Showdown! : Seven Devils

by Laurie Paige

• ISBN13: 9780373245321
• ISBN10: 0373245327
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2003-04-01
• Publisher: Silhouette

Excerpts

 

"Last one," Zack Dalton reminded Lady Luck, but without much hope the fabled lady would have a change of heart and smile on him. Huh. His luck with females had been pretty sour lately. A tang of bitterness like the aftertaste of fine wine gone to vinegar lingered on his tongue. He ignored it and the accompanying pang in his heart. He'd trusted one female with that organ and had had it handed back to him last summer when his fiancée had visited relatives in Denver, met some rich guy and married him on the spot. So much for trust, loyalty and true love. His uncle Nick said all things happened for the best. Looking at it that way, he figured he'd gotten off easy, heart and pride dinged but repairable. He fed his last quarter into the slot machine, pushed the button and watched the wheels spin. They came up zilch. Okay, so he wasn't destined to be rich. That probably was for the best, he consoled himself philosophically, then chuckled at his little jest. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was midnight. The reason he was at the slots was simple. Las Vegas was truly a city that never slept. It wouldn't let him catch any zzz's, either. Too many lights, too many people, too much noise at all hours. His duty here was done and he could start home tomorrow. He'd better try for some rest, assuming he could find the elevator that would take him from the casino level to his floor far above the neon sparkle of the famous strip. He glanced around, searching for a landmark as a guide. "You dropped a coin, sir," a polite voice, very feminine, very soft, spoke from behind his left shoulder. He swiveled around on the stool and gazed into eyes rimmed by false lashes so long he wondered how the cocktail waitress could lift her eyelids. The lashes cast such deep shadows he couldn't tell what color her eyes were. The rest of her makeup was just as exaggerated, giving her a fake tan and rosily blushing cheeks that were obviously painted on. Dark roots showed along the uneven part in her blond hair. While he liked his women more natural, sort of outdoorsy, his interest was piqued by the beauty spot a half inch from one corner of her mouth. Her lips had a full, soft look in spite of the thick lipstick. The fullness coupled with the tiny mole gave her mouth a sort of vulnerability that surprised him. Even more surprising was his urge to touch her, as if he needed to be sure she was real. He had an instant, equally strong desire to kiss her. Whoa! He hadn't had that many beers, at least he didn't think he had. "Sir?" she said in that soft voice so at odds with her been-there-done-that appearance. He took the quarter, dropped it in the slot and hit the spin button as he watched her deliver a drink to a man three machines down. From this view, she looked great. Her outfit was cut into a provocative drape that left a lot of bare skin. She had smooth shoulders and a small waist, slender hips and firm thighs clad in fishnet hose. He paused to admire the thighs. A bell clanged and the sound of falling coins assailed his ears. Other players looked at him, some with envy, some with smiles. Zack frowned at his machine. When he looked around again, the waitress was gone. "Here, you'll need a bucket," the soft voice said, speaking from his right this time. A plastic bucket was plunked down on the narrow ledge between the slots. "Thanks," he said, but she was already gone. A number was flashing on the slot display. His brain seemed swathed in cotton as he tried to divide four into six hundred and come up with the amount of his winnings. "Boy, howdy, 150 smackers," the man on his left said jovially, giving him the answer. "Not bad for a couple of hours' work, huh?" Actually it was a nice bonus, considering he'd had the unpleasant job of returning an escaped prisoner, captured in Idaho, to Vegas. The deputies had drawn lots on Monday to see who had to do the task and he'd won. Or lost, according to how one looked at it. Speaking of winning, he realized he owed the waitress a big tip. As he rose, four couples, boisterous and merry, jostled their way down the aisle. One of them hit his arm. Six hundred quarters hit the floor. "Oops, sorry," one of the happy group said, not the least bit remorseful. "Hey, great win." Five minutes of chaos reigned while they scrambled to pick up the coins and toss them back into his bucket. Since there was no room for him to join them, he stood still and watched. The men and women, bobbing up and down as they worked, reminded him of the chickens his uncle Nick insisted on raising back at the Seven Devils Ranch. He patiently waited until the noisy couples finished and left, apologizing loudly for the trouble they'd caused. When the aisle cleared, a shapely derriere was directly in front of him. The waitress was on her knees, retrieving coins from under the adjacent row of slots. Zack's eyes widened, then narrowed as he stared at her left thigh just below the skimpy, high-cut costume. He took three steps, then bent down as if he, too, was looking for quarters. From the vantage of a foot away, he could see her upper thigh where it joined the delectable curve of her hip. Yep, a scar was discernible under the fishnet. He inched closer. The scar was jagged and three-pointed. His lungs stopped working while his heart went into overdrive. "My gosh," he muttered, blinking in amazement. Talk about luck; he couldn't believe this. Lifting one finger, he traced the outline - "Aaaiii," the waitress squealed, straightening abruptly. "Back up, buddy," a security cop ordered, appearing out of nowhere and grabbing him by the collar. Zack was strong-armed to a standing position. The cop's partner stood close by, alert for trouble. "It's okay," he assured the cop. "She's my cousin." The security men looked at the woman. "I've never seen him before in my life," she declared in shocked tones, the painted eyebrows rising indignantly as she moved away from him, the delectable lips compressed in a narrow line. "That's true, but I know you," Zack explained, speaking in reasonable tones and tamping the excitement down. "That scar on your butt, uh, buttock, uh, thigh is a dead giveaway." (Continues...)

Excerpted from Showdown! by Laurie Paige Copyright © 2003 by Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.