GIRLS’ WEEKEND IN VEGAS

Four friends, four dream weddings!

On a girly weekend in Las Vegas, best friends Alex, Molly, Serena and Jayne are just supposed to have fun and forget men—but they end up meeting their perfect matches! Will the love they find in Vegas stay in Vegas?

Find out in this sassy, fun and wildly romantic mini-series all about love and friendship!

Inconveniently Wed!

by

Jackie Braun

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JACKIE BRAUN is a three-time RITA® Award finalist, a four-time National Readers’ Choice Award finalist, and a past winner of the Rising Star Award. She worked for nearly two decades as an award-winning journalist before leaving her full-time job to write fiction. She lives in mid-Michigan with her husband and their two sons. She loves to hear from readers and can be reached through her website at www.jackiebraun.com

Myrna Mackenzie on Jackie Braun:

‘Jackie Braun writes a book with plenty of emotion and a touch of sizzle…From the moment Serena and Jonas stepped onto the page in INCONVENIENTLY WED! I was hooked. Serena is fun and funny, and Jonas is the man every woman wants to wake up next to.’

Serena’s blog prior to the girls’ wild Vegas weekend

New York might be Frank Sinatra’s kind of town, but Vegas is mine, baby. You’ve got to love a place where you can eat, drink and dance whatever the hour. Being outrageous isn’t frowned on there. It’s practically a must. Forget slots and cards. I’ve never been lucky when it comes to games of chance. But sign me up for the sights. Every colour looks better in neon. Well, maybe not that hot pink I tried on my hair a few years back.

I hope my friends are up for a wild good time—especially Jayne. She deserves one after what her ex-fiancé did to her. Another good reason to steer clear of the altar. Men—even the seemingly good ones—often turn out to be jerks. But that’s behind her now, and I’m betting on Vegas to help her forget—at least for a while. Perfectly level-headed and otherwise reserved people go nuts while they’re in Vegas. Levelheaded and reserved are descriptions that could apply to my friends. I, on the other hand, have never been mistaken for either. We’re going to have a blast!

Meet the girls:

Alex

SAVING CINDERELLA!

by Myrna Mackenzie

June

Molly

VEGAS PREGNANCY SURPRISE

by Shirley Jump

July

Serena

INCONVENIENTLY WED!

by Jackie Braun

August

Jayne

WEDDING DATE WITH THE BEST MAN

by Melissa McClone

September

Dear Reader

Writing is usually a very solitary profession, so I jumped at the chance to be part of the Girls’ Weekend in Vegas continuity series with fellow authors Myrna Mackenzie, Shirley Jump and Melissa McClone.

We put our heads together, electronically speaking, for several weeks to come up with the overall concept. Then, as we wrote our individual books, we kept in touch via e-mail to exchange information on our characters and to share how our stories were—or in some cases were not—coming along.

At times I found it difficult to keep our timelines straight and the details clear as our stories intersected and our characters interacted. But I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. In a way, the four of us had our own Girls’ Weekend in Vegas—though it lasted a bit longer than that, involved more work than play, and we never got to set foot on the Strip.

I hope you enjoy Serena and Jonas’s story—and don’t forget to pick up Melissa McClone’s book next month to find out how the series ends!

Best wishes

Jackie Braun

My thanks to Melissa, Shirley and Myrna for including me in the fun.

Chapter One

FOR a woman like Serena Warren, Las Vegas was heaven. Everything about the place was outrageous and over the top—just like she was. Too bad she was only there for the weekend. She’d come on a sisterhood mission of sorts, with her three friends—Molly Hunter, Alexandra Lowell and Jayne Cavendish—after Jayne’s fiancé had turned out to be a lying, cheating, son of a…jerk.

They’d kicked up their high heels on Friday night and most of Saturday. Even Jayne had managed to have some fun. She’d gone to a salon and had her trademark long locks snipped off into an adorable short do that would have left her ex suitably appalled. But as Saturday wound down, so did Jayne.

Even though the friends had planned a second storming of the Strip, Jayne decided to spend the evening in the hotel’s spa and pool complex. And Alex, her roommate for the evening, had opted to stay with her—not only to keep Jayne company, but because she had a lot of thinking to do herself. The owner of McKendrick’s, the resort where they were staying, had offered Alex a job. It was an incredible opportunity, but if she took it not only would she have to move to Las Vegas, she would have to stay behind when the others returned to San Diego the following day.

“Tear up the Strip on our behalf,” Alex instructed after Molly and Serena had offered to share some spa time, too.

“Are you sure?” Molly asked.

“Positive,” Jayne said. “There’s no reason the two of you shouldn’t go out and have a good time.”

The smile Jayne offered was genuine, even if it didn’t quite reach her eyes. None of her smiles did these days.

“All right. If you insist.” Serena grinned wickedly. “Las Vegas won’t know what hit it when we’re through.”

“Dear God, what have we done?” Alex muttered in mock dismay. “This town will never be the same.”

Jayne was more circumspect. “Try not to do anything too crazy. Especially you, Serena.”

Serena blinked innocently and held up two fingers. “Scouts’ honor. I won’t do anything you wouldn’t do.”

Her quasi-promise was already forgotten an hour later, as she and Molly stood on the patio of one of the Bellagio’s crowded lounges, watching its famed fountains as they waited for a table to open up.

“I wonder if I’d get arrested for dancing under the spray,” she mused aloud.

Molly was used to her friend’s antics and merely rolled her eyes. “Let’s not find out, okay?”

“I’m not saying I plan to do it.” Serena lifted her shoulders. “Just wondering, that’s all.”

“I wish Alex and Jayne had come out with us.”

“I know. Do you think Jayne’s having a good time?” Serena asked.

“About as good as she can under the circumstances.”

“If I ever get my hands on that—”

“She’s better off without him,” Molly interjected.

“That goes without saying, but I hate that Rich walked away unscathed after all the pain and humiliation he caused her.”

“He’ll get his eventually,” Molly predicted.

“I want to be there when he does. Maybe even help the process along a little, you know?”

“I do, indeed. Men can be such idiots.” Molly’s tone turned wistful then. “Still, they do have their uses.”

“And some of them aren’t hard to look at either,” Serena added as she caught a glimpse of a blond-haired god of a man.

Gorgeous was an understatement. Something about him, something more than his looks, had her heart ticking out an extra beat. Before she could figure out what it was, though, he was swallowed up by the crowd.

The first thing Jonas Benjamin noticed as he walked through the Bellagio’s bustling lounge was the redhead standing at the patio rail. She was impossible to miss—and not only because of the neon colors in her tie-dyed cropped jacket.

She had her back to him, so he couldn’t see her face, but talk about a killer pair of legs. Slender, yet shapely, they gave the illusion of going on forever thanks to the skinny jeans that hugged her curves from thigh to ankle. They ended just shy of dagger-like leopard-print heels.

As water shot high into the air behind her she turned, and Jonas glimpsed her face. Her features were as stunning as he’d anticipated: high cheekbones, lushly fringed eyes, a slightly upturned nose beneath which a pair of pouting lips were slicked with red gloss. Lust wasn’t unexpected, but the powerful zap of recognition he experienced was.

It made no sense. He didn’t know the woman. He’d never seen her before and wasn’t likely to again, since most if not all the bar’s patrons were tourists. Added to that, she wasn’t his type. Too unconventional, and way too flashy. His gaze skimmed her colorful jacket before focusing on a pair of earrings that dangled practically to her shoulders. The women he dated dressed conservatively. When it came to jewelry they leaned toward pearl studs or gold posts. They wouldn’t be caught dead in quarter-sized hoops, let alone silver chandeliers that dripped with iridescent beads. The redhead’s slightest movement caused the earrings to sway. The effect was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic.

Jonas rubbed his eyes and dismissed the bizarre feeling that he’d somehow been waiting for her. He was overworked, and with his campaign for mayor heading toward the final stretch had gone far too long without intimate female companionship. It was eleven o’clock on a Saturday night and he’d just come from a meeting with his campaign manager, Jameson Culver. They’d spent the better part of five hours discussing how best to capitalize on Jonas’s most recent poll numbers, which showed him slightly ahead of his opponent.

It was no small coup that a political novice such as Jonas had managed to snag the veteran strategist for his camp. Still, Jameson was tedious and humorless. If possible he could be even more overbearing than Jonas’s father, Corbin Benjamin, who’d enjoyed two terms as Nevada’s governor in the 1990s before being elected to Congress, where he still served.

“You’ll need more than a stint on the city’s planning board on your political résumé if you expect to someday lead the State or move on to Washington,” Corbin liked to remind him. “Mayor will be a good start.”

A good start and a good ending. Jonas felt he had a lot to offer as Las Vegas’s mayor, but he didn’t have the stomach for state or national politics—not that he’d ever been able to convince his father of that.

He tugged at his necktie. God, he needed a drink. It was why he’d come. He knew he could relax in obscurity amid the tourists. Not many locals patronized the place unless they were entertaining out-of-town guests. From the corner of his eye he saw a couple leave. He headed to their table, arriving at the same time as the redhead, who had an attractive brunette in tow.

“I’ll flip you for it,” she said.

Given her looks, he had expected her voice to be husky. It was smooth as velvet.

“I’ve got a better idea. How about we share it?” Even as Jonas struggled to process the fact that he’d just made that suggestion, he was making another. “I’ll even buy you and your friend a drink.”

“I don’t know.” She tilted her head to one side, considering. The earrings undulated and his pulse picked up speed. “I’m not sure if you’ll care for our conversation.”

“I’ve got a sister.” Jonas shrugged. “I think I can handle a bit of girl talk if it means I get to sit down.” Who knew when the next table would become available? Surely that was the only reason he’d offered to share it in the first place?

The redhead laughed. The sound was rich and robust, just as he’d anticipated. What he wasn’t prepared for was the way her sultry features took on an engagingly impish quality. Just that fast she went from searing siren to gamine girl-next-door. It was quite a transformation, and even though Jonas hadn’t a clue as to what had inspired her mirth, he found himself grinning back and wanting to find out.

“What’s so amusing?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” the brunette murmured.

“Come on,” Jonas coaxed.

The redhead shrugged. “Okay, but don’t say you weren’t warned. My friend and I were just discussing the most painful way to castrate a man.”

Jonas winced, and resisted the urge to lower his hands in a protective gesture. “You’re talking figuratively, right?”

A pair of red lips curved in answer.

“Okaaay,” he said slowly. “Any man in particular, or the whole of the species?”

The redhead laughed. “Don’t worry, Adonis. Your goods are safe.” Just as he started to relax, though, she added, “For now,” and laughed again.

“Do you still want to share a table with us?” the brunette asked. She was doing her best to hide a grin.

“Why not? I like to live dangerously.”

“Yeah, you look it,” the redhead remarked as her gaze skimmed from his necktie to his wingtips.

“Appearances can be deceiving,” he replied. She sobered at that, as if his words struck a chord. He stuck out a hand. “I’m Jonas.”

“Serena.”

Interesting name. As far as he could tell the woman was walking chaos. So far nothing about her could be considered serene, and that included her handshake. Sexual awareness surged through him the moment their palms pressed together. Her eyes rounded and she tugged her hand free. Jonas wasn’t sure knowing she’d felt it too made him feel the least bit better.

She motioned toward her friend. “This is…um…”

“Molly,” the brunette supplied, appearing more amused than insulted by her friend’s sudden lapse in memory.

“It’s nice to meet you, Molly.”

He shook the young woman’s hand. No shock of electricity accompanied the contact. Jonas almost wished it had. With her tidy appearance, she was far more his type. They took their seats as a busboy arrived to remove the cocktail glasses left by the previous occupants.

“So, how are you ladies enjoying your stay at the Bellagio?” he asked.

“Actually, we’re guests at McKendrick’s,” Molly corrected.

“How did you know we were tourists?” Serena asked.

“Just a hunch.” Though he was oddly tempted to give her earring a flick, he signaled for a server instead.

“I’m guessing you’re here for a convention.” Serena didn’t keep her hands to herself. She reached for his tie and gave it a little tug, before allowing the length of silk to spill through her fingers. “Accountant?”

“Close.”

“Yeah?”

“No.” He smiled up at the young woman who’d come to take their order. “I’d like a bourbon neat, please.”

“A vodka martini. Make it dirty,” Serena added.

Jonas had to bite back a groan.

“Just ice water for me,” Molly said.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Remember, I’m buying.”

“Thanks, but I feel a headache coming on.” She massaged one temple.

“Vegas can do that,” he commiserated. “You have to pace yourself.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Serena wanted to know. “You’ve loosened your tie, Adonis, but I’m betting you never really let loose.”

“Ah, ah, ah. Appearances, remember?” God, he was enjoying himself.

“What was the last crazy thing you did?”

“The last crazy thing?”

“Yeah.” She tilted her head again and the earrings danced.

He reached over and flicked the ends of one.

Serena laughed outright. “Is that the best you can do?”

Jonas had thought it pretty major. He wasn’t big on spontaneity. He usually thought things through, carefully weighing the risks and benefits, before acting or making a decision. Doing so served him well in his profession. In addition to running for mayor, he was a contract lawyer. As such, he paid close attention to the fine print—and to the effect it could have on one’s life or livelihood.

“I’m waiting, Adonis.” Her smile was smug.

His gaze lingered on her lips. They looked soft and sweet and way too inviting. Crazy? What he was thinking of doing right now certainly qualified. He waited for sanity to return. It didn’t, and instead of stepping back from the ledge he jumped off it.

“How about this?” he asked as he cupped the back of Serena’s neck and pulled her toward him.

The kiss was brief and, as public displays of affection went, hardly over the top. Yet it proved to be as big a turn-on as foreplay. Even the zap of electricity he’d experienced at their handshake hadn’t prepared him for this wicked snap of desire. Afterward, he wasn’t sure which of them was more shocked. They gaped at each other as Molly studied her nails.

“Speechless?” Jonas prodded as he awaited Serena’s comeback.

He expected whatever she said to be flippant, perhaps even rude. He’d certainly earned a cutting remark or two with his forward behavior. Though in his defense she hadn’t resisted him. Not in the least. He couldn’t believe he’d kissed her—or that he wanted to do it again. Her lips had lost most of their red gloss but none of their appeal.

When Serena finally spoke, she floored him with honesty.

“I’m a big enough person to admit when I’m wrong. And, man, was I wrong.” A grin accompanied the admission.

Wrong wasn’t the word for it, Serena mused inwardly as her hormones continued to pop and fizz like the bubbles in champagne. She hadn’t seen this reaction coming even if she had found the man attractive from the get-go.

That in itself was surprising. In his charcoal suit, snowy white shirt and muted print tie, he was one hundred and eighty degrees from the artsy, anti-establishment sort who usually caught her notice. She chalked up his appeal to his handsome face, even though she’d never figured herself for being so superficial. Adonis, she’d called him.

Her gaze trailed over his broad shoulders. No doubt about it, the man worked out. She pictured him shirtless and sweaty, muscles flexing and straining as he finished up a set of curls with hand weights.

Mmm. The sound vibrated in her throat. It took Molly kicking her shin under the table for Serena to realize she was openly ogling him.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I think I’m going to head back to our hotel,” her friend said. She rubbed her temple as she rose to her feet. “My headache has gotten worse.”

“Oh.” Serena did her best to hide her disappointment as she started to rise too. “Well, Jonas, it’s been…”

“Interesting?” he supplied.

Serena blew out a breath. “That’s an understatement.”

Molly divided her gaze between the two of them. “You should stay, Serena. I mean, if you want to.”

“No. I’ll go back.” The words sounded half-hearted.

Their drinks arrived then. The waitress set the bourbon in front of Jonas and eyed the two women. “Who gets the dirty martini?”

Molly pointed to Serena. “Sit and have your drink.”

“But…” Serena glanced at Jonas. No doubt about it, she wanted to stay. Still, she asked, “Are you sure, Moll?”

“Positive.”

After Molly had left, Serena and Jonas eyed one another in silence as they sipped their drinks. With her friend seated next to her Serena’s hormones had been somewhat held in check. Now they threatened to stage a riot.

“So, where are you from?” Small talk seemed the safest bet.

“Vegas, born and raised. You?”

Growing up, Serena had lived all over the world, thanks to her father’s naval appointments. Southern California had been the final stop, and despite her flighty nature she’d been eager to put down roots. She and Jayne had that in common, since Jayne’s father was also career military.

“I call San Diego home these days.”

“Nice city. Great beaches and a pretty decent night life.”

“Do you get there often?”

“No. I’ve only been once when I was in college.”

His answer disappointed her. Ridiculously, she’d hoped he was a frequent visitor. Maybe then there would be a chance they would see each other again after tonight.

“I didn’t think Vegas had many natives,” she said.

Jonas smiled. “There are a few of us around—and, in case you’re wondering, we don’t all work in the casinos.”

“You never did say what you do for a living,” she reminded him.

“I’m an attorney.”

Attorney. She’d never been hot for an attorney before. She’d avoided them on principle, unless they were the pro-bono sort, who wore sandals and hemp clothing and worked for worthwhile causes.

“From the look on your face, I take it you’re not a fan of the profession.” Before she could answer, he added, “I probably shouldn’t mention my political aspirations, then.”

An attorney and a politician? How much more pro-establishment could one get? And why wasn’t Serena rising to her feet and beating a hasty retreat?

Instead, she sipped her drink and said, “Tell me about these political aspirations of yours.”

“I’m running for Mayor of Las Vegas.”

“No kidding?” At his nod, she asked, “Why? I mean, what made you decide you wanted to do this?”

“I have something to offer.” He sipped his drink. “There’s more to this city than tourism and casinos. The people who live here have legitimate concerns, as does the business community.”

As Jonas spoke, Serena studied him. All that passion, and it went well beyond his kissing ability. But then hadn’t he already warned her that appearances could be deceiving?

“What about you? What line of work are you in?”

“I decorate cakes.”

She held her breath, half expecting him to make a derogatory remark. Her current choice of profession was a keen disappointment to her parents, and they made it plain every chance they got. But Jonas smiled broadly. She liked the way his cheeks creased when he did.

“No kidding? That’s a sweet job.” She groaned at the bad pun, which he apparently anticipated, because he raised his shoulders in a shrug and apologized. “I couldn’t resist. So, what do you like most about your profession?”

She didn’t have to think about it. “The creative aspect. Customers come into the shop and say they want a cake for their boss’s retirement party, or their son’s christening, or whatever. They give me a list of that person’s hobbies, and sometimes they suggest a theme or a color scheme. From that, I create a cake.”

“Edible artwork?”

She nodded. He got it. “Exactly.”

Two hours and a second dirty martini later, Serena knew she should be going. But she didn’t want the evening to end. That was as perplexing as it was terrifying. Her last halfdozen relationships—if they even could be classified as such—had fizzled out fast. Usually by the end of the first date, or at least by the second, she was eager to find an escape hatch. Serena liked men, but she wasn’t willing to entrust her long-term happiness to one. She had only to look at her parents to understand why. Susanne and Buck Warren had made it their life’s mission these past thirty years to make one another miserable. And, since misery loved company, they’d made their only child’s life hell, too.

“You’re frowning,” Jonas remarked.

“I’m just wondering where the time went.”

“I know.” His laughter was bemused. “I came in here planning to grab a quick drink before heading home. I was wound up, yet exhausted.”

“Long day?”

“Endless.”

“But here you are.”

“Here I am.” He smiled. “And I’m not tired at all.”

“It’s the scintillating conversation,” she teased.

In addition to more substantial topics, such as his reasons for running for public office and her plans to open her own cake shop, their conversation had leaned toward the ridiculous. They’d hashed out the lyrics to The Flintstones theme song, agreed on which Stooge was the funniest—Curly, by far—and debated the merits of “innie” bellybuttons versus “outies.”

Yet Jonas was perfectly serious now when he said, “I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun. I’ve enjoyed talking with you.”

“I’ve enjoyed talking with you, too.”

“This isn’t like me.” He fiddled with the edge of his cocktail napkin, rolling it up until it stayed curled. “I don’t usually strike up a conversation with a stranger in a bar, much less kiss her.” He glanced up. “It’s nuts, but I feel like I know you so well, and I don’t even know your last name.”

“It’s Warren.”

“Mine’s Benjamin.”

“Well, Jonas Benjamin, for the record, I don’t normally let strange men kiss me in a bar.”

“I’m glad you made an exception.”

The creases in his cheeks reappeared when he smiled, and her stomach took a funny tumble. “Same goes.”

A long moment passed before he said, “Technically, we’re no longer strangers. So, if I were to kiss you again…” He left the thought unfinished, but his gaze was now focused on her mouth.

Anticipation began to build. Their last kiss hadn’t been nearly enough to satisfy her curiosity, or anything else.

Just as Serena started to lean forward, a hand slapped a little black folder down on the table between them. She and Jonas sat back abruptly. Their waitress had appeared from nowhere.

“I’ll take your bill up whenever you’re ready,” the woman said.

“Gee, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Serena murmured, realizing for the first time that the bar was nearly empty.

“It’s almost closing time. You probably should be getting back to your hotel,” Jonas said. He pulled out his wallet and laid some bills on the table. Afterward, he stood and pulled out her chair—a gentlemanly gesture the likes of which she’d rarely experienced. But then the whole evening had been a trek through uncharted territory.

Once they were outside, instead of heading in the direction of McKendrick’s, Jonas stopped, stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. He looked nervous—hopeful when he said. “You know, I’m kind of hungry.”

Her heart fluttered. “Now that you mention it, so am I.”

“Maybe we could grab a bite before we call it a night? I know this great retro diner within walking distance of here that makes the best cheeseburgers around.”

“I love cheeseburgers.” She slipped her hand into his. This time she was ready for the sparks the contact generated and she reveled in them.

“Crazy, huh?” he said.

Serena didn’t have to ask what he meant. “Outrageous—and, believe me, I know outrageous.”

The pair of them were so different—he classic Brooks Brothers and she unapologetically offbeat. Yet they were in tune with one another. So much so that a couple of hours later, when they started back from the diner, their strides matched and their arms swung in unison.

They stopped in front of the Bellagio’s illuminated fountains. Back where it all began, Serena mused. Somehow she knew her life was never going to be the same. As they watched the water shoot up Jonas turned. He’d kissed her several times since first leaving the Bellagio, each kiss longer and more enticing than the last. Even so they’d left her yearning for more. She couldn’t get enough of him, and not just physically. This went beyond being turned on.

Instead of kissing her now, he took her in his arms and danced with her in the moonlight, ending with a dip that left her nearly parallel to the ground. His unexpected turn as Fred Astaire charmed her, and left them both laughing, but afterward, when he held her in his arms, his grasp was just this side of desperate. She understood perfectly. Over his shoulder she watched the water arc in the air, every bit as enchanting as their time together.

“Tonight has been magical,” he said, as if he could read her mind.

Serena hummed in agreement. “I wish it didn’t have to end.”

“Does it?”

His answer surprised her. She pulled back far enough so she could see his face. “Doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know.” The way Jonas frowned gave the impression he rarely found himself without an answer. Yet he struggled for one now. “You…us…on the surface it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Not much, no. But someone recently reminded me that appearances can be deceiving.”

Serena laughed, but he was still frowning. “When I saw you I had the strangest feeling that I knew you—that I’d been—”

“Looking for you,” she supplied as her heart bucked out a couple of extra beats. “What happens now?”

“Normally I’d say goodnight, give myself a few days to think and put things in perspective.”

“I return to San Diego in less than twelve hours.” She pulled out of his embrace and despite the evening’s heat felt chilled immediately. “Got another idea?”

He frowned again. “Yes, but it’s…” He shook his head and looked a little dazed. “It’s crazy.”

A grin tugged at Serena’s lips. “I’m always up for crazy.”

He didn’t smile. He swallowed, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob. “This qualifies as insane, even if in a totally weird way it makes perfect sense.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”

He inhaled deeply. “You could stay.”

Serena barely heard his words over the pounding of her heart. “Stay? In Vegas?” she said, to be sure she hadn’t imagined the offer. After Jonas nodded, she asked, “For how long?”

He did smile now, and his expression was that of a gambler letting his fortune ride on the roll of the dice.

“How about forever?”

Chapter Two

WHAT had she done?

Serena woke in the strange hotel room with a start. Clutching the sheet to her chest, she jackknifed to a sitting position and turned her head. Even knowing what she would find, she felt her mouth gape open at the sight that greeted her.

Oh. My. God!

It hadn’t been a dream. Jonas Benjamin was splayed out on his side of the bed beside her—shirtless and then some. Since his eyes were closed, she allowed her gaze to follow the length of his spine down his nicely muscled back. The sheet interfered with her view when it reached his hips, but what she couldn’t see now she clearly remembered seeing—and touching—last night. With her memory working overtime, Serena became uncomfortably aware of her own nakedness.

It wasn’t the vivid recollections of their passionate lovemaking that had her panicking. It was what had happened just prior to it. Jonas’s right hand was tucked beneath the pillow, but his left one was clearly visible, and the third finger sported a cheap band identical to the one on hers.

They were married!

The magic of the previous night leaked away, leaving stark reality in its place. She, the woman who couldn’t commit to anything, had stood in a tacky Vegas chapel and promised to love, honor and cherish for a lifetime a man she hadn’t even known for a day.

It was only in the past year that she’d committed to a hair color, going back to her natural red after trying out shades that ran the gamut from Goth black to punk purple. Or that she’d committed to a job. She’d worked full-time decorating cakes at the upscale Bonaventure Creations in La Jolla for a solid eleven months—a record on her part, especially since she still loved it. But marriage? She couldn’t do marriage—even if for a brief time last night it had seemed like a really good idea.

Serena smothered a groan with her hand. She’d done a lot of bone-headed things in her life. Leaping without looking was a specialty of hers. But this wouldn’t be as easy to fix as the bad neon-green dye job she’d sported two St Patrick’s Days ago. Nor would it be as easy to hide as the dragonfly tattoo that hovered low on her right hip—the result of one too many margaritas on her twenty-first birthday.

What was she going to do?

Her gaze followed the trail of their discarded clothing back to the room’s door. The only thing that came through loud and clear was she needed to leave. Now. Before Jonas woke. Before he smiled and said something sweet or funny. Before he was able to change her mind. Because maybe he could…for a little while anyway.

His tie caught her notice. It hung from the corner of the headboard. Serena frowned as she studied it. They were so different. Too different. Likely upon his waking reality would smack the professional and very put-together Jonas Benjamin upside the head, as it had her, and he would be as eager as she was to extricate himself from this situation.

Pride demanded she be the one to leave first. Serena slipped from the bed and gathered up what she could find of her clothing. A few minutes later she was dressed, minus her bra and one of her earrings. She heard him stir as she bent to slip a hastily penned note of explanation into one of his size-eleven wingtips.

“Who…who’s there?” he called sleepily.

He didn’t even recall her name! Her heart sank even as her resolve strengthened.

“Nobody worth remembering,” she whispered, and closed the door.

The lock snicked shut before Jonas made it off the bed. Cursing, he flopped back on the mattress, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and tried to get his bearings. The events of the previous evening came back to him with the force of a fast-moving freight train and made him grateful to already be prone.

Serena. His wife.

He’d only gotten a peek at her pale face before the door closed, but he knew this much for certain: she wasn’t going out for coffee and bagels. She’d bolted.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure how he felt about anything. He’d married a woman he’d known for a handful of hours. Talk about acting out of character. He preferred his Is dotted, his Ts neatly crossed. Tidy and well-ordered—that was how he liked his life. Every move he’d made since graduating from law school had been planned out carefully and methodically. Or every move until he’d walked into that lounge the previous night and spied a vivacious redhead. For a handful of stolen hours she’d been his sole reality. He hadn’t lost himself in a woman like that ever. As thrilling and baffling as he’d found the sensation the evening before, right now he felt confused and oddly vulnerable.

A cellphone trilled and pulled him back to the present. The ringer was low and muffled, and came from beneath his wrinkled trousers.

“Benjamin here,” he said, after retrieving it.

“Where are you?” Jameson Culver demanded by way of a greeting. “We agreed to meet first thing this morning at campaign headquarters, to go over the radio spots you’ll be taping tomorrow. It’s after nine.”

“Ah…right. Sorry. I’ve been…tied up.” It wasn’t a complete lie, he decided as he recalled one of the inventive uses Serena had found for his necktie. His campaign manager, however, was far from mollified.

“Well, get untied,” Jameson boomed. “This is important, Jonas.”

As if he needed reminding. “I know my lines forward and backward. That’s the benefit of speaking from the heart.”

“I want to be sure you punch the right words. Now that former Mayor Cloverfield has endorsed you, Davenport is going to pull out all the stops to discredit you. You need to come across as confident and authoritative. He’s going to keep hitting on your youth and relative political inexperience. He’s going to make it seem as if you’re trying to cash in on your family’s name recognition with voters in this region.”

“This election is about me.” Jonas had gone out of his way to keep his father out of his campaign. All of his life he’d lived in his father’s shadow. He wanted to win on his own merit.

“Maybe you should ask Corbin to do a commercial spot. His public endorsement could sway some of the fence-sitters,” Jameson said.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“You’ve pulled ahead a little in the polls after last week’s town hall debate, but it’s still anyone’s race.”

“I know that.” The words came out sharp.

Jameson wasn’t deterred. “There’s a strategy for winning elections. Hand-shaking and babykissing only get you so far. Your father is political gold, Jonas.”

“My answer remains no.”

His campaign manager sighed dramatically. “Fine, but keep this in mind. Voters say they want change, but when it comes right down to it they often go with what they know. Davenport’s work on the council makes him less of a mystery. You’re untried, Jonas, which means they want to know anything and everything there is to know about you.”

A lead weight settled in the pit of Jonas’s stomach as he spied the white envelope sticking out of one his shoes. “About that…” he began.

“Is there a problem?”

“I’m not sure.”

After ending the call, Jonas dressed. His clothes were a little the worse for wear, though not in as sorry a state as the lacey lavender bra he discovered under his shirt. It hooked in the front. He remembered helping Serena out of it and helping himself to…

He closed his eyes, groaned, and lowered himself to the side of the mattress. Unfortunately he misjudged his proximity and found himself on the floor instead. Appropriate, he decided. He’d been off-balance since meeting the woman.

“Might as well get this over with,” he muttered. Wedging the tip of his index finger beneath the flap, he unsealed the envelope and sealed his fate.

Dear Jonas,

I don’t know where to begin.

“Yeah, join the club.” He snorted, bemused to find them once again in perfect agreement.

Sorry doesn’t seem the right word, but it’s the only one I can come up with. I had a lovely time last night. An amazing time, in fact. But I got carried away. I think we both did. Marriage!

Of course, this is Vegas. I’m sure we’re not the only two people to ever find themselves caught up in the moment. Since you’re a lawyer, I assume you will know what to do to remedy the matter. I will pay half of any legal fees, etc.

I am returning to San Diego today as planned. Forgive me for not waking you up to say goodbye. I thought it would be easier and less embarrassing for both of us if I just left.

Thanks seems as awkward a word as sorry, but it fits here. You are a very special man and I wish you nothing but the best.

—Serena

She’d listed her contact information at the bottom of the page, along with a postscript:

I’m returning the ring. I know it wasn’t expensive, but perhaps you can get your money back.

He fished the band out of the envelope. It was a cheap piece of metal that had probably already caused her flesh to turn green. He slipped off the one on his finger and, on an oath, flung them both into the wastebasket on the opposite side of the room.

Still sitting on the floor, he rested an elbow on one raised knee and stared at the note. Serena’s penmanship was as eclectic as the woman: a collection of capital and lowercase block letters with some cursive ones tossed in. The dots for the “i”s were misaligned or missing. The “t”s were half crossed. He should have been pleased that she didn’t want to stay married to him, grateful that she was making this so easy for him. No tears. No demands, financial or otherwise, and God knew he’d left himself wide open to those. No repercussions of any sort.

Jonas let his head fall back on the mattress and closed his eyes as he waited for the relief to come. Any moment a huge wave of it would wash over him and cleanse the last reminders of Serena Warren from his memory.

More than a dozen hours later, when he collapsed on the bed in his downtown condo, he still wasn’t completely sure relief was among his tangled-up emotions.

Chapter Three

SERENA woke late on Monday morning. According to her sorry excuse for an alarm clock she was already forty minutes behind schedule. Even so, she sat on the side of the bed and contemplated the state of her life. The day before she’d awoken in a deluxe Vegas honeymoon suite next to a virtual stranger who was also her husband. This morning she was alone on the lumpy bed of her San Diego studio, but the man in question was very much on her mind.

How was Jonas?

The question sneaked past her defenses and brought along a couple of friends. Was Jonas angry with her? Or was he relieved that she’d offered him an uncomplicated way out?

Serena was relieved, or so she told herself. Maybe she was a little disappointed that she hadn’t heard from him, but only because she wanted to know his plans. Still, it made sense that he hadn’t called yet. It had been barely twenty-four hours, and even in Vegas she doubted the courthouses were open on Sundays. Surely first thing today Jonas would go and file whatever paperwork needed to be filed to get the ball rolling to dissolve their marriage.

Maybe she should call him and make sure they were of the same mind. The office where he practiced law would be easy enough to locate through directory assistance, or she could always ask for the number for his campaign headquarters.

As she picked up the phone, Serena imagined a well-mannered receptionist asking, And who may I say is calling, please? She set the receiver back in its cradle with a click. She didn’t have the time or, she admitted, the courage to talk to him right now. What she did have was someplace to be. And she needed to get there before her boss, the highly regarded but annoyingly high-strung Heidi Bonaventure, blew a gasket.

Twenty minutes later, with a silver travel mug of high-octane java in hand, Serena flung open her apartment door, intending to make a mad dash for the stairs. She didn’t make it past the welcome mat. Indeed, she stopped so abruptly that despite the mug’s protective lid some of her coffee spewed through the small opening. It hit Jonas Benjamin in the center of his sedately striped tie. Counting the silk number she’d mutilated in her haste to undress him two nights ago, this made two she’d ruined.

She grimaced. “What are you doing here?”

“Hoping to have the conversation we should have had yesterday morning,” he replied. He didn’t look happy.

They eyed one another from opposite sides of the welcome mat. Neither one of them moved.

Serena cleared her throat and broke the silence. “You came all the way to San Diego to talk about our…our…”

“Marriage,” he supplied.

Annulment was the word she’d been thinking.

“About yesterday—sorry for taking off like that, but I…I…” In lieu of an excuse Serena motioned with her hand.

Unfortunately it was the one holding the travel mug. More java splattered out. Jonas jumped back in the nick of time, and the welcome mat was the only casualty. She pushed at one of the brown marks with the toe of her faux snakeskin flat. It was easier to concentrate on the stain than the man whose head had rested on the pillow next to hers twenty-four hours earlier.

“Can I come in?” Jonas asked.

“I’m just on my way out. To work.”

“Can you be late?”

“Actually, I already am.”

“Can you be later?” Jonas tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. The pose took away some of the formalness the pricy suit added to his persona. “This really can’t wait, Serena.”

“I know.” She stepped back to allow him inside and motioned toward the couch. This time she remembered to use the hand that wasn’t holding her coffee. “Make yourself at home. It will just take me a moment to call my boss.”

While he took a seat on the couch, Serena stationed herself in the kitchen and pulled out her cellphone. Her apartment measured just over four hundred square feet. It was basically one room, with a bathroom tucked between the kitchen and bedroom areas. This created some separation, as well as a degree of privacy, for her boudoir from the door. But from Jonas’s vantage point he could see everything—including the pile of dirty clothes that was heaped next to the still-down bed with its rumpled sheets and her discarded cotton nightie.

She hadn’t worn a nightie, cotton or otherwise, in Vegas. Even if she’d had one with her in the honeymoon suite, what would have been the point? None of their clothes had remained on for long. They’d been too hungry, too eager, too desperate to touch flesh.

“Oh, God,” she moaned.

“No. It’s Heidi Bonaventure.” A woman’s crisp voice shot through the phone line like a bullet.

“Mrs. Bonaventure, hi. It’s Serena.”

“I hope you’re not calling to say you’re ill.”

Her boss was a whiz when it came to crafting lifelike fruit from marzipan, and her piping work was unrivaled, but no one would accuse Heidi Bonaventure of being warm and fuzzy.

“No. I’ll be there. Just not for another hour.” Serena glanced over at Jonas, who sat on the edge of her red leather sofa. One wingtip tapped impatiently on the floor, and he hadn’t so much as loosened his stained tie. “Or so.”

Heidi’s voice no longer sounded like a bullet. It boomed with the force of a bomb as she reminded Serena, “You have an appointment with a client at eleven o’clock. Katherine Bloomwell requested you specifically to create her daughter’s sweet-sixteen cake.”

“I won’t miss the appointment,” Serena promised. “But something important has come up.”

“What could be more important than your job?”

She glanced over at Jonas again. This time their gazes met and, just as she had in Las Vegas, she felt that wild jolt.

Heidi’s voice snapped her back to the matter at hand. “Given your serious lack of experience and formal training, I took a huge chance when I hired you.”

Actually, she’d hired Serena as a glorified gopher slash receptionist. She’d only given Serena her current responsibilities out of necessity nine months ago, when her assistant had quit without notice, leaving Heidi in the lurch. Serena had shown promise and an eagerness to learn, staying late without pay if it meant acquiring new skills. Indeed, she was still paid the same lowly amount she’d made coming in. She wisely chose not to point any of this out as her boss’s tirade continued.

“Since then I’ve offered you the sort of opportunities that many a culinary arts student would kill for. Don’t make me regret it.”

“I won’t.”

“See that you don’t.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, and I promise I’ll arrive before the client does.”

Heidi snorted. “See that you do. In the meantime, I suggest you rethink your priorities.”

“Everything okay?” Jonas called from the couch as Serena dropped her cellphone on the counter.

“Fine. Just my boss.” She rolled her eyes. “She’s better at making me squirm than my mother is. And, believe me, that’s saying a lot.”

His smile was awkward. Because he’d gotten her into hot water at work? Or because she’d mentioned the woman who was, for the time being at least, his mother-in-law? Serena wasn’t sure which. She only knew she felt awkward now, too.

“So…” She took a seat on the thick-armed chair that was perpendicular to the couch, discreetly brushing aside a stray popcorn kernel.

“So…” he repeated, and folded his hands over one knee.

Two nights ago the conversation had flowed endlessly, seamlessly. Now neither of them could string together a complete sentence. Clearing her throat, Serena attempted it again. “How long…um…will it take to, you know, undo what we did?”

Though the question was far from eloquent, she figured her meaning was clear. Jonas frowned, though, as he repeated, “Undo what we did?”

“Yeah. Undo the…um…the ‘I do’ part.” She laughed nervously.

He studied her a moment, before rising to his feet. Then he paced to the sliding doors that led to the studio’s small balcony. When he turned to face her he was no longer frowning, but his expression was far from pleased.

“I’m afraid there’s a bit of a situation—a hitch.”

“To our getting unhitched? Sorry.” She scrunched up her face. Nerves had her saying stupid things. “Go on.”

“I’m not sure how to put this.”

“Well, whatever it is, say it fast—like you’re pulling off a bandage,” she suggested. Between his hesitation and turned-down lips her stomach was starting to churn like one of the commercial-grade mixers at the bakery.

“Okay, here it is. I want to stay married to you.”

She couldn’t have heard him right, Serena decided, which was why it took her a moment to realize that her mouth was gaping open.

Jonas tried to determine Serena’s reaction to his words. Beyond flummoxed, he couldn’t be sure. He took the fact that she wasn’t smiling, however, to mean she wasn’t thrilled with the idea. After the way she’d ditched him in Vegas the previous morning, he hadn’t exactly expected her to be. He ignored the vague sense of disappointment he felt, and assumed what one of his law school professors had called the litigator pose. Clasping his hands behind his back, he paced in front of the balcony doors.

“We don’t know one another well, but as you may recall from our conversations the other evening I’m currently running for election in Las Vegas.”

“Mayor,” she said.

He nodded. Good. She remembered that much.

“A lot of people, especially in the business community, believe your opponent lacks the imagination and vision to expand on the revitalization efforts that are currently underway.”

Jonas blinked. “I…yes.”

Her green gaze locked on him. “Surprised I was paying attention?”

He shrugged. “Politics can be dry—and, well, other parts of our evening were far more memorable than discussions of my candidacy.”

One side of her mouth quirked up. “Now, there’s an understatement.”

Serena was seated demurely enough, her legs crossed at the ankles. But for a moment a vision of her wearing nothing but his crumpled tie, with those long legs clamped around his waist, blasted free from his memory.

“Yeah.”

He took a step toward her, then remembered why he was there. He needed her to do him a favor. His political life could very well depend on it.

“Anyway, marriages are a matter of public record. As such, ours is guaranteed to become fodder for my opponent in pretty short order. This isn’t your problem, but once it’s out things could get ugly for my campaign.”

“How so?”

“Well, for starters, no one has ever met you. Nor have we ever been seen together. Add in the fact that my bachelor status has been duly noted in all of the previous profiles the media have done on me and…”

“It gets ugly,” she finished.

The afternoon before, his campaign manager’s face had turned a worrying shade of purple when Jonas had told him about Serena and their impromptu nuptials. The two of them had come up with an idea to salvage his political ambitions. It had seemed plausible then—reasonable, even. Right now, as he stared at Serena’s full lips, it not only seemed absurd but self-serving.

He blurted it out anyway. “I need for us to remain married.”

“For political purposes?”

“Yes.”

Serena was wearing a bright yellow silk tunic with elaborate beading and embroidery around the neckline. The rich flecks of green, purple and red suited her. She ran one hand over it absently now, apparently weighing his words.

“But we would go our separate ways eventually, right? We wouldn’t stay married…till death do us part.”

They’d already made that promise. He’d been sincere at the time. He wasn’t the sort to make a promise knowing he would break it. In the cold light of day, however, it seemed ridiculous to think either one of them could keep it. Sincerity aside, they barely knew one another.

“No. Not that long,” he assured her.

“How long?” She nibbled that plump bottom lip.

He remembered her doing the same just the other night.

“Jonas?” Her voice interrupted the memory. She didn’t look pleased with the prospect of remaining his wife, even if their stint of matrimony came with an early get-out clause.

“That depends.”

A pair of green eyes narrowed. “On?”

“The outcome of the general election. In the past the Mayor’s race has been decided in June, but this year the clerk’s office opted to go with an election cycle similar to a lot of other municipalities.”

“November,” she said. “So, if I agree, we would remain married until November.”

He cleared his throat. “Again, that depends. If I lose—” he shrugged “—that can be the end of it. We go our separate ways. An annulment, especially since we both want it and I’m already a resident of Las Vegas, can be handled quietly. By the time it’s public record I’ll be old news.”

“And if you win?” Her gaze remained direct.

“We would have to stay married a little longer. It would look pretty suspect if my bride ditched me the day after I was sworn into office.” He offered a charming smile to cover his desperation and the uncomfortable realization that she’d already ditched him once.

“How long, Jonas?”

“For…For…”

Forever. That was how long he’d asked her to stay the other night. He shoved the thought away now, no longer sure that was what he wanted, even if it were possible, and given the way she’d dashed from their hotel room it didn’t look likely.

After clearing his throat, he said, “I don’t have a timeframe etched in stone. A few months or so.”

Actually, Jameson had insisted on at least a year. That length of time, he’d said, would help silence the skeptics and create sympathy for Jonas when the marriage dissolved, upping his chances for a successful first term and re-election if he chose to run again. Since Serena appeared to be on the fence, Jonas decided a little vagueness was in order. The length of time was negotiable.

“What would I have to do? A few public appearances? Kiss a baby or two?”

There was more to it than that—press interviews and the like—but he nodded. “Sure.”

“I guess I could fly up on weekends, and maybe here and there during the week if you had a special engagement that you need me to attend in the evening.” She grimaced, glanced away. “I’d…um…need some help covering travel expenses, though. My budget is pretty tight right now, and I’m not due a raise for a while.”

Jonas scratched his cheek. “Here’s the thing. To make it believable, you couldn’t stay in San Diego and commute up now and then. You’d have to live in Las Vegas. With me.” He swallowed. Only after saying it aloud did he consider all of the ramifications and disturbing possibilities of setting up a household with her.

Serena blinked a few times in rapid succession. “Let me get this straight. Not only are you asking me to put off our annulment, you want me to move to Las Vegas and live with you as your wife for the foreseeable future?”

“Yes.” At her raised eyebrows, he added, “It’s a lot to ask, I know.”

“A lot? Gee, you’re just full of understatements today. What about my apartment, Jonas?” She motioned wide with her arms. “What about my job?”

“I’ll continue to pay the lease, or if you’d prefer you can sublet it.” The job was more difficult, but he’d anticipated it being a stumbling block so had an answer ready. “As for the job, I think you should quit.”

He hadn’t known Serena long, but in their short time together he’d seen her experience dozens of emotions. Rage was new. And, damn, it looked good on her.

“So you think I should quit?” she began slowly, softly. Both the pace and volume of her words picked up considerably when she continued. “Because you find yourself in a bind, and because your dream job is on the line, you think I should be more than happy to throw in the towel on the only job I’ve ever found that I can see myself doing five years, hell, twenty years from now?”

“Serena—”

She talked over him. “I don’t suppose any of that matters to you. Decorating cakes isn’t rocket science. Certainly it’s not as important as running for public office,” she drawled.

“Serena—”

“Or maybe you share my parents’ attitude that this is just a fad and will wind up as one more gig on my long and eclectic résumé?” She exhaled sharply and her eyes turned bright. “When I told them I wanted to open my own cake shop someday they laughed.”

“I’m not laughing.” Jonas crossed to her, and though he knew it wasn’t wise he touched her, cupping her elbows and drawing her closer. “You told me your dream the other night. I didn’t laugh then. I’m not laughing now. It’s important to you. That’s obvious.” She was wearing the same perfume she’d had on when they met. No florals for her. It was citrusy, bold. It made it hard to think. Jonas forced himself to stay focused. “I’m not asking you to give up your dream.”

“Good, because I won’t.” Her chin notched up. “Even in the short time I’ve been at Bonaventure I’ve made a name for myself. Today I’m meeting with a client who specifically requested me, and that’s not the first time it’s happened—despite my lack of professional training. If I quit now, it would be like starting from scratch.”

“Your current position and the business you’d like to one day own are not mutually exclusive, Serena.”

“One leads to the other.”

“Not with the right financing and contacts.”

That got her attention. Wary green eyes studied him. “What do you mean?”

“What if I could guarantee access to both at the end of our…arrangement?” The word left a sour taste in his mouth, but he plodded ahead. “What if, between now and then, you were able to—I don’t know—maybe take some classes and get some of the training you say you’re lacking? After we…um…wrap things up, I could set you up with a list of potential clients and the capital to start your own shop.”

“That sounds like…” He waited for the word heaven, or something along that line. Serena’s take on the matter was, “Prostitution!”

She shook free of his grasp and marched half a dozen steps away. Rage was back, and though it looked good on her he didn’t want to see it now.

“I realize the oldest profession is legal in some parts of your state, but if I wanted to sell myself in order to open my own cake shop I could do that here, Jonas. No pimp necessary.”

She wasn’t the only one angry now. He wrenched at his tie, since it seemed to be constricting his windpipe. “That’s not the kind of arrangement I’m suggesting!”

She crossed her arms and blinked slowly in challenge. “No?”

“No! What I’m suggesting, what I’m offering, is a business opportunity. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

The shouted words echoed in the tiny apartment. If Jameson, the self-proclaimed king of spin, were on hand to witness the exchange, he would be sorely disappointed in his protégé. Jonas had botched this, and badly. He fully expected Serena to tell him to go to hell and then show him the door.

“Let’s be clear on one thing. I don’t want your money. I’m not looking for a shortcut to a big payday—especially one that involves selling my soul or anything else.”

“I know.” He shoved a hand through his hair and expelled a breath. “I apologize if what I’m offering sounded like payment for services rendered. That wasn’t my intention. It’s just that I felt that since I was getting something of obvious value out of the proposed arrangement, you should, too. And I know how much you enjoy having free creative reign when it comes to decorating cakes.”

“You know?”

“You aren’t the only one who was listening the other night.”

That took the wind out of her sails. “How is it possible that you get it?” she asked softly.

“Excuse me?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I…it’s madness.”

“Would offering you a low-interest loan make the offer more palatable?”

“Jonas, I…I don’t know. God! I can barely think.” She rested her fingertips against her temples. “And here I thought my life had been turned upside down in Vegas.”

“It’s chaotic right now,” he agreed. “But I think we can make it work. In the end, this doesn’t need to be a huge mistake.”

“A huge mistake?” She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I need time to be sure I’m not making another one if I agree.”

“Of course.” The vise around his heart eased its grip.

“How long are you in town?” The question was slightly muffled by her pose.

“I just flew down for the morning. I have meetings this afternoon, some radio spots to tape. If you…if you decide to come back to Las Vegas I’ll return for you Friday.”

Her hands dropped away at that. The green eyes regarding him were wide and incredulous.

“This Friday?”

“I wish I could give you more time, Serena. But a civic group called Las Vegas Citizens for Change is putting on a dinner Saturday evening, and my opponent and I have both been invited to attend. Jameson thinks—”

“Jameson?”

“Culver. He’s my campaign manager. He thinks you and I should go to the dinner together and make the big announcement of our marriage there. Take the offensive, so to speak, before anyone else gets wind of it, twists it around and makes more of it than there is.” He felt his face heat. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Her gaze shifted to the wall. “I know what you mean.”

“I’m sorry, Serena. I wish…” Jonas left the thought unfinished. No sense getting into what he wished, since he wasn’t sure he knew.

“It’s not your fault,” she said.

“Yours either.” Most definitely none of this fell on her shoulders. Even so, she tried to take the blame.

“I don’t know about that. I’m pretty well known for acting on a whim and dragging others with me.” Serena motioned toward his conservatively cut suit. “Despite that first…um…crazy kiss in the Bellagio, you still don’t strike me as the sort of man who does anything impulsive.”

“Not usually, no. But I’m an adult, Serena. You didn’t drag me anywhere I didn’t want to go. At the time.”

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