Last Dance

By Velvet Vaughn

After COBRA Securities Agent Mason Rossi's wife was murdered, he vowed to never get seriously involved with a woman again. While on assignment guarding the granddaughter of the President of the United States as she competes on a reality dancing show, he's stunned to discover a woman he saved from a runaway car weeks earlier is also competing. She is elegance and grace and he's seriously intrigued. She could easily breach the wall he's built around his heart. But when accidents keep piling up, putting her life in danger, Mason will stop at nothing to keep her safe.

Professional dancer Cassidy Swain fantasized about the muscular giant who saved her life for weeks. When she comes face to face with him again, she's convinced fate keeps bringing them together. He's strong and capable and she trusts him with her safety--and her heart. But a killer is determined to tear them apart and make sure Cassidy's next dance is her last dance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Velvet Vaughn
• Release date: Nov 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9780999201138

Velvet Vaughn

Velvet Vaughn was born in Indiana and spent fifteen years in communications, public relations, marketing and executive management in amateur sports. Articles she has written have been published in several magazines and reprinted in most major newspapers across the country. She served as editor, writer and designer for five sport magazines including one that was distributed to over 140 countries around the world, and one that was displayed in the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY. To learn more about Velvet or sign up for her newsletter, visit her at http://www.velvetvaughn.com or http://www.facebook.com/authorvelvetvaughn.

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Copyright © 2018 VELVET VAUGHN LLC

ISBN: 978-0-9992011-3-8

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person.

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

Visit Velvet’s website at www.velvetvaughn.com and her Facebook Fanpage at www.facebook.com/authorvelvetvaughn.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my family.

Acknowledgments

I would like to sincerely thank the members of my Velvet Vaughn Street Team who help spread the word: Cindi R., Debbie M., Gary A., Karen D., Karen J., Lisa B., Tammy T., Lisa B., Sharon W., Paulyn A, and Shelley C. I’m so thankful for all of you and truly appreciate your support. I would also like to thank my social media guru, Kristy O.

And as always, a huge thank you to my mom. I couldn’t do this without you!

Table of Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Notes

About the Author

Prologue

If Mason Rossi had to listen to the Wedding March one more time, he’d flat-out lose it. Like, he’d seriously go troppo, as his Aussie coworker Wyatt Hollister might say. In other words, he’d end up blowing a freaking gasket.

He had nothing against the tune, per se. But he’d suffered through a whirlwind of weddings the last few weeks that would test even the most romantic soul, and he was so over it. First, Olivia Larrson and Alex Mylonas tied the knot, then Talia Cohen and Hunter McGrath. Next came Hillary Billings and Reed Steele, followed by Grant Colton and Melody Franklin. The latest had been a blowout wedding of epic proportions. Sawyer Oldham and Harlow Duquesne’s nuptials were an over-the-top affair that featured the President of the United States—also known as Harlow’s grandmother—and about a hundred of their closest friends. All pleasant events, all, thankfully, ancient history.

He’d walked down the aisle before, and one time was more than enough for him. Mason had loved Abby once, or he thought he had. They’d met while serving in the military. The connection had been instant, and they landed in bed soon after. They’d been deliriously happy, so tying the knot had been an easy decision. But marriage turned out to be nothing like he’d expected. Abby hadn’t been faithful, and he’d been miserable.

I do’s were fine for his coworkers. Mason never planned on partaking again. Hell, the song said it all: Dum, dum, da-dum. He translated that into marriage—dumb, dumb, da-dumb idea.

He’d endured plenty of the pitying looks at each of the ceremonies, especially by the women in attendance. It was as if his friends were afraid he’d fall apart or something. Yes, Mason’s wife had died tragically. She’d been murdered by the stalker targeting Kaitlyn Colton Bradley. But his marriage had been over long before her unexpected passing.

Though he didn’t love her anymore, Abby’s death still left a hole in his heart. Just because Mason didn’t want to be her husband anymore didn’t mean he wanted her gone from the earth. He was reasonably sure they wouldn’t have remained friends if they ended the marriage, but he didn’t wish her any ill will. She’d cheated on him. Repeatedly. But his answer to that was divorce, not death.

Mason had dated several women since Abby. Slept with more than a few. But he had no desire to risk putting his heart out there again. In his experience, love hurt. A big slashing sword through the chest cavity, leaving a gaping, exposed wound. Wasn’t worth it.

Mason smiled at Martha, the older woman with a silver cap of hair, who handed him a ticket for his tuxedo. She didn’t ask questions, but she had to wonder why he was dropping it off to be dry cleaned once a week. Maybe Martha thought he was a male escort or something. It’d explain the salacious winks she kept sending his way that he studiously ignored.

He hoped he didn’t need to wear the tux again for a very long time. Mason felt like an imposter each time he donned the penguin suit. He wasn’t tuxes and champagne. He was T-shirts and beer.

Tucking the receipt into his pocket, he waved to Martha as he turned to leave the shop. A little bell chimed when he opened the door. Slipping on his sunglasses, he stepped into the fresh Autumn air. Though it was early, the humidity was already creeping up the charts. It’d be a scorcher today.

Mason noticed a woman walking his way, her long, blonde hair flowing around her shoulders like a golden cape. Her stride was both graceful and powerful. She looked like a conquering heroine. Her attention was focused on the cell in her hand, which she used as a speakerphone. She was oblivious to the world around her. Mason appreciated her tone legs, her thighs sleek and muscular beneath a floral combination of a skirt and shorts. He thought they might be called skorts. Though she wasn’t overly tall—he’d estimate five-four or five-five—her legs looked a country-mile long.

A noise caught his attention. The deep, pounding beat of a radio cranked to maximum volume. The ground seemed to shake with the reverberations. Mason’s eyes rounded when the car jumped the curb and careened onto the sidewalk—directly toward him. Though he was in the flight path, he wasn’t worried about himself. His focus was on the gorgeous blonde with her back to the rapidly approaching threat.

Look out, he called, lurching forward. Mason wrapped his arms around her and jerked her out of harm’s way at the last second, flattening them both against the side of a building. She gasped as her phone flew from her hand, and judging by the crunch, it was now flatter than a pancake beneath the car’s front tire. Another crunch. And rear tire.

What the hell are you doing? My iPhone!

He winced at the words screamed directly into his ear canal. Damn, he was afraid it might’ve shattered. Then the woman slammed a solid fist against his chest. The car brushed past them, too close for his comfort as he crowded her against the brick wall, shielding her from about four thousand pounds of angry machine. Mason tried not to notice the feel of her supple breasts pressed against his chest. He really did. But it was impossible. It was only after the car bumped off the sidewalk and sped away, leaving a sickening stench of burned rubber in its wake, that she realized the danger. All the fight left her instantly, and he stepped back, giving her room.

Oh, my God, she breathed. That car…the sidewalk… She abruptly broke off, her long, elegant throat working as her hand covered her heart. She shoved a lock of flaxen hair from her face with a shaking hand. It was coming right at me?

No sense in lying. Yes. It was.

I had no idea. You saved my life. Thank you.

#

Cassidy Swain’s heart was about to explode right out of her chest. One minute, she’d been talking to her mother, trying to describe the space she’d found that would be perfect for her dream dance academy. She’d said goodbye and disconnected, and the next thing she knew, she’d been tackled by a muscular giant. Her beautiful rose gold iPhone flew from her hand and crashed to the sidewalk. The shell casing might’ve protected it from the fall, but not from the thick rubber tires that squashed it as flat as a fly beneath a swatter. After she felt the breeze from the car that barely missed them, she realized what had happened. She’d almost been run over, and that muscular giant had saved her life.

The man had forced her against the wall of a building and then plastered his body over hers, protecting her. He didn’t even know her, yet he didn’t hesitate to put his life on the line to save her. Thank you seemed too insignificant for what he’d done.

Thank goodness she’d disconnected the call with her mom, a world-class worrier. She’d have been out of her mind wondering what had happened. It wasn’t like Cassidy could call her back right away and explain, either.

She stayed propped against the rough brick, trying to regain her bearings and breath. She was afraid her legs were too shaky to hold her. Lifting her head, she took her first good look at her savior and gasped. Goodness, he was stunning. Dark hair cut military short. Square jaw with chiseled features. Laser blue eyes that focused on her intently. Heavily muscled with not one ounce of fat. She was five-five, and he was at least a foot taller. The man was magnificent. She’d felt his strength first-hand when he’d effortlessly lifted her off the ground. Though she’d been outraged at the time, she’d also felt protected. Weird.

Do you want to call the police?

It took a moment for her brain to process the question. She’d been engrossed in cataloging his impressive assets. Tall, dark hair, beautiful eyes, full lips, smokin’ hot body. What was the question again? Oh, right, did she want to deal with the cops? She pushed off the wall, glad to discover her legs held. No. I doubt they could do anything, and I didn’t get a good look at the car.

I did.

He said it with such authority, she knew he’d memorized the make, model, and license plate number. Thanks, but I have an appointment I can’t miss. She glanced at the jagged pieces of plastic littering the sidewalk and winced. And I need to replace my phone.

Sorry about that.

Cassidy jerked her gaze to his. I wasn’t complaining. A crushed phone is better than crushed bones.

He smiled, and she stumbled until her back met the brick again. Good Lord, she thought he was handsome before, but when he smiled, he was almost too pretty to look at, like gazing at the sun. Straight white teeth and dimples. He had dimples!

The smile fled as quickly as it appeared, replaced with apprehension. He took a step toward her. Do you feel okay? Are you dizzy?

Cassidy shook her head, brushing away his concern. No, I’m fine. I don’t know what else to say but thank you, though it seems inadequate.

No thanks necessary.

With a tip of his head and one last smile, he was gone. Cassidy watched him stride away, the back view just as fine as the front. She fought the irrational urge to call out to him. She didn’t want him to leave.

It wasn’t until he disappeared around a corner that Cassidy realized she didn’t even ask his name.

Chapter One

Mason Rossi asked himself for the thousandth time how he let himself get roped into this assignment. He was a good person, he thought. Kind to old ladies and animals. He donated both time and money to charities. He always helped a friend in need. But this was going a little too far, he grumped to himself.

He was currently perched in one of the buttery-soft leather seats of the company luxury Gulfstream, sitting across from newlyweds Sawyer and Harlow Oldham. They were winging their way across clear blue skies to the City of Angels. Harlow had been invited to compete in the latest installment of Dancing With the Celebrities, a reality show that paired famous people with professional dancers. For what purpose, Mason didn’t know. He’d never seen the show.

He had nothing against dancing—scratch that. He hated it. Sure, dancers were athletes, but it just wasn’t his bailiwick. He’d rather take a hit from a four-hundred-pound linebacker than step foot on a dance floor. Abby forced and coerced him to dance at a bar once, and he was pretty sure his lumbering movements had caused more than one patron to bust a gut in hilarity. His jerky gyrations made Elaine from Seinfeld look like a prima donna.

Sawyer Oldham asked him to accompany them as a precaution to protect Harlow for her duration on the show. He couldn’t say no to his coworker and friend, so he put aside his reservations. Mason would have to suffer through watching hours of it, especially if Harlow made the cut each week. He’d probably have to down a couple of Red Bulls to keep awake.

Their bosses were treating this assignment like any other case. Luke Colton and Logan Bradley had given them the full support of COBRA Securities and all available resources. He hoped they wouldn’t be needed. They didn’t anticipate any issues, but it was better to be prepared. Each week, Harlow would compete on national television, putting her directly in the limelight. They didn’t want to take the chance of some wingnut who disagreed with her grandmother’s policies attempting anything.

He glanced over at the couple. Their heads were bent close as they murmured to each other, lost in their little world. He rolled his eyes. Great. Not only was he forced to watch something he had absolutely no interest in—for possibly weeks on end—he had to put up with the lovebirds who couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other. At least the hotel suite featured two rooms. He prayed the walls were soundproofed.

Originally, they planned on staying in Logan and Jade Bradley’s house in the Hollywood Hills. Their boss and his Academy Award-winning wife kept the home for when they needed to be in LA. But Dancing With the Celebrities personnel booked a room for Harlow close to the studio. BeBe Davis, the COBRA Securities office manager extraordinaire, finagled an upgrade to a two-bedroom suite at no extra cost. Rumors swirled around the office that she was part witch—a good one, of course.

According to Harlow, the least amount of time they’d need to be in LA was two weeks. She would meet her partner tomorrow, and then they would practice a routine for seven days. The live show was scheduled to air a week from tomorrow. Harlow and the other celebrities would each attempt one dance, and then the judges would critique their performance and award scores based on skill, technique, and showmanship that would count for half of the total, with audience votes making up the other half.

When Harlow announced that she’d accepted the invitation to compete, Tyler Redmond, their resident computer genius, declared that he could guarantee Harlow won the audience vote each week. Harlow made him promise on a computer hard drive—his version of a Bible—to do nothing but vote one time, as allowed by the show’s rules. She wanted to do this on her own merit. Tyler tried to argue but finally gave her his word he wouldn’t use his proficient—and sometimes borderline illegal—hacking skills to interfere.

Mason didn’t know if Harlow could dance, but she was elegant and graceful, and she’d win the audience over with her charm and personality. He hoped she took home the trophy, even if it meant he’d have to endure several weeks of mind-numbing boredom for that to happen.

He closed his eyes, and as they had so often the past two weeks, his thoughts drifted back to the beauty with flaxen hair and eyes a crystal blue. He remembered what it felt like to have her tight body pressed against his. Even though she was a foot shorter, she fit against him perfectly. She’d been toned and muscular but soft in the right places. He didn’t even know her name. Why hadn’t he asked? At the time, walking away seemed like the best option. Now he wondered what the hell he’d been thinking. He should’ve at least gotten her number so he could check on her, make sure she was okay after the idiot driver almost plowed them down.

Lady and gents, we’re approaching La La Land, Wyatt Hollister announced over the intercom, pulling him from his thoughts. Please stow your trays and move your seats to the upright position. And Mr. Oldham, kindly leave your pretty bride alone so she can buckle up. I’ll have you on the ground in a jiffy. Weather in Los Angeles is a balmy seventy-six and sunny.

Wyatt was their pilot and fellow agent. After he dropped them off, he’d be headed back to Indiana. Lucky bastard.

A soft hand squeezed his arm. Thank you again for coming, Mason, Harlow said, making him feel guilty for considering hiding out in the bathroom so he could accompany Wyatt back home. I know you aren’t a fan of the show, so I appreciate it.

He smiled at her. I’m happy to do it. And he was. He wanted her to do well. America would fall in love with her as quickly as Sawyer had. Yep, they’d be here for weeks.

#

Cassidy Swain woke early and slid on her running shoes. She’d placed her black mesh racerback tank and Lycra shorts on the dresser before going to bed, so she quickly removed the T-shirt she slept in and pulled them on. After stopping in the bathroom to use the facilities and secure her hair into a ponytail, she grabbed her new iPhone and inserted it into her armband. She popped the wireless earbuds in place and removed the spare key she kept inside the band.

The ocean air wrapped around her when she stepped outside, the sound of waves crashing against the surf soothing her soul. She locked the door, stowed the key in the zippered compartment on the band, and then scrolled to her running playlist. Let’s Get It Started by the Black Eyed Peas clicked on, and she bopped her head in time with the beat as she looped the band around her upper arm before securing the Velcro strips in place.

After a quick stretch, she took off at a soft jog to warm up. She’d run five miles a day for years. Besides the cardio benefit, running calmed her and gave her time to think and reflect. Today was the day she’d meet her new partner for the latest installment of Dancing With the Celebrities.

Few people stirred at this time of the morning, so Cassidy had the path along the beach pretty much to herself, though there were a few other die-hards out and about. She waved to the familiar faces, both human and canine. Each breath filled her lungs with the tangy salt air. Eminem’s voice crooning, "Lose Yourself" came next, and her legs automatically kicked up the pace. She let the sound of the music wash over her.

Cassidy’s apartment was in an older building that had been well-maintained over the years. It was a two-story walk-up painted bright yellow, with very little inside space. Her closet was barely more than a hole in the wall. But what it lacked in square footage, it made up for with a wall of windows and a deck that overlooked the majestic Pacific Ocean.

She could afford to move to a larger place, maybe even buy a house in Beverly Hills or Echo Park or Brentwood, but she’d been saving to accomplish her dream of opening a dance academy. It was something she’d wanted to do for years, and the time was right. Cassidy had even found the perfect space. Just thinking about designing the interior and filling it with all things dance had her legs picking up speed. Though the DWTC season was just starting, she was looking forward to the end so she could get the ball rolling on the academy.

She had no idea who her new partner would be this season, though she’d heard the rumors floating around the internet of supposed contestants. Cassidy had learned not to listen to the premature reports early in her career. They were rarely accurate. Some of the other pros complained she was always paired with the cream of the crop. She didn’t care who her partner was, as long as he was willing to work hard.

As the defending champion, it would be on her to whip the man into shape so they’d be competitive, no matter his skill level. She’d been fortunate to win the Golden Shoes, the prize awarded to the winners each season, in her rookie season. Cassidy placed third in her second year and then second in her third season. Last year, she took home the top prize with her partner, a professional football player with fluid moves.

She cranked her pace, punching up her heart rate as Don’t Feel Like Dancing by The Sidekicks came on. Despite the title, this song always made her want to boogie. A man walking his dog approached, and her steps faltered. He was tall with dark hair, but the closer they got, she realized it wasn’t the muscular giant who rescued her two weeks ago. This man smiled at her, and she barely returned it before zooming past him. Of course, it wasn’t her rescuer. He was thousands of miles away, back in Indiana. Or at least, Cassidy assumed he was in Bloomington. That’s where she ran into him, figuratively and literally. She knew nothing about him, including his name.

Despite dreams and fantasies of the mystery man, she didn’t have time for a relationship right now. She barely had time to sleep at night. Still, Cassidy couldn’t help but remember the feel of his powerful body pressed against hers. Before realizing what was happening, she’d tried to shove him away by slugging him in the chest. It felt like she’d taken a swipe at the brick wall she was pressed against, and her fingers tingled. The man was rock solid. That he’d risked his life to save hers, well, that was the stuff of heroes.

In the fourteen or so days since The Incident, as Cassidy had named it in her head, she’d dreamed of him every night. In one particularly vivid vision, he’d glided across the dance floor, dressed in a white military uniform. She didn’t know why she’d pictured him in one, but it seemed to fit him. He held out his hand, and she stepped into his embrace. He whisked her into a waltz, their steps perfectly in sync. After an underarm turn, their clothes disappeared, and they were pressed together, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, and everywhere in between. Her pounding heart woke her, much to her distress. She’d tried to fall back asleep, hoping to pick up where they left off, to no avail.

If it were meant to be, she’d run into him again when she returned to Indiana to open her academy. Several people questioned why she wanted to locate her studio in the Midwest when she lived in California. The answer was simple. Bloomington had always felt like home. Cassidy was born there when her parents had been graduate students at Indiana University. It was where she spent the first ten years of her life, and she’d had a happy, idyllic childhood. When her professor father had been offered a chair position at a university in Texas, they’d packed up and moved to Austin, and that’s where she met Colin Rafferty, her dancing partner for the next twelve years.

Another plus in Bloomington’s column was the need for an academy like the one she envisioned. They were commonplace in Los Angeles. Cassidy would be a big fish in a small pond instead of the other way around. Bloomington was a charming college town, though it’d grown exponentially from when she was