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No doubt cutting her hair into a cute pageboy bob and dying it pink hadn’t been the smartest thing to do though, and she wondered if her sister, Lucilla, wasn’t right that she’d done it to get back at Christos and his derogatory ‘It’s time you did something worthwhile for the family name, Cara. After all, it paid for your fancy education when you were growing up and provided you with everything your heart desired.’
Cara had really hated him in that moment and had wanted to inform him that actually it hadn’t given her everything her heart had desired. It hadn’t given her two parents who loved her.
But Cara would show him tonight. And next week when the announcement was made about her new modelling contract her father would have to finally acknowledge that not only did she exist, but that she was a force to be reckoned with, as well!
Feeling more empowered she strode into McCarran International with purpose, the bright lights and the sounds of the poker machines in action greeting her, along with the smell of air freshener and polish.
Welcome to Vegas, she thought somewhat grudgingly. Her normal world was far behind her and she felt a bit like Dorothy in Oz, who would give anything to return to her normal existence. She almost glanced around her seeking out the wicked witch but she knew the evil warlords in her life were back in London, miles away. Thank heavens.
She wheeled her Vuitton overnight case behind her and strode through the throng of commuters, ignoring curious eyes that happened to fall her way. Thanks to her name, her modelling career and her tendency to cause a scandal even when she didn’t mean to, her face was well-known.
She sighed. Yes, her life was a goldfish bowl; it always had been, so why was that bothering her lately when before she hadn’t given a toss?
Taking a deep breath to ease the sudden constriction in her throat she told herself that everything would be fine. She was here. And an hour—okay, fifty minutes—was time enough to get to the hotel, shower, dress and brief herself on who would be seated at her father’s esteemed poker table. Something she would already know if the casino hadn’t sent her a corrupted file she’d been unable to open on the plane.
Whatever.
She was good at thinking on her feet. She just had to get her feet and the rest of herself to the hotel. And fast. Tonight was just one of those nights that had to be endured.
No, she corrected herself, not endured so much as conquered.
She gave a faint smile as she took in her skinny arms and legs, her delicate high-heeled gladiator sandals. She wasn’t exactly ‘conqueror’ material. She never had been.
But still, she wouldn’t muck up tonight. Her pride demanded that she didn’t.
Hearing her phone ring, and glad for the divergence, Cara sidestepped a group of tourists and didn’t break stride as she reached into her bag to retrieve it.
Fumbling she glanced down and only just got the impression of a tall, well-dressed man in a hurry, his long legs eating up the space between them, a dark scowl on his square jaw as she sidestepped again and he ran right into her.
He didn’t make a sound but Cara gasped at the impact, her foot twisting alarmingly beneath her. She would have toppled right into him but his reflexes were lightning fast and he gripped her upper arms and held her upright. His hold was hard and firm and she felt the jolt of his touch almost as if she’d had an electric current pass right through her.
Shocked, she stared up at him and for a moment she forgot to breathe. Rich blue eyes stared—no, glared—back at her in a beautifully boned face that could only be described as hard. Angular.
In the blink of an eye she took in his short, dirty-blond hair, straight nose and a firm surly-looking mouth ringed by what looked like a day’s beard growth. It was a beautiful, masculine face that brought to mind a warrior battling it out on the Scottish highlands with nothing but a shield and a powerful sword.
A powerful sword?
Slightly flustered by her startling reaction to a stranger, Cara frowned. ‘Can you please watch where you’re going next time?’
‘Can I …?’ Aidan Kelly narrowed his eyes between thick lashes and stared at the woman in front of him. He’d just been in transit for thirty-three ungodly hours from Australia to get here and he was tired, hungry, aggravated and in a hurry, and this pink-haired waif had the audacity to accuse him of being in the wrong. ‘Lady, I was watching where I was going. You were the one with your head stuck in your bag.’
‘I stepped out of your way and—oh, no!’ She glanced down between them. ‘I think you broke my shoe.’
Aidan made a disgusted noise. ‘I haven’t broken anything.’
Twisting her foot out to the side she ran her hand down her long, slender legs and Aidan’s eyes couldn’t help but follow her movements. He felt an unexpected stirring of lust in his blood and his frown deepened. Had she just done that deliberately to get his attention?
