thick drapes, the never-sleeping coruscating lights of Las Vegas pulsed. And I felt something was slipping quietly from my grasp, and that if I didn’t grab on tightly now, or take some firm action, I would lose this new Ellie unfolding like a butterfly inside me.
My father’s words echoed through my brain.
“I’m serious, Ellie. Bring me an idea—any idea . . . I will finance it. You’ve won the game right there. Half the people in this hotel would like to be in your shoes . . .”
I turned my head on my pillow and looked at Martin. He’d woken up. He lay flat on his back, unmoving, eyes staring up at the roof. I rolled onto my side to face him.
“I’m going to help you,” I said.
“What?”
“I can help finance the marina.”
He propped himself up on his elbow. “No. No way. You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want you tied into my business ventures.”
“Well, then—”
“El, wait, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“How did you mean it?”
“I’m a gambler. I win some and I lose some. I don’t want to tie you to a loss. I can’t let you take my risks.”
“But you win more than you lose, right? Like my dad. It’s the very fact that he’s a gambler, and a smart one, that has made him one of the wealthiest men in the country.” As I spoke, the urge in me to fix things for Martin—and thus for us—grew fierce. It almost became a panic, an unarticulated, raw fire in me to ensure that Martin did not lose this dream, because then we would lose us.
“Yeah, but—”
“I want to do this, Martin. I can do this. Not just for you, but for me, too. And you’re going to accept me as a financier. You’re going to help me help you, and you’re going to make me a true partner in this marina venture.” My father had encouraged me to pick a venture. He’d offered me his real estate lawyers. I trusted that my dad’s lawyers could help me set up any partnership to my best advantage. Sure, I knew next to nothing about property development, but Doug had gotten good at it without experience and with my father’s help. I had access to those same experts, who could deliver to me what I needed to know in layman’s terms. Twenty-six million in equity was a mere drop in the bucket for the Hartley Group. I had my massive trust fund on top of that—I wouldn’t even have to touch it.
“Make me an equity partner, Martin.”
“No, Ellie.”
I stared at him in the dim light, hating the resistance that pulsed around him. He was pushing me away. I got out of bed and pulled on my nightgown. I paced and thought about my idea until dawn was a faint glow on the Nevada horizon. I yanked back the drapes fully, allowing the beautiful desert light to flood into our suite. I made coffee.
“What are you doing?”
“Making you coffee.” I brought him a mug and sat on the edge of the bed, sipping my own, watching the sky brighten.
“Tell me what it would entail,” I said.
“No.”
“Why not? Give me an honest reason why not.”
Back and forth we went until he threw back the covers and went into the shower. When he came out, something in his face had changed. There was a glow in his eyes, as if the serum of my idea injected into his veins had spread and was taking hold.
“It would entail living in Aus for a while, El,” he said, rubbing his hair with his towel. He was naked and glorious apart from a skimpy towel around his waist. “We’d need to be on-site to see the whole thing through. At least in the early phases.”
“I’ve already thought of that. I want to try it, Martin. At least for a while. My work is portable. I could secure some new contracts before we leave. I could do the work over there.”
“But—”
I went up to him and pressed my fingers against his lips. “Shh. No more buts, Mr. Tyler.”
He didn’t smile.
My own smile faded. I regretted trying to make a joke.
“I like the sound of that,” he said very quietly, darkly, drawing my body against his. Surprise rippled through me. He felt damp from the hot shower. Warm. I felt his erection against my belly. He smelled of good soap, of shampoo.
“You like the sound of Mr. Tyler?” My voice caught on a wave of desire as his