The Silver Chalice was vintage Vegas in deep reds and golds. Whatever it was, the place managed to carry off the Rat Pack feel but made it modern and clean while also seeming luxurious. Hunter Corporation owned the residence tower to the south of the main casino floor and hotel. A nice sideline and a way to have heavy security without being too obvious. Outside the revolving glass doors, the air was still warm. The streets teemed with tourists. Rowan understood the allure of being lost, of choosing to be someone or something else even for just a few days. Vegas was a big game of pretend for a lot of people. And why not? Most had a great time and didn’t go too far. Some stepped far enough out of line to have secrets to carry for the rest of their lives. Some didn’t go home at all. In the circular drive just outside the doors, her valet, David, waited next to her Porsche. Even vessels for goddesses had guilty pleasures. Some women liked shoes and Coach bags. Rowan loved fast cars. The sexy sound of the engine always charged her blood. Something about the power that lurked there beneath the hood intoxicated her. David nodded as he opened the door. She slid inside, the leather smooth and supple against her back and legs.