Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
DONOVAN
The first drink makes sense.
The second one does, too.
By the third, I stop asking questions.
After all, this is a first-class, midnight flight to Las Vegas with the prettiest woman I’ve seen in a long time.
It’s when I stop counting that things start getting hazy.
For her, too, apparently.
She wears a long, flowy floral dress in shades of green and purple with a soft, knitted emerald shrug, and cowboy boots. Too fancy and embroidered for outdoor work, but I appreciate the country nod.
Her hair brushes my shoulder, silky and soft. And her perfume invades my senses all over again—nectar and roses, seductive and velvety.
Scarlett’s eyes lift to the white Stetson on my head like she’s not quite used to it. Then, they drop to my belt buckle for a fraction of a second before I catch her.
Her cheeks turn red as apples, and she looks away.
“Got it in team roping,” I say, resting my ankle over my other knee. I’m not used to having enough breathing room on planes let alone leg room.
“So, you rodeo?” she asks breathlessly.
I shrug. “Local events. Nothing big. Tough to get around in Rough & Ready Country.”
“I don’t even know how to ride a horse,” she confesses like it’s a crime.
“That’s okay,” I answer with a wink. “Always time to learn.”
She pauses for a moment as if she doesn’t know what to do with that. Then, she slurs, “Maybe with a little liquid courage. We’ll be sloshed by the time we arrive.”
She says it like it’s a joke, laughing beside me. Like she doesn’t already know what this feels like—sitting too close to a man she shouldn’t want.
Or maybe I’ve got it all backwards. Maybe it’s me sitting next to a woman I could only have in my dreams.
She did bid on you, dumbass.
Apparently, the booze hasn’t impaired my critical inner voice.
Her shoulder brushes mine as she talks animatedly. It shouldn’t matter. But it does.
Scarlett is all sunshine—loud, enthusiastic. Like she doesn’t just live life, she tastes it.
She’s everything I’m not. But she doesn’t treat me like I’m too quiet or boring.
That’s new for me. Feels different.
“Does that getaway of yours include transportation?” I ask, working hard to sound sober. That’s how I know I have a problem.
She tugs at her shirt, lifting it just enough to get the air flowing.
My eyes drop before I can stop them. Mistake. Now I can’t unsee it, and God help me, I don’t want to.
“I can’t remember the last time I let go like this,” she giggles.
“Me, either,” I say, thinking back to shift after shift at the station.
“And we’re not even off the plane.”
“Have to pace ourselves then,” I say, but it’s already too late for that.
Too late for a lot of stuff. I’m in uncharted territory. I’m always the guy who volunteers. Takes overtime. Stays steady and serious. Because liking alone time doesn’t mean I like being lonely.
As if reading my mind, she says, “I don’t usually notice men like you.”
“Men like me. What does that mean?”
“Quiet. Controlled.”
“That a problem?” I grunt.
Her eyes meet mine, face open and radiant. “The kind of guy who doesn’t need attention to take up space. The kind who makes you want to lean closer.”
My throat tightens. “Fine by me.” Heat creeps up my neck.
“I can’t believe I just said that,” she gasps, shaking her head. “Warning upfront. I’m a happy drunk, and sometimes, an obnoxious one. If I get to be too much for you, just let me know.”
I shift, leaning closer. “Don’t think you could ever be too much.”
She cocks her head, resting it on the seat. “Famous last words.” Her eyebrow arches as she adds, “So, how’d you end up getting auctioned off?”
I shrug. “Like I said before, part of the job.”
“But you’re so… quiet by nature. I’d almost call you shy but—.”
“But?”
“But, no, that’s not the right word. Strong and silent, I guess.”
I grimace, removing my hat and running a hand over my head. “Guess you could say so. Just never had much to say.”
“Never had much to say, or no one listened?”
The stewardess doesn’t even make eye contact as she passes this time, apparently cutting us off.
The question isn’t one most people ask. Or the kind I can ignore.
“Never thought much about that. It’s not like I come from a bad home or anything. I had both parents. That’s better than most. But they were high school teachers. My dad taught science and my mom mathematics. So, they stayed busy, and I stayed… on my own.”
“No siblings?”
I shake my head.
“Me, either.”
“Lonely, huh?”
“Totally. I used to daydream about what it would be like to have a little brother or sister around. Heck, I would’ve taken an older, bossier sibling just to have someone else there.”
“So, your parents weren’t around much, either.” Something in common. A solid place to start from. Good.
My eyes drag over her symmetrical face and fine features despite myself. Burgundy locks frame her tan skin and dark eyes. Nearly black and piercing like she can see right to the bottom of me… and isn’t disappointed.
She has a slight Hispanic accent. I hear it again as she answers my question.
“Parent. My dad was out of the house most of my life. Typical broken home, and my mom…” She shakes her head, mouth working to form words.
“She worked harder than any person I’ve ever met.
Set an amazing example for me. But, yeah, she was working instead of parenting so there was that. ”
“And what do you do for a living, Scarlett?”
Her eyes narrow, something flickering behind them, something guarded. Like I asked the wrong question. “I’m a waitress now.”
She says it like there’s more. “But?” I ask.
“Used to…” her voice trails off. “You could say I used to work with kids, though not anymore.”
“Got tired of brats?” I ask, half-teasing.
“Got tired of not being able to help them.” Her voice trails off. “The system doesn’t always make it easy to help those who need it most.”
I take her hand, though I shouldn’t. The booze has me bolder than usual. “You said you needed protection earlier. Do you feel safe now?”
She nods, eyes never leaving mine. Or her hand.
I don’t believe her.
But I don’t call her out either. Instead, I ask, “Want to tell me why you need protection?”
“Not yet,” she says gulping air.
Those two words don’t sit right. But at least they’re honest.
“Maybe later, then, after we’ve had more truth serum?” I joke, raising my plastic cup.
“You are a bad influence, Mr. Fireman.”
“No, you are, Burgundy.”
“Burgundy.” She chuckles, her hand still under mine.
My thumb brushes the inside of her wrist—over the small devil inked there. She stills. Doesn’t pull away. I drag my thumb lower—over the angel beside it.
“So which one are you?” I ask quietly.
Her cheeks glow. “That’s why I bid on you. So, you can tell me.”
That puts a sizzle in my brain. “You know, we shouldn’t be doing any of this right now,” I say.
“And why not? You told me yourself this is work-sanctioned?”
“But my hangover won’t be,” I say with a laugh.
“Can’t have a hangover if you don’t go to sleep,” she says with a wicked grin, her pink tongue darting out to wet her thick lips.
“That sounds like the beginning of something that’s going to go wrong… so very wrong,” I say, eyes caressing her face. But right now, I can’t remember what regret feels like… or why it would exist at all.
“Nope,” she says, voice firm and resolved. “Only two ways to get in trouble in Vegas,” she says, holding up two fingers. “Gambling… and quickie wedding chapels.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “You sure about that?”
“Absolutely.”
She hooks her pinkie with mine. “We stay away from both.”
I close my hand around hers. “Deal.”
By the time we make it through the airport and into the city, I don’t know what to do with myself.
The elevator ride is too quiet, too small, too full of her.
She leans back against the mirrored wall, laughing under her breath like this whole thing is a joke.
Like we didn’t just make a decision we can’t take back.
But for me, it’s something else. Something that could hurt later.
I watch her. The way her burgundy hair falls over her shoulders. How her thick pink lips curve like she already knows something I don’t.
The doors slide open. Our room is at the end of the hall.
She fumbles with the keycard, still smiling, still loose, and I step in closer without thinking.
“Need help?” I ask.
“Maybe,” she says, glancing up at me.
The door clicks open. We step inside.
And for a second, we both stop.
“One bed,” I say, quieter now.
She notices. I know she does. But she doesn’t move.
I let out a quiet breath. “Still want to explore?” I ask. “Stay up all night and outrun a hangover?”
I haven’t quite figured out what else I’m proposing yet. I step closer, like I’ve got to stay in her orbit.
Her gaze meets mine, steady and bright and just a little reckless. “What else do you do here?” She grabs my hand before I can think better of it.
“Vegas, remember?” she says, tugging me toward the door again. “What happens here…”
Her words trail off, but she’s still smiling. Still pulling me with her.
I follow.
I should stop this… walk away.
Remember exactly why this is a bad idea.
But right now?
I can’t remember a damn thing.
Except her.