Las Vegas: Scandals: Prince Charming for 1 Night. Nina Bruhns
conscious father.
All because he suddenly couldn’t imagine his life without Vera Mancuso in it.
And yet, there it was.
He wanted her anyway.
He wanted her.
But he just couldn’t. Couldn’t do that to his family. Couldn’t toss aside everything he’d worked so hard to achieve.
There had to be another way.
A way to have her, all to himself, but not expose either of them to the severe downsides of a relationship like theirs.
Relationship.
He shuddered, and even more goose bumps broke out on his flesh. What was he thinking? There must be a—
“Mr. Rothchild?”
With a start, he came back to the present. Vera had left the stage ages ago, and another girl had replaced her. Ever since, he’d just been staring into space, his mind whirling in a chaos of growing panic.
He turned to see a middle-aged man with an obviously expensive but still oddly ill-fitting suit standing by his table. “Yes?”
The man extended his hand. “I’m Lou Majors, the manager, Mr. Rothchild. Welcome to the Diamond Lounge.”
Ah. If it wasn’t Lecherous Lou himself. Conner projected his voice over the bass-heavy stripper music blaring from the loudspeakers, “Thank you. Won’t you join me?” It never hurt to schmooze the enemy.
“Don’t mind if I do.” The manager snapped his fingers at a hostess, who hurried over with another bottle of champagne. This time it was Cristal. Nice.
Also pretty nervy, because Conner was the one who’d end up paying for it. Not that he cared. Beat the hell out of the cheap stuff he’d been drinking.
“Enjoying the floor show?” Lou asked politely, leaning in so he could be heard.
“Absolutely. Some parts more than others.” Conner sent him a knowing, male-bonding-type smile.
Lou smiled back amiably. “Couldn’t help but notice. You’re acquainted with Miss LaRue, I take it?”
LaRue? Oh, right. Vera’s stage name. “Yes. Met her here, actually. Yesterday.”
At the reminder of the disruption, a shadow of annoyance passed through the manager’s eyes but was quickly gone. “Her lawyer, I take it.”
Conner winked lasciviously and leaned in closer. “Who could resist?” May as well go for broke. If the scumbucket thought she had a wealthy protector, he’d never dare fire her. “But I’m no longer her lawyer. I passed her case to a colleague. ” He lowered his voice, confidential-like. “Conflict of interest, if you get my drift.”
He did. Lou couldn’t have looked more pleased if Conner’d just handed him a stack of hundred-dollar bills. Which no doubt was exactly what the old roué had in mind. “I see.” Several seconds went by as the manager regarded Conner. Finally he said, “Mr. Rothchild, I have a very special offer to make you.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
Lou beckoned, rose and led him through the club to the sweeping red-carpeted staircase that led upstairs. On the way up, he refilled his champagne flute and handed it back. “I think you’ll be very interested in this unique opportunity.”
They ducked into the same VIP room as yesterday. Conner raised a brow questioningly. “What’s this all about?”
Lou cleared his throat. “Are you the kind of man who likes…private parties, Mr. Rothchild?”
His brows rose higher. “That depends on who’s invited.”
“Men such as yourself. Wealthy. Discriminating. Discreet.”
Suddenly, it hit him. Good Lord. If this was going where he thought it was going, the Parker case just got a huge break. “Go on.”
“The ladies are of the highest caliber, of course. Only the best, most beautiful women are in attendance. Women who will cater to your every whim.”
Lou looked at him expectantly, the man’s crude excitement coming through loud and clear. Whether it was excitement over the prospect of the power he wielded over helpless beautiful women, or the prospect of all the money Conner would have to spend to attend that shindig, he couldn’t guess. Suzie Parker had told him the attendees paid five thousand dollars each for an invitation to these exclusive gentlemen’s house parties.
But Conner was a very, very rich man. He could get any woman he wanted for no more than the cost of a drink. His reputation was well-known.
He shrugged, playing it cool. “There’s only one woman I’m interested in catering to me,” he said, feigning indifference to the whole thing. “And I’ve been told in no uncertain terms she doesn’t do private parties. Of any kind.”
Lou’s eyes narrowed, his lip curling. After a brief pause, he said, “What if I could change her mind?”
Whoops. Not the direction Conner’d meant to go. He scrambled for a reason to refuse, but Lou beat him to the draw.
“I’ll make you a deal. If she’ll do a party here in the VIP room with you, you’ll give my other invitation a try.” Because he was so sure after one visit, Conner’d be sucked into the decadence.
Hell, that’s what a man got for cultivating his reputation as a player and a heartbreaker all over town. Which, ironically enough, he’d done in order to avoid breaking hearts. He’d never been interested in hanging with one woman for more than a few days.
Before now.
Temptation loomed large. On both counts.
This was an unprecedented opportunity to help Suzie Parker by witnessing firsthand what she’d been forced to do. To gather hard evidence against the culprits running these parties and shut them down for good. So other innocent girls weren’t caught in the trap, lured by the money into selling themselves short.
Not to mention being able to have Vera all to himself in the VIP room, driving him crazy with her delectable body, dancing up close and personal.
Except she’d be madder than a coyote if Lou made her do it. She’d probably never speak to Conner again.
Which could, of course, solve that other problem. The one where he was about to throw away his whole life to have her. No sense doing that if she wasn’t even speaking to him.
He hesitated. Just long enough for Lou to pull out his cell phone and make a three-word call. “Send her up.”
Oh, crap.
Vera was sitting at the dressing-room mirror touching up her makeup and listening to Tawni prattle on about some man she’d just met. Some computer IT guy from New Orleans.
“Always wanted to visit the Big Easy,” Tawni said. “Do you think I should go?”
“Is he married?” Vera asked.
Tawni flung out a hand. “Who cares? We’re not talking about having the guy’s kid, here, just a little fling!”
“Which can lead to all sorts of heartache for everyone involved, especially if he’s married,” Vera pointed out. “I’d ask before I even considered it.”
Tawni sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Wouldn’t want to have my eyes scratched out by some dumb punter’s irate wife.”
“Very sensible.”
“What about your guy?”
“I have no guy.”
Tawni snorted. “Yeah? Then who was Mr. Tall, Rich and Handsome in the front row drooling into his champagne? For the second night in a row, I might add. The one whose ten-million-dollar mansion you happen to