The Last Dance You Saved

by LJ Evans

Genres: Billionaires Romance; Small-town Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

RAFE

I swore I’d never go back to the ranch that brought me nothing but pain and heartbreak. But when my brother dies in a mysterious accident, what choice do I have?

Once I’m there, it isn’t just seeing how my daughter flourishes that cracks open old wounds. It’s the woman with bluebell-colored eyes who shows me just how empty my life has become.

SADIE

When the jewels in my grandmother’s attic lead me on an adventure to find our family’s roots, I never expect it to cost me my heart. And now that a tormented cowboy and his lonely daughter have claimed it, a little danger won’t scare me off.

If Rafe thinks he can send me away to keep me safe, he’s got a few things to learn about the Hatley family. We don’t disappear when the worst hits. We double down and fight for the win.

And with love at stake, I’m willing to bet it all.

Release date: February 5, 2025

Publisher: LJ Evans Books

Print pages: 466

Sample

Chapter One

Sadie

 

WONDER WOMAN

Performed by Miley Cyrus

 

As I stepped up to the line, carefully weighted dart in hand, a wild scream from the back of the bar had me glancing over my shoulder to the two burly men chanting my name. Naked from the waist up, they thrust their arms in the air, causing their overflowing bellies with Tennessee Darlin’ written on them to jiggle. They had bandanas with the Tennessee flag on them tied around their heads, and their cheeks were ruddy from the alcohol they’d happily consumed.

I hid my disbelief by winking at them and then turned back to the dart board exactly seven feet, nine and a quarter inches away. I hadn’t expected anyone to know me, let alone call my name during this tournament. It’d been a few years since I’d been on the professional dart circuit. The piddly little competitions I’d entered in the last six months were nothing. Locals having a bit of fun. Teenagers trying to dip a foot into the scene. While I’d pulled together some wins in those smaller events, I was still a long way from the old Sadie who’d taken the circuit by storm.

The Marquis Vegas Open was the first time in three years I’d entered an event that might put me back on the Professional Dart Association of America’s charts that I’d first ranked on when I was sixteen. I’d moved up consistently while I’d been in college until I’d left the circuit due to the hell that had rained down on me. Hell I was still fighting through.

The smug look on the face of the man standing off to the side, waiting for me to blow it, brought me back from panicked thoughts that might have derailed me. For two days, I’d bitten my tongue and dealt with his ego while I’d let his expression fuel me. It was just like my older brothers when they thought they had me beat. He’d learn, just like they had, that when it came to darts, out of practice or not, I hit the mark when it counted.

My mind narrowed on the distance to the board, focusing on my arm and the dart balanced in my fingers. I rotated my shoulder and my wrist and then let it fly.

I knew as soon as it left my hand where it was going to land. I was already smiling as it arrowed into the required double bed with a soft whoosh. I didn’t need to hear the chalker’s, “Game shot,” to know I’d won, but relief flew through me when I did.

I hadn’t embarrassed myself. I’d proven I could do it again. A lightning bolt of adrenaline raced through my veins, bringing the same wild joy that came from leaping over a stream bareback on a galloping horse. For a handful of seconds, I reveled in it.

Success. Accomplishment. A rub in the face of my smug competitor and all the others who’d whispered I couldn’t come back.

But just as quickly as the lightning had appeared, it sped away, leaving nothing but the singe of ozone in the air and the loneliness of a gray sky. The triumph of the win that I used to live on for days, that wicked sense of glory, was missing.

Behind me, the naked-chested men broke into the lyrics to the Osborne Brothers’ “Rocky Top”—one of Tennessee’s many anthems—and I felt another quick flash of accomplishment. I dug out a piece of my old self enough to dance a little two-step in their direction, and it sent more cheers through the crowd. I curtseyed, and the two shirtless men hollered some more. It was an ego boost, for sure, but fleeting as their cheers came from seeing a shell perform rather than acknowledging the complicated mess that existed inside me.

My competitor stepped up, shook my hand, and said with a chagrinned look, “My manager said not to underestimate the Tennessee Darlin’. He said he’d watched tapes of you from back in twenty-three and was certain you were the real deal. I guess he was right.”

“Could have gone either way with that last throw,” I told him truthfully.

“You knew just what you were doing. You stayed cool and collected the entire time. Accept the win. You deserve it.”

Another brief flicker of that old excitement tried to leap into existence but couldn’t quite take hold. As the competitors grabbed their bags and left, I fought a strange urge to cry. Why had the win felt so empty when before it had fueled me for days?

From a hallway leading to the back of the club, a brown-haired man emerged, striding toward me with a confidence that had heads turning. In an expensive suit, fancy shoes polished to a shine, and a lavender dress shirt opened to reveal a hint of tan skin, he exuded a smooth charm. In Las Vegas, it could have come off as smarmy, but instead, he looked like a cover model. An actor. Someone famous who was blessing us with his presence.

Watching him stride toward me, my knees did something they’d never done, even after downing three shots with Willy at my bar back in Willow Creek—they wobbled. Maybe it was the way the man’s focus was completely on me as he approached, or maybe it was simply the intensity of his warm chocolate gaze as he took me in. Either way, a buzz I was unaccustomed to ran down my spine as he stopped beside me.

His chiseled jawline was shadowed by a meticulously clipped beard, one layer past scruff, that emphasized the straight, strong lines of his face. The near perfection was marred only by a slight crook at the top of his nose where it must have been broken and never fixed, but that asymmetry only seemed to add to his sex appeal.

“Miss Hatley, congratulations,” he said. Highly kissable lips curved into a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes but showed off white teeth and a single dimple that made my heart stampede.

He extended a large hand, and as soon as I placed my fingers in his palm, a rush of lightning spun through me again—far stronger than the brief hit of adrenaline I’d felt from the win. This flash was so vivid, so real, I could almost hear thunder rolling and see the summer storm crashing over the hills behind the ranch.

His gaze jerked down to our joined hands as if he’d felt it too, but when he looked back up, his expression was almost blank, as if he’d drawn a curtain down over his emotions.

“Thanks, and you are?” I asked, happy to find my voice was steady even though I was shaking inside. The turbulent pull he caused settled low and warm in my stomach. When was the last time I’d felt this kind of instant attraction for someone? Had I ever felt it this strongly?

His smile turned into a slow, rumbling chuckle, emerging from his broad chest in a way that made the tempest inside me swell another notch. “Rafe Marquess. I sponsored the tournament.”

Before I could respond, a blonde woman in a red cocktail dress that clung to generous curves came hurrying over with a large trophy. She slid up next to Rafe, batted her eyes at him, and said, “Here’s the award for the press photo.”

“Thanks, Mindy.”

He didn’t even glance her way. Instead, his gaze remained locked on me, as if he was searching for the answer to a question he hadn’t asked. He handed me the trophy and waved toward a handful of reporters who were waiting for this photo-op moment. Behind the press, the audience had dwindled, but the two men with my nickname on their bellies were still belting out the Osborne Brothers song on repeat.

As we faced the cameras, my shoulder brushed Rafe’s, and tingles slid up my arm and down into my chest. When I was tempted to do something completely embarrassing, like touch him more to see if I could get that buzz to turn into a full-blown flame, I turned my focus to the trophy. It was shaped like the Las Vegas sign and even had a neon strip lighting it up.

Once upon a time, trophies had meant something to me. Now, with the rush of the win having dissipated so quickly, I was left solely with the pleasure of knowing the twenty-five-thousand-dollar purse would be in my bank account by the end of the night.

I smiled as the cameras flashed and took a moment to answer a couple of questions sent my way. It took all of five minutes for the media to get what they wanted. As they finished up, my two fans made their way down to the last level of seats in the amphitheater-style bar. The two men waved me toward them with Sharpies and programs in hand.

When I looked up at Rafe, his lips were twisted upward again. Not quite a grin, but something close. “Your fans are waiting.”

“Who knew a has-been like me could still draw them in.”

Surprise drifted over his face before his hungry gaze traveled slowly over me once more, taking in the prim blue button-down top, dark dress pants, and black shoes I’d worn to meet competition regulations. Every place his eyes lingered, I felt as if he’d touched me, causing my body to all but vibrate with an unexpected need and making me wonder what it would feel like if those eyes and hands were resting on my bare skin. I thought the fire might just burn me to ash.

Maybe that was exactly what I needed. To be burned down to nothing so I could reemerge like a phoenix. But then again, maybe I’d already had my chance to reemerge and missed it. Or maybe I was still ash waiting to be transformed.

Rafe’s voice lowered an octave, a sensual rhythm to it as he said, “I’d have to disagree. It would be practically impossible for someone as stunning as you to be a has-been, Ms. Hatley.”

When his stare locked with mine once again, I nearly drowned in those deep, chocolate pools. It took an enormous amount of effort to tease back. “Washed up at twenty-three.”

The hunger in his look disappeared behind that blank curtain again. “Twenty-three.” He shook his head as he said it, and I tried not to be annoyed that my age had somehow washed away his desire. His next words were cool and aloof. “Enjoy the fans. Try not to spend all your winnings at the casino’s tables.”

The words were spoken as if he was giving advice to a child. Embarrassment ran through me. It took far too long for me to come up with a response, so by the time I finally choked out, “Thanks for the advice, Dad,” he was already gone, heading into the depths of the darkened club.

Pop music replaced the quiet. A crew worked to disband the dart boards and tear up the carpet and mats to reveal a shiny black dance floor likely to be crowded with swaying bodies in a few hours. The sleek, modern club was a complete contrast to my bar back home. Here, rows of chrome tables and tufted, black-leather seats wound up to where pastel-neon strips turned the alcohol bottles into hidden gems behind the bar. One entire wall of the club was glass, displaying the sun as it set over the Las Vegas strip. Bright lights flashed from every casino lining the street as the world-renowned fountains sprayed upward.

The Marquis Club was tucked into the top, right tower of the newest Las Vegas casino. In the two years since it had opened, it had drawn the young, rich, and famous to its doors like kittens to milk. A dart tournament didn’t quite fit the vibe of the place, but the competition’s sponsor certainly had.

No arguing with the fact that Rafe was as smooth, charming, and sexy as the bar. My hormones were still skittering around inside me with unfulfilled longing from merely being in his presence. But that longing was layered with irritation, knowing he’d walked away simply because of my age.

He wasn’t the first person who couldn’t see past the number on my driver’s license. Hadn’t I encountered it repeatedly since taking over Uncle Phil’s place? The vendors who patted my arm. The fire marshal who explained things like I was two. Very few people could see past my exterior to what laid behind it. Even fewer knew that my near-death experience had left me feeling wrinkled and gray, even if the mirror didn’t show it.

I shook myself out of my reverie and made my way over to the burly brothers who’d waited patiently. They congratulated me, had me sign their stomachs in blue ink, and offered to buy me a beer. I thanked them with a large smile and said I had plans but maybe next time.

When they disappeared with hang-dog expressions, I experienced a momentary wave of homesickness. It was ridiculous to miss Tennessee when I’d only been gone three days. In a week, I’d be back. And with the money tucked into my account from this win and the little discovery I’d made while going through Uncle Phil’s things after he died, I might just be able to finagle the bank into giving me a loan for the project I’d been dreaming up.

I grabbed my bag from a nearby table before heading for the exit and the bank of elevators waiting just beyond. As the doors slid open and I stepped inside, I marveled at the antique birdcage-inspired design with the green screens behind the brass bars, displaying an exterior view of the hotel.

While The Fortress wasn’t the largest hotel and casino on the strip, it was the trendiest and, in my opinion, the most elegant. Built to resemble the tidal island of Mont Saint-Michel in France, it had a five-star hotel tucked into the spirals and towers of the island’s abbey and a casino, stores, and restaurants hiding behind the façade of the village and seawalls.

As the door of my room slammed shut behind me, my phone buzzed, and when I swiped it open, I found a handful of messages in the group chat with my siblings. Over the last few years, the chat had grown to include not only my brothers and my sister but their spouses also. Ryder, Maddox, and Gemma had all found love at unexpected moments, and sometimes, their ludicrously happy faces made my heart ache for something I’d never anticipated wanting.

RY: Sassypants, do I have to catch a plane to Vegas in order to find out what happened? Or are you celebrating by losing yourself in a shirtless fan?

 I rolled my eyes at Ryder’s dig. My fans had been fun and enthusiastic, but it wasn’t their shirtless chests that immediately flashed in my mind at his words. No, it was the annoyingly attractive Rafe Marquess. Why was it the touch of a man who’d so easily dismissed me that my body craved?

GEM: How many times do I have to say this to you? I don’t need to know about any of my siblings’ sex lives.

I smirked, tempted to torment Gemma just for the fun of it, but Maddox beat me to it.

MADS: I feel sorry for Rex, Gem-Mine. Does he even remember what sex IS after being tied to you for so long now?

GEM: Rex is completely satisfied! And damnit, you used to be on my side, Woody.

I snorted at Gemma tossing out the nickname Ryder had given our brother. Maddox hated it, even though, as both the sheriff of our small county and a life-long do-gooder, it fit.

RY: If Rex is truly satisfied, it should have removed that stick from your butt, Gem-Mine.

GEM: Keep it up, Dipshit, and I’ll make sure all the olallieberry pie is gone before you get here tomorrow morning.

The fact that my sister and her A-list-actor husband were at the ranch for a few days was just another reason I was missing being home. When I’d entered the dart competition, I hadn’t known they’d be stopping in Tennessee before heading home to LA after filming had wrapped on the movie Gemma had written.

But then again, it wouldn’t have mattered if I had known. I still would have come to Vegas. I’d needed to be here for more than the dart competition. My family just didn’t know it. I glanced over to my carry-on bag and the secrets it held. With the competition behind me, I could finally devote some more time to my research. I’d dot some more Is and cross some more Ts, and then I’d tell them about the whole knotted mess.

GIA: Hey now, Gemma, that olallieberry pie was supposed to be for me and the baby.

I smiled as I typed my response. I couldn’t help taunting my sister-in-law after the way she’d abandoned me for just such a pie on our last girls’ night.

ME: Are you going to eat it or use it for foreplay again?

RY: Who says we can’t do both?

GEM: She’s alive! Tell us how you did, Sadie, before I lose my dinner over sex talk!

ME: I won!

MADS: *** money falling from the sky GIF *** Okay, money-bags, what are you doing with all that cash?

A sense of panic hit me at the question. I had so many secrets I was keeping from my family these days when normally I was an open book. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t told them about the ideas I’d first doodled on napkins and then started to assemble into an actual business plan. Maybe because I wanted to prove I could do it on my own after being handed the bar. Maybe because, in going down this path, I was shutting doors on my past instead of reopening them like my family wished I would.

The emptiness that had quickly replaced the small sense of victory at my win returned.

With fingers that shook, I typed my response to Maddox’s question

ME: I have some plans for the land around the bar.

MCK: *** eye roll emoji *** Bar. Bar. Bar. That’s all I hear from you these days. At least spend a little of that dough on yourself. You’re in Vegas! Go shopping, buy yourself something nice, and see a show. Maybe do some of that dancing you love so much.

I hesitated. Maybe I should. Maybe it would kick the emptiness out of my soul for a few minutes before I turned to the more serious topics I planned to tackle this week.

ME: Maybe.

MCK: I saw a picture of the competition’s sponsor on the website. He looks like he’d have some nice dance moves.

Rafe’s dark-brown eyes flashed before me, sending a thrill down my spine once more.

RY: Who the hell are you talking about?

MADS: He looked like a slick asshole. This may be the one and only time I disagree with McK.

My smile grew at the protectiveness of my brothers. Even though Ryder had teased about sex at the beginning of the chat, it had only been to rile the others. He didn’t want to think about me, the baby of the family, actually having sex any more than Mads did.

ME: I need to change and get food before I pass out from starvation. Love you all.

GEM: Stay safe, Sassypants. No drinking from anything but a bottle that you open.

MADS: Maybe you shouldn’t go out alone.

GIA: Sadie is perfectly capable of kicking ass and taking names.

Gia’s faith in me swelled my heart. At my request, she’d graciously spent hours over the last year teaching me some of the offensive and defensive moves she’d learned as a former undercover agent for the NSA. Originally, it had simply been so I knew how to toss a rowdy customer from the bar without getting hurt, but it had ended up giving me back some of the confidence I’d lost.

Almost three years after being shot, I was still weak in places I hated. Still had curves and wobbles on my frame that I’d never had before spending months in recovery. But I was tighter and firmer now than I’d been last year.

Tighter and firmer in more than just my body. I finally had a plan for my future sketched too. It sometimes felt as empty as the dart championship I’d won, but it was a goal. A direction to move in that would leave behind another Hatley legacy. That had to matter, didn’t it?

As I ditched the straightlaced shirt and pants I’d needed for the competition, I stared in the closet at the other outfits I’d brought with me. They were all work clothes—jeans and T-shirts and worn cowboy boots. Not a single dress.

My phone pinged again, and I pulled it out to see a private message from my oldest brother.

RY: You know how I feel about you wasting your time and money on the bar. When are you going to figure out what you want, Sassypants? Go after your dreams instead of spending your life keeping a dying bar alive.

It was an argument we’d had multiple times over the last year. When I didn’t respond, he added on.

RY: You were right when you called me out on not living, Sads. I had closed myself off. Thanks to you, I not only have my daughter but Gia in my life and a new baby on the way. I have a family I never thought I’d have again because you knew when to push. Consider this me pushing. I want you to find your way back to your dreams too.

ME: I’m here, aren’t I? I threw again. Won again.

RY: How’d it feel?

If I told him the truth—that it felt hollow, like I’d stepped into a mirage from the past and not quite been able to pull the full joy of it around me—he’d never ease up.

ME: Amazing. I knew before the last dart landed that I’d won.

RY: Go celebrate. But be safe. And regardless of how much we tease Gemma and Mads, I don’t want to hear about it when you end up in bed with some one-night jerk-off.

I smiled, suddenly resolved to do just what my family had suggested. I’d buy a dress, get a drink, find somewhere I could line-dance, and enjoy the moment of being in the city that never slept. I doubted I’d bring someone back to my hotel room, but I’d let someone buy me a beer with a twist-off cap.

And maybe, somewhere along the way, I’d find the Sadie who’d once wanted to study international law, win the Triple Crown of Darts, and travel the world, righting wrongs. Maybe I’d turn back into that wild child who’d caused my siblings and parents to lose sleep rather than the one they counted on to help fill in for missing employees at the ranch and spent her nights pouring pints at a bar that had been in the family for over a century.

Maybe I’d figure out if the bar-owner, business-minded Sadie I’d become was really the new version of me, or if there was something else waiting around the corner that I hadn’t quite discovered yet.

 

Chapter Two

Rafe

 

YOU, ME, AND WHISKEY

Performed by Justine Moore and Priscilla Block

 

It was nearing eleven o’clock at night by the time I made my way to the piano bar tucked in the back corner of the hotel. It was always my final stop of the night after making the rounds. My routine started with The Marquis Club, with its loud music and packed dance floor, before moving on to the casino, with its jangling slots, spinning roulette wheels, shouts of customers, and clinking of glasses. I hit the registration desk and restaurants in varying order based on the needs of the staff, but I always ended my workday in the quiet of the piano bar. I’d grab a single shot of bourbon, sip it while I reviewed the daily numbers, and then head to the penthouse suite I called home before starting it all over again the next day.

Of all the businesses I’d built from the ground up in the last twelve years, this one hit all the marks I’d wanted. I was prouder of it—prouder of calling it mine—than anything I’d accomplished yet. Watching The Fortress glow in the rising and setting sun almost gave me the same feeling of peace and satisfaction I’d once had staring at a rushing waterfall and acres of rolling hills.

For a fleeting few months, it had filled the hole that taken over my life for nearly a decade and a half. But now, as the days grew long and routine grew cold, I felt the black hole creeping back over me, along with an antsy need to shovel it full of something new.

Maybe it wasn’t the tedium wearing on me as much as it was my brother’s death five months ago. Maybe being forced to step onto the hills of my childhood for his funeral had triggered this new wave of restlessness. Whichever was true, every time I watched the sun hit the spires of The Fortress now, it was the sun reflecting off the rivers on our family’s land that haunted me.

My jaw clenched, and my shoulders tightened as I reminded myself that the ranch would be gone for good by the end of the year. It would no longer have the power to attack my heart and tear through my soul. I’d have this instead—a hotel-casino brimming with life versus a ranch overflowing with nature’s solitude.

A twinge of guilt hit me at the thought of selling the land. It wasn’t at the idea of giving up a century-old legacy but because Fallon would hate me even more than she already did when it happened. My daughter would get over it, though. Marquesses were resilient. We sucked it up and did what we had to do to survive. I’d learned that at the hand of my mother, who’d fought the devil called cancer twice before she’d succumbed to it when I was eight. Survival took many forms.

My daughter would learn it just as I had.

And Lauren? Did I care what happened to my brother’s wife now that Spencer was gone?

I ignored the ache that tried to jump from behind the walls I’d built, quickening my stride along the mirrored hallway toward the back of the hotel, focusing on every minute detail to keep me present. The arrangements on gold-gilded side tables were wilting and needed to be replaced. It was the fourth time it had happened this month. Maybe the florist needed to be tossed out along with the dying blooms. Or maybe my operations manager should be exchanged for a new one if he couldn’t keep tabs on something as basic as dead flowers.

As I neared the bar, instead of the soothing lull of piano keys that I’d expected, a raucous and loud beat filled the air, causing my back to stiffen in disapproval.

As I stepped inside, it wasn’t the carefully crafted old-world charm of the bar that I saw. The warm leather furniture, brass fixtures, and bar built into mahogany bookshelves all but disappeared as my vision funneled in on a singular moving object—a woman. She was twisting and twirling through a little two-step dance, accompanied on either side by two burly men.

Annoyance and attraction leaped through my veins in equal measure.

Someone had shoved aside the custom-made piano and replaced the soft sounds of its keys with country music that blared from hidden speakers. The trio on the stage stomped their cowboy boots on my smooth marble floors to a snappy rhythm full of banjo and twang.

The black-haired vixen at their center shot a lopsided smile at the man to her right, and I was overcome with the urge to toss him from the bar simply for having had the audacity to be on the receiving end of it. The little shimmy she did was almost the same one she’d performed after winning the dart tournament earlier. The movement sent the fringed layer of her sequined dress in a million different directions while the lavender silk underlayer hugged her frame. Full hips that begged to have fingers dig into them moved gracefully while delightfully curved breasts bounced to the beat.

She was a vision. A tasty, tantalizing dream. But it wasn’t her curves that had my breath evaporating. No, it was a pair of blue eyes the same color as the California bluebells that raced over the hills of the ranch in the spring. Those eyes had mesmerized me this afternoon as I’d watched Sadie Hatley toss darts with an ease that whispered of otherworldly powers.

My stomach and groin tightened uncomfortably just as they had when I’d had her hand in mine. Walking away from her this afternoon had almost cost me a layer of skin and bone.

But she was only twenty-three. Practically an innocent babe.

You weren’t at that age, the devil inside me taunted. And I hadn’t been. I’d been a year away from opening my first club when I was twenty-three.

But I also wasn’t the norm.

Maybe she isn’t either.

Who knew? Not me. What I did know was Sadie was a distraction I couldn’t afford and certainly didn’t want.

If I wanted sex, I knew where to get it. All it took was a drink, a hotel room, and breakfast on the house that didn’t include me remaining behind to share it. The woman in front of me may scream lust and desire, but it wasn’t the kind I could slip in and out of. No, every shake of her body, every smile and laugh, screamed something more. She’d get her hooks into whoever took her to bed. They’d be unable to forget those mesmerizing eyes and the dare that seemed to reside permanently in them.

Sadie’s hand landed on the arm of the man to her left, and I recognized him and his friend as the naked-chested fans who’d been shouting her nickname at the tournament. Something bitter filled my mouth at the idea of her dancing with them here. In my hotel. In my bar.

I told myself it was simply because it was in a space that was not intended for dancing, and my devil scoffed.

I finally freed my feet from where they’d taken root and stalked through the tables. I reached the threesome just as the song ended and laughter filled the air.

“What the hell is this?” I demanded in the silence that settled down.

From off to the side, I heard Mattie, the bar’s manager, holler something I didn’t quite register. Her voice simply faded away once Sadie turned eyes on me littered with pure mischief. Impish promises flew between us—ones I absolutely wouldn’t be taking her up on.

“Line-dance lessons,” Sadie responded, and the lightness in her voice matched the curve of her lips. Upward. Joy-filled.

God, she was beautiful. And so damn alive at the moment that it burst through her like rays from the sun. What would it feel like to be that full of life for even a few seconds?

I was full of purpose and resolve, but she radiated with a vibrancy that was all about eking out enjoyment from every second.

“This is a piano bar,” I barked, feeling immediately like an idiot for stating the obvious. “This is not the time or place for any kind of dance lessons.”

Her lips quirked higher. “Don’t get your panties in a wad, Slick. We’ll put everything back to rights.”

My annoyance grew at the half-assed insult.

Mattie joined us. “They were just settling a quick bet, Rafe.”

My gaze narrowed on the dark-haired enchantress in front of me, and I growled, “Take the betting to the casino. It’s just out the doors.”

Sadie laughed. “You want me to teach line-dancing in the middle of the black jack tables?”

Her eyes actually twinkled. Who knew eyes could really do that? Her face was deliciously flushed, and the soft sweep of pink covering her high cheeks emphasized the sharp jut of her chin almost as much as the nearly black hair swirling around it did. I wanted to yank back those silky strands and expose the long column of her neck. I wanted to see if those vibrant blues would turn dark and mystical with the touch of my mouth and hands.

My annoyance at those provocative thoughts was displayed in every syllable as I said, “I don’t want you teaching line-dancing anywhere in the hotel or casino.”

Her smile widened instead of lowering at my snarl. “I paid for twenty minutes, party pooper. In exchange for interrupting their quiet, I bought everyone here a round and promised to be done by the time they’d finished.”

“Spending your prize money on alcohol isn’t any better than spending it at the tables,” I barked.

She laughed again, and the sound lodged itself deep inside me. I wanted to hear it again. I wanted to rip it away and make it permanently mine. The overwhelming strength of those notions and the unwanted feelings that came with them were what helped ease me back from the edge I felt myself slipping over. I despised all the strong emotions she’d yanked out of me today. I’d learned the hard way to keep them wrapped tight.

Sadie turned to the two men on either side of her. “Sorry, Leo and Deke. I guess our lessons are over. But I promise, if you go to any country bar and slide up on the dance floor with these moves, you’ll have more dates than you can shake a stick at.”

Both men leaned in at the same time, kissing her on opposite cheeks. She blushed, and I had to fist my hands to keep myself from ripping them away from her. From a woman I didn’t know. Didn’t want to know. A woman I needed to get out of my bar, my hotel, and my life before something terrible happened. Before I lost control completely. Lost everything all over again. And these days, I had way more to lose than I once had. I had billions spread across the globe rather than a few acres of hills and valleys.

The men thanked her, gave me another glance, and then scurried out of the bar.

Sadie shook her head and turned to Mattie. “Let me help you put things back.”

My bar manager fought off a smirk as she said, “Dan and I got it. Go get that drink you paid for and never received.”

Sadie seemed to hesitate for a brief second before she ran a hand down the beaded fringe of her sexy-as-sin dress and stepped away from the makeshift dance floor toward the bar.

I watched every step, noticing with surprise that Mattie’s assistant bartender pushed a finger of amber liquid rather than a fruit-filled mixed drink her way. I liked the idea of her drinking my bourbon. Liked what those perky lips would taste like if I slid my tongue over them afterward.

I hated how much I wanted to do just that. How much I wanted her.

She slid onto the stool, and that delightfully flirty dress rode up just enough to give me a glimpse of a toned thigh. I turned away, gritted my teeth, and helped Mattie and Dan the Piano Man wheel the baby grand back into place.

Mattie whispered, “She paid for a round for the entire bar. It was a harmless diversion. A handful of songs at most.”

“And a first-time customer who wandered in hoping for a quiet place to relax and heard that racket would have walked right back out and not returned.”

Mattie didn’t reply, but she did shoot me a remorseful glance before heading for the bar.

Knowing I’d made too much of the incident only irritated me more as I sank into the corner booth in the darkest part of the room with the permanent ‘reserved’ sign resting on the table. It was my booth. My bar. My casino. My rules. I pulled my phone from my pocket, opened my management app, and attempted to scroll through the daily numbers. But I wasn’t really seeing them.

My attention kept wandering to the bar, watching as Mattie said something to Sadie that made the vixen throw her head back and laugh. It was quiet enough that I couldn’t hear the sound of it across the room with the piano at work. My chest ached to hear the tinkling chimes, my body grew tight at the unfulfilled expectation, and my mind pushed it all away.

Sadie rose from the stool, turning so I could see she had two rocks glasses in her hands. My shoulders tensed even more, knowing before she’d even taken a step in my direction that she was coming to me, bringing me the one glass I allowed myself to savor each night.

She set the drinks on my table and slid into the booth without an invitation.

“Drink’s on me,” she said with a lopsided smile that caused my heart to backfire.

I scoffed. “It’s all on me.”

Her lips instantly flattened, the happy look replaced with an assessing one that I worried, for two beats, might actually see beyond my exterior walls. I instinctively reinforced them, tucking away every emotion. I’d be damned if she’d read any of it. Not the lust. Not the poetry that sprung to mind whenever those eyes met mine. Not even the irritation I felt for her ruining my peace.

“Mattie told me you own the place. Pretty young to have your own casino,” she said. I wasn’t sure if it was a taunt because of what I’d said earlier about her age, an attempt to wheedle her way into my life, or just conversation.

I didn’t respond. I just met her stare with my own as I fought the desire to drag her around the booth and kiss her until those crystal-clear eyes turned cloudy, and the taste of bourbon on her lips was replaced with the taste of me.

She looked away first, fiddling with a strand of fringe on her dress before glancing back up. “I own a bar. My family owns a…hotel of sorts. It’s a lot of work. You never really get a break. You’re always on.”

Every time I thought I had her sorted and pegged, she surprised me. “You own a bar?”

She huffed out another laugh, impish lips twisting upward again. “I inherited it from my uncle. It’s been in the family for over a hundred years.”

“What are you doing on the dart circuit, then?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. I silently cursed myself. I needed her to go, not invite her to stay and spill her guts.

“I needed the money,” she said with a careless shrug that had the dress’s tiny strap slipping to the edge of her shoulder, tempting me to tug it down or rip it completely off. “What are you doing sponsoring a dart competition?”

I pulled my eyes up to her face. “My operations manager insisted the television coverage would be good advertisement. But I won’t host it again.”

It hadn’t brought the type of crowd I wanted to The Fortress. It brought bare-chested mountain men who drank beer from ridiculous hats. It brought impish vixens who screamed temptation.

“Doesn’t look like you need advertisement,” she said, glancing around at the completely occupied booths.

Even without the dart competition, the hotel would have been fully occupied, just like every available seat at the casino tables was taken, and my restaurants had a waitlist. But I knew, more than anyone, how fast that could change. I had successful bars that had turned into duds and clubs that only pulled in profit when a steady stream of ad revenue was sent their way. Keeping everything in the black was a balancing act that took both hard reins and soft hands. It was a heady dance different than the one I’d spent my formative years performing with the unbroken horses on the ranch, but still a dance.

Once again, she filled my nonresponse with another question. “Do you ever take a moment off? To breathe? To just relax?”

Ever since she’d walked into the club the day before with her dart case in hand, she’d worn a smile. Most of the time, it had been as light and alive as the one she’d had while dancing with the two fans moments ago, but once in a while, I’d seen the smile slip. Seen a glimpse of something deeper, darker that lingered for a moment before the smile returned. It made her all the more attractive.

Sadie ran a hand through thick strands, tucking them behind an ear, and then looked up at me with an expression brimming with hunger—that same longing that had been zinging through me since the moment she’d shown up in my club with a dart case in hand.

“I don’t get to relax very often,” she said. “My siblings told me to celebrate. Hence the dress.” She waved down at the sparkling concoction dancing with a light that couldn’t compete with her internal one. “And the drink.” She picked up the glass, tossed back the remaining contents, and put it down before meeting my gaze head on again. “And you.”

The desire smoldering in me burst into an inferno at those two simple words.

I’d had plenty of women come on to me over the years, but I’d never had this visceral of a reaction to one.

I wanted her. She wanted me. We were two consenting adults, years past the legal age regardless of the gap that laid between her twenty-three years and my thirty-five. Would tasting her douse the fire she’d flamed, or would it leave a burn I’d feel for days? Months? Years?

“They should call you the Tennessee Hurricane rather than Tennessee Darlin’,” I grunted out, trying to reel myself back in. Reel us both in.

“Afraid of a little wild west blowing over you, Slick?” My body erupted all over again at the dare she accompanied by another mischievous smile.

In another lifetime, before I’d weighed and measured every single decision, every penny, every plan, every purchase, I’d been extremely good at accepting dares. I dare you to jump off the cliff into the creek. I dare you to ride bareback on the unbroken stallion. I dare you to kiss me. That last dare had changed my life. Cracked it apart. Shattered it until only one good thing emerged from the ashes.

This dare, issued from a sparkling, vibrant woman who lived thousands of miles away and would be gone on the next plane ride out of Vegas, was nothing compared to that one. And maybe it was all those reasons, the man I’d once been as much as who I was now, that had me accepting that dare, even knowing I wasn’t seeing all the odds.

At the moment, all that mattered was the ache I had for her. The ache to hold onto someone who allowed life to pour over them. I wanted it to drown me for a few hours before I returned to the empty void my mistakes had carved into me.

I shoved my phone into my suit jacket and stood. I registered her disappointment, thinking I was leaving, just as I felt her body jolt when my palm slid along her nape. I lowered my mouth so it caressed the shell of her ear and said, “You should be more careful what you gamble with, Tennessee.”

A shiver ran through her, but she twisted her face to mine, bringing our lips so close I could almost taste the liquor on them before she whispered, “I think I can beat the odds.”

The fires that had been licking through me burned viciously. I let out a savage growl, low and dark, as I took her elbow and practically yanked her from the booth. She had the audacity to laugh. Light and elvish. Charming and sweet. But I ate sweet for breakfast and spit it out before lunch, and she’d find that out soon enough.

 

Chapter Three

Sadie

 

HEELS IN HAND

Performed by Priscilla Block

 

Rafe’s hand on my elbow shot pure lust through my veins. While it had been a really long time since I’d tangled my body with a man’s, I knew for a fact I’d never felt anything this strong before. This heady. This addicting.

I wanted to feel his touch on every inch of me.

That thought sobered me up slightly. Not that I was drunk—I’d only had that single glass of bourbon. No, the high I felt was all for Rafe and his dark, broody intensity. I wanted to see what the carefully leashed man in a pressed suit looked like when he let his feral growls have full rein. I wanted him to demand I forget everything but him and his caresses. But the realization that his hands would find the scars covering a portion of my body had me slowing down as we headed down the corridor.

As if thinking of the wounds had brought them to life, the limp I still fought when exhausted found its way to the surface. I saw it reflected in the shiny brass elevator doors as we made our way toward them, and Rafe’s all-seeing eyes caught it before I’d been able to rein it in.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. When I looked up, desire still burned, but his expression was twined with a concern that I hated. I didn’t want concern tonight. Or gentleness. Or pity. God, pity would be the worst. I’d had enough of that after I’d been shot.

I raised a single brow, smiled my best smile, and let loose my full Southern accent as I said, “Nope. Not hurting. Just have an old gunshot wound that acts up now and again.”

For a moment, several long heartbeats, he didn’t seem to register what I’d said, and then something glorious happened. The scowl he’d been wearing ever since walking into the piano bar broke apart, and a smile emerged. Full and beautiful with that single-sided dimple that had set my pulse rate zooming earlier and increased it to full throttle once more.

“Trying to take back your ante, Tennessee?” Clearly, he thought I was joking. But he’d find out the truth soon enough, and he might be the one to withdraw. I hadn’t risked showing them to anyone until now, but they still weren’t pretty, even all these months later.

“You know us wild-west women, Slick. Gun shots don’t slow us down.”

And then something even more miraculous happened—he laughed. He’d done it earlier when we’d been in the upstairs bar, but that had been reserved and half-hearted. This felt real and full, and I swore the world stopped. Everything around us slipped out of focus as his rumble weaved through me. Deep. Enthralling. Full of hidden promises I wanted to explore.

The elevator doors opened, we stepped inside, and he waved his phone at the panel. The digital display requested a code, and he hesitated for a second before punching it in. The green screen behind the brass bars shifted, displaying the view of the strip as we zipped upward.

My heart thudded against my chest as our eyes met. I swore I could see fire in his depths. I almost expected him to haul me to him and kiss me right then and there, but instead, he ran a single finger from my shoulder to my elbow and back. Just that simple action made my thighs quiver. I swallowed the nervousness that tried to flutter to life and stepped forward to eliminate the distance that remained between us, but his palm landed on my chest, halting me. He glanced up at the corner of the elevator.

“Not here. But once the door of my suite shuts, there won’t be a place on you I won’t touch.” The promise in his voice was a sensual purr.

The bell dinged, and the doors swooshed open. He held them for me, meeting my gaze with a heated one. “Last chance, Tennessee. Are you in, or are you out?”

I didn’t even hesitate. I simply stepped out of the elevator, causing his jacket to brush against my bare arm as I went by, sending off another million sparks throughout my body.

“I’m not folding,” I tossed back. “Are you?”

He didn’t answer with words, but he stepped out beside me and tugged my hand into his, fingers twining with mine in a way that made me ache all over. Not just in my body, but in my heart and soul. And suddenly, at the very worst time, I realized I truly wanted what my siblings had found—a forever after. But that wasn’t what this was tonight. This was simply a few hours of passion and sin and forgetfulness.

Only one door existed on this floor of the hotel, and when he unlocked it with a wave of his phone, it revealed a penthouse suite at the top of the hotel’s spiral. The small entryway was layered with golden marble. An ornate mirror hung over a Baroque table dwarfed by a huge floral display in whites and golds. Short steps led down into a living area where two walls of glass revealed the night sky aglow with the neon lights of the strip far below us. The stunning view of the Las Vegas streets gave way to a midnight shadow that hid the peaks of mountains in the distance.

The living room was decorated with the same mix of eighteenth-century Baroque and 1920s Art Deco as the rest of the hotel, except the luxury here was ratcheted up to a whole new level. A Monet that I thought might be an original hung on the wall, Fabergé eggs encrusted with diamonds and rubies graced the side tables, and Tiffany lamps with vibrant geometric forms cast warm light over hand-woven rugs covering portions of the marble floors.

My cowboy boots clacked loudly in the quiet as I dropped my clutch on a side table and headed for the wall of glass. Not a single outside sound could be heard, and yet I still imagined them. The drunken laughter of the people carousing from casino to casino. The jangle of the slots spilling onto the streets. The music of the fountains.

“Nice view, Slick.”

In the reflection of the glass, I saw Rafe take off his jacket and lay it neatly and precisely on the back of the couch. He stood for a moment, hands in his pockets, as if he was debating one last time whether he wanted to go through with this. I raised a brow, cocking my head sideways, and his eyes locked on mine in the window.

“I don’t bring people here,” he said, looking away for several long seconds before crossing the room in two purposeful strides. He came to a stop right behind me. Two warm hands found my arms, sliding slowly and tantalizingly upward, caressing my shoulders. “I certainly don’t bring women into my space. But for some damn reason, I wanted to see you here, up against my glass. Bare.”

I’d hardly had time to register the words, to have them land in my heart like an arrow, before his fingers slid under the thin straps of my dress and, with a smooth jerk, broke them both. The neckline sagged, and with a gasp, I caught it before it could reveal my chest.

His head dipped, and hungry lips found the curve of my neck where it met my shoulder. Warm. Wet. Strong. My legs wobbled, my core clenched, and his dark eyes held mine in the hazy reflection. Holy hell, he’s going to devour me in the best possible way, I thought just as he yanked on the hem of my dress, pulling it from my hands and dropping it so that it puddled around my cowboy boots. 

When I tried to turn around, those strong hands captured my waist, keeping me facing the window. Every part of me was achy. Scorching. Yearning to touch as much as I was being touched. His mouth and fingers seared separate paths along every sensitive nerve.

A mewl escaped me. A sound I’d never made before and was almost embarrassed to have done until I saw, in the reflection, the way his lips curved upward. He tangled a hand in my hair, tugging my head backward, not quite cruelly but not gently either, so this time when our eyes met briefly, there was no glass between us. This time, it was all real connection. All fires and brimstone.

And then that delicious mouth found mine.

If I’d thought those lips were sensual and hot on my skin, the way they took command of my mouth was out of this world. Powerful. Hungry. Claiming ownership. God…he could easily ruin me. I panicked for a heartbeat, and then his tongue was demanding entrance, and I simply gave in to whatever was going to happen. My lashes fluttered shut as I accepted each stroke, each taunt, each delightful tease.

Time stood still as I lost myself to the single most beautiful, most potent, most incredible kiss of my life. One that would brand itself into my soul and stay there for an eternity.

When he drew back, I moaned my displeasure, lids fluttering open to meet dark and stormy depths. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment you walked into the club yesterday,” he growled, and then he was incinerating me again with demanding lips.

When I twisted again, to touch as much as I was being touched, he let me. The grip on my hair disappeared as his hands found my waist, fingertips digging into the skin, while his kiss led me on a decadent trip to sin and salvation. I blindly tugged at the buttons on his shirt, desperate to find skin.

My back hit the cool glass as his mouth dipped, trailing down my neck and chest. A flick of tongue and teeth had a tortured cry escaping me. He lifted me up, and my legs automatically surrounded his waist, my dress barely dangling from one boot. The thin lace scrap at my core pressed into his zipper sent another shockwave through me.

With his hands and arms so close to the scars on my right side, I hesitated again. As if sensing it, he drew back, eyeing me.

“What’ll it be, Tennessee?”

The fact that he was still giving me an out at every turn only made me want him more. My only response was a kiss fueled by need, daring him not to stop. Daring him to continue until we’d both gone over the wild edge I could already feel approaching.

With an ease that spoke to sculpted and carved muscles I’d been unable to glimpse in their full glory yet, he carried me away from the windows, down a hall, and through a darkened doorway. My legs flexed around him, and for the first time, I heard a grunt of pleasure escape him.

It filled me with power. Control. Desire.

I wanted to see him completely unleashed. I wanted to see him unraveled just like he was unraveling me.

He hit a switch with his elbow, and a room done in satiny blues and shiny golds came briefly into focus. He broke our embrace, setting me down on a mahogany dresser and putting a hint of distance between us. He pulled his shirt out of his pants, and I caught a glimpse of a flat, tanned stomach with muscled ridges and a delightful V pointing downward to where his pants tented, revealing his reaction to our heated embrace.

When I reached for the buttons on his shirt, craving more of the alluring visual, he pushed my hands away. His dark-chocolate gaze ate me up, dancing over my heaving chest, sliding over the curves of my stomach and hips I’d worked hard to return to their former shape over the last year.

I knew the moment he found the scars, because his breath caught. His hand landed on the largest one where the bullet had entered before stroking the crisscrossing white lines along my upper thigh. Because some of my nerve endings had never recovered, I couldn’t feel everywhere he touched, but I could still see every brush of his fingers. It was almost more enticing this way, to feeling nothing in some places and then suddenly have other parts erupt in an explosion of lightning.

“What the hell is this, Tennessee?” Anger and concern dripped through every syllable. “You were serious? You were shot?”

His dark brows furrowed together. Just as I just reached up to soothe them with my finger, just as I started to tell him it was nothing when we both knew it wasn’t, the sound of the penthouse door slamming shut rattled through the space.

His head jerked toward the bedroom door as a female voice rang out. “Dad?”

Shock reverberated through me. He had a kid? Did that mean he had a wife too?

Panic spread over his face before it rippled with frustration and then closed off completely.

The next thing I knew, I’d been torn from the dresser, and my dress was shoved into my hands.

“Stay here. Get dressed. I’ll come and tell you when it’s safe to leave.”

The door shut with a firm and yet quiet click behind him.

I stared at the back of it, lust turning to embarrassment that dissolved into fury.

What the actual fuck?

“What are you doing here, Fallon?” I heard him demand. His voice was dark and full of the same startled irritation I had swelling in me. I couldn’t hear his daughter’s response, but I heard his deep, furious exclamation. “You did what?”

Their argument drifted farther away. I looked down at the dress in my hands with its broken straps. Humiliation brought tears that I blinked back. No way in hell was he going to find me crying. No. Way.

I slipped into the shimmering dress I’d been so happy to buy, allowing my anger to grow. I moved to the mirror over the dresser, found the broken straps, and tied them behind my neck in a way that would at least hold the top up until I got to my room. My cheeks were flaming. My hair was mussed. My mouth was bright red from the sensual kisses we’d shared.

I would have been happy to see this reflection if we’d finished what we’d started. I’d wanted one unforgettable night with a stunning man. If we’d been able to spend a few hours together, I would have left without ever knowing he had a kid…and maybe a wife. God damnit.

I’d lived nearly three years without sex. Lived three years growing the courage to let someone see my battered body, and this was what I got for it? Some asshole sleeping around on his wife? Some jerkwad who’d brought me back to his home and stripped me bare in his living room where his daughter could easily have caught us with my naked back up against the glass?

Asshole.

I had to squeeze my eyelids tight to keep the tears of anger and mortification from leaking out. I didn’t want him to see them and think I was sad. Screw that. I was furious.

I was almost tempted to walk out the door, down the hall, and slam my way out of the penthouse, leaving him to explain to his daughter just who I was and what we’d been doing. It would serve him right.

But it wouldn’t be fair to her.

And I needed my room key, which was in my clutch sitting on a table.

Would she notice? Would he remember to grab it?

I paced by the door, waiting in the quiet, and my temper grew the more minutes that passed.

Without my phone or any visible clock in the room, I could only guess how long I stood there before the doorknob turned.

He looked…stoic. The wall that had covered every emotion earlier this evening had returned in greater force. But his words were full of regret. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to leave.”

He had my clutch in his hands. I grabbed it and pushed past him. Even furious, with my body trembling now with anger instead of desire, the mere brush of his arm caused heat to sizzle through my veins. Those damn tears returned because what I’d experienced with him had been so beautiful. Stunning. Unimaginably powerful and real.

I stormed toward the door and felt him on my heels, and I knew without looking that he was warily scoping the living room for sight of his daughter in order to slip me out like some dirty secret. What we’d been doing wasn’t dirty. It was human and normal, and it might have been the best few hours of my life if we’d finished.

Was his daughter old enough to understand that? She’d walked into the suite on her own, unless he had a wife who he’d also greeted, and I just hadn’t heard.

That made my stomach turn.

I made it out the door, and I’d already reached the elevator and pushed the button before he caught me, tugging my elbow.

“I’m sorry, Sadie,” he offered. It was emotionless. A half-offered apology.

My chin went up. “Do you have a wife to go along with the daughter?”

At least I got a true emotion this time. Shock and anger. “If I was married, you wouldn’t have been in my home.”

It felt like it was the truth, but what the hell did I know?

The elevator pinged, and the doors opened. I stepped inside and hit the button for my floor, but he held the doors.

 “She wasn’t supposed to be here,” he said, voice low and dark and deliciously broody. “I wouldn’t have invited you up if she was.”

Somehow, that hurt even more. It shouldn’t. I’d known what this was from the moment he’d stood up in the piano bar and answered my dare. One night. He wasn’t bringing the woman he was dating home to meet his family. This was supposed to be two people sharing a few hours of pleasure and respite. And yet, the humiliating sting of being shuffled out the door like a bad seed burned through me.

“Don’t sweat it, Slick. I’m sure I can find Leo, or Deke, or some other willing partner to finish what you couldn’t.” Something a lot like fury flashed over his face before the wall came down again. I had no intention of doing anything but running back to my room and washing away the embarrassment, but he didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know that his kisses would be impossible to replace tonight. Maybe ever. Somehow, I knew that any others would seem like cheap knockoffs.

I raised a brow at his hand holding the door open.

His jaw clenched, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as if he was going to say something, but instead, he let go and stepped back. His intense gaze remained locked on me while the doors closed.

I sagged back against the wall, deflating immediately.

Stupid. The entire night had been stupid. What had I been thinking? I hadn’t come to Las Vegas to get laid. I hadn’t even really come for the dart tournament. I’d come to get answers for my family. To find the truth about our past that we may not like and may be unable to set right.

I’d forget about tonight. I’d put it behind me and concentrate on finding out if our McFlannigan ancestors had really been the liars and thieves I’d started to fear they had been. The honor my sheriff brother served with, the noble way Ryder and Gia had taken down a cartel…it might all have been for nothing if, at our core, we were nothing more than the offspring of a mob family who’d ravaged the West.

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