Weekend in Vegas!: Saving Cinderella!. Jackie Braun
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All right? You’ll tell me?”
He was expecting her to do something meek. She was clearly vulnerable right now. Instead she looked up, a mischievous expression lit her eyes, and she laughed. “You have got to be kidding. I can’t think of too many women who would think you were getting out of line for merely kissing them.”
He frowned. “I went from dancing with you straight to kissing you, and it was turning rather…fiery.”
Her smile froze. “Yes, it was.”
“I was on the verge of taking it further.”
Alex looked to the side. “Um, well, yes, I was on the verge, too. And that’s my point,” she said, taking a visible breath and looking at him again. She reached out and tapped him on the chest with her index finger. Actually poked him. “This isn’t about what you were doing. This is about me being in control of myself and knowing my limits. I am and I do.”
“Of course.”
“I mean it. I’m not doing something stupid with you.”
She sounded so incensed and miffed that he couldn’t help smiling. “Understood.”
“Under no circumstances am I kissing you again or getting all hot and bothered or…”
“Yes.”
Alex looked directly into his eyes. She crossed her arms. “Well, I think it’s been a very full day, Mr. McKendrick, with more to do tomorrow. I think I’d better go inside now.”
“Of course,” he said. “I agree. Good night, Alexandra.” His tone was totally calm. He sounded as if he had been completely unaffected by what had just happened here. He wanted to be unaffected, had to be. But as he left her, heat still pulsed through him. He wanted to kiss her again.
Alex was trying her best not to think about what had happened last night, but every time she tried not to think about Wyatt, her lips burned, her arms ached, her whole body…yearned.
“Stupid,” she muttered.
“Something wrong?” Randy asked.
“Nothing,” she lied. If her body had been a building, flames would have been shooting through the roof.
“I just heard through the grapevine that the owners of Champagne are upgrading all of their furnishings and offering a complimentary chocolate dessert buffet for their guests every night. They’re determined to win the award.”
“Does Wyatt know?”
“Wyatt knows everything, but if it matters to him he’s not showing it.”
But Alex knew that it mattered. McKendrick’s was his creation, a wonderful creation. Why shouldn’t he care?
“You stupid kid! You idiot!”
The yell came from across the lobby. A harried-looking mother with a baby and two little ones cried out as a man rose up above a small boy of maybe five. The little boy looked up in fear. An empty soda cup lay at his feet, a puddle of liquid pooling over a stack of papers. “This is my work. Lady, your stupid kid has ruined days of work, and I—”
The cords on the man’s neck stood out. The boy cowered against his mother, who tried to reach out to him, but she was hampered by having her arms full with her other children.
“It’s okay, Denny,” she said, trying to substitute soothing words.
“It’s not okay,” the man said, bending over to get into the child’s face. “You’re an idiot, you know that? It’s going to take me weeks to replace all of this.”
Alex could hear the boy whispering loudly, “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.” Teary, desperate puffs of words. Her heart cracked. Anger rose up within her.
There was someone heading straight toward the concierge desk, obviously in need of assistance, but Alex didn’t even stop to see who it was. She flew across the lobby toward the little boy, squeezing herself between the man and the child and jostling them both in the process.
“Don’t listen, sweetheart,” she told the boy in a soft, low voice. “I’m sure it was just an accident. They happen. To all of us.”
“Butt out, lady,” the man said. “It’s not just an accident to me. I want somebody to fix this. Now. And I want his parents to pay me for what this little jerk did.”
She felt the man’s big, hard hand close around her bicep, but she didn’t turn to look at him, even though her heart was beating fast. The little boy looked as if he was going to faint. His mother was starting to cry and desperately trying to find someplace safe to put her younger ones so she could get to her son.
Alex heard a woman gasp. Turning to look, she saw Wyatt moving toward her, his eyes like missiles targeted on the man.
“If you don’t get your hand off her right now and back away from that child, you’re going to find yourself in police custody very quickly. Almost immediately. I can guarantee that.”
Wyatt’s low but deadly voice cut through the crowd and a silence fell over the room. His expression was dark and fierce, his eyes narrowed. They flickered only slightly as he took in Alex and the boy and seemed to decide that they were all right. Then, as she quickly took the little boy by the hand and led the mother and her children over to a nearby couch, Wyatt turned his attention fully to the red-faced man.
“My papers are ruined,” the man whined.
“That’s regrettable. It’s unfortunate that you don’t have copies.” But Wyatt’s voice sounded anything but sympathetic.
“I do, but not here.”
“Yet you terrorized a child, one of my guests.”
“I’m one of your guests.”
Wyatt’s eyes were green ice. “Not anymore. Any money you’ve spent here will be refunded, but you’re not welcome at McKendrick’s.”
“I have a reservation.”
“And I have a hotel. My hotel trumps your reservation. Get out.” He gave one quick look to the side, and instantly two security guards stepped out of a nearby foyer.
The man muttered a low, foul epithet, but he began to gather up his soggy papers as the guards approached. Wyatt asked another employee to take down the man’s information. Then he turned to Alex, the woman and the little boy.
The woman looked as if life had been beating her up lately. “I—Thank you,” she said to Alex and Wyatt. “Oh…here, I’ll take her.” The woman’s littlest moppet—maybe three years old at best—had crawled onto Alex’s lap, her thumb in her mouth.
“It’s all right. She’s fine,” Alex said, stroking the child’s silken curls. “She’s adorable. And so is Denny.”
Denny hung his head.
“He’s clumsy now and then,” his mother said, still a bit teary, “but he’s a good boy.”
“And he’s very brave,” Wyatt said, squatting down in front of the child. “Accidents happen, son,” he said. “When I was your age, they happened to me all the time.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “For real?”
The desperation in his voice made Alex remember what it was like to be very young and do something humiliating in public. Children hadn’t yet learned how to shrug that kind of thing off. The shame could resurface in thoughts years later.
“Oh, yeah,” Wyatt said. “I once spilled red fruit punch on my uncle’s white suit. It was his favorite, and I ruined it.”
“What happened?” the boy whispered.
Wyatt hesitated. “I grew up. You will, too. You should be careful, but the man was wrong to talk to you like that. All of us make mistakes. He’ll