The Twin Switch

“Can you bring us a bottle of the Crepe Falls Reserve?”

“Right away,” she said.

“A bottle?” I asked, wondering if he was less of a gentleman than I’d guessed. Was he expecting me to knock back a few this early in the afternoon?

“Better value that way.”

“So you’re not trying to get me drunk?”

“Do you have a reason to get drunk? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” The answer was automatic—even though fine was quite the stretch at this particular moment.

“Okay,” he said, looking suspiciously at my expression. His gaze seemed perceptive.

I had to tell myself he couldn’t read my thoughts. “It’s all very fine.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” I took another sweep around the lobby looking for Brooklyn. I couldn’t let her slip past me because I was distracted by Max Kendrick.

“You sure you’re not with someone?” he asked.

I gave him a look of reproach. “I’m sure.”

“You’re jumpy,” he said.

“You’re suspicious.”

He shrugged without denying it.

Fair enough, I supposed. We’d only just met.

“I’m watching for someone,” I said.

“Who?”

“A friend. A girlfriend. I’m meeting her here and I don’t want to miss her.”

“That’s not exactly alone.”

“It is until she gets here.”

“You lied.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You omitted. You’re hiding something.”

I wasn’t about to touch that one. “You thought I was a cheater.”

“Maybe.”

“Is that a takes-one-to-know-one statement? Do you have a girlfriend? Are you a cheater?”

“Nope.”

“How do I know you’re not lying? Cheaters probably lie.”

His smile said he got that I was joking. I felt warm about that. Not everyone caught on to my sense of humor.

The waitress returned with our wine, and we both fell silent as she poured.

When she left, he held up his glass for a toast. “To honesty and integrity.”

“Faith and loyalty.” I thought about Brooklyn as I touched my glass to his.

I took a sip. The wine was outstanding—crisp, buttery and light on my tongue.

“Now that we know we’re on the same wavelength,” he said. “Tell me something about you. Maybe start with your name.”

I realized then that he’d introduced himself, but I hadn’t.

“It’s Layla—Layla Gillen.”

“Nice to meet you, Layla Gillen. Will you be in Vegas for long?”

“I certainly hope not.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “You have something against Vegas?”

“No, nothing. It’s the first time I’ve been here.” I scanned for Brooklyn again. I spotted a blonde woman in the distance, but she turned and I saw her profile—not Brooklyn.

“Where are you from?” Max asked.

I turned my attention back to him. “Seattle. You?”

“I have a place in New York, but I travel quite a bit. What do you do in Seattle?”

I didn’t want to sound nerdy. Then again, I sure wasn’t about to lie.

“I’m a teacher.”

“What grade?”

“High school.”

“What subject.”

“Math.”

His smile said he’d discovered an embarrassing secret.

My pride kicked in. “You have something against mathematics?”

“You don’t look like any math teacher I ever had.”

“I’m fully qualified.”

“I’m not questioning that.”

“It sounded like you were.”

“No.” He cocked his head and his gaze grew warm. “I was thinking if my math teachers looked like you, I’d have enjoyed the subject a whole lot more.”

My heart fluttered. It seriously, embarrassingly, fluttered there for a second.

My cheeks grew warm, and I told myself to get a grip, covering the reaction with another sip of wine.

This was obviously a crush-at-first-sight, and I’d never felt anything like it.

I didn’t want to check into a 700-dollar-a-night hotel room when I had a perfectly wonderful prepaid room waiting for me back in San Francisco. But evening was falling, and there was still no sign of Brooklyn.

Max had said goodbye after lunch, and I’d left the table pretending I had somewhere to go. I didn’t, of course. But I’d found a comfortable seat at the opposite end of the lobby with a good view of the main entrances and exits.

The vibe of the lobby was beginning to change from daytime to evening. I knew if I wanted to continue blending with the crowd, I had to get out of my jeans.

There were shops dotted around the periphery of the lobby. The clothes were very high-end, but I managed to find a little black dress on a sales rack.

I wasn’t about to interrupt my surveillance by heading into the fitting room. Luckily, the dress had simple lines and enough stretch that I was confident it would fit. My black ankle boots weren’t exactly perfect for the occasion, but I was wearing a silver necklace and dangling earrings, and I could pull my hair up in a messy bun.

I’d do for the evening crowd.

I hated to interrupt my surveillance, but eventually, the need for a restroom break became urgent. In the ladies’ room, I changed in a flash and was back out in the lobby again with my jeans and blouse folded into the boutique shopping bag.

“I take it you don’t have a room?” It was Max’s voice beside me.

I was embarrassed, like I’d been caught freeloading.

I worked to erase my guilty expression before facing him. I wasn’t freeloading. I was genuinely waiting for a hotel guest. And, anyway, the lobby was a public space.

“My girlfriend has a—” I turned and my words dried up.

This afternoon Max had looked good in a dusty blue shirt under a steel-gray suit. Now he looked fantastic. His shirt was crisp white. His suit was black, and his tie was dark burgundy scattered with black flecks.

“A room?” he prompted.

“Are you going to a party?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a party.” He took in my dress. “What about you? Big plans?”

I didn’t have any plans at all beyond staking out the lobby until Brooklyn arrived. I refused to let myself think she and her faux soul mate were holed up in a hotel room together for the night, ordering room service and lounging in a whirlpool tub.

The image was too much for me to wrap my head around, so I shook it out of my mind.

“You haven’t found her,” Max stated. He didn’t give me time to answer. “What’s really going on, Layla?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you a private investigator?”

“No.”

As I denied it, I wondered if Max wanted me to be a private investigator. Private investigator sounded like an exciting job, better than math teacher. Maybe I should consider switching careers.

“A stalker?” he asked.

“I’m not a stalker.” I wasn’t—at least not usually. Today, well, I supposed it was debatable.

“Have you tried calling her?”

“What a great idea.” I wasn’t annoyed with Max. I was just generally annoyed, and that put the sarcasm in my voice. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself.”

He didn’t seem to take offense. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“That’s a yes.”

He peered at my expression. “Did you have a fight?”

“No.”

“Is she with a guy?”

I was trying not to think about that. I wanted to deny it. But I didn’t feel like lying outright to Max. I didn’t even feel like omitting anymore.

Other patrons milled around us, dressed to the nines, talking and laughing, coming together in groups and lining up at the on-site restaurants.

“I think she might be,” I admitted.

“So she ditched you for a man.” Max’s words weren’t a question.

It wasn’t what he was thinking. But I couldn’t explain the situation without giving away private information, so I just stood there looking like a pathetic fifth wheel abandoned in the hotel lobby.

“Join me for dinner,” he said.

It was a mercy date if I’d ever heard of one. No thank you. “I have no intention of crashing your party.”

“There’s no party. There’s just me.”

I didn’t believe that for a second. “Then why are you dressed like the top of a wedding cake?”

“Because this is a nice hotel, and it’s after six.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to believe me. Just join me for dinner.”

“So you’re saying you have nothing to do tonight.”

A man like that, in a suit like his, in a place like this? Not a chance.

“I’m saying there’s nothing I have to do tonight.”

“But you have options?”

“We all have options. All the time. Right now, you’re my first choice.”

“Why?”

“I swear, Layla, I have never had this much trouble getting a woman to have dinner with me.”

“I can’t,” I said, even though I wanted to say yes.

A guy like this didn’t come along every day—at least not in my life. In my life, a guy like this didn’t come along any day.

“Why not?”

“I can’t risk missing my girlfriend. She’ll be through here anytime.”

He gave me a look that said I was borderline delusional. “I’m no expert. But it seems like she doesn’t want to be found.”

Brooklyn might not want to be found, but for everyone’s sake, I needed to find her.

“Maybe you should leave it until tomorrow,” Max said.

“No.” That would be bad. It would be very bad to leave Brooklyn and her faux soul mate alone for the night. I had to find her as soon as possible.

“I’m assuming she’s over twenty-one.”

“She’s twenty-six.”

“There you go. She’s perfectly capable of making her own decisions.”

Technically that was true. But I knew Brooklyn wasn’t thinking straight. Something was wrong, and I had to get to the bottom of it before she made a life-altering mistake.

“We can eat in the Grill Room,” he said. “See that curved booth right there, the one facing the lobby? I’ll get the hostess to seat us in it.”

I gauged the view from the table. It was probably better than the view I had from here. And I was truly starving at this point.

“It’s probably reserved.” It looked like a prime spot.

“I’m sure they’ll fit us in.” He sounded confident in his ability to get preferential treatment.

“Do you come here often?” I asked. Then I laughed at myself. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“You weren’t going for a cheesy pickup line?”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

I ignored the flirtatious lilt to his words, refusing to let myself meet his gaze. It would be all too easy to let my imagination run away with me. And the last thing I needed was a further distraction right now.

“I’m a fairly frequent guest,” he said.

“My lucky day.”

“I was going to say it was mine.”

This time I did look at him. I’m not made of stone. His smile was warm, and his eyes had an inner glow, and my heart fluttered again.

Before I could sigh or swoon or do anything else ridiculously humiliating, he started across the lobby to the restaurant entrance.

“Mr. Kendrick.” The hostess’s greeting was friendly as we approached.

“Hi, Samantha. Can you put us at the front booth?”

“Of course, sir.”

She extracted two leather-bound, gold-embossed menus from below the counter. “Bernard will seat you.”

“Hello, Mr. Kendrick,” Bernard said. “It’s great to have you with us tonight.”

Max waited while I slid in one side of the booth, going partway around. I set my purse and shopping bag beside me.

I felt outclassed by the surroundings, and I was grateful to have ditched the jeans.

Max slid in the other side of the booth and matched my position. It was cozy with the high-backed plush seats, a flickering candle, the two of us sitting only a couple of feet apart.

I had an expansive view of the lobby, but the table still felt intimate.

“Can I have the waiter bring you your usual?” Bernard asked Max.

“Please,” Max said to Bernard.

To me, he said, “It’s a classic martini with a lemon twist.”

“Sounds good.” It did.

I hoped the drink would take the edge off my worry. Fretting over Brooklyn wasn’t going to help me find her any faster. When she showed up, she showed up.

“The drinks will be out right away,” Bernard said. “Please let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

“They really do know you,” I said to Max as I took yet another scan of the lobby.

“They do. But they treat all their customers well.”

That had certainly been my experience so far.

“This isn’t the kind of place where I usually eat,” I said.

He moved the glass-encased candle so we had an unobstructed view of each other. “What’s the kind of a place where you usually eat?”

“The Rock a Beach,” I said. “It’s a funky little seafood place on Moiler Bay. They have picnic tables on a covered deck. There’s great local beer on tap. You can get fish and chips served on newspaper or a wooden hammer to crack your crab. In the winter, they close it in with plastic sheeting and light a central fireplace. My family loves it.”

“It sounds great.”

“You wouldn’t need a suit.”

“It sounds like I’d need a bib.”

“Recommended.”

We both smiled.

“I’d like to take you there sometime,” he said.

I could see it. I could picture that. And it was great. The image was so compelling that it took me a second to realize what he was doing.

He was good. And I was a fool for following along like a little puppy dog.

I wasn’t usually swayed by emotion like this. I’m usually nothing but rational. I pride myself on it. I drew back, forcibly pulling myself from his spell. “Wow.”

“Wow what?”

“That was fast, and not particularly believable.”

“I—”

“You’re a smooth talker, Max Kendrick. But here’s a heads-up for you—what you’re after is not what’s going to happen.”

“That’s not where I was going.”

“Sure it wasn’t.” Logic and reason told me that much.

“You’re a skeptic, Layla Gillen. I’m simply enjoying our conversation.”

I wasn’t about to believe that. Guys often took a shot and backed off when you called them out on it.

Then again, he’d vaguely mentioned a second date. He hadn’t suggested skinny-dipping in his hot tub or checking out his hotel suite. Maybe I was too quick to judge.

“Okay,” I said. “My mistake.”

“No. It was my mistake for letting it come out wrong. Can I back up a couple of minutes and take a do-over?”

He could. I wasn’t about to say no when he put it so reasonably. But just in case I really did have his number, I was keeping up my guard.

Three

Just as the chocolate soufflé arrived with Devonshire cream and a whole lot of pomp and circumstance, I spotted Brooklyn. She was crossing the lobby, her long blond hair swinging in a high ponytail. I couldn’t see her face, but I recognized her walk, the slant of her shoulders and the oversize green-and-gold earrings she’d bought from a funky little stand at Pier 54.

The soufflé looked magnificent—a molten center, topped with the Devonshire cream, powdered sugar and plump raspberries. I’d gone with a seafood salad for dinner, saving space for an indulgent dessert. But I couldn’t let Brooklyn get away.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Max, grabbing my purse and shopping bag as I slid from the booth.

The pastry chef and the waitress looked baffled.

“Is something wrong?” Max asked.

I kept my gaze on Brooklyn. She disappeared behind a pillar.

“I’ll settle up later,” I called back to him, tossing the words over my shoulder as I hurried away.

I felt terrible sticking Max with the bill. I told myself I could drop off some cash at the front desk. They might be sticky about confirming someone was a guest, but surely they’d take an envelope for them.

I also hated to waste the chef’s hard work. He’d clearly taken pride in the chocolate soufflé. I also selfishly hated to miss eating it.

That was twice today.

Indulgence karma was not on my side.

I could see now that Brooklyn was alone. Perfect.

The lobby was octagonal with four passageways leading off the four corners. She headed down one of them. I thought it led to the pool, an outdoor restaurant and an atrium garden.

I wanted to call out, but I didn’t think she’d hear me. And I was half-afraid she might try to escape. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to stay away from me.

I knew why she’d done that.

I knew that she knew that I knew she didn’t really want to do this. And she knew I’d talk her out of it without half trying.

I saw the paradox in my thinking. If she knew all that, she wouldn’t be hiding from me. She’d simply admit she was wrong, and I was right, and she’d made a big mistake. But I was always the rational one between us. Brooklyn was emotional, and she could talk herself into peculiar things.

She was still a hundred feet ahead of me when she turned again, disappearing from my sight.

I broke into a trot, then discovered she’d taken a doorway that led to the garden.

I followed on polished brick pathway that wound through lighted shrubbery and towering palm trees. I hurried, but I couldn’t see her in front of me. Then the pathway forked.

I stopped to consider my next move.

I could hear voices in one direction, and music and laughter. I could see the lights of a restaurant or a patio lounge.

The other way was quiet, no sound but a burbling brook beneath an arched footbridge.

Brooklyn liked to be where the action was, so I followed the music.

I came to a café called the Triple Palm. It was fresh and lively, with a breeze blowing through. Beech-wood tables and chairs were surrounded by greenery and decorated with lights and candles. A trio of musicians played in one corner, and a few couples danced on the raised floor. This was Brooklyn’s kind of place.

I did a methodical search of the tables. Then I checked the bar area. Then I repositioned to see the entire dance floor.

No Brooklyn.

I couldn’t believe I’d guessed wrong.

I didn’t have any time to waste.

I trotted again. It was hard to trot in the heeled boots, but they were better than pumps or spiked heels. That was for sure.

I made it to the fork and over the footbridge. Things got quieter around me. The music faded into the distance. The lights were fewer and farther between.

I listened hard, but I didn’t hear anything. My best guess was that Brooklyn was meeting her new soul mate in a secluded corner to talk or cuddle or kiss.

I couldn’t see her having sex in a hotel garden, not when just anybody could happen by and catch her. That wasn’t like Brooklyn.

Then again, this wasn’t like Brooklyn. I realized there was a chance that she’d been having risky outdoor sex with James all this time without telling me.

I groaned out loud and quickly scrubbed that image from my mind.

“Layla?” It was Max.

I heard his footsteps before he appeared around a corner.

I was more than surprised to see him. “How did you find me?”

“I looked.”

I gave him an eye roll.

“I saw you turn toward the atrium. There are only so many places you can go at this end of the hotel.”

My guilt over cutting out on him came back. “I was going to drop some cash off at the front desk.”

“What for?”

“To pay for dinner, of course.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. I invited you.”

“That doesn’t mean you should get stuck with the bill. I didn’t mean to cut out on you.”

“You saw her, didn’t you?”

I nodded. “But then I lost her.”

“Did you check the Triple Palm?”

“She’s not there. And she doesn’t seem to be here.” I glanced around. “Unless she’s found a secret corner to hide.”

“You did say she was with a guy.”

I shook my head. “I know what you’re thinking.” I refused to let myself think that. “She’s not like that.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking. And not like what?”

“She’s not having sex in a public garden, that’s what.”

He grinned in a way that said I was amusing him.

“There are other things for men and women to do in a quiet corner of the garden than have sex.”

“I know that.”

He shifted a little bit closer to me. “This is a very romantic garden.”

Lighted mesquite trees towered above us. Small cactuses lined the path, with pink and yellow flowers adding color. The air was sultry sweet along the smooth, winding red-toned path, heavy with moisture and soft on my skin.

“That’s not really what I want to hear,” I said.

“Why not?”

His gaze captured mine. It was as sultry as the air, dark and deep.

I forgot what I was saying. “What?”

He shifted closer still. “You know, you are incredibly beautiful.”

I couldn’t help it—my heart warmed at the compliment. It beat more deeply, slowly, thudding inside my chest and echoing in my ears.

I told myself to hang on to reality. But myself didn’t want to do that right now.

Max touched my arm. The touch was simple. It was light. His thumb brushed slowly across my skin, and I lit up like one of the mesquite trees. Logic and reason flew into the night.

“Max,” I whispered.

“Layla,” he whispered back.

The breezed cocooned us as he stepped in. One hand slid to my bare shoulder. His other touched the small of my back.

I put my palms on his chest, thinking to stop him, thinking they’d be a barrier between us that would pull me out of this spell.

But it didn’t work out that way.

I touched the crisp fabric of his shirt. I could feel his heat beneath it. His chest was firm, his pecs defined.

I’m not shallow. I know there’s more to a man than the shape of his body. But the particular shape of this particular man’s body was doing very strange things to my brain waves.

I lowered my hands, feeling the ridges of his abs. A sudden vision of him naked bloomed in my mind, my fingertips trailing across his glorious frame.

I wanted that. I wanted it more than I’d wanted anything in a very long time.

He enfolded me in an embrace, the solid, strong, definitive hug of a man who’d decided exactly what he wanted. And what he wanted was me. I was torn between amazement and arousal.

I tipped my chin, and his lips touched mine, and my amazement fled. There was no room for anything inside of me except arousal.

His lips were hot, firm, moist, with the perfect amount of pressure.

He tasted like fine wine and smoky dreams.

My lips softened, they parted. I invited him in and his tongue swept mine in an encompassing kiss that sent waves of pleasure all the way to my toes.

My hands started to move. They unbuttoned his shirt. They touched his skin, and he gave a guttural groan.

“This way,” he said.

I didn’t know what he meant. I didn’t care what he meant, just so long as his kisses didn’t stop and he let me keep feeling my way to his shoulders.

I figured out what he meant, and it was a good thing.

I couldn’t believe his room was this close. But there we were, down a narrow pathway, across a patio and through some French doors.

You really couldn’t call it a room.

It was a suite—a presidential suite or a royal suite, or something with its very own name. I could feel how big it was even in the dim light.

Then Max pulled off his jacket and ripped his way out of his dress shirt. And everything around me disappeared. He was hot with a capital H.

Before I could look my fill, he pushed down the strap of my dress. He kissed his way across my bared shoulder. Every brush of his lips sent new tingles deep into my skin.