Waking up in Vegas: A Royal Romance to Remember!
Romy Sommer
The Princess Diaries meets Sex and the City in this fun and flirty contemporary romance will make your heart sore!What happens in Vegas…Waking up to the bright lights of Vegas in an unfamiliar penthouse suite, cocktail waitress Phoenix Montgomery finds she’s covered from head to foot in gold glitter and not alone – aside from the empty bottle of champagne, there’s a mystery man in the shower and a huge sparkly ring on her finger!Stays in Vegas?There’s no denying Max Waldburg’s demi-god sex appeal but commitment-phobic Phoenix doesn’t do relationships. Only it seems her new husband (agh!) has other ideas…he’s trying to keep that ring on her finger and his wife firmly back in his bed. The only question on her lips is – why? Or maybe, why not?Praise for Romy Sommer:‘A fun, sexy romance filled with every emotion… a well written modern day fairy tale that will leave you with a smile on your face’ Harlequin Junkie‘A fairy-tale romance to warm even the coldest of hearts’ Chloe’s Chick Lit Reviews
Waking up in Vegas
ROMY SOMMER
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
77–85 Fulham Palace Road
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2013
Copyright © Romy Sommer 2013
Cover images © shutterstock.com
Romy Sommer asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International
and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
By payment of the required fees, you have been granted
the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access
and read the text of this e-book on screen.
No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,
downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or
stored in or introduced into any information storage and
retrieval system, in any form or by any means,
whether electronic or mechanical, now known or
hereinafter invented, without the express
written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © May 2013
ISBN: 9780007532018
Version 2014-08-18
Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
To my parents for their love and support, and to Rachel and Imogen for putting up with all those hours I spend on the computer.
Contents
Cover (#u4fc0c607-010e-58c5-a57c-cf2754ab189e)
Title Page (#u975205d8-a7db-5447-b2f8-36c8f250eee2)
Copyright (#u95b496c0-4668-5b50-b57e-0bace24252fa)
Dedication (#u9d3504de-f60e-515e-926a-e8aeb69dcb01)
Chapter One (#uf84a4f74-a46d-5454-993e-330be66e06ea)
Chapter Two (#u479bf9db-4310-5749-8230-0820fd8ee9f0)
Chapter Three (#uf8631b8b-5b49-575a-95b7-f679aeab897b)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Coming Soon From Romy Sommer … (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Romy Sommer… (#litres_trial_promo)
Romy Sommer (#litres_trial_promo)
About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ude4682eb-3d0b-5e94-b7b3-4a1de20b6f45)
I wish I were dead. Phoenix moaned and pulled the pillow over her head to block out the blinding light and the clamour of rain. If only her head would just explode and get it over with.
At least the pillow seemed softer this morning. And it smelled nicer than normal too. A fresh citrus scent that quickened her blood.
Hang on a minute. Rain? In Vegas?
She peeked out from under the pillow. Oh my…
Not her room.
This room was at least twice the size of her entire motel apartment, and way better furnished. Correction: this wasn’t just a room; it was a palatial hotel suite. Through the double doors she spied a living room.
She sank back on the pillows, which seemed to be dusted in gold glitter. Perhaps she’d already died and this was heaven. Though she highly doubted heaven would want Phoenix Montgomery. Not that she’d been a particularly bad girl, but she’d never made much effort to be particularly good either.
And she’d certainly seen and done a few things a more conventional person might quail at. This being one of them.
She covered her eyes. Blocking the sunlight streaming in through tall windows at least helped the ache in her head.
Sunlight? Then that wasn’t rain…
Instantly awake, she turned her head and identified the source of the sound of running water: not rain, but a shower running.
She wasn’t alone.
Terror clutching her heart, she lifted the crisply starched sheet. Oh hell…
Beneath the sheet, she was stark naked, aside from yet more gold glitter. And not alone, in a room she didn’t recognize.
What the hell had happened last night?
Through the aching blur, she fumbled for memories. She and Khara had got off work not long before dawn, and they’d gone out for a drink as they often did at the end of a shift. They’d chosen a pool hall away from The Strip, the kind of place that wasn’t in any tourist brochure. With the sedatives the doctor had prescribed to help her sleep, Phoenix hadn’t had that much to drink. Besides, she could handle alcohol. Unless…
There was only one thing that could get her drunk.
She closed her eyes, grasping for the memories. They’d danced to music from an old-fashioned juke box and played a couple of games of pool. She’d even won a little money off a guy with tattooed arms who couldn’t believe he’d been bested by a girl.
And then there’d been a man who bought her a drink…
The bathroom door opened. Phoenix sucked in a breath and opened her eyes.
Yeah, that man.
God, but he was drool worthy. Especially wearing nothing but a fluffy white towel wrapped around his hips. He definitely worked out. Until now she’d believed six packs like that were the results of air brushing in magazine spreads. This set of abs was one hundred percent real.
She forced her gaze higher, over the tanned chest, broad shoulders, up to meet a pair of startling blue eyes in a face framed by overlong fair hair.
“You’re awake. Good. I’ve ordered breakfast.”
She was so not hanging around for breakfast. She cleared her throat. “Where are my clothes?”
He pointed toward the living room. Clothes lay strewn across the floor and, yep, there it was, the only thing that could get her truly and embarrassingly drunk… a bottle of champagne, empty and lying on its side on the floor.
“How are you feeling?” The demi-god’s voice matched his face; deep, masculine, with a hint of amusement and a faint Germanic trace.
He perched on the edge of the bed. He smelled as good as he looked, clean and slightly lemony. Just like the pillow. Her blood all rushed south again.
She could only imagine how much fun he’d been up close and personal. Pity she had absolutely no memory of it.
“Did we really…?” She waved a hand at the bed, and her naked body beneath the sheet that she now held clutched to her breasts. And her heart stopped.
Was that a ring on her finger? On her left hand?
She clutched her head in her hands and groaned. “Please tell me we didn’t…”
She shook her head. Sex with a virtual stranger was one thing, but there was no way she’d done the M word.
He laughed a low, throaty chuckle. “Yes, of course we did. It’s going to take some getting used to, isn’t it? Who’d have thought we’d meet our destiny in Las Vegas?”
Destiny? He had to be kidding, right? There must be hidden cameras in the room. If this was someone’s idea of a joke, it wasn’t funny. Whoever the pranksters were, they’d better be paying her a lot of money. She rubbed her temples. “I need coffee.”
“I’ve ordered coffee and fresh orange juice with breakfast, but you should drink the juice first.” A knock sounded on the distant door to the suite. “Great timing.”
As soon as he turned his back to let the room service waiter in, Phoenix made a mad dash for the bathroom. One look in the mirror was all she could bear. While Demi-God had that tousled, fresh-out-of-bed-and-can’t-wait-to-get-back-in-it look, she just looked as if she’d fallen asleep drunk.
She bolted for the door and rubbed her throbbing temples. Think, think. What the hell had she done? And more importantly, what the hell was she going to do now?
Steeling herself, she turned and checked her reflection in the mirror. Glitter? Seriously? She was so not a sparkly, gold glitter kind of girl.
First things first. Shower. Clothes. And then she was getting the hell out of here.
She turned on the shower as hot as she could bear and stepped under the stream. Then she leaned her forehead against the cool, tiled wall. Okay memory, you can come back now.
The ring on her finger was bigger than a wedding ring, a masculine thing, more signet ring than wedding ring. A pattern of stylised roses wove around a blue stone carved in the shape of a dragon’s head. She was no jewellery expert, but she guessed it was made of silver and lapis lazuli, and was very, very old. It was the kind of ring one used when one married on the spur of the moment without any planning.
Not the big, flashy diamond ring the producers would no doubt supply if this were an episode of Pranked.
She groaned aloud. She couldn’t possibly have agreed to get married last night, even on a bad mix of sedatives and champagne. Though Demi-God sincerely seemed to think they had.
Demi-God also needed a name. She thumped her head against the tiles, but that didn’t help. One memory sprang to mind, though. They’d gone dancing in some swanky nightclub. And boy, could he dance. A sudden clear image surfaced, of his hands on her waist as they slow-danced, locked in their own little bubble on a dance floor, surrounded by grinding, gyrating bodies.
Desire flashed through her, so strong her knees threatened to buckle. If that was her reaction when he wasn’t even in the room, could she perhaps really have done it? Could she have married him in an endorphin-fuelled high?
She used his lemon-scented body wash and scrubbed her hair with the masculinely-branded shampoo. Feeling at least a little better, she switched off the water and stepped out the shower. The towels felt even fluffier and softer than they looked. Whoever Demi-God was, he could afford one of the best hotels in town that was for sure.
Whether he’d won it all in the casino last night, or earned it the regular way, she didn’t care. Either way, she hoped she hadn’t signed a pre-nup.
She shook her head. Focus, Phoenix.
She needed clothes, but hers were strewn across the floor of the suite, and getting to them would mean having to face Demi-God again. She wasn’t ready for that.
Beside the door hung a cotton bathrobe. This was Vegas. As long as she wasn’t running down the street naked, she could probably still hail a cab without getting arrested for indecency. She covered herself and faced the mirror again. Much better.
Now she had to figure out an escape route, preferably one that didn’t involve having to get past her new husband first. Morning After small talk was bad enough without having to throw in ‘Who the hell are you?’ too. Not to mention, heaven only knew what her endorphins might do if she had to face him again.
The window.
There was only one, high up over the massive spa bath. She climbed up on the bath ledge and wrestled with the latch. With an ominous and over-loud squeak it finally gave way, and she shoved it open as far as it would go.
Damn. Regulation four inches.
“Are you okay in there?” Demi-God’s voice sounded very close to the bathroom door and her heart hammered.
“I’m fine.” Insane, crazy, desperate, but just fine.
Phoenix looked back at the window. It was high. It was extremely narrow. But as long as she didn’t breathe, she could do this. She hoped. Arms, head or legs first?
She’d only done this once before, but if she could do it once, she could do it again. All she needed was a ledge to stand on once she was out and a drainpipe to shimmy down. This time should be even easier, since she was barefoot.
As there was no curtain rail to hoist herself up with, she opted for arms first. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gripped the window frame, and pulled herself up. Then carrying her weight on her arms, she leaned through the gap to look out. And wished she hadn’t.
No frickin’ way. She wasn’t afraid of heights, but this was high. And this certainly wasn’t anything like that three storey boutique hotel in Miami she’d escaped from. Even if she could squeeze herself through a four inch gap, there was nothing but a thirty storey fall on the other side. Give or take a few storeys.
Four inches was a whole lot smaller than she remembered. Her arms were scraped by the time she managed to wriggle backwards onto solid ground.
Okay, re-group.
She sat on the cold toilet seat and wiped her arms down with a damp facecloth.
One bonus. At least now she knew it was morning. Probably tomorrow morning. Which meant she hadn’t just lost a few hours, but had a whole day and night to account for. And at least one bottle of champagne.
Well, she couldn’t change what was past, so she would focus on the here and now. Since escape wasn’t an option, she should unbolt the door and go out there, get her clothes, tell Demi-God ‘That was fun. Have a nice life’ and leave the traditional way.
Or she could sit right here until the maids came in to make up the room and use them as cover to duck out?
Option B it was. She stuck her hands between her knees. Had the bathroom shrunk? The walls seemed to be pressing in.
“You still in there?” The voice on the other side of the door sounded concerned now.
“Sure. Where else would I be?” Spread across the asphalt thirty storeys down?
“The coffee’s getting cold.”
At the thought of coffee, her mouth watered.
“You want to talk?”
No, she didn’t want to talk. She twisted the ring around her finger. The craftsmanship was certainly awe-inspiring. The carved silver roses even had petals. Nope, the producers of Pranked definitely weren’t that imaginative.
“I hope you’re not having second thoughts this morning.” This time Demi-God didn’t sound at all concerned. He sounded amused, confident no woman wouldn’t want to be married to him.
I’ve got news for you.
“I know it’s sudden, but see this as just another fun adventure,” he said.
Sure. Like root canal was fun.
“You know I thought I’d be the one needing time to adjust to the idea. Are you sure you’re okay in there? Is there anything I can get you?”
He wasn’t going to let her be, was he? If she didn’t go out there and face the music, he’d probably call Security to bang the door down. Actually, that could work…
But if she had to sit still another moment longer, she’d go mental. “I’m fine. I like my coffee black, one sugar.”
When she heard the clatter of coffee cups in the distance, her stomach growled. Maybe staying for coffee wouldn’t be so bad. She could explain this was all a big mistake, get dressed and leave like any rational person. She could do rational.
But if she was going to do this, she wanted a rough idea of who her host was, where she was, and how to get home.
She rummaged through the bathroom cupboard. There was nothing there except the usual hotel branded toiletries. At least now she knew where she was. The Mandarin Oriental.
Talk about getting lucky. She’d always wanted to spend a night at the Mandarin.
Next, she tackled the leather toiletry bag beside the sink. Jackpot!
A small container of headache tablets with the name Max Waldburg and the contact details of a pharmacy in Napa.
Mrs. Waldburg … no, that definitely didn’t sound like her. Hell, Mrs. Anything didn’t sound like her. She was a tumbleweed, an adventurer, not a married woman tied to some man she barely knew.
She swallowed one of the tablets, combed her hair, then found a complementary airline toothbrush and toothpaste in the bag, and brushed her teeth.
Okay, she was as ready as she was ever going to be. Sucking in a deep breath, she headed for the door.
The first thing to assault her senses as she emerged from the bathroom was the scent of bacon. Her stomach flipped in ecstasy. She was starved. Maybe coffee and bacon, and then she’d get away.
The suite was decorated in a slick Asian design, in soft creams and browns, but what grabbed her attention was the panoramic cityscape beyond the floor to ceiling windows. It looked a whole lot better from this angle, when you weren’t dangling over the drop.
Max sprawled on the sofa, reading a newspaper. He grinned up at her, a dimple appearing in his cheek. “Ready to eat?” He waved at the dining table that had been set for two. Including polished silver cutlery and a crystal vase full of yellow roses.
He set aside the newspaper and moved to join her at the table. “The flowers are for you, to make up for the ones you didn’t have at our wedding yesterday.”
Did he know they were her favourites? She shook her head. She didn’t want to know how much he knew about her from yesterday. And she hadn’t even been able to remember his name. Guilt and shame crowded her, but she pushed them aside. Life was too short for regrets.
And with her stomach doing some serious complaining, life was also too short to reject a good meal, no matter how awkward the circumstances. Who knew when she was ever going to afford to eat at the Mandarin again?
Pulling on her metaphoric big girl pants, she sat across from Max at the table and spread the real linen napkin across her lap. No paper napkins here.
And the bacon was every bit as good as it smelled. Like a good girl, she drank the glass of orange juice Max handed her. He was right about one thing; she felt a whole lot better with the food and juice inside her. It certainly beat her usual bowl of cereal, eaten standing up in her elbow-room-only kitchenette. And the view was way better, without looking at what lay beyond the windows. Wasn’t it just her luck that she pulled the most gorgeous man she’d ever met, and she couldn’t remember any of it?
When they were done, Max cleared away the plates and poured the coffee. Fresh, full-roasted coffee with cream. Phoenix couldn’t help but lick her lips in anticipation.
Max rocked his chair back as he sipped his coffee. “So what shall we do today?”
“I need to get to work.” Or anywhere but here. Besides, if this was really tomorrow, then she was supposed to switch to the day shift today.
“No, you don’t. Khara offered to take your shift today, remember? After all, we’re on honeymoon.”
Khara was in on this? Phoenix was going to wring her neck as soon as she got back to work. Friends weren’t supposed to let friends drive drunk. Or get married while drunk, either.
She swigged down a mouthful of fortifying caffeine. “Well now, that’s kind of the problem. I don’t remember.”
Max’s forehead furrowed. “What don’t you remember?”
“Everything. Anything. The last thing I remember was you offering to buy me a drink in the pool hall.”
She wished she had a camera for the expression on his face. Floored didn’t even begin to cover it.
Then a smile crinkled the edges of his eyes. He obviously smiled often, because the crinkles deepened so naturally. “I guess I’ll have to remind you, then.”
With a grace she could only hope to emulate, he rocked his chair forward and grasped her seat with both hands, yanking her closer.
He wasn’t even touching her, yet his proximity sent a rush of static heat through her. And when he slid a rough hand up her thigh, parting the robe … now she understood why she’d married him. Endorphin city. The sex must have been the best of her life. She damned well hoped her memory returned soon, because there wasn’t going to be a repeat performance anytime soon.
She pushed his hand away and clamped the front of her robe closed. Clamped her knees shut too, but that was more to ward off the sudden wave of desire shooting through her. He had her wet and needy and all he’d done was touch her leg.
She shifted her chair away from him, far enough away that she could breathe again, and reached for her coffee cup. “So tell me about yourself.”
His brow furrowed again. “You seriously don’t remember anything from last night?”
She shook her head.
He blew out his breath, grinned and stuck out his hand. “Hi, my name is Max. It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss…?”
“Ms. Montgomery.” She couldn’t help but smile back. He had that kind of infectious grin that was really hard to resist. “But you can call me Phoenix.”
“Interesting name. Is it your real name or a nickname?”
“I’m not telling. At least not until we’ve dated at least six months.” And none of her relationships ever lasted that long.
“Okay. But if you prefer, I can always call you Georgiana.”
She flushed all the way down to the roots of her hair. How much had she told this complete stranger yesterday? She never told anyone her real name. “Since I’m obviously at the disadvantage here, I don’t suppose we could speed this up a little? Like full name, place of birth, age, job description?” The reason why I married a complete stranger?
He eyed her for a long moment and she resisted the urge to squirm. For a mad second she thought he was weighing something up and deciding how much to tell her. God, she hoped he wasn’t a con man. That would be awkward if she was left with the bill for this fancy suite. She didn’t think her life savings would stretch to breakfast, let alone a night in this hotel.
Then he smiled, mouth wide, eyes crinkling, and her heart thundered against her chest. With a smile like that, it was amazing he was still single. Well, single enough to marry her, of course.
Assuming he wasn’t some Mormon with three wives back home. Was bigamy legal here in Nevada?
“Max Waldburg. I was born in a tiny principality in Europe you won’t have heard of, my age is on our marriage contract, and I work for my grandfather on his farm.”
Farm. Napa. Something clicked. “A vineyard. You make wine.”
“I’m a vintner, yes. Five years of studying viticulture, and a whole lot more as an apprentice to my grandfather, and the critics say I’m getting quite good at it.”
He reached for her hand, and this time she didn’t push him away. His touch was more than a caress; it was as if she stood in a rainbow, in a shaft of sunlight on a cold day.
“You’ll love it there. The farmhouse has a wrap-around veranda and a kitchen the size of forever. You can stand at the front door and look out over the entire valley and see nothing but vines and trees. At sunset, it’s truly magical.”
She’d married a poet. That figured. She always managed to attract men with very little grasp on reality. “You were born in Europe, but your family’s American?”
“My mother’s family is American. My father was from Europe, but he’s dead now. He died a few weeks ago.”
“I’m sorry. My father died recently too.” And this was the first time she’d thought of him all morning. She’d been awake nearly an hour and not once had the familiar grief overwhelmed her. Max might have his uses after all.
He squeezed her hand. “I know. That’s what drew us together in the first place.”
She didn’t need to ask what drew them together in the second place. The delicious static buzzing between them spoke for itself. And if she didn’t put a little space between them very quickly, she was going to find out first-hand how good the sex had been. She wasn’t usually a girl who slept with a guy she didn’t know. At least, not when she was sober.
She pulled her hand out of his and slid off the chair, away from him. Pacing the floor was preferable to being seduced by the deepest, darkest blue eyes she’d ever seen.
Blonde hair, blue eyes, tanned skin. He would make a good surfer boy if he ever decided to give up farming.
“So we signed a marriage contract?”
He laughed. “It’s on the side table. Knock yourself out.” The idiom sounded quaint in his subtle accent. She took advantage of his offer and leapt at the envelope on the small table he indicated. The papers inside seemed genuine. And that really was her signature, messy beside his large, looping, slightly old-fashioned scrawl.
“Is there a pre-nup?”
“We won’t need one.” His confidence bordered on arrogance. “There hasn’t been a divorce in my family in over three hundred years.”
She had news for him. She could only track back two generations of her family, and there hadn’t been a divorce in any of them that she knew of either. But that didn’t mean there couldn’t be a first time.
On the plus side, her impetuous little marriage could be her ticket out of a dingy motel in Vegas. Max had wealth and privilege written all over him. “So what’s your big plan for our future?”
He leaned back in his chair, lips curling in a smile. Did anything bother him? Did he ever stop smiling?
“We’ll go back to Napa, of course. And we’ll make wine, and enjoy the sunshine, and clean air and good food. We’ll have a family, and we’ll grow old together.”
Phoenix was ready to stick her finger down her throat. Stay in one place the rest of her life and grow old there? Stay with one man, forsaking all others? Over her dead body.
She dealt with the easiest issue first. “Why do I have to uproot myself and move to Napa? You could move here.”
“Because I have responsibilities in Napa, to my grandfather, to everyone who works on the farm. You don’t. Last night you told me Napa was as good a place to live as any.”
She rolled her eyes. “I was obviously out of my mind last night. I like not being responsible for anyone or anything.” Or to anyone. As long as she showed up for work every day and didn’t spill drinks on the customers as they threw their life savings into the slot machines, her life was her own, to do with as she pleased.
Max leaned back. “That’s a rather selfish way to live, don’t you think?”
“Of course it’s selfish. And I’m perfectly happy with that, thank you very much. So how do we go about getting a divorce?”
That wiped the smile off his face pretty quick. “I just told you there hasn’t been a divorce in my family for over three hundred years.”
“Then you’d better start making plans to have me bumped off, because there is no way in hell I’m going to settle down and play happy families with you. If the choice is between life as a soccer mom driving an SUV in the suburbs, and death, then it’s a very easy choice.”
“Who says it has to be either?” He laughed, and her tolerance level jumped from mild irritation to flat out anger.
She waved the papers in her hand. “This marriage is a mistake. Commitment is the quickest way to end a good relationship, and we don’t even have that.” Not to mention that it committed you to only one person, and where was the fun in that? No more waking up in strange hotel rooms and trying to climb out through windows? Thanks, but she’d skip it.
He frowned. “You don’t really believe that.”
“You don’t have a clue what I believe.”
“Last night we talked about having dreams. About a shared life together. I’d never met anyone before who wanted the same things I did until I met you.”
“Last night was last night, but this morning you’re dealing with me.”
His voice was low and soft. “You’re still the same woman you were last night, Phoenix.”
She shook her head, refusing to listen. Bad move. The headache still pressing at her temples thumped harder against her skull with the movement. “I know I have a tendency to be impulsive, but I don’t go around marrying strange men, and marriage is definitely not something on my Bucket List.”
Max pushed himself up off his chair. “No, what’s on your bucket list is to see the world. As soon as the harvest is in, we can do that. Together. Starting in Europe, as we discussed last night.”
Okay, so she’d pretty much told him everything. Parents dead, check. Dreams and ambitions, check. Real name, check.
Even Khara, who she’d worked with – and partied with – for nearly two months didn’t know more about her than her favourite music and movies. And she considered Khara one of the best friends she’d had in years.
Phoenix needed something stronger than coffee to deal with this. But since it couldn’t be more than…she glanced out the window…ten in the morning, she’d have to settle for the sofa and resting her fevered head in her hands.
Even if she could magically grow wings and fly out of this suite, she’d have to stay. There was no way she could run away from this. Not until there were signed divorce papers next those marriage papers.
Max came to sit beside her on the sofa, but he didn’t touch her. “Can I get you anything for your headache? Do you want to go back to bed?”
“Yes.” One form of escape was as good as another. Then as that infernal smile tugged at his lips, she added: “alone.”
Why waste such nice sheets and pillows? She could have a nap, and when the headache was gone they could have a rational conversation about getting divorced. And if she was going to sleep, it might as well be here in luxury, rather than in the motel where she could hear the couple next door bickering through the walls all day and all night. They’d lived there going on six years now. That was the thing with couples. They tended to get stuck in a rut, in a dead end. She wasn’t ever going to get caught in a rut. She wasn’t planning on staying in either the dead-end motel, the dead-end job or even this dead-end city, for more than a few months.
Besides, she’d come here for the memories, a final adieu to her parents before setting off alone into the wide world. But her parents weren’t here. Vegas had changed since they’d lived here. She’d changed.
There was never any point in going back, only moving forward.
She struggled up from the sofa, but Max was quicker. He caught her up in his arms and, ignoring her protest, carried her back to the bedroom. “Second time I get to carry you across the threshold.” His voice was low and husky, right by her ear.
“Please tell me we didn’t follow every cheesy wedding custom? If we were married at a drive-through or by Elvis, I think I might throw up.”
“Pink Cadillac, Elvis in a white suit, and everything.”
She must have turned green, because he laughed, a deep rumble against her chest. “That was a joke. Except for the glitter guns, it was classy and intimate. And very, very private.”
“I don’t suppose you have pictures?” Not that she planned to keep a scrapbook of the occasion, but maybe they’d trigger a memory…
“No pictures.” He smiled, and this time she had the distinct impression he was smiling at some secret. Almost gloating.
She narrowed her eyes. There was something she was missing here.
“Shall I tell you a bedtime story?” An odd way to divert her, but she nodded. No-one had told her a bedtime story since she was ten and her mother died. Since Dad almost always worked nights, she’d usually been tucked away to sleep in some dingy dressing room, or in the corner of a brightly-lit green room. Dad always said it was her greatest accomplishment: the ability to sleep anywhere at any time.
His death had robbed her of that gift. Sleep eluded her most nights now.
Max laid her down on the bed and pulled the covers over her, tucking her in. It was certainly nice to be taken care of, and made for a pleasant change. And maybe, if she was really lucky, she’d wake up and find this was all nothing more than a strange dream.
She closed her eyes and didn’t open them when Max climbed onto the bed next to her. He stayed above the covers but looped an arm across her hip. The weight of it was strangely comforting, in spite of the flutter in her heartbeat that accompanied it.
“A long time ago, in a kingdom far away,” Max began. “There was a king who lived in a big stone castle. Since his kingdom controlled access to the river, he was a very rich and powerful king. Like all kings of that time, he married a wealthy princess from another land. It was, of course, an arranged marriage, and the king never bothered to make any effort to know his bride, or to love her. Instead he flaunted his mistress for the entire kingdom to see, giving his bastard children great honours, and carving up the kingdom between them. His subjects grew to hate him, and they hated his mistress even more, and when he announced that he was divorcing his rightful queen to marry his mistress, the people revolted. They appealed to the queen’s family who sent an army, and for many years the little kingdom was torn apart by civil war.
“When the war finally ended, the kingdom was never again as prosperous as it had been. The new king who took the throne, after his uncle was brutally and publicly executed, made a vow to his people: never again would any member of the royal family divorce. They would love their spouses and live quietly without scandal for as long as the kingdom remained.
“A powerful sorceress witnessed his vow and cast a spell on his family, a blessing on their marriages. Ever since, every marriage in the royal family has been a happy one, and the couples have always found true love with the one they married.”
It was a very strange bedtime story. She’d never heard anything like it. But his voice was hypnotic, and his hand stroking down her hip was soothing. Phoenix sank back into sleep, the deepest sleep she’d had in months without the aid of sedatives.
Max lay beside Phoenix and watched her sleep. Awake, she had a vibrancy about her that made it hard to see the real woman behind the façade, but asleep the fragility beneath the surface was more apparent. Her slender face, with high, pronounced cheekbones and pointed chin, looked almost elfin.
After the restlessness driving him these last couple of weeks and the jet lag from all the travelling he’d done, it was an unexpected joy to do nothing. And to do nothing with the woman who turned him inside out every time he looked at her.
He hadn’t truly believed all those stories he’d been raised on about falling in love at first sight until the moment it happened to him. It had been that way for his parents, and his grandparents, but he hadn’t given his own marriage much thought.
But the moment he’d walked into that dive of a bar and seen Phoenix leaning over the pool table, concentration focussed on lining up her next shot, he’d been a believer. ‘Moth to a flame’ and all those other clichés had nothing on the instant attraction he’d felt for her. And it wasn’t all due to the sexy, slender figure wrapped in tight jeans. Her appeal had been more than physical. She’d laughed as she’d lifted her head and caught his eye, and he’d been dazzled.
He still felt dazzled.
And she still hadn’t removed his ring from her finger.
He stroked his finger lightly down her cheek, and Phoenix stirred in her sleep, full, pink lips curving in a brief smile as she sank deeper into sleep. She smiled a lot when she was awake, but that smile was nothing like this one. She seemed to have a public smile, a wide, bright one, and this smile, her more intimate, sexier one. Fitting. He knew all about the difference between the public persona and the private one, and it would make life easier on his wife if she did too.
He fluffed the pillow beneath his head and rolled on his back to look up at the ceiling. For the first time since he’d received the tearful midnight phone call from his mother, he felt at peace.
The big state funeral in the gothic cathedral in Neustadt had been more than he could bear. All that ritual and pomp for someone who was no longer there to appreciate it. It was life that should be celebrated, not death. So he’d said the right words, shaken the right hands, and got on the first plane back to the States.
He’d stood in the vast concourse at JFK and watched the flight announcements flashing on the large screens, and for a moment he’d wondered what life was really all about. He’d felt as if he stood at a crossroads, between a life only half lived and all those things he still wanted to do. Then the Las Vegas flight had shown up and he’d known that’s where he wanted to be.
Destiny had called and here he was.
He traced a finger over Phoenix’s lips. She’d met death up close and personal too. And she too had chosen to celebrate being alive. He’d never met a woman so full of life and energy, so dedicated to making the most of every moment, that in the space of an hour she’d made him feel more alive than he ever had before. It had taken even less time than that to lose his heart to her.
He had no intention of letting her go now that he’d found her. All he had to do was talk her out of this nonsense about a divorce.
Chapter Two (#ude4682eb-3d0b-5e94-b7b3-4a1de20b6f45)
By the time she finally woke, Max had dressed, phoned his grandfather to check all was well at the vineyard, and glanced through the evening papers. He breathed a sigh of relief to see Westerwald’s grief hadn’t made the US press. The death of an unknown European Archduke was already old news and Max’s anonymity was still safe.
Phoenix padded into the living room, rubbing her eyes, blonde, sun-streaked hair rumpled. Her hair was darker underneath, he noticed, and curlier where the strands touched her collar bone.
“What time is it?”
He folded the paper and set it aside. “Lunchtime. Shall we go out?”
“I’d rather not.” She began to collect her clothes that still lay scattered across the floor, a vivid reminder of the passion that had overtaken them the night before.
“Perfect. I’m sure we can find a way to make staying in very pleasurable.”
“I meant I’d rather not spend the afternoon with you.”
He’d known exactly what she meant, but he wasn’t having it. “You don’t perhaps want to spend a few waking hours with me to find out why you liked me enough to marry me?”
She bit her lip, sorely tempted but not yet giving in. He could only imagine how galling it was to have lost a huge chunk of time. Possibly even more galling than having the woman of your dreams not remember you. Worse, not remember falling in love with you.
He wasn’t used to either situation. He’d left Westerwald and made a new life in the States precisely because women had a terrible habit of falling in love with him. The trail of broken hearts he’d left behind had embarrassed his father’s staid ministers.
Westerwald didn’t handle embarrassment well. They preferred their royals dutiful and dull, and Max had never had an inclination to be much of either.
The States had been kinder to him. No-one here had expected him to be anyone but himself and no-one expected him to fall in love at first sight. Least of all himself.
He poured all his infamous charm into a smile. “At least give me this afternoon. I’ll even pay. Sky’s the limit. If there was anything you ever wanted to do in Las Vegas, this is your chance.”
Phoenix clutched her clothes to her chest. “One afternoon but I get to choose how we spend it?” She paused, looking down at the slender fingers fisted around her clothes. “Deal. But you’ll need to take this back.”
She slid the ring off her finger and handed it to him, careful not to touch him. Max took the ring, keeping his victory smile to himself. An afternoon was all he’d need to remind her of what was so special between them. He’d have his ring back on her finger soon enough. And this time it would be a proper ring, with the most elegant diamond he could find.
This wasn’t exactly the quality, getting-to-know-you afternoon he’d had in mind. Max pressed his foot down on the gas as the vehicle beneath him skidded sideways on the soft sand. He yanked at the steering wheel, only just missing the makeshift barrier by inches. There was no time for relief, though, as he hurtled towards the next corner. Phoenix’s dune buggy was already two car lengths ahead, with the chequered flag visible in the distance.
He put his foot flat on the pedal but it wasn’t enough. Phoenix’s buggy careened over the finishing line a few yards ahead of his.
When he climbed out the vehicle, adrenaline still pumping, heart racing, and swept Phoenix off her feet, she laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Her heart hammered against his chest, her full, round breasts pressed against him. Her pupils were wide and black as sin, swallowing the softer chocolate brown of her irises. She swallowed nervously, but didn’t push him away.
His lips met hers in a crushing, possessive kiss, no less urgent on her part than on his. She tasted of excitement and passion, and he responded by pouring everything of himself into that kiss.
When they finally broke apart, she ran light fingers through his hair. “Now if you drove the way you kissed, you might have beaten me.”
“Oh?” he asked, reluctantly letting her slide from his grasp to stand on her own feet. But he kept an arm loosely around her waist. It was good to have her back in his arms again, where she belonged.
“All or nothing. As if you had nothing to lose.”
“Don’t you have anything to lose?”
“Nothing.”
Nothing to lose and no responsibility. There’d been times in his life he’d have given anything not to feel responsible for other people. But there was a flip side to being responsible. “But then you have nothing to live for either,” he pointed out.
She shrugged. “Tell me you didn’t feel alive sliding down that hill at a hundred miles an hour.” Her face glowed with exhilaration, but he was sure her feverish flush had more to do with the kiss than the dune buggy race.
“Where did you learn to drive like that?”
“I had an ex-boyfriend who raced motorbikes. He bought me my first bike and taught me how to ride.”
He forced his jaw to unclench. The afternoon was too short to spoil with talk of the other men in her life. And of course there had been other men in her life, and he better just get used to that idea. “So what’s next? The zip-line in Fremont Street or the Stratosphere bungee?”
Though he’d rather not do either. Right now he’d much rather take his bride back to his hotel room and make love to her.
“Been there, done that. I need a shower.” She shook her head to prove the point, scattering sand. They were both dusty and sweaty from the race.
“Fantastic idea.” He still had his arm wrapped around her waist. He slid his hand further down, to hook in her jeans pocket. From her sudden, sharp intake of breath he knew she hadn’t found the intimacy of his touch undesirable. Quite the contrary.
The first time he kissed her yesterday, they’d stood exactly like this. Admittedly, they’d both been cleaner then. And less sober.
Dragging in a shaky breath, Phoenix swatted his hand away and pulled out of his embrace. “Separate showers.” She sent him a glare frosty enough to scare a normal man. “And no champagne.”
Max forced a laugh and grudgingly stepped away. “Suit yourself.”
So they headed back to his hotel and showered. Separately.
He was waiting when she emerged from the bathroom, fresher and sparklier than before, with all traces of both the strenuous afternoon and last night’s revels gone, and for a moment he was sure her memory had returned. She was back in the bathrobe, the pale rounds of her breasts visible where the fabric gaped, and his blood pounded at the sight. But when he touched her, caressing her bare collarbone, she stepped out of reach, eyes distinctly cool.
What wasn’t cool was the flush that blossomed where his fingers had touched her skin. She couldn’t deny the chemistry between them, nor would she be able to avoid it much longer.
“Where are my clothes?” She eyed the now empty armchair where she’d discarded her jeans and T-shirt.
“Housekeeping have taken them for cleaning. You had half the desert in them.”
“I hope you don’t think you’re going to keep me hostage here with nothing to wear but this bathrobe?”
He shook his head. “I got you something a little more suitable. You’re not going to need jeans or a bathrobe where we’re going tonight.”
Without a word, she followed his gaze to the living room where a small mountain of branded boxes stood ready and waiting.
“I wasn’t sure of your size, so I asked them to send up a range.”
Her jaw dropped open. “What exactly do you have planned for this evening?”
Aside from the obvious? “For a start, dinner at Le Cirque.”
Her eyes widened. “I’ve always wanted to eat at Le Cirque.”
He only just stopped himself in time from saying ‘I know’. She didn’t like that he remembered so much while she remembered nothing.
Yesterday, in that blissful, whirlwind day they’d spent getting to know each other, she’d told him how frugally she lived, scraping together every spare cent for her trip around Europe. Money was the only thing she lacked, and Max wasn’t above awing her with it to keep her at his side until she succumbed to the passion burning between them.
Max placed his hand on Phoenix’s lower back as they threaded between the tables, enjoying the soft sway of her movement beneath his hand. He must remember to thank the lovely lady at the concierge desk for her superb taste. The wrap-around silk dress in a delicate shade of teal moulded to Phoenix’s curves like a second skin. It was classy and sexy at the same time, and he was having a problem keeping his hands off her.
The famous restaurant, with its decorated walls and swathes of bright-coloured fabric overhead, was surprisingly intimate and elegant for a room decorated to resemble the inside of a circus tent. The maître d’ seated them at one of the most sought-after tables, at a picture window overlooking the Bellagio’s famous fountains. Lyrical piano music underscored the muted sounds of conversation. Max held out her chair for her, before taking his own seat across the table.
While Phoenix studied the menu, Max chatted to the sommelier, finally ordering a bottle of wine from his own vineyard. In the time it took for the wine to arrive, he entertained Phoenix with a history of the wine they’d be drinking. Her eyes didn’t glaze over, and she asked intelligent questions, so he figured she wasn’t faking being interested.
“You love what you do,” she observed, smiling and softening towards him as she first breathed in the aroma of the wine, then took a cautious sip. “Nice. Though I have to admit I know absolutely nothing about wine except how to drink it.”
“Then you’ll be my most honest critic.” Her honesty was one of the most appealing things about her. He swirled the wine around in his glass. “Last night you told me you moved to Vegas because you lived here as a child. Tell me about it.”
“I’m the one at the disadvantage here. You already know so much about me. Tell me about yourself.”
He shook his head. “I’ll get my turn.” He wanted her to talk about herself, to relax and open up. In his experience, most people felt more comfortable talking than listening. He’d been trained to be a very good listener.
Phoenix didn’t look at him but focussed her eyes instead on the view beyond the expansive windows. “The year we lived here was the happiest time I remember. Not that I wasn’t happy a lot in my childhood, but my mother was still alive then. She sang in a show at one of the big hotels. She had the most beautiful bluesy voice imaginable.”
Her mother, he remembered, had died less than a year after they’d left Vegas. Phoenix had been only ten. He couldn’t imagine losing his mother. He’d been so lucky, surrounded by adoring parents, his beloved grandmother, nannies, and a brother who’d been in equal measure his best friend and greatest rival.
“My father had a day job playing piano in a classy restaurant much like this one,” she continued. “We had dinner together as a family every night, and then Mom would read me a bedtime story, tuck me into bed, and go out to work.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Most of the time.” Her restless fingers played with the stem of the wine glass. “But like everything in life, it didn’t last. Daddy hated it – playing piano for people who barely heard it. As with all true artists, he needed to be challenged, to try new things. So he joined a rock band, Mom left the show, and we followed him on tour. After that, I don’t remember spending more than six months in any one place.”
“Must have been tough getting a decent education when you kept moving.”
She shrugged again. “I got the best education anyone could ask for. I’m a graduate of the University of Life.” She smiled that wide smile that lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle. There were gold specks in her dark eyes, he noticed, that gave her a luminous quality. “There’s probably not much I haven’t seen or done. And I read a lot. You can find out everything you need to know from books.”
He didn’t disagree. But her education was a world away from his. He thought of the six years he’d spent in an elite French boarding school, tied to a desk where books had been dry and dull, and life beyond the windows had seemed to pass him by. He’d dreamed of a life like hers.
He’d been destined for Oxford and the kind of studies that would turn him into a good diplomat, an asset to his country. A dull asset to his country. Until he’d bucked the system and chosen to study wine-making in California instead. His father had hit the roof and their relationship had never been the same since. Never would be, now his father was dead.
“What are you thinking about?” Phoenix asked. She laid a hand on his, and the heat radiating from her was both electric and calming at the same time, like being burrowed in bed beneath a warm duvet during a storm.
“I think we should order our meal. Have you chosen yet what you want?”
She frowned and released his hand.
Once he’d summoned the waiter, and they’d placed their orders, Phoenix turned her direct gaze on him.
He tensed. He’d told her a lot about himself yesterday. Now in the clear light of day, or at any rate the clear light of the sunset deepening over the desert, he was sure those confidences were better kept in the dark. He didn’t want to freak her out until she knew him better.
“Tell me about your family,” she prompted.
He sucked in a breath. This was the question he most hated. From the moment he’d been old enough to talk he’d been cautioned not to talk about family. One never knew what would make its way to the ears of the press. Which was why last night he’d chosen the most discreet chapel they could find in Vegas and why he’d used his fake ID.
But today Phoenix didn’t have a clue who he really was. She saw him as nothing more than what he’d become, a Californian vintner. There was a freedom in that.
He sipped his wine, taking a moment to think through what he would say, how to skirt the truth without lying. He valued honesty above all else, and didn’t want to start their married life with lies. “My father inherited the family business. He’s always been big on duty and family.”
“Was his death sudden or expected?” Phoenix cupped her chin in her hand, listening avidly.
“Very sudden. He had high blood pressure for years, but this was his first heart attack and he was dead within half an hour.”
Sympathy filled her eyes. She nodded. “How are you holding up?”
No-one but Grandfather had asked him that before now. Back home in Westerwald the only thing everyone had been concerned with was “what now?”
He’d told the old man he wasn’t sure. He still wasn’t. “We were never that close. Rik was always our father’s favourite son, the one most like him.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” Her gaze sharpened. She wasn’t going to let him get away with the evasion.
“Conflicted. I feel guilty that I didn’t make amends before he died. And of course I’ll miss him. He was a big presence in my life, even if we never saw eye to eye.”
“I sense a ‘but’ in there.”
He sucked in a deep breath. “But now that he’s gone, I feel as if I’m finally free of his expectations. Rik will take over the family business and I’m free to do what I want.”
“How does your brother feel having to take over the business while you get to do whatever you want?”
He shrugged. “Rik has always been big on duty and family too. He’s perfect for the job.”
“And what is it you want to do with all this freedom?”
This was how they’d talked last night. She hadn’t been afraid to ask him the hard questions. The déjà-vu was both surreal and reassuring. The same connection they’d had last night was still there. She understood him. She listened. It hadn’t been a mirage.
“I want to live life on my own terms, doing what I want, going wherever I want, when I want.” He took her hand, entwining his fingers through hers. “And with whomever I want.”
She caught the emphasis on his final word, and bit her lip. But she didn’t pull her hand away.
“And I want to make good wine. There’s a tremendous amount of satisfaction in making something that brings joy to others, even if it is only for a fleeting moment in time. Yesterday you told me that’s exactly how your father felt about being a musician.”
She nodded.
“And you told me you want to live life on your own terms too.” He grinned. “In those exact words.”
“I do.” She blushed as her words echoed between them. She shook her head. “But my terms don’t include marriage and children and mortgages.”
He laughed. “I can promise you won’t ever have to worry about a mortgage with me. And I’m in no hurry for children.”
“Tell me about your brother.” She was changing the subject, putting him off. That was fine by him. They had plenty of time to talk about starting a family of their own.
“Rik and I have always been close, though I guess we’re like dark and light. He’s the serious, thoughtful, dutiful one, and I’m the easy-going, push-the-boundaries one.”
She nodded again, expression thoughtful. “I never had any siblings. I’m always curious how other people manage to share their parents. I’m glad I never had to.”
“We never needed to share either. Rik was always our father’s child, and I was our mother’s. She had a higher tolerance level.”
“Were you that naughty? No, don’t answer that, of course you were.” She laughed, a husky, sensual sound. “But what are you doing here now? Shouldn’t you be with your family?”
He shrugged. “I’m here for the same reason you are. To have a party and celebrate the fact that it feels good to be alive.”
Amusement lit her eyes. “And you thought getting hitched was a great way to celebrate being alive?”
“I didn’t expect to meet my one true love here in Vegas, but now it’s happened, everything’s changed. I’d rather be here with you than anywhere else in the world.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re insane, you know that? You don’t surely believe in true love and fairy tales, and all that nonsense?”
“Why not? Don’t you feel this connection between us?”
“What I feel for you isn’t a connection. It’s lust. Pure and simple.”
Pure and simple. Exactly the words he would have chosen for the state of his feelings for this wild, complicated, beautiful woman. But it wasn’t merely lust he was feeling. He was well acquainted with lust, and this was a whole lot more.
But if that was all she would admit to, he could work with that.
The waiter appeared at her elbow, sliding their plates onto the table. When he attempted to refill Phoenix’s wine glass, she put her hand over it. “No more for me.” She sent the waiter a smile that had the poor man near melting.
“Is there anything else I can get you, ma’am?”
“No, thank you.”
Alone again, her smile dropped as she turned back to him. “So did your parents fall in love at first sight and live happily ever after then?”
Max smiled, warmed by the memory of a family story he’d heard over and over. “Pretty much. It started as a business merger of sorts. She was a model, stunningly beautiful, and my father’s…board…decided she would bring a glamour and freshness to the company image. But from the moment they met, that was it. Destiny stepped in. By the time they married, they were very much in love, and haven’t spent a night apart since.”
“This must be a tough time for her then. So you plan to drop in on her while she’s still in mourning and say ‘Hi Mom, this is my wife. I know you haven’t met her yet, but wey-hey it was love at first sight.’?”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he admitted. “I tend to just go with the flow in life.” He stared at the reflections in the surface of the golden wine. “But I don’t want to keep this from her for too long – we don’t have secrets in our family. But you’re right, now probably wouldn’t be the best time to break the news. We’ll leave my family out of it for a while. But you’ll meet my Grandfather when we go back to Napa.”
“I am not going anywhere with you. Except to find a lawyer to help us do whatever we need to do to erase the past twenty four hours.”
She was certainly tenacious, he’d give her that. But if wine-making had taught him anything, it was patience. “Eat up. We have tickets for the show tonight.”
“What show?”
“Cirque du Soleil, of course.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I couldn’t keep my mouth shut last night, could I?”
“Is it so bad that I know so much about you, your dreams and desires, and want to make them happen? All you have to do is sit back and enjoy the ride.”
She clamped her mouth shut and focused on her food but her demeanour still screamed defiance. Max could hardly blame her. If it was him with no memory of their marriage, he’d probably also balk at the thought of being trapped. No matter how gilded the cage.
Only for him this didn’t feel like being trapped. It felt like coming home. It felt inevitable.
So he humoured her mood. He had no doubt she’d thaw when she had some time to absorb last night’s events or remember them, whichever came first.
By the time their chocolate soufflé and coffees arrived, she’d warmed enough to question him about his studies and about the vineyard. These were easy questions, readily answered without too much thought, and when they were done and he’d paid the bill, she even let him take her hand as they walked out the hotel.
It was rather nice to walk hand in hand with a man who made her heart beat as fast as any adrenaline rush. They circled the vast plaza in front of the Bellagio Hotel and paused to look at the hundreds of fountains dancing in the waning light. A light breeze lifted the spray off the fountains and drifted it across to where they stood. The fine mist brought welcome relief from the heavy evening heat.
The sky overhead was the colour of blood, full of the drama and passion that only the desert could produce, a million specks of dust reflecting the sun’s dying light.
For a mad moment she closed her eyes and wondered what it would be like, to let herself fall dizzyingly in love with someone, to give in to the passion.
She’d believed she was in love with life. But a sneaky feeling had started to creep up on her today, perhaps even since last night, that she hadn’t really been alive until she’d met Max. She’d done crazy things before, tried every adrenaline rush she could find, and loved the thrill of being on the very edge of terror, yet somehow simply being with someone who warmed her from the inside out, was a whole different kind of rush.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been in lust before. This was … different.
Max stood behind her, one arm wrapped loosely around her waist, and she couldn’t tear herself out of his embrace. She leaned against the railing, watching the water catch the setting sunlight in a million rainbows. She sighed. It felt too damned nice to be held.
Clearly it had felt pretty nice yesterday too for her to have done the unthinkable and married Max. What had possessed her? If only she could remember…
“What are you thinking?” he whispered in her ear.
“I wish I could bottle and sell moments like these. Soon it’ll be dark, and the magic will be gone.” She shivered. Nothing ever lasted. Nothing stayed the same. Change was the only constant. Relocation, death, amnesia.
The only way to cope when the things you loved were gone was to not let yourself feel. And with Max, she was very much in danger of letting herself feel.
She shook herself. “Let’s get going. I don’t want to miss the show.”
She wasn’t surprised to find their seats were the best in the house. Max did nothing by halves, it seemed. Since her first job in Vegas had been scalping tickets, she had a pretty good idea how much they’d set him back. Most people booked months in advance, and he’d made one phone call and got the very best.
If there was one thing she’d learned about Max today, it was that his wealth hadn’t come as a recent windfall. He had that casual attitude towards money that marked him as born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth.
Clearly there was a lot of money in wine. The kind of serious money that could easily buy a ticket to Europe and a couple of months’ worth of beer and pizza.
But at what price to her soul? She couldn’t do that to him. Being shackled in marriage was bad enough. Being used was a step too far. She wouldn’t do that to anyone, and especially not to Max, who had an honourable streak a mile wide, even if he had some very old-fashioned ideas.
After the show, they wandered through the Bellagio’s very own indoor botanical garden, and then sampled cocktails on a poolside deck, in one of those private cabanas that Phoenix had only ever seen in brochures. She stuck to rum-based cocktails. They were way safer than champagne.
Max quizzed her on where she lived and laughed at her behind-the-scenes stories from rock concerts she’d attended. He wasn’t like the famous or rich people she’d met, and she’d met more than a few in the nomadic life she’d shared with her father. Rock stars, record producers, even an A-list actor or two when they’d lived in LA. And she’d been spectacularly unimpressed by them all.
Max was different. He wore his wealth like a comfortable skin. There was no bling about him, just a certain expectation that he would always have the best. She’d love to see him in her drab little apartment in the far from fashionable suburbs. She couldn’t even imagine it.
He carried himself with that air of assurance that he could have anything he wanted. And tonight he made it very clear he wanted her. The fact that for five whole minutes she allowed herself to contemplate giving him exactly that was a measure of how good he was at getting exactly what he wanted.
They strolled down Fremont Street, wandering among the pushing crowds beneath the neon signs, bombarded by voices, the heavy thump of music and the scent of fast foods.
Max held her hand and it felt like a life-line. Since her father’s death she’d felt adrift, rootless but somehow in Max’s company, laughing with him, talking with him, she felt anchored and safe.
It was very tempting to give in. What could it hurt? Just one more night. She’d already done the worst anyone could possibly do on a first date by marrying the man. Surely one night couldn’t do any more damage?
So when they magically found themselves outside the Mandarin Oriental all the reasons she’d kept him at bay through the day seemed very hard to remember.
She pulled her hand out of Max’s and faced him. It was definitely easier to think without his touch accelerating her heartbeat and muddying her thinking.
“I should get home,” she said. It was a half-hearted attempt. She forced herself to sound more certain. “And I need a good night’s sleep before I go to work tomorrow… because I know for a fact Khara didn’t volunteer to take that shift too.” The daytime tips weren’t as good as the night shift, and Khara was working to put herself through college.
Max slid his hands down her arms, from shoulder to elbow, and she shivered in spite of the intense June heat.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”
No, she wasn’t sure. She was far more used to giving in to her impulses than denying them. But look at the mess she’d made already - she was married to a man she barely knew. Hell, she was married. That was enough.
“I’m on the day shift tomorrow, so I get off at six. We could meet then if you want. I’ll need to collect my clothes from you, and we should talk about filing papers.”
His eyes narrowed, but his voice stayed level. “As you wish.”
He dropped his hands from her arms, and it was as though a chill breeze suddenly swept between them. He summoned one of the hovering cabs.
“This has been a truly magical day,” she said. “Thank you.”
“It doesn’t have to end, Phoenix.”
“Of course it does. There’s no such thing as magic. Today has been like a dream, but every dream ends when we wake up.”
“I’m not a dream. I’m real, and I’m not going anywhere.”
She shook her head. “You and I don’t live in the same world. We don’t even breathe the same air. You live up there,” she waved at the soaring heights of the luxury hotel towering above them, “and I live in a motel with very thin walls.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way. I want us to try to give this marriage a shot.”
The thought of giving up her motel room for his hotel suite was very tempting. But she shook her head. “I serve drinks to the people in your world for a living, Max. I’m invisible to most of them. You actually saw me, and for that I’m very grateful. But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t belong in your world.”
She stepped into the cab and shut the door firmly in his face. It took all her effort not to look back as the cab pulled out into the traffic.
Chapter Three (#ude4682eb-3d0b-5e94-b7b3-4a1de20b6f45)
Phoenix couldn’t wait to get out of her work clothes and into a long hot bath. She’d been on her feet ten hours straight, she was hot, tired, and she couldn’t get a certain roguishly charming winemaker out of her thoughts. Even though he hadn’t returned her call.
Her mouth watered at the delicious, spicy scent wafting down the motel corridor. It made a pleasant change from the heavy fried grease smell from the apartment next door. The smell would have to keep her going until she’d changed out of her work uniform and ordered take-out.
She slipped her key into the latch and opened the door. The scent wafted straight out of her apartment. She blinked in surprise.
Max stood at the stove she never used, stirring a pot of fragrant…she sniffed the air…Thai curry, with coconut. Yum, another favourite.
“You cook?” Silly question considering what he was doing. Why hadn’t she asked the more obvious question of what are you doing here? Or better yet: how did you get in?
He grinned, and as if reading her thoughts, “Your landlady let me in.”
So much for that privacy she’d been promised when she signed the short-term lease.
“Well at least you’ve saved me a trip.” She kicked off her shoes and threw her purse and a large manila envelope onto the white melamine coffee table. “Those are the divorce papers.”
Turns out Khara’s brother was a divorce lawyer. She’d almost suspected a set-up but her friend had seemed truly contrite.
I can’t believe you don’t remember she’d said. It was as if you were under some sort of spell. I was so sure this was it: Love with a capital L.
That was the champagne, she’d replied.
“You shouldn’t have.” Max’s tone was dry. “Have a bath and I’ll pour you some wine.”
Too tired to argue, she headed for the bathroom which wasn’t much bigger than the closet in his fancy hotel suite. She ground to a halt in the bedroom doorway. A large designer label suitcase lay on the bed. It certainly wasn’t hers.
“What the hell is this?” she demanded.
“I told you, I really want us to give this marriage thing a shot and show you that we belong together. Since you don’t want to stay with me in my hotel, I checked out and came here.”
This was verging on stalkerish. She was sure she should care more but all she could think of was…“There’s only one bed.”
And he would never fit on the two-seater sofa.
“There was only one bed in my hotel room but that didn’t seem to matter.”
She wetted her lips. A sane and sensible young woman was not supposed to go weak at the knees at the thought of sharing a bed with her stalker. Nor was she supposed to have fantasies that involved him, her and that same bed.
She pressed her eyes shut.
“You might want to hurry with that bath. Dinner’s nearly ready.”
She shucked off her clothes as she headed to the bathroom. Another surprise awaited her there. Steam clung to the walls and frosted the mirror. He’d already run her a bath. Complete with scented oil, rose petals and candles.
All he had to do was throw in the champagne and she’d be screwed. Literally.
She submerged herself in the rose-scented warmth and closed her eyes. Baths, dinner, wine. She could get used to this. If being married meant being waited on hand and foot, then perhaps it wasn’t so bad.
Who was she kidding? Everyone she’d ever known who’d married had ended up divorced. Those that made it through, like her parents, and Max’s, just landed up with unbearable pain when their partner died. She’d been through that pain twice already and that was more than enough for one lifetime, thank you very much.
When her skin grew wrinkled she finally clambered out the bath. If Max wanted to stick around, then he was about to experience Phoenix as he’d never experienced her before. She grinned as she pulled on her rattiest t-shirt (her father’s souvenir of a Megadeth concert a lifetime ago) and her least flattering pair of drawstring sweat pants.
Max had a glass of crisp white wine ready and waiting for her. She took it straight to the couch in front of the television, flopped down, and began to channel surf, deliberately ignoring the table set out ready and waiting. Complete with the crystal vase of yellow roses she’d left in his hotel room.
If she’d hoped to annoy him, it didn’t work. He brought his own glass of wine to the sofa and sat beside her. Since it wasn’t the largest sofa in the world, his arm slung across the back was as good as slung around her shoulders. She could lean right back into the solid comfort of him…
She shifted as far away as she could.
“If you prefer, we can have dinner on TV trays,” he suggested.
She sighed. It was pointless trying to push him away. He invaded her space, her senses, no matter what she did, and an increasingly large part of her enjoyed it.
“The table will be fine.” She gulped down a mouthful of wine. “Hey, this is good. Another one of yours?”
His mouth quirked. “Not quite, but it’s from my homeland … my father’s homeland.”
“Where is that?”
He shook his head. “You won’t have heard of it. It’s a small independent nation called Westerwald.”
She hadn’t heard of it. “You were born there?”
The television’s flicker reflected in his deep azure eyes. “I was raised there.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/romy-sommer/waking-up-in-vegas-a-royal-romance-to-remember/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.