Not-So-Secret

Chapter six

Jones never let an opportunity pass to trip someone up.

If she said the wrong thing it could cost her more than she could afford.

Clearly the years had not been kind to James, at least on the inside. The facade had held up, though. Time hadn't changed the fact that he was the best-looking man she'd ever seen.

His dark hair was shorter, parted on the side, debonair with just a hint of gray at the temples.

He had that damn cleft in his chin that had held her fascination for countless hours. He had thick, expressive eyebrows designed to bring attention to his amazing eyes.

His body still made her think of tightly coiled strength, powerful beneath the silk shirt, the elegantly simple suit.

He'd worked his looks to his advantage, knowing he projected the perfect image of a high-powered, sophisticated big wheel. Just as Xanadu was the most opulent hotel casino in Vegas, the people closest to the man had to look like a million bucks 24/7.

The only time she'd seen James out of a designer suit was when he'd jogged in the morning and when he'd lain naked in her bed.

She shifted her gaze, unwilling to think about that time.

Even though the repercussions continued to reverberate, it was history.

She'd cut herself off from any part of Jones's world long ago and this nightmare didn't change anything.

She'd find a way to escape again and to take her boy with her.

Looking down, it occurred to her that she wouldn't be wearing her jeans again, not while she was here.

Jones had always wanted her to be as elegantly dressed as his staff. More so.

It had taken her too long to understand that one of the reasons he hadn't wanted to let her go was that she looked like a cross between a showgirl and a schoolteacher.

She'd been every bit as much a showpiece as the diamonds and the designer gowns he'd had her wear.

She caught James's gaze in the rearview mirror. He'd donned sunglasses, but his expression was hard as stone.

Why? What had she done to him? More to the point, what kind of a horror story had Jones concocted to taint her?

She'd been so sure that beneath James's facade beat a good heart; held that notion close through almost three long years of isolation and strain.

But now that she'd seen him again, she knew it had all been smoke and mirrors.

She didn't really love him. She'd just built an elaborate fantasy out of loneliness and fear.

Unfortunately, knowing that didn't make her feel any better.

She not only ached with worry for her baby, but the slender thread of hope that she'd have someone on her side had snapped when she'd first seen James.

She was on her own.

Which would have been okay if it hadn't been for Shaun.

What kind of life would he have under the wing of such a vicious hawk?

Her eyes filled with hot tears and though she tried to blink them back, it was no use.

Watching the Strip grow larger as they spend down the freeway turned the nightmare into reality.

Never before, not the whole time she'd been in Milford, had she felt so alone.

Her wet gaze moved back to James, to his tense shoulders, his hand gripping the steering wheel. All the way to Las Vegas she'd staved off hysteria by thinking about James. Once again, she'd proved to herself that she was nothing more than a naive fool. Wrong in the most fundamental ways.

Hell, she'd been wrong since the day she'd first met Alan J. Jones. But even so, some prices were too high to pay.

She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands and prayed to a God she no longer believed in. She was heading to hell in a white chariot. Alone. Completely alone.

LOCATED BETWEEN the Flamingo and Balley's, Xanadu was more of a palace than a hotel. With more than three thousand rooms, seven world-class restaurants, one of the largest casinos on the Strip and a reputation for customer satisfaction unparalleled in a city known for indulgence, Xanadu far exceeded anything Kubla Khan could have imagined.

The building itself was silver and in the bright June sunlight it seemed molten and fluid, which was exactly what Jones had wanted.

Using the old Coleridge poem as his guide, Jones had built the stately pleasure dome, complete with sunless sea, more than a mile of meandering river through woods and dales, leading to the mystical caverns below, where designer shops were carved out of rock and the music of the dulcimer floated in the purified air. All of it skillfully, masterfully, designed to part guests from their money.

As the limo approached the pirate cochere, Kelly's stomach clenched as the fear she'd been keeping at arm's length sunk into her very bones.

She had to swallow hard to keep from being sick and it was only thoughts of Shaun that kept her from running.

The window separating her from James lowered as they moved into the valet lane. "No place like home, eh?"

His sarcasm was as bitter as the bile in the back of her throat. "You've certainly made it yours," she said, struggling to keep her voice cool. "You must be so proud."

He parked the limo on the far side of the entrance, near the private elevators for the high rollers, then turned back to look at her as if she were something he'd found on the bottom of his shoe. "I am. But then, I never said I wanted out."

The valet opened the back door. She shot a look at James. "You bastard." She got out, blasted by the furnace-like heat of the desert sun.

The hotel was busy, as always. Taxis waited like schoolchildren to called into service by the costumed bellmen. Limos stretched long and private in their own lanes. The glass doors leading inside were huge and thick, double doors meant to keep the real world firmly outside.