can you imagine what –"

His hand was sliding the key card into my door, it spread open, and I drew to a stop.

There was my stained bag, holding all my possessions in the world, sitting on the end of the bed.

Alone. Without my camera.

I paled, looking down at myself.

My camera wasn't around my neck.

My voice grew tight. "My camera! If I've lost it, oh God –"

He gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I've got it here. Not to worry. C'mon, let's get you inside."

I slumped in relief and let him guide me into the room.

The moon was shimmering silver light down on the strip, what we could see of it, and a 747 came gracefully down to land safely on earth.

I stumbled, and Aedan caught me up in his arms. I flushed in embarrassment. Here he was used to handling slender supermodels with perfectly toned legs, and now he had to lug me around.

His brow creased as he looked down at me. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –"

I made a half-hearted wave of my hand. "It's all right. I know I'm like a sack of potatoes. Just dump me on the bed."

He stared at me in confusion for a long moment. His eyes were sapphire blue. Or maybe they were darker than that – the cool, deep waters in the depths of winter. Holding secrets that only the utmost of patience could fathom.

And if only I had the time ... the time I needed ...

His low voice shook me out of the spell. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

I blinked. Had we been talking about something? "Believe what?"

He gracefully lay me onto my bed as if I were a dress of finest embroidered tapestry. He came to one knee, staring into my eyes. "That you're ... that you're not attractive."

My cheeks must have flared to a thousand degrees. I turned to stare out the window. A smaller plane was taking off now, lifting, turning, and banking into the distance. I wondered what billionaire it carried with it to some new, exotic location.

A sigh came from behind me, and then he muttered, "Clearly now is not the time for this conversation."

I could hear him draw to standing again. His voice was low. "Are you here with someone? Is there someone I should call?"

I shook my head. "Just me and my lonesome, out on assignment."

Silence echoed.

I forced myself to roll over toward him. The action sent dense waves of sea-sickness through my body. With all my strength, I fought to hold myself together.

I would not get sick in front of this man.

He was staring at me, and something new had come into his gaze. In my befuddled state I couldn't quite lay a finger on the emotion there.

He raised a hand, and I saw now that it was still holding my camera by the strap. My precious, sole item of worth.

When he spoke, his voice had an edge to it. "So you're a photographer."

I tried to proudly draw myself up. I only succeeded in sliding a millimeter higher on the pillow. "A photo- _journalist_ ," I corrected him.

His fingers drew together on the strap. "And you're here to get photos of ...?"

For some reason his tone piqued me. I crossed my arms across my chest. "None of your damned business."

His gaze held mine for a long, steady moment.

Then he placed the camera down on the table by my side and turned. He strode out of the room and closed the door behind him with a solid, final _click._

A deep wrenching filled my stomach, as if something had just gone horribly wrong – and I had no idea what.

# Chapter 4

I would never drink again. Never, ever, ever, ever.

I recited the mantra to myself while I sat at the balcony overlook of the New York, New York casino floor. The food court behind me offered a plain salad and it seemed the only thing my stomach had a chance of keeping down. The quiet jangling of the machines was almost soothing to me – the music of the spheres – but I still had to contend with this steady, ice-pick throbbing of my head.

At last I finished off the salad and headed out of the building. The sun blasted into my eyes and I cringed, ducking my head. I clearly should have thought to bring sunglasses with me. I glanced at my cellphone as I began a slow trudge up the strip. Eleven thirty. That gave me a full half hour to reach the Bellagio before their first fountain show of the day began. I figured that watery display would give me some photogenic opportunities for my official assignment.

Exactly thirty minutes later I was collapsing onto a bench by the wall surrounding the Bellagio's pool. Who knew one single street could be so long! It was mind-boggling. On paper it seemed as if there were just a few buildings down the block. In reality, those buildings seemed to stretch on for miles.

WHOOSH.

The beautiful music of "Carol of the Bells" began tolling out, and massive columns of water in synchronized beauty burst up into the air – nearly as tall as the Bellagio itself. I had seen this on YouTube before, and on Travel Channel shows, but to be there in person took my breath away. The boom of the fountain massive jets shook through me, as powerfully as any club's throbbing bass drum, and the cascading, gliding, twirling water fountains were as if a water god had sprung into being.

I watched, transfixed as the entire pond came to life, as water burst into the sky from left to right just as if a piano player were running his fingers expertly down the keys.

When the last chime sounded out, and a massive circle of water launched skyward, I just stared.

Then the music changed, and the playful, teasing song "Santa Baby" came on. It was hard to believe these were the same fountains that had just burst geysers stories into the sky. Now they were flirtatious, smiling, winking and twirling with human-like ease. I could almost imagine an actress from a '50s musical spinning on stage before us, her blonde curls bouncing as she tried to lure in her lover.

A pout, a kiss ...

The last notes hung in the air, the ripples eased, and the fountain jets sunk into the depths of the pond. It was if it had never been there. Only my memories remained.

I blinked, then looked down at the camera by my side.

The lens cap was still on.

I shook my head, then allowed myself a smile. That was all right. The fountain show ran every half hour until eight p.m. – and then every fifteen minutes through midnight. Surely there would be ample opportunities for me to get my photos.

My stomach rumbled, and I took that as a good sign. The long walk and warm sun were doing their part to help me heal. Maybe a nice sandwich would get me feeling better again.

I walked further along the strip, reaching Caesar's Palace. If the other casinos had been massive, Caesar's Palace should be considered for a township in its own right. It could be the entire city of Rome, for all I knew.

I stepped inside.

I really wished I could take photos inside the casinos, of the room décor. Every casino had strict rules against that type of photography for privacy reasons, and I respected that. But the amount of effort – and money! – that had been invested in this structure must have been mind-boggling.

The theme was gold. Beautiful golden medallions spread out on the floor in all directions. The ceiling had golden umbrellas of light, luring you into the various slot areas. There were golden pinpoints of light against velvety blackness. Sparkling gold against crimson red.

And then the Roman theme had its say as well. Massive sculptures of marble, clearly done by world-class artists, could be seen in each direction.

I looked left and smiled. Up on a raised area was the seahorse lounge, and, sure enough, a cylindrical tank at its center had a number of the delicate, floating creatures whirring along with their tiny fins. I was drawn to this oasis of blue in the sea of gold.

It was amazing. The little darlings clung to their plants with all the serenity in the world, oblivious to the humming casino-music which surrounded them. Maybe, to them, it seemed like soothing whale song.

Finally I left the miniature zoo behind and delved further into the Roman forum. I walked past shops for Jimmy Choo and Christian Dior, Cartier and Versace. Seeing all of these famous names was mind-boggling enough, but I had a destination in mind.

And when I got there I stood and stared.

The gallery before me featured large-scale photography, and the massive image hanging in their front window took my breath away. It was of a wood of white birch trees in the autumn. The crispness of the detail was staggering. The golden glow of the bushes below complemented the delicate orange-yellow leaves above. The tracery of the markings decorating the pale bark seemed the finest calligraphy. There was the sense that the woods went on forever ...

I stepped toward it. The image was so powerful that it was as if the scene were right before me. I could simply step through that frame and be in another place.

I could be home.

Voices came faintly to me from another part of the gallery. A woman's high laugh came, one that seemed strangely familiar. "How long are we gonna stare at these photos, anyway? I say you get that tropical beach one. Beaches are awesome! C'mon, I wanna go get some Manhattans."

A man replied, calm, thoughtful. "I just don't know. My heart is still set on ..."

He came around the corner.

Aedan.

My breath caught, and I stared at him. The two must've been planning to go to one of the elegant restaurants nearby, because he was dressed to the nines in nicely tailored black pants and a white button-down shirt. His hair was combed back and the effect was ... stunning.

Janet 'Vixen O'Wealthy' minced behind him in a skin-tight outfit of shimmering lime green which left little to the imagination. Her bright red lipstick had her looking like an upside-down stop-sign.

I realized my cheeks were tear-stained and I turned, scrubbing at them with my hands.

Janet's voice was petulant. "Oh, really, that one again? But it's just trees, Aedie! There are trees everywhere. Why would you want trees hanging on your wall? Especially if you're gonna pay fifty thousand dollars just to –"

Aedan reached into his back pocket, drew out his wallet, and separated out two hundred-dollar bills.

"You go on, meet up with Kara, and order some drinks. I know this paperwork stuff is going to be boring for you anyway. You go get everything ready for us."

Her eyes lit up with enthusiasm, and she nodded as she took the bills. "Sure thing, honey!" She leant forward, pressing her lips to his, and his lips glowed red when she stepped away. Her phone was to her ear before she'd moved away two feet. "Kara? It's me! You'll never believe it, but –"

She was lost in the surging crowd which was Las Vegas.

He stood alongside me, silent, absently drawing a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping off his lips. His eyes went to the work.

His voice was low, almost reverential. "Stunning, isn't it. Like you could reach out and touch the bark. Feel it beneath your fingers."

I could only nod. How many winters had I sat with my extended family around ice-fishing holes, starting fire with this same bark? I knew the feel of it intimately. The view of those stretches of trees touched me in a way little else could. I was home again, surrounded by those who loved me, despite all their myriad of mistakes and overprotective actions.

I was safe ... I was ...

The tears began again and I furiously wiped them away. A linen handkerchief was gently pressed into my hand and I took it, dabbing it against my eyes.

My voice was hoarse. "I'm sorry. It's silly. I swore I never wanted to go back."

He nodded, his gaze still on the trees, giving me my privacy. "I grew up in a rough neighborhood of a mill-city in Connecticut. Waterbury. Run-down factories and broken-down lives. I hated it. I swore, as soon as I could, I'd get the Hell out of there."

He seemed lost in the woods. "Now, I only go back for holidays with my mom. I keep offering to buy her a nice house in Miami. She could be near my brother, Brandon. He's got a great girlfriend and I know they'd both love to have my mom nearby."

He gave a wry chuckle. "But my mom, you know how they can be. She grew up in Waterbury. Raised her family there. She swears she'll stay there 'til she dies."

I nodded my head. "Must be hard."

His voice grew tight. "Hard is right. I want her the hell out of there. Out of those memories." He shook his head. "Our father died there, you know. Shot in the line of duty. That's what he got for protecting the locals. Shot down like a dog. And then there are others, others you trust –"

He went silent.

Long minutes passed with only the chatter of the life's-stream that is Vegas churning behind us, whirling, ebbing, and flowing.

At last he spoke again. "A few months ago a friend from high school sent me a photo from Holy Land USA."

I didn't speak. I had a sense that this was coming from deep within him.

His voice was almost a ghost. "Holy Land USA." He gave a wry laugh. "Sounds noble, doesn't it? But it was a wreck. It was built back in the fifties to be a spiritual place of rest and contemplation. Nice ideals, huh? But of course it rotted into filth. The Garden of Eden, Daniel's lion's den, all of it decomposed like a ripe apple in the August sun. Hell, back in 2010 a girl was raped and murdered in there."

His gaze was shadowed.

I stayed quiet, my eyes on the deep woods.

"We used to go there, at night, to drink and party. It was like I was getting back at –"

He looked down and drove his hands deep into his pockets.

"Anyway, it was an escape of sorts. My brothers and sister were always so rule-following. Sometimes I just had to get away."

I found my voice. "How many siblings did you have?"

"Three brothers, two older. And a youngest sister." His mouth tweaked. "Irish Catholic. We were lucky there were only five of us."

His eyes became distant. "But this photo my friend sent. It was of me standing over the city of Jerusalem. As if I were the lord of it all. As if I was the ruler of my universe. I looked at that photo, and I remembered how I felt at that moment. As if I were happy. As if I were truly, wholly happy."

My brow drew together. "But you're thinking about buying a wall decoration for fifty thousand dollars. You've got sexy supermodels hanging all over you. How in the world can you not be happy?"

He turned to look at me, his eyes hollow.

Time ... hung ...

An elegant man rounded the corner, dark hair slicked back, eyes bright with eagerness. He wore a mauve, collared shirt and neat, dark pants. He nodded at Aedan.

"Back again for your Aspens, are you? What is this, ten times now? It's good for a person to take their time with art. It shows a respect for the artist."

Aedan face was suddenly the one I'd seen in the airport – clear, bright, and open.

I realized that it was a mask.

Aedan's voice held modulated interest. "Peter Lik came up from nothing," he commented. "Czech immigrants escaping to Australia. Peter built his talent by gallivanting around the US in an ancient van. He taught himself and pushed every step of the way." Aedan waved a hand in front of him. "And now look at him."

The agent smiled in approval. "And now look, indeed. Peter Lik has the world record for price of a single photograph. He sold 'Phantom,' of light shining into a canyon in Antelope Canyon, Arizona, for a staggering six-point-five million dollars." He nodded in self-approval. "That is the artist you are investing in."

Aedan gave a low chuckle. "While I can have Aspen Glow here for a mere fifty thousand."

"A wise investment!" agreed the agent. "One that will impress every person you show it to!"

Aedan's gaze grew distant. At last he nodded. "I'll take it."

I could nearly see the agent's lips salivating. "Let me take you into the back room, where we can handle all the shipping details."

I held in a chuckle. _Payment details_ , he meant.

Aedan turned to look at me.

My stomach rumbled loudly.

I blushed, putting a hand to it. I'd forgotten how hungry I was.

A smile came to his eyes, and I could see how different it was from the one he had held on his lips.

His hand nearly reached for his back pocket.

I shook my head, stepping back. "Enjoy your purchase, Aedan."

His gaze held me, and it looked as if he would say something. But then he turned, following the agent into the depths of the gallery.

He was lost.

# Chapter 5

I was sitting at the Trevi Italian Restaurant, by the Fountain of the Gods, in the heart of the Caesar Palace complex. The painted sky above drifted with white, fluffy clouds. Elegant white marble buildings seemed to surround the square on all sides. At its center sat a massive set of sculptures, portraying the gods and their creatures. There was a beautiful swan, a rearing pegasus, and Neptune with his trident astride a sea monster. I could have been in Italy itself, as I listened to the cascading fountain and breathed in the rich scent of Italian food.

The table before me was a colorful mosaic of glass tiles. There were gold, crimson, and orange, creating a mismatched reflection of my face which brought a smile to my lips.

A waitress moved above me. "I'm Betty, and I'll be your server today. What would you like to start off with? A Champagne mimosa maybe?"

Surprise blossomed within me, and I looked up. "Wisconsin?"

She was blonde, warm, curvaceous, wearing a crisp uniform of black and gold. The accent sung to me of home.

A smile came to her lips. "Yes, indeed. I'm from Marquette, up on Lake Superior. Near the Canadian border."

"Escanaba," I replied. "On the Green Bay side."

She laughed. "Oh, a Lake Michiganer, are you?"

I nodded in merry agreement. "That's me! And you were up in the frozen tundra!"

"Ice fishing all year round." She looked around her at the carved marble and polished glass. "We're a long way from home, aren't we?"

"That we are," I agreed.

She looked down with a smile. "Well, what can I get for you?"

"I was looking at the pizza. Is it too much for one person?"

"You'll be fine," she assured me. "Anything else? Some wine, maybe?"

"Sure, a glass of Chianti."

She winked at me. "I'll open a fresh bottle for you. It's good to hear that accent."

I thought about that as she went off to place my order. Where I had been born and raised was completely out of my control. It could have been the slums of Mumbai or the deserts of Gobi. Only wild chance had begun and formed my life in that small, near-arctic part of the world. And now it had become a part of me. It defined me in a way few other things could. And despite my best efforts, it would remain deep within me.

She came back with my wine and glanced down at my camera. "That's nice," she commented. "There's certainly lots of interesting things to take photos of here in Vegas."

"I'm actually down here doing some photo-journalism." Warmth spread through me as I said it. A sense of pride.

Her eyes lit up. "Oh? For who?"

"Well, officially for a paper out of Houston. A typical 'Get out to Vegas and have some fun' type of piece that you probably see a thousand times a year."

Her smiled widened. "And unofficially?"

I leant forward. "Well, I was hoping to show tourists the under-layers of Vegas. The Vegas they never knew was there, right beneath the glitz and sparkle. The one that made their vacation possible – or perhaps the one suffering right on the other side of their glamorous hotel. Sort of like how Cancun's walled-off resorts keep tourists from seeing the slums their waitresses and housekeepers have to live in."

I gave a wry smile. "I know it sounds ambitious, but I wanted to help tourists realize that, right here in Vegas, there were people in trouble. People right under their very noses who desperately needed help."

An odd look came into her gaze. "Oh. I'll go check on that pizza for you."

I pressed my lips together and looked over at the Pegasus with its flying mane. I hadn't thought I would upset Betty. I'd thought of my actions as noble and caring – to help others be more aware of their fellow human beings around them. Maybe to be more compassionate to the workers who labored long hours to make their vacation a happy one.

But maybe, to Betty, I was degrading her. I was treating her like a curiosity, an oddity. Someone beneath the normal traveler.

By the time she returned with my pizza, and placed it on its elevated platform at the center of the table, I had my speech ready. I looked up at her contritely, saying, "Betty –"

Her eyes were red from crying.

My speech flew out of my head and I stood, pulling her into my arms. My voice was a hoarse murmur. "I'm so sorry, Betty. I never meant –"

She shook her head. "No, no, it's not you. It's just that I've been so scared and so desperate. And then to have you come along, sounding like home, and saying you wanted to look into ..."

She sniffled against me.

I drew my head back. "Whatever it is, I'll do my best to help. When do you get off work?"

She glanced around. "I work two jobs, and my schedule's tight tonight. But tomorrow night, maybe you could meet me at my other place? I'm a bartender there, so it's my job to chat up customers. If you could come by, Friday maybe about nine?" She bit her lip. "I don't want to interfere with your job, and if –"

"Nine it is," I announced, giving her a reassuring smile. "This is exactly why I wanted to come to Vegas – to help people like you. So you are the one helping me, by sharing with me. I am so honored that you trust me."

A brightness came to her gaze, of whole-hearted relief, but it was still mixed with that tight-strung tension.

I dug in my purse and handed her a card. "Here, you have any problems, just call or text me. We'll figure something out. Any time, day or night."

She pressed the card between her fingers for a moment, then tucked it into her pocket. Her voice was a whisper. "Thank you."

Then she hurried off. I had a sense that she was on the verge of breaking down into tears again.

The pizza was absolutely delicious, but I barely noticed it as I watched Betty go about her business caring for the other customers. Her bright smile was back in place, her gentle tone of voice, and to each person she served she seemed a warm, contented, lively woman. She was making their vacation a fun, memory-filled one.

But the customers had no idea of the deep sadness which lurked beneath the surface. They only saw that mask.

# Chapter 6

I captured a series of gorgeous photos of the Bellagio fountains in full splendor. Then I moved my way down the strip, taking the obligatory photos of the Eiffel Tower, the MGM Lions, and other classic Vegas images. I imagined that the editors would want at least a few of those typical shots to include with their article. It was amazing how the buildings changed as the light eased from afternoon into evening. The shifting shadows and encroaching dusk brought out the beauty of the structures.

As darkness settled in, I made my way over to the Mirage complex. Where the Bellagio fountains could run all day long, and be appreciated both day and night, the Mirage volcano was definitely a dark-only event. There was a tropical lagoon laid out before the hotel complex, with the three-story-tall volcano sitting quietly – innocently – along the right-hand side. It looked simply like a part of the landscape which identified the Mirage as its tropical style. But, of course, most people who came to Vegas had a sense that this scenery held something a little more exciting.

I walked around the periphery to get a sense of the possible angles, found an ideal location a fair distance back, and settled in to wait.

Crowds meandered past, listening to the piped-in music which seemed ubiquitous along the strip. I'd noticed there was a fair amount of country and western in the various casinos' music mix and I chalked that up to the presence of the rodeo. I wouldn't be surprised if they customized the selection based on whatever biggest convention was in town.

The background music faded away, and silence settled across the area.

A drama-queen sigh came from behind me, and a woman's voice whined, "Aedie, this is boring. C'mon, let's go back to that bar at the Bellagio. Those bartenders know how to keep the drinks coming!"

I didn't turn around. Was he following me? Surely it couldn't be mere chance that he had ended up behind me, even if he had also wanted to catch the first volcano of the evening for some reason.

Aedan's voice was low and steady. "You said you'd never seen this show before, and it's definitely one of those things to check off your Vegas list. Besides, it can be a pretty moving experience."

"Only thing I like to move is my empty drink to the side, so the next one can slide into its place." She giggled.

Aedan didn't reply.

Little chirps and noises began sounding around us, as if a jungle were rustling into life. I got my camera ready as the noise shifted and grew, drawing the crowd into the atmosphere of the tropical environment.

It mounted ... built ... crescendoed ...

Suddenly it all went dead quiet, as if all animal life had frozen, terrified by what was to come.

Janet's voice was loud in the silence. "Aedan, I think –"

Deep, resonant notes began thumping from within the volcano. I could feel them in my very core. In the darkness before me, small spurts of smoke began erupting, with red light giving it a mystical feel.

I reached for my camera –

A huge burst of flame billowed sky-high from the center of the volcano. The heat blasted against my face, and it was truly as if a force of nature had been awakened.

The drums intensified, more "cracks" appeared in the volcano's face, and then suddenly at least fifty flame-jets poking up from the water's surface let loose, blasting heat into the sky with pulsing rhythm, the searing heat and bright orange matching the deep bass notes.

It was beyond anything I'd experienced before. Sure, I'd been in my share of bass-filled nightclubs where it seemed your pulse thumped along to the throbbing of the room. But this was beyond a DJ's choice. The blast of searing color against the dark night sky, the wave of heat which enflamed your entire body, the press of the crowd around you, and that rhythm ... that amazing rhythm ...

Aedan's voice was low in my ear, almost lost in the cacophony. "It's really something."

Deep-set satisfaction flooded through me. I didn't know how he'd gotten alongside me – and I didn't care. This was an experience to share with someone who got it – who felt that amazing rush of power. Of strength. Of drive to ... I didn't even know what. I just knew I was glad he was there with me.

My eyes were mesmerized by the dancing lights, my ears by the thrumming music. My entire body pounded to the vibrations. I murmured, "Oh, it's more than something."

I wouldn't have thought he could hear me, but he nodded.

Then, his eyes still on the spectacle before us, he let his fingers drift ever so slightly against mine.

My heart leapt, sending my body into a new dimension of powerful sensations. Who could think that a simple touch could do that? My entire body was alive, vibrantly alive, and I wanted ...

His fingers held only inches apart from mine, as if waiting.

I knew I should leave it alone. I was here on assignment, just for a few days, and after that, who knew where I would end up. The wise thing to do would be to –

I squelched that voice, took a deep breath, and fluttered my fingers against his.

A shine came to his eyes, one I had a sense had little to do with the bursting flames before us. Then his fingers returned to drift – just the slightest touch – against my inner wrist.

My breath caught. I had never thought of my body as overly sensitive. I was always the one the family called in when one of the retrievers had messed with a skunk and needed to be scrubbed. I'd helped take apart car engines. My body was Wisconsin-bred and tough. And yet here this man was, the barest of touches, and it was as if –

His fingers slid up along the inside of my forearm, and every movement was intense pleasure. It was as if the heat and drumbeats and vibrations focused in on his action. The sensation delved into me at the point of contact and radiated out to fill my entire body.

His touch neared the cleft of my inner elbow, and the music around us thundered louder. I felt brazenly naked, as if he were touching me somewhere intimate, private, amongst this entire crowd of people – and I didn't care. All that mattered was that he kept doing what he was doing, that the heat blast over me, that the drumming drive me even higher. And never let me go.

Never let me go.

The fires burst to their highest levels, the sound filled our ears, and Aedan's fingers thrummed in that sweet cleft. I wanted to close my eyes in amazing bliss, but I wanted to soak in the sight of the flames, the twists, the bursts, the power ...

I breathed out a groan, releasing myself to it all.

WHOOSH.

The final blast shook through us, and Aedan's fingers pressed into my body, holding me, and it was as if we were connected. As if some sort of a powerful, iron-forged chain linked us in a way few others could understand.

A moment ... two ...

The rock music slowly eased back into existence, and Aedan's fingers slipped from me, vanishing into the crowd.

Janet's voice rang with relief. "Well, I'm glad that's off our list now, Aedie. Let's go get those drinks!"

I looked down at the camera still waiting at my hip. It didn't matter. I could always get photos some other time. What I had just experienced – that was a once-in-a-lifetime event.

And I knew, even before I casually turned as if to take in the crowds, what I would find.

He was gone.

# Chapter 7

I didn't want to risk running into Aedan and Janet again – not after how I'd been utterly transported by him at the Mirage. So I tucked into the Bellagio and worked my way through the casino rather than along the strip. A running commentary played through my head with every step.

Had he just been playing with me? Amusing himself by 'cheating' with another woman while his supermodel girlfriend sat grumpily waiting to get back to her bar stool? Or had it really been a once-in-a-lifetime experience?

For all I knew, he did that every night with a different woman. Maybe it was a game to him. See who gave in to him, who edged away, who begged for more ...

The idea that this was just a casual game to him bothered me to the core. I stamped down hard on my emotions. How could I even care what he thought, after such a short period of time? He was clearly a rich playboy billionaire. Someone who expected the world to fall at his feet just because he had a lot of money. Look at all the movies out there that set up the scenario. Handsome guy has lots of money. Every woman near him collapses into a puddle of goo, caring solely about getting her hands on as much cash as possible while she could. It seemed Janet fell squarely into that category. She didn't care about his interests, his background, or anything else. To her, he was simply an easy-access ATM machine.

But I had a sense that should someone treat _her_ so callously, she would scream bloody murder.

I glanced up. I was passing by the Cirque de Soleil theater entrance. They were closed for the holidays – even the finest artisans in the world needed a break occasionally – but the sculpture gallery was still here and open.

I paused, drawn in by the beauty of it. Richard MacDonald was a true master of his form. He worked from talented models who could hold the intricate poses for hours on end. The attention to detail shone in his works. The performers twisted, danced, swept, and turned in stunning beauty.

In one sculpture a woman balanced within a hanging ring. In another, a trio of musicians danced in a whirlwind of laughter.

And in this one ...

I paused, staring at it.

It was a woman being held up by a man. But more than that. They were one. He effortlessly held her in one arm, the other outstretched, and she balanced against him as if she were made for him. Their cheeks were pressed together, and everything from their eyes to their body position showed how close they were. How in tune they were.

I would never have that.

Tears welled in my eyes, and I forced them away. I was being silly. I had to focus on my assignment, on what I was here for, and not allow myself to get carried away in silly, ridiculous –

A voice sounded over my shoulder, resonant and deep.

"She looks like you."

All my emotions and heartache boiled up out of me like a volcano, and I spun on Aidan. "What the Hell – are you following me? Stalking me? And what was that back at the Mirage? Trying to stick it to that supermodel girlfriend of yours? What, is she not good enough for you?"

I flared and boiled without any idea why. All I knew is that my heart seared with pain and he had given me that one poke to send me cascading over the edge.

I expected him to turn and stalk out. To rage back. But he simply looked at me, his gaze shadowed, and he nodded as if he understood me completely.

"I'm sorry," he said, and somehow I had a sense that he wholeheartedly meant it. "I was selfish, back at the Mirage. I shouldn't have done that."

That he hadn't wanted that miraculous connection to happen only stoked me into hotter flames. "So, what, you tracked me down to say it was all a huge mistake?"

"I asked Ernesto to escort Janet back to Mandalay Bay so I could talk with you," he corrected. "And, no, it wasn't a mistake. But I should have waited."

I snorted. "Waited for what? For _both_ of your femme fatales to be present?"

His cheeks tinted. "I deserve that. You don't know me. You don't know how long I've waited."

I laughed. "I can't imagine you waiting for anything."

He gave a wry smile to acknowledge my comment, then continued. "Every woman I meet in Vegas, at some point we end up going to the Mirage. It's a built-in part of Vegas, like the Bellagio fountains or breakfast in Paris. It's just part of tradition. And every time, I hope against hope that this will be the one."

Despite myself, I found I was drawn into his story. "The one who what?"

His eyes held mine. "The one that gets it. The one who feels those bass rhythms, who feels those hot flames searing her skin, and is swept away by it. Who is drawn to the power and force of it all."

The connection between us was palpable. His tone lowered to flow around me like molten chocolate. "Someone who understands it like you do."

My voice was a mere squeak. "What do you mean?"

He gave a low laugh. "That isn't something you can hide. I could see it in the arch of your back, in the set of your shoulders, from when the performance began. You felt it. In your soul."

He shook his head, his eyes fathomless. "I've been waiting years to find someone who had that same reaction. And I've always had this dream. That when my woman and I were standing there, swept away by that music and flame, that I would do to her ... what I did. That it would be our own private connection. Not lewd, not crass ... but intensely powerful. And it would be ours, forever."

My heart pounded against my ribs. Had he said 'my woman?'

I fought to wrangle sanity from this scene. "But you have those supermodels –"

He shook his head. "They focus on their outside. They stuff Botox into their face to change their lip shape. Slice their breasts with surgeon's knives to force them into unnatural domes. They never accept who someone is. They always feel the need to change."

I looked down his flawless physique. "Easy for you to say," I scoffed. "Looking like a Roman God. You'd be right up there in that Caesar's Palace sculpture alongside Neptune and Mars. I'd bet women just drip all over you."

His voice dropped into a snarl, and I could see I'd touched a nerve. "They want the body and the money. They couldn't care less about who I am," The calm I'd seen for so long had rippled, showing the roiling beneath the surface.

He pointed to the sculpture of the dancers before us. "Do visitors to this gallery look at that bronze couple and think the posing artists are vain models?"

"Of course not," I countered. "It's fairly clear they're talented dancers. They've put in years and years of rigorous training. They've sacrificed a great deal to get where they are. Their bodies aren't just for show. They're the result of hard discipline for a focused purpose."

"Exactly," he shot back. "So then why –"

My phone warbled, and he cut off. I glanced down at the display. It was incoming from Betty.

I looked up at Aedan. "I'm sorry, but –"

He waved a hand, turning. "Sure, sure."

I put the phone to my ear. "I'm here, Betty. What's up?"

Her voice was tense and staccato. "Heidi, I'm so sorry. Something has come up. For tomorrow, could we make it ten p.m. instead of nine? I'm really sorry, it's just that –"

"It's fine, really," I assured her. "The Mandalay Bay, right? You're so good for making the time to talk with me. Whenever you can be available, I'll be there. Friday at ten it is."

"Thank you for understanding. I'll see you then." She hung up.

Aedan's brow had shadowed, and the mask I'd come to know had slid into place again. "An important interview at Mandalay Bay tomorrow night? How could I have forgotten – you're a photo-journalist. Let me guess. The meeting is to get background details for this assignment you're on."

The thought of Betty's tense voice echoed through me, and I crossed my arms in front of my chest. "As a matter of fact, it is."

His lips pressed into a thin line. "Well then, I should leave you to prepare for it."

Before I could say another world, he stalked out of the gallery, leaving me alone with the cold metal replicas of passion.

# Chapter 8

I sipped my morning coffee as I walked, taking in the huge atrium of the Luxor, each step reminding me that my aching feet weren't up to this level of activity. On a map, the Vegas strip had seemed short. Pleasant, even. And I'd been so caught up in the sights yesterday that I hadn't noticed any pain.

Today was a different matter.

At least I'd gotten most of my main photography completed. Today I could focus more on specific images that helped represent Vegas. A dealer's hands shuffling cards. A stack of chips. The sort of imagery that brought to mind the glamor and excitement that was Vegas.

I looked up. The interior of the pyramid was hollow, and I could see the channels where the four diagonally-running elevators – or "inclinators" as they used to call them – brought people up to their rooms. In this interior space were a number of bars, restaurants, and other structures.

Oddly, while some of it was Egyptian in style, other parts seemed more medieval England. It was as if the Excalibur, next door, had oozed its way into the casino. No surprise, there. It seemed every casino was interconnected with the next, with tunnels, bridges, and walkways ensuring a tourist was never far from the jangling of the slot machines.

A woman's voice called out in disbelief from around the corner ahead of me. "You have got to be kidding me! You want me to go in _there_? And see _that_?"

I chuckled in surprise. Apparently not everyone in Vegas was out to experience the unexperienced. I rounded the corner –

It was Aedan and Kara.

Kara's long, brunette hair was done in artful curls which laced down her slim back. Her lemon-yellow dress fit along her Barbie body like a second skin.

Her arms were crossed petulantly beneath those perfect breasts.

Her voice rose. "You said Bodies. Bodies! I thought this show was about hot, naked guys. Muscular, naked guys throwing a football. Toned, naked guys hitting a baseball. Perfect, naked guys jumping for a basketball layup. Things every sane woman would love to see."

She waved a hand at the exhibit entrance behind her, clearly labeled, "Bodies."

Her brows drew together. "But this! This ... ridiculousness! No woman in her right mind would go in there! No woman on Earth would ever even consider it. And that you are so out of touch, so wildly non-understanding of what it means to be female that you would even think – you would even believe ... " She sputtered in outrage. "As the spokeswoman for all things female –"

I had had just about enough of this self-absorbed, self-important, plastic-and-Botox woman claiming she spoke for the rest of us. I strode with determination up to the ticket counter and slammed my purse down onto the shelf there. "One ticket to see Bodies."

The Asian man behind the counter serenely nodded. "Of course, miss. That will be thirty-five dollars."

My mouth fell open. Thirty five dollars. That would leave me fifteen to live on for the entire day. I might be able to afford two hot dogs at that price, and if I had one for lunch, then the other for dinner, and drank water with them ...

An elegantly manicured hand plunked a ticket down in front of me. I looked up to see Kara's beaming smile, with her perfect lipstick just matching the blush on her cheeks.

Kara's voice dripped honey. "Why, my dear, I am an incredible judge of character. You must be a starving nursing student, based on your dress and your interest in ... well, _this_. I admire your desire to help others. I want to support you in your dreams."

She pushed the ticket over toward me. "Let this be my part in helping you succeed. Who knows, something you see in here could inspire you to greatness." Her voice dropped in a conspiratorial whisper. "Who knows, someday you might even become a _lead_ nurse somewhere! In charge of all the other nurses!"

She swung with pride back to Aedan. "We should always help those less fortunate than ourselves," she intoned, her eyes bright with satisfaction. "And, in the meantime, I think I should get some new jewelry for tonight's event. Lots of cameras there, after all. I wouldn't want to reflect poorly on you."

Aedan's hand went to his pocket. "Of course you wouldn't," he stated in an even tone. He peeled off a number of bills and handed them other. "You and Janet have fun."

Her eyes gleamed. "Oh we will! See you tonight!" Her fingers were pushing at her phone before she got three steps across the open space.

The world jangled and burbled all around us, but it was as if there were silence, wrapping us, buffering us from all else.

Then he waved a hand toward the entry gate. His eyes held an amused shine. "After you, my dearest Heidi."

Something about the warm way he said my name – with a hint of cinnamon and vanilla, sent racing echoes down my spine. I looked down, blushing, then stepped forward toward the gate.

I thought again of Kara's diatribe, and a different kind of nervousness traced through me. Just what type of horrors awaited me, that Kara was so sure no woman in her right mind would ever want to see? Was it some sort of a torture exhibit? Something demonstrating how bodies had been misused and abused over the centuries?

The tension mounted as we walked up a long, dark corridor, swathed in black fabric, and turned the corner –

I stumbled to a halt.

Aedan had been right behind me, but the man apparently had the reflexes of a panther. His body only brushed against mine. Still, I could feel the trace contact shimmer through my entire body, taking my breath away.

As did the object before me.

It was a naked man, certainly. And he had a football curled in one arm, The other arm was out as if he was about to plow his way through whatever obstacles stood in his path.

He was stunning.

Every muscle, every ripple of strength, was on display. The intricacy of the detail blew me away.

I could see the massive strength of the pectoral muscles, beginning at the breastbone and sweeping across his breast, tucking perfectly beneath the bulge of his shoulder's deltoid. And then came the tricep, as if crafted by a master sculptor, fitting with the most careful precision.

It was a work of art.

I finally found my voice. "How were they able to do this?"

He came around the side of me, looking at me with a gaze swirling with emotion. Curiosity, a hint of amusement, and something deeper.

"You mean you didn't know what this show was about?"

My cheeks flushed. "I didn't like her speaking for 'all women' like that," I admitted.

He chuckled. "No, I could see how you wouldn't."

He turned back to the display before us. "Back just a hundred years ago, most of us knew how bodies were put together out of sheer necessity. We killed our own meat – venison, chicken, lamb, and so on. We knew how the animals were connected and jointed, which made us aware of how our own bodies worked. Also, when someone was injured, we often coordinated together to nurse that person back to health. We understood how muscles worked. How bones seated."

His eyes went over the intricate interconnectedness of the body before us. "We've lost a lot of that. We've become more sterile. We're a world of computer screens and virtual reality. Most people have no idea how their own bodies work. Where the muscles are. How to care for them and keep them strong."

I gave a low laugh. "Except for men like you, who look like cast members of _The 300_."

He made a waving motion with his hand. "Not just for people like me," he countered, his tone growing in strength. "For everyone. For older women who need strength and balance so they don't fall and break a hip. For teens who don't know how to exercise properly, so they never begin – and they get caught in a spiral of weight gain. Everyone should know how their body works. Everyone should know how to care for it."

He flexed his fingers. "We only get this one body, you know. This one, lone sailing ship, in which we have to live for our entire lives. This is our sole vessel. Our one hope. What we do to it, every day, impacts our quality of life for decades to come. If we don't nurture those planks, season those joints – it is us who will suffer."

I looked again at the man before us. And then stepped closer. My eyes went wide.

My voice was hoarse with awe. "This is a real person."

Once I said it, I realized it had to be true. There was no sculptor on earth who could have gotten this intricate level of detail, this mastery of every little twist and join that is the beauty of the human body.

It truly was stunning to see.

Aedan's voice was low at my side. "The process is complicated. They replace parts of the person's body with rubber and resin. It's sort of like fossilization, but rather than dinosaurs becoming ghosts of themselves, with this process, our world finally regains what it had lost, in how we can appreciate just how delicate and important our bodies are."

He led me around a corner into another room. A glass case was set up with two pillars within it. I went first to look at the one on the left. I recognized it from biology class. It was a set of lungs, with a heart carefully nestled within them. The lungs were airy, open, almost pillow-like in the way they caressed the heart.

I put a hand to my own chest, thinking of the lungs in there, breathing in, breathing out. I took each long, easy, smooth breath for granted. And yet, every moment, my lungs were doing their very best to bring in oxygen for me. To keep me healthy and alive.

My eyes went to the pillar on the right.

I paled.

These were labeled as a smoker's lungs.

They were black. Crusty. Crunchy, even. Caked and hard. I wondered how they could even move.

I found myself drawing in a deep breath, looking between the two in growing shock.

Aedan nodded. "Stunning to see in person, isn't it? It's one thing to hear public service announcements on TV. To hear boring lectures by self-important teachers on the evils of smoking. These are the same people who grump about sex, after all. Who can trust them?"

He motioned with his head. "But to see it yourself. To stand before the lungs and look at them. To see just what it is that is happening to your own body. To precious body parts that are critical to your reaching whatever dreams you have in life."

"We should have transparent bodies," I murmured, my gaze caught on the display. "We should be able to see just what we are doing to our heart, our lungs – to all those critical pieces of us. Maybe, then, we would take care of them as much as we do our face or teeth."

He nodded. "Think of how much money people pour into make-up every year. They focus on the part they can see. And all the while, they often actively damage the more important parts – the critical parts – that are just a skin layer away."

We moved on to another display. This was of a man swinging a baseball bat. Again, the interplay of his muscles was just amazing.

My voice was hoarse. "We truly are works of art, aren't we. To think of how many millions of things have to work perfectly, in harmony, for us to get through a day. The way muscles contract so our fingers can move. The minute changes in our eyes to focus on different distances."

I moved around to the figure's back. "Look at how the trapezius muscles on the back mirror the pectorals in the front." I smiled. "Back in high school, my cousin, Erik, had a girlfriend who was training to be a masseuse. I must have been over there every other day to serve as a guinea pig. She could swear that she could feel the knots in my shoulders, just with her fingers. Somewhere in here." I pointed to the section of my back near the shoulder blade.

Aedan went over to the display before us, indicating on the model. "See how your trapezius muscles are like a sheet of fabric? They are made up of strands, side by side, all working together. They contract and release to get your body in motion."

I nodded. "I remember some of that from talking with Erik's girlfriend. I used to help her study for her exams."

"Well, sometimes the muscle strands get stuck. They tangle in a contracted state. As you might imagine, that then hurts, as the ones around them want to relax and this little ball stays all stuck together. Your friend was right – you can feel it with your fingertips. It can be a tiny bump – like a grain of rice wedged into the muscle. Or it can be much larger, like a grape."

He glanced around and spotted a bench set up near the back wall. "Ah, here we go. Have a seat."

I followed him in curiosity. "Why?" I turned and sat down.

I could hear the smile in his voice as he moved behind me. "Some things are easier to show than to explain."

The tips of his fingers rested lightly on my shoulders, then traced inward toward my spine. They sunk down my back, on each side of my spine, then feathered out to drift along my shoulder blades.

I sighed in pleasure. He was barely touching me, and yet it sent waves of relaxation through my body.

I was grateful I was sitting.

His voice was a low murmur behind me. "Ah. Here we go."

His right hand stopped at that juncture between my back and shoulder, where the trapezius muscle met up with the deltoid. The left hand came to join the right. He gently thrummed ... thrummed ...

Pressed.

Deep, soul-cleansing waves of pleasure coursed through me. Ohhhhhh. This is what I needed. I hadn't even known it was aching until he did that –

Ahhhhhh. Could it actually have gotten even more intense? Before he had been pressing, but now he was driving deeper, tracing in slow circles, spirals, and my breath was coming in deep draws.

His breath was warm on my neck as he whispered, "How does that feel?"

I could barely speak. I wasn't sure that I was breathing. The world seemed brighter than it'd been before – clearer, sharper, more full of vibrant life. And it all centered from that one location where –

His hands slid, moved across to the other side of my shoulder, and he chuckled. "And here we have -"

He pressed.

If I could have melted through the floor, I would have. Waves of intense pleasure moved through me. How could this man create this sensation with just his fingers on my back?

Another thought hit me.

If he could do this to me just touching my shoulders, and through clothes, who knew what he'd be capable of if we were naked in bed together?

I couldn't help it. I arched back against him. My body's cravings were running away from me and I sought to rein them in.

I wanted ... I wanted ...

A black middle-aged couple, from the deep South judging by their accents, walked into the room. Their gaze was caught by the display before us. I'm not sure they even saw us in the shadows of the corner.

I blushed deep red and sprang to my feet. My logical mind tried to reassure me that Aedan's hands had only been on my shoulders. We hadn't been caught doing anything wrong. Nothing at all unseemly.

But with my long draws of breath, and the hot feeling of my body, it was as if they'd walked in on us naked, sweating, at the peak of our lovemaking.

I stepped away from Aedan to put some distance between us. Slowly my breathing returned to normal, but as we walked from room to room, from display to display, it was as if there were an electrical charge humming between us. He only had to move within arm's reach of me and my body reacted viscerally, craving him.

I had to step away to ease my pulse, to gentle the flare of my cheeks.

At last we emerged from the darkness of the exhibit space into the relative bright of the Luxor interior. It was like awakening after a long dream – one I didn't want to leave.

I didn't even want to look at him. To do so would remind me that he was a rich, stunningly-handsome billionaire. And I was only a college drop-out with one beat-up bag to my name.

It was ludicrous.

Silly.

He spoke, and his voice was low, almost rough.

"Come with me."

My throat tightened, and I looked up at him. "Where?"

His gaze was fathomless ... deep.

"Does it matter?"

Tension flared through me. He was arrogant. Self-centered. Expecting everyone around him to bend to his will.

But there was something behind that all. Something lost.

I resettled my camera over my shoulder and gave him a wry smile.

"Lead on."

# Chapter 9

I'm not quite sure what I expected. Perhaps that Aedan would take my arm, lead me to the penthouse suite at Mandalay Bay, and then force me to participate in a wild _Eyes Wide Shut_ type party while he watched, coolly, from his throne.

His eyes glinted with amusement as we instead headed in the other direction, taking the walkway across to Excalibur, then descending through its casino on our way to the opposite side.

"Thought we might be heading somewhere else?" he teased.

I shrugged, the casino's jangling almost becoming a normal background sound to me. I barely heard it as we walked past tower-shaped columns and golden cascades of lights. "How could one even tell a destination with you? You probably have private helicopters on the top of each casino and a private jet at the airport as well."

He shook his head. "Owning things means you have a responsibility for them. You have to maintain them. Keep track of them. So much easier to rent what you need, when you're somewhere, and then let it go when you're done with it."

My thoughts went to those two girls from the airport – Janet and Kara. It seemed he had simply picked them up along the way. I had no doubt he'd discard them when he was finished, leaving them with ample jewelry and memories to last a lifetime.

We reached the walkway across the road to New York, New York. It arched up over the road and was filled with a stream of humanity.

A series of beggars were spaced out along its length. One man played a banjo. Another was weaving bracelets. A woman slumped in a chair, seemingly senseless.

I looked at her in concern. "Maybe we should go help her."

He shook his head, nudging it at the banjo player. "That's her husband. She slumps because it gets her more tips. People think she's worse off." He glanced down the strip. "The people around here have begging down to a science. Exactly where to sit. Exactly what expression to take. They'll even vary their expression or patter based on the group of people coming. Young mothers with infants have different triggers than elderly couples, for example."

I shook my head. "With all that effort involved, why don't they do something else more legitimate?"

He shrugged. "Why does anybody do what they do? They can make forty an hour, or more, just by hanging out in the sun for a few hours. More than enough to pay for some booze or whatever else they need. Then they shack up with friends, get food at a local charity group, and start all over again. No rules, no timetables, no nothing."

His gaze became distant. "It can seem freeing, sometimes. To be able to do whatever you want, whenever you want to."

I laughed. "Oh, this from you? You could sleep on a bed of money, I'd bet. How many people in the world would feel blessed to have even a tiny portion of what you own? Did you know that if a person makes a mere $3,650 in a year that they make more than _half_ of the people on our planet? The rest often struggle with abject poverty and severe medical conditions. They dream of having enough to survive. Just $3,650 for half of our planet."

We were now walking north along the strip, toward Monte Carlo, and I waved a hand in the general direction of the next walkway further up the road.

"So, for them, less than a month's worth of effort, if they sat out there for eight hours a day. One month, and they're already doing better than half the world, simply because they're here in Vegas."

"I've traveled the world," he murmured. "I've seen it first hand. The favelas of Brazil. The abject poverty in coastal Italy. And even so, those are often the areas people strive to get _to_ , because their home locations are that much worse off."

His fingers flexed as we walked. "Not too long ago I was helping my brother, Brandon, in Italy with something. Do you know that on one day alone the Italian navy rescued nearly a thousand people who were desperately trying to make it to Italy from nearby countries? One day! The immigrants were that willing to risk their lives for a chance."

I shook my head. "And here in the United States we think it's a challenge if we can't afford to eat out more often. It's an entirely different level of expectations."

We had reached the long sweep of the Bellagio's fountain lake, and he guided us up along the sidewalk. He gave me a wry smile. "So, here we are, both easily falling into the 'rich' category, on the world scale. And yet, because of our modern TV-saturated culture, even those who own multi-bedroom houses, with their own car, with all those items that make modern life work, think of themselves as 'poor.' Even when the things they own would be luxuries that their great-grandparents could only dream of. Expectations have changed that quickly."

"Even our great-grandparents, assuming they were in the United States, had it better than many other countries do today," I pointed out. "Look at Monrovia, Liberia – the poorest city on Earth. Shattered by civil war. No reliable running water. They can't just go down to the stream or well to get any. They can't grow a garden in their back yard or raise chickens. There are rapists and murderers threatening them. That's not just a challenging life. That is a recipe for disaster."

He pulled open the door for me. "And in the meantime, we have this."

I looked up. And gasped.

Hanging over my head in the main lobby of the Bellagio was a massive garden of glass flowers. They were works of art. Sapphire blue ones with delicately radiating lines. Burnt orange ones with shimmering waves. Glowing golden suns. Delicate silver moons.

Aedan smiled. "Yes, here in our part of the world, we spend ten million dollars on a sea of glass flowers by Dale Chihuly."

My voice was a whisper. "It is gorgeous."

"It is, indeed," he agreed. "And, of course, one could say that art creates its own reward. It inspires every person who sees them to greater heights. With all the conventions that come through Vegas, maybe a group dedicated to eradicating disease in South America, or improving nutrition in rural parts of Africa, or perhaps literacy rates in Asia, will be that much more dedicated when in the presence of something like this."

My forehead creased. "Do you really think that happens? That a piece of art can do that?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you a photojournalist?"

I blinked. I was. And I was hoping for that very thing. That the images I created would help people think more about the topics I raised.

And that the viewers would then take action.

"I suppose ..."

I looked up. Aedan was at a ticket counter, buying us a pair of tickets. I looked around in confusion. We were at the Bellagio art gallery. He handed me a ticket, and I looked at the title on it.

Fabergé Revealed.

I looked to Aedan. "Fabergé, as in the egg they were stealing in Ocean's Twelve?"

"The very one," he agreed. "And the heart of James Bond's Octopussy story as well. Given our conversation during our walk, I thought you'd like to see this. It reminds us of how ephemeral life is."

We walked in.

I had seen Ukrainian and Polish Easter eggs in the past, with their delicate colors and intricate designs. I knew about the traditions of exchanging eggs as celebrations of spring. But Carl Fabergé took this artistry to an entirely new level. The Tsar Alexander III of Russia spent vast amounts of money to have these creations designed for his wife each year. Their son, Nicholas II, continued the tradition.

I stood in front of a golden egg featuring a delicate pelican on top. The etching around the egg, thin vines and florals, was exquisite. Diamonds and pearls were embedded into it. To think that the Romanov palace had collections of these eggs, displayed on shelves and tucked in curios. The cost of just one could easily sustain a village for generations.

Aedan nodded as we walked along. "That one family would have this much wealth. It can seem enviable, yes? Something that we might dream of? In the same way, those city dwellers in Liberia look at even the poorer homes in the United States as if we are laden with wealth. We have reliable electricity. We have running water. We have multiple changes of clothes. We have so much that they can only hope for."

I looked at the expensive watch on his wrist. "And then there are some of us who have even more."

We came around a corner.

Aedan waved a hand. "Yes, we do."

It was a photo. A family photo.

Tsar Nicholas II, in uniform, sat with his lovely wife at his side. Around them were their five children. Each one had their own personality. An older girl looked proudly into the camera. A younger one had a gentle smile.

Aedan's eyes were still. "They were all slaughtered."

I blinked. "The children?"

He nodded. "After World War I, the populace in Russia decided that they wanted a new form of government. So, in 1918, they killed off the old one."

I shook my head. "If the father had made poor decisions, then absolutely hold him accountable." I looked at the innocent faces of the five young ones before me. "What could these children possibly have done?"

"They could have been rallied around. And so they were shot, repeatedly, and then bayonetted."

I looked at those faces in the photo. It wasn't even a hundred years ago. Just a few generations back. And this family had gone from wealthy elite to hearing the screams of their children – their parents - their siblings – in a historical blink of an eye.

Aedan's voice was low. "Wealth can seem like a goal. If only I had more then I could X. And then I just need some more so Y. Those with one car want a better one. Those with a house want to change this or alter that. There's always something new to acquire. Always a reason why what we have isn't quite enough."

He waved a hand at the family before him. "They had wealth. And, in the end, I imagine they would have traded it all for a small farm in Siberia, where they could live together in joy and harmony."

His eyes looked haunted. "Do you know, their bodies weren't even found until 1979? And the last two children weren't located until 2008? All these years, all these long years, and they'd been discarded like trash."

His fingers flexed again. "They had wealth. They had wealth, and they would have traded it all –"

His phone rang.

For a moment I thought he wasn't going to answer it. Then, at last, he let out his breath and brought it to his ear.

"Aedan here."

He listened for a moment, then snapped. "You don't have to tell me the terms. I know the God-damned terms. Fine. Twenty minutes."

He jammed the phone back into his pocket.

I drew a smile on my face. "Guess you have a job to do. Well, I suppose we both do."

He blinked, looking at me, and shadows came to his eyes. "I keep forgetting that, don't I. Your job. Well, I'm sure you'll have a lot to write about today, won't you."

I thought about the Bones exhibition. Then I considered this gallery tracing the Romanov family's path - its wealth and its annihilation.

I nodded, my eyes shining. "Yes, I have a great deal to write about. Thank you."

His lips pressed together in a line. I could see the emotion swirl ... darken ...

The words snapped out of him, as if some internal lock had burst. "Are you proud of it? This assignment you're on?"

I flushed hard. "Sure, the paper's task isn't what I might have –"

He took a step toward me. "Then why do it? The money? Isn't life too short to waste, to squander the few hours given to us in order to –"

He cut off, his eyes blazing with emotion.

Then he turned, left, and was gone.

I was alone.

I was alone with the fading snapshot of a loving family. A family who would have relinquished their entire fortune – their dripping wealth - in order to simply stay together.

To be happy.

# Chapter 10

The House of Blues was integrated nicely into the Mandalay Bay hotel complex. Funky beach chairs with colorful detailing sat outside the main entrance, and the place had a vibe of warm, inviting, and fun. There was wrought iron and dark wood, glowing lights and burnished metal.

The place was already packed full when I walked in at quarter of ten. Half of the patrons seemed to be cowboys and cowgirls, complete with hats and silver buckles. The other half was a rougher mix – tattoos, black t-shirts, and often fairly muscular. I wondered which convention that group was here for.

I found a lone seat at the far end of the bar and slid into it. Betty looked pretty hectic, fielding the orders, and I settled back in to wait. I was in no rush. I'd taken another round of photos along the strip as the evening had eased on. I was really pleased with the one of the Eiffel Tower against the blue-purple dusk sky. I was sure the paper would be quite happy with those. If it took me a little while to get started on my "real" task at hand, well, I would be patient.

At last Betty made her way down to me. Her blonde hair was fluffed out in a looser style and her bartender outfit had a low cut to it. She held that mask-smile on her face as she put a napkin before me, then dropped her head next to mine.

"I'm so glad you could come, Heidi. I hate to ask ... but did you tell anyone you were coming to talk with me?"

I vigorously shook my head. "Absolutely not. Not a soul." I thought to when she'd called to reschedule. "There was a man with me when you called me yesterday, but he had no idea who you were."

Relief creased her brow, and she nodded. "How about I get you a glass of Cristal. On the house."

I blushed. That was far beyond my pay grade. "You really don't have to –"

She made a waving motion with her hand. "Trust me, it's not a problem. And it'd make me feel better. That you were getting something for your time."

"All right," I agreed. She was definitely tense about something, and if this helped her be at ease, I wouldn't stand in her way.

Betty came back with the glass, opened her mouth – and a call came from the far end of the bar.

She gave a wry smile. "Sit tight. It comes in waves here. When it quiets down, we can talk."

I nodded reassuringly to her. "Take your time. I'm in no rush at all."

She smiled in thanks, and then she was gone into the bedlam that was Vegas.

I took a sip. I wasn't sure what I thought. It certainly wasn't _bad_ , but was it really that much better than the other options? Maybe I just didn't have a refined enough palate to taste the difference.

Next to me was a starry-eyed couple clearly on their honeymoon from the way she kept glancing at the golden ring on her finger. The guy past them was a nice-looking red-head with a bright sparkle in his eyes. He raised his Champagne flute to me in a toast. "First time in Vegas?"

I nodded, toasting him back. "Cheers!"

Some sort of sports interview came onto the bank of TV screens. The background curtains were black with some sort of a green circle emblem on them.

The red-head groaned. "Good God, not more of the boring interviews. They drag these things out for days now." He turned to the bartenders. "Hey, can you put the soccer game on?"

A chorus of assent rolled down the bar, and one of the bartenders picked up the remote to switch them around. I glanced up out of curiosity as he moved down the wall. The interview was apparently being held in lobby of the Mandalay Bay, with MMA banners interspersed in the background.

Mixed Martial Arts.

It occurred to me now that I'd seen those banners while wandering around the complex. So that must be what the other half of the fans in here were looking forward to. Maybe there was some sort of a big fight coming up. My Dad had used to follow that sort of stuff, but once I left home I refused to watch it out of sheer rebellion, even though it had been fairly interesting. Those guys were certainly in top notch shape. When they fought, they put their lives on the line. They were some of the finest athletes alive.

The soccer match blanketed the screens, and a chorus of cheers rolled down the bar.

More crowds surged into the bar, cowboys and muscle-guys alike. Betty was flat out with work, and I sipped at my Champagne. Maybe it was just the high energy of the crowd, but the flavor was growing on me. When the glass went empty, Betty was there with another one. "Really, I should have a moment soon," she promised.

"I'm enjoying myself," I assured her. "You take your time." And, indeed, it was true. The live music was bright and toe-tappingly fun. It was fascinating watching the cowboys and the MMA fans. At first they eyed each other from a distance, sort of like nervous boys and shy girls at a middle school dance. But as the music played and the dancing began, the ice was broken. Soon there were cowgirls dancing with muscle-bound men and cowboys two-stepping with tattooed short-haired girls. It was a true Colors of Benetton.

At last Betty came over to lean against the bar. "Kyle's going to cover for me for ten minutes on my break. So I've got a moment."

I looked around at the crowded club. "Should we try to find somewhere else to talk?"

She shook her head. "This is perfect. Nobody could possibly overhear us and it'll seem we're just catching up on life."

"All right, then, that's fine by me."

I took another sip of my Champagne, letting her start at her own pace.

She took another look around at the line dance of John Waynes and Vin Diesels. "I don't even know where to start."

I patted her arm. "Just start at the beginning."

"Well, when I graduated from high school my parents didn't have the money to send me to college. So I took a job at a local diner. But, you know, two years of that, and I could see where my life was heading. I'd marry a local fisherman. Have a shack full of bawling kids."

I nodded, fully understanding the path that awaited her.

"So I thought, this was my one and only chance. If I didn't get out now, I never would. I sold everything I could, packed all my remaining belongings into a duffle bag, and booked a one-way ticket to Vegas. Either I made it here or I had no other option."

She looked around her. "You, of all people, can relate to what I felt like when I first arrived. It was insane. People flashing hundred-dollar bills around. Champagne flowing all hours of day or night. Rock stars. Sports stars. It was a world I hadn't even dreamed of. And I ... I got lured into it."

Her voice dropped. "It was like it wasn't even real. That it's something you see on TV. Guys offering to buy you drinks. Guys with fancy sports-cars and perfectly fitting suits. Heck, until I'd gotten here, I'd never seen _anyone_ in a suit, besides the raggedy old ones they'd pull out for a funeral."

I held her gaze. "What happened?"

She flushed deep red. "One night I was out drinking with this guy I'd come to know pretty well. Rick. We were on-again, off-again. That night we were hitting the rum-and-Coke pretty hard." Her cheeks brightened. "Then Rick's friend, Carlito, comes along to the bar to meet us. I mean, man, this guy was _hot._ I had never seen a human being who looked that good."

She twirled her hair around her finger. "Carlito was really into me. I could tell by the way he was flirting with me. Hot, heavy. Then Rick takes us back to his apartment, up high overlooking the strip, and we drink some more."

Her face warmed even further. "So Rick is kissing me, Carlito's hands are on my shoulders giving me this amazing massage, and I figure, what the hell. I'd never done it before, but what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?"

I nodded.

"So, well, the night was amazing. Phenomenal. These guys, well ... let's just say they knew what they were doing. When I woke up the next afternoon, it was one of those blissful feelings that you wish you could just live in."

I looked at her. "But?"

She looked down. "But. But there was nobody else in bed with me. When I pulled on a robe and came out of the bedroom to the living area, there was some slim, weaselly guy waiting on the couch. A pair of heavy goons stood by the door. And he explained where I stood."

From the tone in her voice. I knew this wasn't going to be pretty.

She pressed her lips together. "Turns out the whole night had been recorded in full Technicolor and Dolby surround-sound. I had two choices. One, I could continue to perform with their group, masked, so that my identity was hidden. I'd be paid for my work, but I had to act in a certain number of shows a month. Or else ..."

"Or else what?"

She glanced nervously around the room. "Or else the original would be distributed all through Wisconsin. My family, my friends, my church members – they'd all get a copy."

Her face grew tight. "Oh, Heidi, I know it sounds silly, but I would absolutely die if that happened. It wasn't even just a sex tape. I was with _two guys_. And I was loving every minute of it. My parents? They'd have a heart attack."

"Couldn't it be even worse now?"

She shook her head. "I'm always in a full mask. I don't have any birthmarks or scars. There's no way they could know it was me, even if they did see one of these."

Her lips pressed together. "It's just that initial tape that could destroy me."

I ran a hand through my hair in confusion. "But surely, with so many eager actresses out there making films of this category – why in the world would they have to blackmail you into this?"

Her eyes shadowed. "Apparently there's a large audience of men who prefer it this way. They crave the sense that a 'good girl' is forced to go through with the act. It's one thing if it's a paid actress who chooses to sell her body. She's doing it willingly. But for a girl to do it unwillingly ..."

She looked at me. "I've been looking this stuff up, now that I'm ... in it myself. Researchers have done studies on guys watching porn. If a guy watches a porn film with paid actresses, sure he enjoys it. But he knows it's an act. He knows they're faking it.

Her eyes shadowed. "If that guy watches a filmed act of a real couple, even if they aren't as attractive, he gets _more_ enjoyment out of it. The fact that they are really reacting to the situation, that they're immersed in the emotion, matters to him. He feels more a part of an authentic activity. It increases his enjoyment. Like he's a voyeur."

She shuddered. "But what the men like best of all ..."

I held her gaze. "What is it?"

She looked around again before leaning forward. "As hard as it for many women to believe, for a large portion of guys, what gets them off the most powerfully is if the girl is wholly _unwilling_. If she's taken by force. If she's screaming and fighting. But then ... as she's being taken by the guy ... that she starts to want it, despite everything in her mind rebelling against it. So she's being violently raped - and she starts to want to be raped because the guy is _just that good_."

Her throat was tight. "That, for many guys, is the ultimate pleasure."

I looked at her in shock. "Rape is an act of violence. A woman who is being raped is being traumatized. We're not talking about seduction here – or about a guy luring us into a fantasy we've always secretly craved."

I shook my head. "We're talking about a woman who absolutely hates the idea of the guy touching her. And then that guy, that man she despises, holds down her legs and forces into her body something that she absolutely does not want to happen."

My body clenched in on itself at the thought. "So the guy destroying this woman thinks she'll be eager for more of his abuse?"

Visions of Georgetown crept in at the dark edges, and I fought them off. Not now. Not when Betty needed me to be present for her.

Betty's voice was low. "And now I'm trapped. The guys who watch this get off on the fact that I'm blackmailed into doing it. They love the sense that I would stop it if I could. Every time I get that blood money I feel further degraded – but I can't afford to burn the cash, as much as I've thought about it. I'm ashamed to admit that I need it to pay my rent."

She twisted a napkin in her hands. "My only saving grace is that nobody could recognize me in those films. My ... humiliation ... is all wholly anonymous."

The depth of her pain struck me to my core. And suddenly I thought of the thousands of bars strung out along the strip, each with its vulnerable paycheck-to-paycheck waitresses and bartenders. My voice was hoarse. "How many other women do you think are in this same situation?"

Her eyes were shadowed. "Too many," she murmured. "We all wear masks when we arrive and leave, but from body types, and clothing types, and skin colors ... far too many. And I would have to bet that most are like me – young, no family nearby, women trying to get by. That's who the men prey on."

I'd passed by so many bars during my time here. The Seahorse bar. The Mexican restaurant. They were more numerous than stars in the sky. How many of those bartenders had been swept into this net? How many were now unwilling participants in a pornography ring, hoping against hope that their unmasked initial video was never revealed to loved ones?

I patted her hand. "Don't worry, Betty. We'll figure out a way out of this."

She paled. "These guys are dangerous, Heidi. I don't really know what we can do. But when you said you wanted to look into this sort of thing, and with you being from home, well, I ..."

"You did exactly the right thing," I assured her. "One step at a time. These people live in fear and darkness. We will drag them out of the shadows."

I gave her a warm smile. "And, besides, you took the first step. You told someone you can trust. One step at a time."

An ease came to her face. "My mom used to always say that."

"Then your mom was a wise woman." I looked over her shoulder. "I think that's Kyle calling you. You go on back to your shift. We'll tackle this together."

Her face eased in relief. "Thanks, Heidi. You are ... you are amazing. I'll be free in another hour – will you be here?"

"Absolutely."

She shone.

Then she was lost into the flurry of Vegas.

I glowed with strength. She had called me amazing. She had trusted me with her story. And the mess she was embroiled in struck a chord deep within me.

I finished down the rest of my Cristal. No matter what it took, I would help Betty get free of this.

# Chapter 11

The cowboys and the MMA fans were tight friends by now, and the place was jammed with people. The music was great and I found my head bobbing along to the music. For the first time in a long time I was feeling good about myself.

Red-head came around the newlyweds to my side. "You look like a woman in need of a dance. I'm here to help."

I glanced over at Betty. "Can you put my purse and camera behind the bar?"

She reached out a hand. "Absolutely! Go have some fun. It's Vegas, after all!"

Red-head put out his hand. "I'm Jake."

"Heidi," I replied.

His eyes lit up. "I like it. C'mon, Heidi, let's have some fun."

I'd been worried earlier that my jeans and t-shirt might not fit in, but it seemed that I'd come to the right place. Between the cowboys in jeans and the MMA fans in t-shirts, I was the perfect combination. And soon I'd forgotten even about that. The music pumped, there were smiles all around me, and I began to understand the allure of Vegas. Everyone was here to have a blast. They came from all over – Utah, Texas, West Virginia, Minnesota, you name it. They all descended on this one town for one purpose – to have fun.

And they were letting loose.

There was some sort of flurry of excitement at the club's entrance, but I ignored it. I'd seen enough of Vegas to know that there seemed to be a celebrity around every corner. Just walking through Caesar's Palace I happened to spot Pete Rose sitting in a sports shop, casually signing autographs. Just another day in Vegas.

Another song, and my grin grew. I could get used to this. The cowboys were teaching the MMA girls how to line dance. The MMA guys were buying the cowgirls drinks. And Jake wasn't half bad on his feet.

The song drew to an end and he leant his head near mine. "I gotta hit the john. Be back in a few minutes."

"Sure thing," I agreed with a laugh. "I'll be here."

Slow, sultry notes began echoing around me, and I sighed. Didn't it figure, a slow song. I turned to move off the dance floor.

Aedan was standing there before me.

He opened his arms, and before I gave it thought I stepped into them. They folded around me as if we'd always belonged together. He smelled amazing – of musk and the ocean. I could almost imagine walking along the shores of Lake Michigan with him, the sand between our toes, hearing the call of the seagulls as they rode the thermals.

His voice was low in my ear. "I'm sorry about before. About leaving like that."

I wasn't sure what to say, so I held my tongue. His body was like sculpted marble beneath my hands – unbelievably firm. But it was also vibrantly warm and alive. The combination was nearly irresistible.

His voice remained low. "I know you have a job to do. I just wish it wasn't –" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I'm sorry. You deserve to be treated well."

I hadn't felt that way in a long time, but I nodded.

"Let me make it up to you." He looked down into my eyes, and the blue depths were swirled with emotion. Was there caution mixed in there? It was hard to tell with the lights and shadows of this place.

Delicious tension wrapped around me. "Make it up to me? What did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking ... it's not something I normally do, but I'd be willing ... to do a one on one."

I blinked, my shoulders tightening with tension. What, did he mean rather than his usual two-girls-at-once? He'd be willing to have sex with just me alone as a special treat?

I pulled back out of his arms before I realized what was happening. I could only stare at him.

His face tightened. "But I thought you would want –"

My voice held a snap. "You thought wrong, you arrogant bastard. That you'd presume –"

A slim black man pushed his way through the crowd, dressed neatly in a black t-shirt and jeans. He came up to Aedan's side. "Aedan, ESPN needs you for ten minutes. It's live on air."

Aedan barely looked at him. "Not now, I have to –"

The black man stepped around to be in front of Aedan. "You know the contract says –"

Aedan's voice was a growl. "Yeah, I know what the damned contract says." He blew out his breath and looked up at me. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back. And I swear we'll sort this out. Whatever it is you need, I'll make it work."

I crossed my arms across my chest.

His frown grew, and he looked like he might step forward, but the man tugged him hard on his arm. It was like pulling at granite, but at last Aedan turned and followed him out of the club.

Jake appeared at my shoulder with a fresh glass of Champagne. "Man, what a jerk. You look like you could use this."

"Thanks," I agreed, downing a third of it in one swallow. "I don't know where rich guys like him get off thinking they own the world. Just because they have some money."

He looked at me, intrigued. "You definitely have a different view of Aedan than most women he's seen with."

I snorted. "That's not hard to believe. I've seen the type of women Aedan likes to spend time with."

"Well, you're special, all right. I've never heard Aedan offer a one-on-one with anybody. And believe me, many have tried."

I nearly snorted my Champagne out of my nose. "So you heard that, did you?"

His grin grew. "I did indeed. I heard it all. And it made me certain that I'm doing the right thing here."

I raised my eyes at him in curiosity. "Oh? And what might that be?"

His eyes twinkled. "Come dance with me again, and you'll find out."

Sharp satisfaction drove through me. That would certainly teach that Aedan a thing or two. As if I'd wait for him! That rich, buy-his-way-into-every-woman's-pants would learn a lesson tonight.

This one woman couldn't be bought.

# Chapter 12

Blink.

I was in the back of an expensive sports-car. The fine leather seats and low roofline told me that much. The unmistakable Vegas strip stretched out before us into infinity. I peered between the two front seats. A long, black hood rumbled with the purr of the engine. The emblem on the shifting knob was a Jaguar.

Black. Jaguar. Convertible.

Anger growled within me, and I turned left. What the hell did Aedan think –

It was Jake in the driver's seat.

I looked around and realized we weren't alone. I didn't recognize the stocky guy in the passenger side. He looked Samoan, maybe.

I found my voice. "Jake? You have a black Jaguar, too?"

"Classy car, ain't it? How you feeling back there?"

"A little woozy," I admitted. "Did I have too much to drink?"

He grinned. "We drank, we danced, and we're going to have more fun, too."

What time was it? I looked around for my purse, to check my cellphone, but I didn't see it on my seat. "Have you seen my purse?"

"We're nearly there," he assured me. "Just around this corner."

I looked up. The scene looked familiar. There was a run-down Chevy Malibu which looked as if duct tape and rust were holding it together. Then he pulled into the alley beyond it

There was a curling green Celtic dragon, its body wrapped in a circle, painted on the dingy alley wall.

I blinked. I'd seen that symbol at the bar ... was that yesterday? The day before? My sense of time was growing fuzzy. But it'd been on a TV screen for some reason. Oh, wait, it'd been some sort of an interview that was about to start, before Jake had them switch over to soccer.

Who was going to be interviewed?

Jake came around and opened the car door for me, drawing me out onto my feet. I felt like a newborn colt, balancing there, even though I was simply in sneakers.

How much _had_ I had to drink?

He nudged his head at the wall art. "Thought this was the perfect place for this. An appropriate backdrop."

My brow creased in confusion. "The backdrop for what?"

Jake looked behind me. "All right, Tua."

Behind my waist, my arms were gently but firmly pinioned in place.

Panic shot through me. "Jake, what the hell?"

Jake turned to the left. "Pat, you getting this all?"

Four burly men walked out of the debris-strewn shadows, looking to be in Tua's extended family group. The man I assumed to be "Pat" held up his camera as if recording the scene. He nodded with a shine of anticipation in his gaze. "Just like always, Jake."

Jake looked at another man with a scar across his forehead. "Paul, grab her feet."

Whatever was going on here, every bone in my body screamed for me to escape. I tried to launch a kick at Paul, but something was wrong with my body. It was as if I was caught in molasses. Paul easily caught my leg. The next thing I knew, he had one foot in each arm. Together he and Tua carried me over to the Jaguar's hood.

I drew in a deep lungful to scream. A strip of duct tape slammed down across my mouth. I collapsed into a fit of choking. I drew in again through my nose and screamed with all my might against the tape.

Jake's grin widened with approval. "That's right, Heidi. You scream it up. That's what our viewers love. Show them that heart-deep fear. Show them you're not acting. That this is real."

Panic filled every cell of my body. These goons were the ones who had taken Betty! Maybe they saw me talking with her and decided to teach me a lesson, too. Who knew what they might do to me, to humiliate me enough to back off.

At the peak of the panic, I somehow found a stillness. An eye in the center of the hurricane. I was being forged, and this time things would be different. Sharp fire glowed to life within my eyes. I had sworn, on that dark night in Georgetown, that I would never let myself be degraded like that ever again.

My resolve firmed into iron. If these men thought I was going down without a fight –

I bucked hard, twisting, and this time my snapping kick did land against something soft. There was a deep groan, and then six sets of hands were slamming me hard against the car's hood, holding me solidly in place. I pulled and twisted has hard as I could, but I could not budge.

Jake's face came into view. Blood was streaming down from his nose, and it looked like it might have a new jag to its shape.

His eyes darkened in fury. "All right, then. Now it's personal. And we're gonna enjoy this assignment. So you go ahead and scream, because that's the way we like it. And when you finally pass out, don't you worry. Because we'll have the entire night safely preserved on video."

The past and present, Georgetown and Vegas, became one pitch-black, horrific gash in my universe, and I screamed –

Aedan and Heidi's story continues in Book 2 of this Vegas Nights series – it's coming soon!

Be sure to sign up for my newsletter! You'll get updates on free giveaways, great discounts, and the latest releases. I never spam and all names are kept private!

<http://www.opheliasikes.com/subscribe.asp>

If you enjoyed this story, please leave a review on Amazon, Goodreads, and any other review site you enjoy. Together we can make a difference!

# Dedication

To Ruth, who inspires me daily.

To Toni, who has believed in me and this series from the very beginning.

To George and Bob, who encourage me in all my dreams.

And, most of all, to my loyal fans who continue to encourage me in the cause. Whether you're on GoodReads, Facebook, Twitter, Google+, or my blog, together we help make the world a better place!

# About the Author

I feel quite strongly about the books that I write. I write these all myself – no ghost-writers, no third parties. I go to the locations described here. I visit them in person, breathe in the fragrances, walk the streets, and soak in the sights. I then do my very best to bring them to life to you, so that you can take a virtual vacation to these locations.

I write about topics that have great meaning to me. We all deserve to feel loved, cherished, and respected.

Vegas is a spectacular place. I've been there many times. It's a world of exploring exotic fantasy and releasing submerged desires. It boasts gorgeous, jaw-dropping artwork and bass-pounding nightclubs.

But Vegas is also a place with its dark side. Many are lured in by the bright lights and become lost in the shadows. One only has to look at the beggars lining the bridges, or the homeless found only blocks away from the shine of the strip, to see what can happen when gambling, drugs, drinking, and other vices run their course unchecked.

Half of the proceeds of this book's sales benefit battered women's shelters.

Please send along as much feedback and suggestions as you can. The more we can polish these worlds and characters, the more we can help the cause.

Ophelia Sikes can be found at:

http://OpheliaSikes.com

<https://www.facebook.com/OpheliaSikes>

<https://twitter.com/OpheliaSikes>

<https://www.goodreads.com/OpheliaSikes>

<https://plus.google.com/+OpheliaSikes/posts>

Newsletter:

http://www.opheliasikes.com/subscribe.asp

Worcester Nights series:

Kate's life sucks. She's tending bar at a run-down dive. Her immoral boss fondles every co-ed within reach. The clientele is made up of TV-glazed zombies, drunkards, and ... who is that in the corner?

The Thunderbolt Hits.

She hadn't thought it was real. But when she looks into Sean's eyes, the force of the connection staggers her. Her mind desperately seeks to pull her back - he's an ex-felon. Far too talented with those rippled muscles and toned fists. He's everything she should be staying away from.

She craves him from the depths of her soul.

His touch smolders her skin; his fingers expose her to worlds she never dreamt existed.

But when his secret is ripped free from the dark shadows, their lives teeter on the brink of destruction.

Book 1 - Dwell in Possibility

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/WorcesterNights/dwellinpossibility/

Book 2 – A Soul Ajar

http://OpheliaSikes.com/WorcesterNights/asoulajar/

Book 3 – A Song of Soul and Hope

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/WorcesterNights/asongofsoulandhope/

Book 4 – Stop One Heart from Breaking

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/WorcesterNights/stoponeheartfrombreaking/

Boxed Set of Books 1-4

http://OpheliaSikes.com/WorcesterNights/

Bermuda Nights series:

Amanda desperately needed to get away. Her whole life had been about pleasing others - her straight-laced parents, her rule-bound teachers. When her best friend, Kayla, suggested they hop a cruise from Boston to Bermuda, Amanda leapt at the chance. This was her one chance to light the night on fire.

And then Evan stepped on stage.

Evan was exactly the man her country-club parents would have disapproved of. Ripped abs and soul-deep eyes. Lightning-fast fists. One glance and she knew she has to be his - if just for these seven brief, torturously-exquisite days.

And, oh, Evan could play her. His fingers were connoisseurs of her body, drawing out her deeper notes, sending her soaring to heights she barely knew existed. She lost all sense of self, of rules.

Until the day she saw what she was never meant to see - and her world changed forever.

Book 1 – Resonating Souls

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/BermudaNights/resonatingsouls/

Book 2 – Wine-Dark Dreams

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/BermudaNights/winedarkdreams/

Book 3 – The Soulless Abyss

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/BermudaNights/thesoullessabyss/

Book 4 – Wanting All

http://OpheliaSikes.com/BermudaNights/wantingall/

Boxed Set of Books 1-4

http://OpheliaSikes.com/BermudaNights/

Italian Nights series.

Hannah and her sister, Megan, have been given the trip of a lifetime. They are cruising the Mediterranean Sea. Starting at Rome, they are working their way counter-clockwise through Florence, Monte Carlo, Barcelona, Sardinia, Sicily, and Pompeii. Life is their playground.

And then Hannah meets Brandon.

Brandon is strong, intelligent, loyal, and everything Hannah could possibly dream of in a man. He has also just walked in on his fiancée in bed with his best friend. Hannah is willing to wait as long as it takes for him to work his way through this betrayal.

And then all Hell breaks loose ...

Book 1 – Love's Heat

http://OpheliaSikes.com/ItalianNights/lovesheat

Book 2 – Carved Into My Heart

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/ItalianNights/carvedintomyheart

Book 3 – Lost In Darkness

http://OpheliaSikes.com/ItalianNights/lostindarkness

Book 4 – Love's Labyrinths

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/ItalianNights/loveslabyrinths

Book 5 – Flames and Tears

http://OpheliaSikes.com/ItalianNights/flamesandtears

Boxed Set of Books 1-5

http://OpheliaSikes.com/ItalianNights/

Vegas Nights series.

Las Vegas. Sin City. Heidi stepped off that plane ready to re-invent herself. Ready to delve into the glitz, glamour, and fantastical unreality which defines the mantra, "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."

What she wasn't ready for was Aedan.

Billionaire playboy. Supermodels dripping down his well-muscled body. He seemed to have it all. But for some reason he kept appearing where she least expected. And he made her feel a way she swore she never would again.

Like she could trust him.

Until the dark revelation that threatens to destroy her ...

Book 1 – Hardened

http://OpheliaSikes.com/VegasNights/hardened

Book 2 – Toughened

http://OpheliaSikes.com/VegasNights/toughened

Congratulations! You've found the secret ending page! I'm always curious how many people actually read to the very end of my novels :).

Send me a message via my Ophelia Sikes website:

<http://opheliasikes.com/>

You've earned a special reward!

Congratulations, and have an awesome day!

