Hell on Heels (Hotel Rodeo #1)(54)

The craving for a stiff drink that had begun hours ago as a soft, sultry siren’s call was now a steady and relentless pounding against his eardrums. Noticing the direction of his gaze, Gabby slid a foamy mug of beer in front of him.

Ty pushed it away. “Jim Beam Black. Gimme a double.”

If losing the one person he cared for most in the whole world wasn’t a good reason to get shit-faced, he didn’t know what was.

Gabby’s brows drew together. “Thought you didn’t touch that stuff.”

“Only on rare occasions,” he said slowly. “And this one is pretty damned rare. In fact, I’d even call it raw.” The man who been a surrogate father to him was gone.

Gabby leaned her elbows on the bar, getting up close and personal, her brown eyes soft and sympathetic. “I know you’re hurting, Ty. We all are, but you can’t let this get to you. You’ve come too far to fall off the wagon.”

“I was never on the f*cking wagon,” he snapped. “I just didn’t want to drink anymore, okay? Now spare me the platitudes and gimme the bottle, Gabby, before I climb over this bar and get it myself.”

Gabby pulled back reluctantly to retrieve the bottle, but poured only half the amount he’d demanded into the glass.

Ty snatched it up and downed the bourbon in one burning swallow. Relishing the sensation of heat that spread slowly through him, he shut his eyes on a sigh. The welcoming warmth enveloping him was second only to being inside a woman, an experience he hadn’t enjoyed for far too long. The last time was the morning he’d shown Monica the sunrise from the terrace outside his bedroom. Then, only hours later, the only woman he’d made love to in his own bed in almost eight years had walked out on him and back into her ex-fiancé’s arms.

Fuck that.

He refilled the glass. The second shot went down smoother, but then again, his throat was still tingling from the first. He’d tried to tell himself he didn’t give a shit, but he did. The abject pain in her eyes when he’d broken the news about Tom had almost broken him. His feelings for her confounded him. Outside the bedroom they mixed about as well as oil and water, but between the sheets they were fire and gasoline. And he still wanted her.

Even now, the thought of her made him ache in two places at once. He couldn’t understand why he was so damned attracted to a woman who hadn’t the slightest interest in his life or in his world.

For weeks since Tom’s first stroke brought his daughter to town, he’d been wound as tight as an eight-day clock. He slumped back on the stool, finally beginning to relax a little. He reached again for the bottle. This time he didn’t bother with the glass.

Gabby’s frown deepened to a scowl as he took a long, savoring swig. “Maybe you should slow it down a little, Ty. The memorial service is in less than an hour.”

She was right, of course. He should slow it down. He should push the bottle away. A couple of good drinks usually just mellowed him out, but three was the limit. Any more than that always sent him over the edge. He stared at the bottle as reason warred with emotion, but the mind-numbing bourbon had already taken possession of him.

“Some memorial,” he scoffed. “Monica has it all wrong if she thinks Tom would want everyone weeping and wringing hankies in some musty funeral parlor. He despised that kind of thing. He’d be the first to tell us to open some bottles and have a drink in his memory.” Ty slapped the bar. “Hell, he’d want an open-bar shindig.” Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, a slow smile spread over his face.





Dressed in a black Prada dress and stiletto heels, Monica Brandt slid across the seat in her hired limo to join the man already seated inside. She gazed sightlessly out the window as the car swept away and merged smoothly into the flow of Las Vegas traffic, bound for the Desert Palms Crematorium. Her mind was still numb with disbelief, and her chest ached with the dull, incessant throb of grief.

“Are you okay?” asked a familiar baritone.

She glanced up, half expecting to see Ty Morgan’s whisker-shadowed and careworn face, but it was Evan’s instead. Evan’s eyes searching her face. Evan’s hand reaching out to take hers. This was a kinder, gentler Evan than she’d ever seen before. Although he despised emotional displays, he’d surprised her by remaining by her side instead of making an excuse to return to New York. Did he actually care about her loss, or was he just putting up a good front?

“No,” she replied. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again.” She choked back a sob, but her burning eyes remained dry. She had no more tears left. She’d lost the only person who’d ever truly cared about her. Tom had taught her what it was like to be loved. Deep down it was the only thing she’d ever truly wanted—to love and be loved. But now Tom was gone, and it hurt beyond belief.

Was it only a month ago that Tom’s first stroke had put her on the plane from New York to Las Vegas? Was it only three days ago that she’d boarded Evan’s private jet determined to return to New York? It seemed more like a lifetime ago. No, it actually seemed more like someone else’s life.

“Look, I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through,” Evan said, “but he’s gone now. Once this is over, why don’t you come back to New York with me?”

Did he really want her back, or did he only want the real estate she now controlled? Did it matter? Either way, she was selling out . . . severing all ties to Ty. Ty was the real reason she’d boarded the plane with Evan. Leaving Las Vegas with Evan was a knee-jerk reaction to seeing Ty with another woman, but Tom’s sudden death had brought her right back again.