Page 43 of All Fall Down

Chapter Fifteen

That I’m datinga real estate mogul’s heir has never seemed more important than when Jameson unlocks the door to a penthouse suite in an off-the-strip property. The idea of going anywhere that people might recognize us makes me want to vomit and after tonight’s awkward family meeting, I need a little distance from the rest of the Wests. If I’d thought that being labeled as a prime suspect in a murder trial was going to be my worst memory of summer vacation, I know now that I was wrong.

As if facing the impending storm of questions from my parents and friends isn’t bad enough, Jameson hadn’t said one word to me since we left Mount Charleston. Whatever his mother had spoken to him about in private hangs between us, dampening the mood.

“This is nice,” I say conversationally, but he only shrugs. The resort he’s brought us to is one of those luxury joints masquerading as a haven from the bright lights and business of Las Vegas. Judging from the info I’d skimmed while Jameson did his bit to shake hands and make nice with the management, it’s a timeshare for gambling addicts that have the good sense to keep some mileage between their wallet and the craps table.

The suite is decorated in subdued hues of beige, perfect for whoever might call it home for a week at a time. Its more nondescript and a lot less stylish than the other West resorts I’ve seen, but the leather couch still shines with furniture polish and the pillows on the gigantic bed remain fluffed.

I eye it and realize that I have one weapon in this cold war we’re silently battling. As I slip my sundress over my head, catching Jameson’s attention, I realize how fortunate I am to be a female. The low back of my dress and its tiny straps made wearing a bra impossible. Yes, it’s completely unfair to flaunt my body to get my boyfriend to talk to me, and some might argue I’m setting women back like a hundred years, but personally, I’ve never been so happy to have boobs.

“Not going to work, Duchess,” he calls from the living room as I drop onto the bed.

Arranging myself artfully like the chick in Titanic, I respond. “I can’t hear you. Come closer.”

“I said you are infuriating,” he growls as he steps into the bedroom. But the annoyance in his words can’t mask the ways his eyes linger on me.

“What big eyes you have, Mr. West.”

“I’m not playing around here.” He grabs a robe from the back of the door and tosses it to me.

I shrug it on angrily. So much for my irresistible feminine wiles. “I’m not either, but I’ll do what I have to if it means you’ll talk to me.”

“Why don’t you try talking to me?” he suggests in a flat voice.

That hadn’t occurred to me, but I’m not letting go of my bruised ego so easily. “I’ve been talking to you.”

“Small talk about the decor isn’t a hot conversation starter.”

If he’s trying to up the alert level of my fury, he’s doing a damn good job.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” he says in a soft voice.

“Your mom is pissed, isn’t she?” I guess. When he nods, I wish a sinkhole would form and swallow me alive.

“Not at you,” he clarifies when he sees my expression.

“If she’s mad at you, then it’s because of me.”

He doesn’t bother to challenge that assumption. “I knew we would get flack for being engaged. This will pass.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t…” I twist the ring he’s given me around until it reaches my knuckle but he strides over and pushes it back down my finger.

“That’s your birthday present,” he reminds me.

“It’s a whole lot more than a birthday present.” Staring at it, I wonder how such a little thing can mean so much. Then I remember the price tag and the disdainful look in Monroe’s eyes when she called me a gold-digger. “I don’t need a ring. I’m not really the jewelry type.”

I fail to add that every girl I know is the diamond type even if they’ve never owned so much as a friendship bracelet before.

“Duchess, I want you to wear it.” He leans over the bed and tilts my chin up with his finger. “It’s important to me and since you won’t marry me yet, let’s call it a compromise.”

I narrow my eyes at him. He’s not fighting fair. How am I supposed to say no with those silvery-gray eyes gazing into mine? It’s not even a discussion. “I thought we were calling it a present.”

Jameson laughs, slipping his hands under the collar of my robe and gently shucking it free from my shoulders. I allow the sleeves to slide off my arms and the garment falls off, pooling behind me. His eyes stay glued to mine even as his jaw twitches. “I’ve been imagining that ring—and only that ring—on you since I bought it.”

“And aren’t you going to look?” I purr. I’m not entirely certain if I’ve won or lost this argument, but I can’t seem to care.

His gaze sweeps over me, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I drape my arm over my bare hip and put his ring on display. He lingers on it and with each passing second, my pulse ratchets up in speed. Finally, I reach up and grip his shirt, urging him to join me on the bed. As I unbutton it, his face slants down, nuzzling into the curve of my neck.