was still convinced Darla was innocent. But she’d sworn to do her best for Conner and she would. She’d rather know the truth about her sister, either way.
“Of course,” she answered. She was nervous as hell about it but ready as ever. She thought about that phone call. “Why? Has something happened?”
His gaze dropped to her breasts again, and he stroked his hands over them possessively. “No,” he said. “Nothing that affects anything important.”
Now, there was a nonanswer if ever she’d heard one.
“What was that argument with your father all about, Conner?” she asked, a sick foreboding knotting in her stomach. “What did he want?”
Her lover leaned over and pressed his lips to her abdomen, trailing down to her belly button. He flicked his tongue into it. “Nothing important,” he repeated.
Which probably meant it was. So important he didn’t want to tell her. Which probably meant she wouldn’t like it, whatever it was.
His tongue trailed lower still. “Spread your legs.”
“Conner—”
“Open them.”
He was definitely trying to distract her.
It was working.
She moaned as his tongue slipped between her folds, still swollen from hours of lovemaking. It felt warm and silky on her tender flesh. So good.
Ah, well. She’d find out soon enough what the problem was. No sense borrowing trouble.
Meanwhile, she planned to enjoy every minute she had left with him. And this was a very, very good start.
He had to tell her.
Consumed with guilt—and fury at his meddling father—Conner helped Vera into the white stretch limo he’d ordered to take them to the Lights of Las Vegas Charity Ball.
She looked like a princess in the strapless sapphire-blue satin gown he’d selected for her tonight. Worldly, sophisticated, stunning. He wanted her to be on his arm. All evening. So there’d be no possibility of other men charming her, dancing with her, tempting her away.
Unfortunately, that was not to be. Dear old Dad had unknowingly made certain of it.
The old bugger’d be even more delighted if he actually knew what he’d done. Conner’s father was a stand-up guy, but completely unreasonable when it concerned the family’s reputation. Dad had tolerated Conner’s rakish behavior—barely—up until now only because he was young, single and male. But he couldn’t imagine Michael Rothchild ever in a million years condoning his son taking a stripper to a high-profile social event like this one. Much less dating one. No matter how amazing a person she was. Or how incredibly gorgeous.
Conner took his place beside her in the limo and tucked her under his arm. She nestled against him, resting her hand on his thigh.
“Nervous?” he asked.
She nodded. “Terrified.”
“Don’t be. You’ll do fine. And you look exquisite.”
She smiled up at him as she had so often today. Happy. Trusting. “Thank you.” Her long lashes swept shyly downward, making his heart squeeze.
“You take my breath away, Vera Mancuso,” he said and gave her a lingering kiss.
“The feeling’s mutual, Conner Rothchild,” she whispered.
He reached into his pocket for the velvet pouch he’d had his secretary deliver to the house that afternoon. From it he pulled a solid gold Byzantine rope necklace that had been his grand-mother’s. “I thought this would go nicely with your dress.”
“Oh, Conner, it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed, fingering it reverently after he’d fastened it around her neck. “But—”
“There’s more.”
When he pulled out the ring, her eyes went wide as saucers. “My God! Where did you get that? I thought the Tears of the Quetzal was stolen!”
He slipped it on her finger.
“It’s a copy. Paste. The thief left it in place of the original when he stole that from police evidence. Not sure how he got hold of this one. It was supposedly in my aunt’s jewelry box in her bedroom. My grandfather had it made decades ago for family members to wear out in public. Before he decided the ring was cursed and locked it away for good in a vault somewhere. Anyway, LVMPD turned over the paste ring to the FBI, too, and Duncan said we could borrow it tonight, thinking its appearance might help lure the thieves.”
Conner had debated long and hard with himself about this. Having Vera wear the fake Quetzal could potentially put her in danger from the psycho thief. But as long as she only wore it at the ball, where security would be ultratight, and went home with him afterward, she should be safe. It also reassured him knowing that Duncan would have his men watching his property all night, too.
As an extra precaution, Conner had hired a bodyguard to discreetly follow her around at the ball, because Conner wouldn’t be able to watch over her personally.
She held her fingers up to the limo’s overhead light. Even in the dim wattage, the faux chameleon diamond shot off a shower of purple and green sparks, almost like the genuine article. “Wow. If I hadn’t had the real thing on my own finger, I’d sure be fooled. It’s nearly identical.”
“Not many could tell the difference,” he agreed.
Just then, the limo made a turn into a circular driveway. Damn. His time was up.
Vera peered out the tinted windows at the private mansion they’d pulled up in front of. “Where are we?” she asked.
“My brother’s house,” Conner said, steeling himself to meet her eyes. “We’re picking him up, along with his date. And mine.”
She did her best to hide her visceral reaction, but he clearly saw the flash of shock and devastation in her eyes before she managed to mask them. Her lips parted, then closed. “Your…date?”
Damn his father. “The daughter of an important client. She flew in from Paris yesterday and—”
Vera held up her hand. “No, it’s okay,” she said, though she couldn’t quite squelch the strain in her voice. “You don’t have to explain. We agreed I’d be coming as your assistant, not date. It’s more believable this way.”
So much for happy and trusting.
“Vera—” He reached for her, but she scooted away, all the way to the other side of the limo. He moved to go after her.
“Don,’t” she said, just as the door opened.
He halted, torn. She was his lover. He should never have let his father bully him into this farce. And yet…there was a microscopic part of him that was secretly relieved not to have to reveal their relationship just yet—and bear the brunt of social and familial disapproval.
He was such a damn coward.
“Howdy, bro,” his brother, Mike, stuck his head in the door that had been opened by the chauffeur and greeted him. “Hey, now, what have we here?” Mike’s confusion was obvious when he spotted Vera sitting in the corner. Then he really looked at her, and his face lit up. “A threesome? You dirty old man, you.”
Mike, or Michael Rothchild Jr., was the older brother, but acted like a kid sometimes. He had no emotional radar.
“Just get in the damn car,” Conner said evenly.
Mike stepped aside and his striking blond fiancée, Audra, slid into the seat opposite Conner. She leaned over and airkissed him on the cheek. “Hi, Conner. Good to see y—” She also spotted Vera and halted in mid-word. “Hello,” she said, glancing between her and Conner. “This is, um, interesting.”
“My