Down and Dirty Read online

  Also by Crystal Green

  Rough and Tumble

  Down and Dirty

  Crystal Green

  InterMix Books, New York

  INTERMIX BOOKS

  PUBLISHED BY THE PENGUIN GROUP

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  DOWN AND DIRTY

  An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  InterMix eBook edition / October 2014

  Copyright © 2014 by Chris Marie Green.

  Excerpt from Hot and Bothered copyright © 2015 by Chris Marie Green.

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  eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-16196-2

  INTERMIX

  InterMix Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group

  and New American Library, divisions of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

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  Version_1

  To a little saloon out in the middle of the Nevada desert. Thank you for the inspiration!

  Contents

  Also by Crystal Green

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Preview of Hot and Bothered

  About the Author

  1

  Bennett Hughes had a bad habit of courting trouble.

  Sometimes it came in the form of five-card draw in the back room of the Rough & Tumble saloon when he had a few beers under his belt, a woman on his lap, and too many chips on the table. Sometimes it came during a Cristal-fueled escapade like the one that’d been captured by the paparazzi once when he and a young pop star had been celebrating her latest platinum record and they’d accidentally stopped traffic up on the Vegas Strip as she’d tossed her clothing at him, piece by lovely piece.

  Come to think of it, most of Ben’s problems usually did arrive with curves in all the right places, smelling like sweet perfume and regularly breaking his heart. But tonight brought a different kind of trouble—his least favorite kind, and he’d seen it walking through the Rough & Tumble’s crowd only a few seconds ago, dressed in a beige Armani suit and wearing a frown. Ben’s older brother Jameson, with those Hughes blue eyes lasering across the room and right to him.

  Out of pure habit, Ben grinned a hello. Jameson still frowned.

  Points for trying.

  Ben idly patted the hip of the buxom blonde in the tiny T-shirt who was perched on the arm of his chair. Around them, music from the gritty rock band out in the courtyard blared, the beat keeping time with the ceiling fans that whipped night shadows into the dim saloon’s corners. The glow of video poker machines embedded in the bar cast blue light over the customers sitting there drinking and carousing. Neon beer signs clashed with planked wood from the building’s silver-mining boomtown days.

  Damn, did his fancy brother look out of place here, especially when a biker bumped past him, making Jameson’s frown turn into an official scowl.

  Ben shouted over the swampy, bluesy song. “I know I haven’t had enough drinks to be hallucinating you.”

  His brother took a seat at the opposite side of the cigar-scarred table, not even bothering to acknowledge the pretty woman at Ben’s side.

  Babydoll T-shirt leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Meet me in the courtyard when you’re done?”

  He squeezed her hip in a definite “yes,” and as she got up and sashayed away, Ben could see his brother’s gaze catch the new Rolex on her wrist. It was much too big for her but seemed to fit just right anyway.

  Rolling his eyes, Jameson loudly said, “So that’s where your money goes. How many women in here are wearing your dividends?”

  “Quite a few.” Although Ben never saw most of those Rolexes again. During the day, tourists poked around this relic of a bar, but after dark, women came through the Rough & Tumble on road trips with motorcycle clubs, or they were drifters on their way in and out of Vegas like Ms. Babydoll T-shirt. Ben had a new, charming romance every night, and it was enough. Always had been because, in places like the Rough & Tumble, love didn’t visit much.

  He took a slug from his beer, then toasted his brother. “Don’t ever let it be said that I don’t know how to invest.”

  Was this a good time to ask what Jameson was doing here? He didn’t just hop on the family’s corporate jet for thrill rides from New York to the outskirts of Vegas. Surely he hadn’t been sent here to drag Ben back to the Hughes Corporation after all this time.

  His brother only peered around for a few more moments, taking in the bar, where Kat, the owner, was splashing whiskies into shot glasses for a bunch of construction workers and acknowledging Ben’s new guest with a curious and amused jerk of her chin. Ben jerked his chin right back, and Kat got his meaning. Whisky for this table, too. Meanwhile, right behind her, a painting of a woman in leather hung over the crowd like a naughty patron angel, sitting backward on a chair with her legs spread. She was facing the ancient potbellied stove next to Ben’s table, where license plates from all over the country were scattered, curled and rusting, on the wall.

  And then there was Jameson—the shiny CFO of one of the country’s most successful real estate developer and entrepreneur organizations. Blond, blue-eyed big brother. Stranger in a strange land.

  Jameson finally wrestled down the music with a comment. “You haven’t been returning my calls, Bennett.”

  Ben propped his polished Italian leather–booted ankle on his lower thigh, careful not to get his vintage Levi’s jeans dirty. The song ended.

  “You’ve been calling me?” he asked smoothly, raising an eyebrow.

  “Cut it out. Lincoln’s been calling, too.”

  “Nice! I’ve got the attention of the CEO and you. And how about Dad? Has he picked up the phone
?”

  Jameson shook his head.

  The band still hadn’t started up again—in fact, they were filtering into the saloon, taking a break, and the lack of music played on Ben’s nerves. Or maybe it wasn’t nerves at all. Maybe it was the cave-in Ben was feeling in the center of his chest. No son wanted to feel that way after asking about his father, but Ben was a glutton for punishment. Dad had always been demanding and remote, but, what do you know—Ben couldn’t help making it worse by getting the old man’s goat across the miles, daring him to pick up that phone and comment about his latest tabloid scandal or, hell, maybe even ask when he was ever coming back to the East Coast.

  It wasn’t as if the token title of “President of Outreach” required a lot of hours on Ben’s part, and that was why he’d left—because in the world of the Hughes Corporation, he didn’t exist. But here . . . ?

  He caught the eye of the Babydoll T-shirt girl as she slid him a smile and moved outside, to the courtyard.

  Here he was definitely a presence.

  Kat swaggered up to the table with their whiskies, grinning her tomboy-and-freckles grin at him. “Anything else?” she asked.

  “You can get my friend whatever drinks she wants.” Ben nodded toward the courtyard, where his latest amour had disappeared.

  “Scamp,” Kat said.

  Ben winked at her.

  Meanwhile, Jameson was taking stock of Kat’s chopped-off sandy hair and the black Rough & Tumble T-shirt she’d rolled up at the shoulders, making her look tough in spite of her big, sweet blue eyes. He seemed perplexed, trying to figure her out. Then again, no one knew much about Kat and her secrets unless they were part of the Rough & Tumble, and Ben was one of the chosen few.

  When she slipped back to the bar, Jameson unfurled his brow, then finally got back to business, eyeing his whisky doubtfully. “Dad won’t ever bother to call when you insist on slumming in places like . . . this.” Now he inspected Jimmy Beetles, a burly biker who’d picked up a woman and had her straddled over his crotch, carrying her to the courtyard and grinding her against him at the same time. She waved her beer in the air and whooped.

  Ben nearly laughed at the way Jameson pushed away that whisky. This wasn’t exactly a trendy Manhattan nightclub.

  “Slumming,” Ben said, testing the word. “Unless I’m mistaken, you’re at the same caveman party I am at the moment. That’d mean you’re slumming, too.”

  “I’m here for a good reason, but you’ve been on . . . What do you call it? Oh, yeah, a sabbatical for three years now.”

  “I’m lucky enough to do my job remotely. Wait—” Ben held up a finger. “I don’t actually have a job, just a title.”

  Jameson’s deep blue eyes flared. “Did it ever occur to you that you never advanced in life because you never tried?”

  Ben pushed the comment aside. He’d die before he ever admitted to either of his older brothers that he was fully aware of how low he was on Dad’s confidence list. Why try to please a man who already had such low expectations of him? Better yet, why try to please a man who couldn’t be pleased?

  Jameson sighed and loosened his tie, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, Bennett. I actually didn’t come here to piss on your good times.”

  “Not bad for a guy who wasn’t even trying.”

  His brother’s shoulders stiffened.

  “So why’re you here, James?” Ben asked, the question edged.

  It looked as if his brother was about to correct him on not using his full, preferred name, but then he said, “Believe it or not, I’m here to ask you for . . . a favor.”

  A what? Ben wasn’t certain he’d heard that very well.

  “Did you say ‘favor’?” He leaned an arm over the back of the chair beside him. “This night might turn out to be more entertaining than I’d imagined.”

  “Don’t make this harder than it is. I don’t ask for much from you.”

  “Stop torturing yourself, then, Brother Superior. Why’d you fly all the way out here when I didn’t return your calls?” Jameson had never told Ben what he’d wanted in the voice mails Ben had ignored. But why was Jameson deigning to grace the R&T Saloon with his presence if he didn’t have to?

  He came out with it. “First of all, I’m here from Reno, where I got into a bit of a . . . situation.”

  This was getting more interesting by the second. Ben put down his drink.

  “There’s this woman . . .” Jameson began.

  Ben busted out laughing, and everyone around them paused and glanced over. Soon enough, though, they were back to ordering booze or migrating to a spot in the corner where an elderly motorcycle enthusiast named Dustin was spilling beer over the chest of a busty regular, starting up a wet T-shirt contest.

  “Sorry,” Ben said, cutting off his mirth and motioning for Jameson to tear his gaze away from the fun and games. “You were saying that there’s this woman, dot, dot, dot.”

  Jameson was clenching words now. “This isn’t easy, Bennett.”

  Pride was lacing his voice together, and Ben backed off. He saw the Jameson who used to play catch with him in the yard at their Hamptons vacation home, both of them with the sun in their eyes and dreams of pro baseball in their heads. As if that’d ever been in the cards.

  What’d happened to those brothers? It seemed like a lifetime ago when they’d vowed to fly in the face of their Dad’s plans for them—united they’d stand, divided they’d fall. And somewhere during prep school, when Jameson had tucked in with the Corporation and Bennett had started to explore other options, they’d fallen.

  All the same, Ben didn’t like to see the clouds in his brother’s eyes, and he wondered if the old boy was still in there now, dreaming, sitting on the lawn with that baseball as the sun set.

  Ben sobered up. “Go on.”

  His brother relaxed but he couldn’t help looking more out of place than ever. “I met her in a club in Reno, while I was inspecting some acreage for the Desert Springs Golf Resort project.”

  Ah, the old Hughes libido. Even Jameson had some of it. “And?”

  “And I . . . Well, she had ample charms and . . .” He raised his chin. “And she ended up coming back to the rental property with me, and the next morning I woke up about twenty thousand dollars lighter.”

  If that hadn’t been pocket change for moguls on a trip in a gambling town, Ben would’ve blanched. “So you got worked by a one-night stand. It happens.”

  “Not to me.”

  His tone was steely. It was also a reminder that Ben was the one who got into these kinds of “situations,” not Jameson or Lincoln.

  At any rate, he ignored the slight. “I’m not sure what I can do for you besides float you a loan.”

  “You know this isn’t about money.” Jameson leaned closer over the table. “There’s also another matter involved. Something I don’t want to advertise, and since I didn’t have her sign a nondisclosure form . . .”

  More dot, dot, dots.

  Jameson loosened his tie and raised his chin. “I was too drunk to bring out the paperwork, as I usually do.”

  “How romantic.”

  “You do it, too, Bennett. Or don’t you?”

  Ben merely shrugged. He didn’t much bother with nondisclosures, not out here in Rough & Tumble, where women didn’t necessarily keep track of gossip columns. He also kept to a modicum of whisky and beer, which had no effect on his own behavior. At least not yet.

  “So what about the agreement?” he asked. “The thief’s gone now, so you can’t have her sign anything.”

  “Actually . . . something else happened, and I can’t have her talking about it.”

  “Right. She robbed you.”

  “Not just that.” Jameson looked ready to pop if his tie wasn’t loosened some more. “I mentioned that I had quite a bit to drink and . . .” He made a helpless motion.

  Could it be . . . ? Damn—Ben wouldn’t want that to become public knowledge about him. “So you couldn’t get it up, and you’re af
raid she’s going to go to Page Six and ruin your reputation?”

  Oh, this was getting better and better.

  Jameson wasn’t so entertained. “She made a fool of me in more than one way, and nobody’s ever done that. This gold-digging bitch took off with more than money—and I don’t want her talking.”

  “Did she also break that heart of yours, and that’s why you’re so fired up?”

  “Absolutely not.” Color was burning up Jameson’s neck, making him ruddy, even in the bare light. Ben wanted to pat his brother on the back in solidarity—not that he’d ever failed to get it up himself—but he stayed put. “Failed pseudorelationships happen to the best of us.”

  “I didn’t fall in love,” his brother uttered tightly. “This is about my name and keeping it clean.”

  Ben believed him. But who exactly was this guy sitting across from him? Were they actually related? It was true that none of the Hughes boys had settled down, but over the years, Jameson had turned into something icy, businesslike, heartless. Even Dad had found it in himself to get married . . . a lot of times. He was currently on wife number four. Or maybe number five. Ben hadn’t stopped to count in a while.

  It wasn’t as if Ben was an emotional guy—love wasn’t in his plans, ever, pretty much because he didn’t believe in it, based on what he’d seen with his father. But Jameson was the coolest of customers, and Ben couldn’t imagine him pleasing a woman.

  Jameson lowered his voice. “My first thought was to hire a PI to track this thief down, but . . .”

  Suddenly, Ben started to see where he fit into Jameson’s “situation.”

  “Ah,” he said, absently nudging his full whisky glass away from him. “I get it. You’re not about to hire a PI yourself. There’s only one Hughes brother who has this kind of potential to screw up, and you’re not it, so you’re thinking I won’t mind running interference on your behalf. Why take a chance that the press or any of our clients will find out that the perfect Jameson Hughes got swindled and overindulges? That’d be terrible for business, whereas, with me, trouble with a woman and overindulging are expected.”