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His lips curved, and she didn’t know if he was amused or thinking of ways to kill her.
“Sounds like even before you knew each other there was fire between you.”
“We burned everything in our path. We were combustible.”
Nick held her close, not able to wait, both of them breathless. He nuzzled her neck, the scratch of his stubbled jaw leaving a trail over her skin. Hot, sweet, and slow. His hands roamed, then palming her ass, he lifted Cheryl until she could feel his?—
“Even when we were running for our lives, I always felt safe with him. He made me see good things about myself, made me believe in a better life.”
“Seems you both had something special.”
“We were doomed from the beginning only we were too young and stupid to see it. It was such a mixed-up time. Nick was trying to break away from my father’s stronghold andgiving me up assured his freedom. Then when Frank came to California and dropped the Dad bomb I was shocked. At first, I didn’t believe him, but he had too much proof to the contrary. It became evident after Frank’s revelation and everything that went down in Brooklyn—Nick and I could never have a future.”
Cheryl pressed her lips together hoping to repress the emotions welling up. All the nights she’d fantasized about Nick coming to save her. Living together with their daughter in some fairytale life—but no—it never happened and now it was too late.
“How long do you think you can hide Portia away?” Izzy arched her brow. “Especially since she looks exactly like him.”
Another truth. Portia was her father’s daughter, no doubt. Her dark brown, almost black hair, onyx eyes, and flawless tawny skin like she’d been painted a perfect golden bronze. Even the way she pursed her lips when she was deep in thought. The strong resemblance used to torture her with memories until she shoved the past away locking down any recollections.
Izzy enveloped her in a hug. “No matter what happens and how you plan to handle this you know I’ve got you. I’m on your side, always.”
Cheryl hugged her best friend hard holding on to the only constant in her life, but even Izzy’s solid character and devotion couldn’t navigate her out of this minefield.
Later that afternoon, Cheryl gave up on trying to force herself to concentrate on business. She left the suite, then skirted the perimeter of the Bellagio lobby. She kept her head on swivel for fear Nick would still be there, possibly even waiting for her, but she made it out to the carport unnoticed.
She handed her ticket to the valet, and in another few minutes she settled into the safety of her Mercedes SL. She pulled out onto Las Vegas Blvd., but instead of heading west on I-95 toward her home in Summerlin, she jumped on Route I-15 South.
She had to put a halt to her overactive imagination, and live her life as she’d been doing, running her thriving business, taking care of her sweet, precocious Portia, and playing at a fake marriage with Johnny.
All in a day’s work.
She’d let Izzy handle Nick’s account. Not a big deal since Cheryl did most all her work in her home office and coming to the Bellagio today was a rarity and something she only did once a month.
Problem solved.
Once outside the city limits the traffic cleared and she opened up the sports car immersing herself in the speed. Letting the exhilaration distract her mind and body. Leaving no room for questions with no answers, or dreams that could never come true.
There would be absolutely no reason for her to see Nick Santoro, or Nick Sinclair ever again.
“Igotta see her again.” Nick paced his office like a caged animal while Samson looked on from the couch.
The club had been closed for an hour and now at four in the morning adrenaline shot through Nick like it was four in the afternoon.
“I can’t believe it was really her.”
“It’s her, but it was like we were strangers.”
“It has been ten years.”
Nick stopped mid-pace. “Can you believe she’s hitched to that fucker Russo?”
“It doesn’t make sense. I mean, how would she even know him? He’s at least ten years older than her and when she was in Brooklyn he was doin’ time in Rikers.”
“I guarantee it has something to do with Frank.”
“I don’t know.” Samson stretched his arms over his head. “Frank’s a hard-ass bastard, but do you think even he would set up his daughter with that lowlife.”
“For his own selfish means, definitely.”
