Lucy Monroe
ISBN 0-7582-0863-4
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Warning: Do Not Take Home To Mother
Rand
After tragedy struck six years ago, Rand buried what was left of his heart—until Phoebe Garrison comes along with an enticing deal: a coveted deed his company needs in exchange for a week in her bed. Trouble is a week is not enough to indulge his fantasies with this amazing woman…
Carter
To fulfill his father’s generous will, Carter needs a wife. For half-a-million dollars, Daisy Jackson says “I do.” But after a wedding night of nonstop, sheet-soaking consummation, Carter wants Daisy to have, to hold, and to everything else…
Colton
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right? Unless you wake up in bed with a showgirl named Fayre—aka your new wife. How could the stable, workaholic Colton gamble on such an unpredictable force of nature? Still, he has to admit, all bets (and clothes) are off when playing with Fayre…
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Chapter One
Rand Alexander should have a warning sign.
Danger.
Radioactive material.
Beware.
Because he impacted Phoebe’s senses like a nuclear power plant going into meltdown.
She sucked in air, trying to regulate breathing that had gone haywire the moment his to-die-for body had filled the doorway of the swank hotel’s reception room.
Heart racing, she fought the painful intensity of desires that would shock Rand silly. Like she always did. Every time the man walked into the room, she lost control of her body’s reactions.
And he didn’t even notice.
It wasn’t that he ignored her. They were friends, after all, but if she danced naked on the hood of his car, he would politely ask her if she needed a hand down. All the while his real focus would be on something, or someone, else.
Like the blonde whose dress looked as if it was made of shimmering silver spangles glued to her body. The one that had just caught his arm and his attention.
“He looks wonderful, doesn’t he, Phoebe dear? So mature now.” Aunt Emmaline’s voice buzzed at the edge of Phoebe’s consciousness like a bee trying to alight.
Wonderful? He looked edible, six feet four inches of solid sex appeal with glossy black hair and eyes the color of molten steel.
“Fancy him coming back after all these years and still unattached.”
Of course he was unattached. He had buried his heart with his wife and son six years ago.
“Oh, look, he and his mother are coming this way.”
It was only as her aunt’s last words registered that Phoebe realized the old woman was not discussing Rand, but rather his half brother, Carter Sloane. Her ex-fiancé.
While Rand turned aside to talk to the blonde, Carter was indeed headed their way. Walking beside his elegant mother, he looked more like a California golden boy than an East Coast executive.
“Carter, how well you look.” Aunt Emmaline beamed at him.
“Thank you, and may I return the compliment?”
The old woman’s paper-thin cheeks pinkened under the warmth of Carter’s smile. It was the same smile that four years ago had made Phoebe’s heart race, but it did not have the slightest impact now. Rand, on the other hand, only had to look at her and her brain stopped working.
The older women greeted each other.
“Phoebe, how are you?” Carter’s attention was fixed wholly on her now, and she tried to return the favor.
Only Rand and the other woman were laughing together, and the sight of red fingernails against a white dinner jacket had Phoebe fighting green demons she hated almost as much as her status as a twenty-five-year-old virgin.
“I’m fine, Carter.” She forced her eyes away from the couple on the other side of the room. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, it has.”
“How long will you be staying?”
He shrugged. “I may be back for good.”
His mother looked unmoved by the prospect, but not so Aunt Emmaline. “How wonderful!” She smiled with a definite gleam in her eye. “You and Phoebe will have to catch up on old times.”
A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told Phoebe she had to divert this conversational tangent but fast. “The past is over, and I’m sure Carter has no more interest in it than I do.”
Aunt Emmaline frowned. “You don’t mean that, dear.”
“I do.” Phoebe smiled at Carter to show no offense was intended by her blunt declaration, but blunt was all that worked with her great-aunt.
“Standing on four-year-old pride makes for a lonely existence.” The acerbity of her aunt’s tone didn’t bother Phoebe nearly as much as the implication she’d spent four years pining for a man who’d dumped her.
“I’m not being proud, just practical. It’s only fair to tell you that if you’re considering Carter as a candidate for great-nephew-in-law, then don’t bother. We’ve been there, done that, and it didn’t work. Right, Carter?”
She turned to Carter and willed him to agree with her.
His expression was regretful, but he remained quiet, which did nothing to help the situation or settle her temper.
“I suppose you think Rand Alexander is a better prospect?” Aunt Emmaline demanded, warming to an old argument. She glared in disapproval toward the couple on the other side of the ballroom, now blatantly flirting.
“That could hardly be the case.” Mrs. Sloane’s well-bred sneer grated on Phoebe’s nerves.
She had her reasons for resenting Rand, but Phoebe would not stand silently by while she and Aunt Emmaline criticized him.
“You’re interested in my half brother?” The incredulity in Carter’s voice was almost enough for her to answer in the affirmative, putting her feelings for Rand on public display.
Almost, but her pride was still stronger than her indignation, so she remained silent and let Carter draw his own conclusions.
“He’s not really your type, Phoebe.” Carter sounded as though he almost pitied her.
And that hurt because although he was dead wrong that his half brother wasn’t her type, there was no denying she wasn’t in a league to entice Rand, and that amounted to the same depressing thing.
Aunt Emmaline bristled as only very correct old ladies could do. “Of course he’s not.” Phoebe turned on her aunt. “What’s wrong with Rand?”
A tinkling laugh sounded from the other side of the room, snagging her attention in time to see the blonde rub up against Rand like a horny cat, eroding Phoebe’s temper one more notch.
“He’s unsuitable.”
