Page 1

Harlow

I sat in my black Audi for a full minute, staring up at the gleaming facade of the Jade Petal Hotel & Casino, gathering my nerve for what could either crown my career or destroy it completely.

The late afternoon sun caught the building's emerald glass panels, making them shimmer like captured starlight.

Impressive, I had to admit. But then again, Easton Hardwick had always excelled at creating beautiful illusions.

Taking a steadying breath, I stepped out and smoothed my charcoal blazer, checking my reflection in the tinted window.

My appearance was perfectly assembled—hair pulled back in a sleek chignon, minimal makeup that enhanced rather than transformed, sensible heels that wouldn't betray me if I needed to make a quick exit.

I looked exactly like what I was: a Nevada Gaming Commission investigator here to do a job. Nothing more, nothing less.

Three years, two months, and sixteen days.

That's how long it had been since I'd shut down Easton's smaller operation, resulting in millions in losses and earning what I could only assume was his eternal hatred.

The memory still burned with uncomfortable clarity—the way his eyes had flickered with something between fury and disbelief as I'd served the shutdown order.

Security had escorted me out while he stood frozen behind his mahogany desk, watching his empire crumble with each step I took toward the door.

The local media had called it "the most dramatic regulatory action of the decade." The gaming industry had dubbed it "Clarke's Crusade." Easton Hardwick had called it—well, I could only imagine what he'd called it in private.

Today marked the final licensing review—one last inspection before the Jade Petal's grand opening. One last chance for Easton to prove he'd learned to play by the rules. Or one last opportunity for me to prove he hadn't.

My phone buzzed. A text from my supervisor, Camilla Duarte: Remember to play nice with investors tonight. Politics matter more than perfection.

I grimaced, sliding the phone back into my purse.

Politics. As if ensuring public safety and fair gaming practices was somehow a chess move.

But I understood the subtext. There were forces within the commission who wanted the Jade Petal to succeed—powerful people with their own agendas.

Just as there were others who wanted to see it fail before it opened its doors.

My job was to navigate those competing interests while maintaining my objectivity.

Right. No pressure at all.

The brass-and-glass revolving door spun me into a world that stole my breath, and I hated myself for the reaction. This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to be immune to Vegas spectacle by now.

***

The lobby of the Jade Petal defied every expectation I'd formed about Easton's aesthetic sensibilities.

Instead of the gaudy excess typical of Strip casinos, I found myself surrounded by understated elegance that whispered rather than shouted.

Soaring marble columns stretched toward a ceiling painted with an intricate mural of koi swimming through jade-colored waters.

Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic rainbows across every surface, and the gentle murmur of a fountain created an almost meditative atmosphere.

This wasn't the flashy monument to ego I'd anticipated. This was sophisticated, tasteful, breathtaking.

I pulled out my tablet, making careful notes as I walked. Lobby design promotes calm atmosphere rather than gambling excitement. No obvious violations of spacing requirements. Emergency exits clearly marked and accessible. Sight lines allow for adequate security surveillance.

Observations, nothing more. Certainly not admiration for whoever had the vision to create something this beautiful.

"Well, well. If it isn't the woman who loves to crash parties."

The voice made every nerve in my body snap to high alert.

I looked up to find Easton Hardwick at the top of the marble staircase, one hand resting casually on the bronze banister.

He wore a midnight blue suit that represented serious money, the color so dark it was almost black.

His hair, still that rich brown I remembered with annoying clarity, was styled with effortless perfection.

Those eyes—gray as storm clouds—were fixed on me with laser focus.

Our gazes locked across the expanse of the lobby, and the years seemed to collapse between us. The air practically hummed with tension—part antagonism, part something I absolutely refused to acknowledge.

He descended the stairs with deliberate slowness, like a predator who'd spotted his prey and had all the time in the world to close the distance. That familiar smile played at the corners of his mouth, equal parts charm, and menace.

Those eyes still had the power to make my heart race. Damn him.

"Mr. Hardwick." I kept my voice level, controlled. "I trust you received notice of my arrival."

"Indeed I did, Investigator Clarke." He stopped just close enough to invade my space without making it obvious to anyone watching. "Though I have to say, you're even more beautiful than I remembered."

Warmth crept up my neck, and I cursed my body's traitorous response. "I'm here on official business. I'll need access to your financial records, security protocols, and employee files."

"Of course you will." His smile widened, revealing perfect white teeth. "I've learned quite a lot about playing by the rules since our last... encounter."

The way he said 'encounter' made it sound intimate, scandalous. My pulse hammered against my throat despite my brain's frantic warnings. This was exactly what I'd feared—that seeing him again would affect me in ways that had nothing to do with duty.

"I'm sure you have," I replied coolly. "Shall we begin with the gaming floor?"

"I have a better idea." He gestured toward a hallway lined with what looked like original artwork—actual paintings, not prints. "Let me give you the complete tour. You'll want to see everything before you pass judgment, won't you?"

There was a challenge in his tone, a dare wrapped in politeness. And curse my competitive nature, it worked. I'd never been able to resist a gauntlet thrown down, especially by him.

"Lead the way."

We walked through the casino in relative silence, my heels clicking against the polished marble floors as I took careful notes.

He was right—I needed to see everything.

But I was acutely aware of his presence beside me, the subtle scent of his cologne that reminded me of expensive whiskey and warm skin, the way he moved with fluid confidence through his domain like he owned not just the building but the very air inside it.

"Impressive," I admitted grudgingly as we paused at the high-limit gaming area.

Tables upholstered in butter-soft leather, crystal tumblers that caught the light like captured stars, dealers who looked like they belonged on magazine covers.

"You've clearly invested significant resources in security measures. "

"I told you I'd learned from my mistakes." His voice dropped lower, meant for my ears alone. "The question is, Investigator Clarke, have you?"

I turned to face him fully, lifting my chin in defiance. "Learned what, exactly?"

"That not everything is black and white.

That sometimes the rules need to bend to accommodate reality.

" He stepped closer, close enough that I could see the flecks of blue in those storm-gray eyes, close enough to count his ridiculously long eyelashes.

"That maybe the world isn't as simple as your reports make it seem. "

"The rules exist for a reason, Mr. Hardwick. To protect people from those who would exploit them."

"From people like me?" His voice carried a note of genuine curiosity. "Tell me, do I look like a predator to you?"

Yes. But not in the way the gaming commission cared about.

"Danger comes in many forms," I managed, my voice slightly breathless despite my best efforts.

"Indeed it does." His gaze dropped to my lips for just a heartbeat before returning to my eyes. "Shall we continue?"

***

The Dragon's Crown VIP lounge occupied the entire top floor of the Jade Petal, a testament to understated luxury that made my government salary feel embarrassingly inadequate.

Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the Strip that was worth a fortune per square foot.

Leather seating areas were arranged for both privacy and spectacular views, while original artwork lined the walls—pieces I recognized from auction catalogs that had made headlines with their astronomical selling prices.

Easton moved to a bar that looked like it belonged in a high-end whiskey distillery and poured two glasses of what I recognized as exceptionally fine Scotch. The amber liquid caught the light like liquid gold.

"I don't drink on duty," I protested as he offered me one of the crystal tumblers.

"It's after five o'clock, and technically you're off the clock until tomorrow's inspection." He pressed the glass into my hand, his fingers brushing mine in a contact that sent unwelcome heat up my arm. "Besides, I have a proposition for you."

I accepted the drink but didn't take a sip, studying his face for tells. "I'm listening."

"Tonight is our grand opening gala. Celebrities, high rollers, media—the works. I insist you attend." He settled into the chair across from me, completely at ease in his designer suit and surroundings that screamed old money despite his relatively recent success. "Consider it... educational."

"I don't think that would be appropriate—"

"Why? Because you're afraid you might actually enjoy yourself?" His eyes sparkled with mischief that was probably illegal in several states. "Or because you're afraid of what people might think?"