That evening, they took a cab to Fremont Street, the “old Las Vegas,” home to the few remaining casinos that had started the town. In recent years, the city had revived the area, turning the old new again by erecting an enormous arched ceiling over several city blocks, which also served as a screen. The street was cordoned off, allowing patrons to roam without traffic worries, and every night after dark, a light show seemed to flash across the night sky.

Fremont Street had also become the perfect venue for street performers—attracting mimes and artists and magicians, as well as musicians. Damon explained on the ride over that he always checked out Fremont Street when he came to Vegas. “Usually nothing noteworthy,” he concluded, “but I found Graham Maxwell here, so I don’t want to risk missing somebody great.” Graham Maxwell was a jazz pianist whose CDs had been respectable earners for Blue Night for the last ten years.

Brenna had dressed down compared to last night, wearing white capri pants with a fuchsia halter top. Normally, she would have finagled a strapless bra under this particular piece of apparel, but the week’s experiences had truly altered her way of looking at things—at least for as long as she was in Vegas—so she hadn’t bothered and didn’t mind if her nipples showed through a little. As usual, she felt a whole different kind of sexy being on Damon’s arm—as if just being with a guy so hot gave her license to be racy.

They arrived early to have dinner in a steakhouse Damon knew, and afterward hit the street. After passing a truly amazing airbrush artist at work and a juggler on stilts, they reached a bandstand at one end of the street where a slightly overweight guy played a piano and sang hits by Billy Joel and Elton John. The crowd seemed entertained, but Damon and Brenna quickly decided there was nothing uniquely appealing about him.

Traversing back up the thoroughfare, they found a guy playing guitar, singing soft rock standards in a stark, gravelly voice that turned gentle at just the right times. Slowly, a crowd amassed and passersby dropped bills in his open guitar case. Between songs, he pointed out his wife and baby, who stood nearby watching. He looked like an aging hippie—in his forties, dull blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, and maybe even like a cradle robber, since his young wife couldn’t have been a day over twenty-two. But when he dedicated his version of “I Love You,” by the Climax Blues Band, to her, Brenna’s heart melted.

“I like him,” she said to Damon when the song ended.

“You like him because you think he’s sensitive and romantic.”

She turned to him, smiling, surprised. “And what makes you think I value those things?”

He grinned in return. “Maybe I’m wrong—maybe you don’t. But I have a feeling that girl I used to see in the Blue Night office values them.”

She blinked, still curious. “And why do you think that? Just because I once told you I liked my sex private and that I was a little more subdued when I was married?”

He shrugged. “Just a hunch.”

“Haven’t we gotten past the prim and proper thing now? I mean, if I value romance so much, how is it possible for me to have a wild, crazy affair with you all week and not even blink about the fact that we’ll be going back to business as usual in a couple of days?”

His smile faded, just slightly—and she was almost sorry she’d said it, reminding them both that this would soon end. After all, what if he’d been planning to alter that decision somehow, to keep seeing her when they got back to L.A.?

“You want to know what I really think?” he finally asked.

She swallowed but knew her smile had disappeared, too. “Sure.”

“I think I happened to come into your life at a time when you were hurting over your divorce. I’ve never been married, or divorced, but I know plenty of people who have, and I know divorce can really change a person, change what they want and how they view life. And even if you’re wilder now, and more adventurous, I think deep down you’ll always be a woman who swoons a little when a guy like that”—he pointed to the guitar player—“dedicates a sweet song to his wife.”

Brenna barely knew what to say. Because she thought he was probably right. She had no intention of going back to her old “prim” Brenna ways when this was over, but…yeah, she’d probably always appreciate a sweet, loving man. God knew she’d appreciated Damon giving her control of Austin’s career today, that it had touched her…probably too deeply. And even if she didn’t want to resume being prim, she also couldn’t quite imagine herself falling into bed with anyone else as easily as she had with him. “I guess…you have me pegged, Andros.”

“Don’t look so bummed about it,” he said, his voice lightening. “It’s not a crime.”

As usual, when they discussed stuff like this, she was honest. “Maybe I don’t want to feel that way. Maybe I just want to be a dirty girl and nothing more.”

He peered down into her eyes, all amusement leaving his face. “But then you wouldn’t be you, Brenna. And for your information, I like the whole package. I like the dirty girl. But I also like how sweet you are, how real. Hell, I like that I can have an intelligent conversation with you. It’s not always that way with women I know.”

Oh. So he was saying he liked her just the way she was. Or just the new way she was. And she wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but I love you came to mind. And since that was definitely a bad idea, she instead took his hand in hers, then simply leaned up to kiss him.

“Thing is,” he said then, “we’re still not recording this guy.”

Brenna scrunched her nose in disappointment. “But they look…”

“Like they need the money, I know,” he said. “Only we’re in the music business, not the charity business, babe. That’s something you can’t be soft on, okay?”

He was right, of course, so she nodded. “Except…he’s good. Really good. Don’t you think? And he even has a nice stage presence.”

“But he hasn’t played one original song.”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them.”

Damon grinned, probably at how argumentative she’d suddenly gotten. “Tell you what. When he takes a break, you can introduce yourself. Give him my card but write your name on the back. Tell him to send you a CD of original stuff if he has it. How’s that?”

She smiled. “That sounds perfect.”

And it did.

As the guy quit playing, saying he’d be back in a few minutes, Brenna took a deep breath and approached him, leaving Damon on the perimeter of the crowd. When she told him she was from Blue Night, his crinkled-at-the-edges eyes lit up, and he flashed a smile showing he needed some dental work. After expressing her interest, she requested he send her a CD of any original music, and he thanked her, shaking her hand so hard it nearly fell off—at which point she glanced up to see Damon smiling at her.

“Nice work,” he said, sliding an arm around her shoulders as they turned to go.

“That was actually fun.”

“See? I told you—this is the best job in the world when you can make someone’s day—or, in some cases, life.”

“So what’s next tonight?”

“Well,” he said teasingly as he glanced around them at the blend of artisans and tourists, “we could get your caricature done. Or we could taunt one of the mimes. Or we could…proceed to your surprise.”

Going coy and confident at the very suggestion, she said, “This surprise—it’s sexual in nature, right?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Then give it to me, baby.”