KING’S PASSION

King’s Passion
Adrianne Byrd

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Alice: Forever my inspiration

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

To my family and friends, thanks for all the support

and love that you’ve given me.

To my editor, Evette Porter, for helping me through one crazy year. To my wonderful fans and readers, thank you for allowing me to do what I do. It’s always a pleasure to entertain you.

I wish you all the best of love.

The House of Kings series

Many of you have followed the Unforgettable series, which morphed into the Hinton Brothers series. Now I’m introducing you to the Hintons’ playboy bachelor cousins—the Kings.

Eamon, Xavier and Jeremy along with their infamous cousin Quentin Hinton are business partners in a gentlemen’s club franchise called The Doll House. One of their most popular and lucrative specialties is their bachelor party services. And with clubs in Atlanta, Las Vegas and Los Angeles, the brothers are determined to make sure their clients’ last night of bachelorhood is one that they’ll never forget.

In King’s Passion, Eamon, the eldest brother, books a high-end client, Marcus Henderson, for an over-the-top, bachelor-party extravaganza. According to the best man, there’s to be no expense spared for this wild night. Even Eamon gets caught up in the excitement. But things take a detour when the groom-to-be gets so plastered that he ends up marrying one of the hired strippers. When the dust clears and the alcohol wears off, Eamon has another headache to contend with—the angry ex-bride-to-be, Victoria Gregory.

Next month, look for the second title in the House of Kings series, King’s Promise, featuring Eamon’s brother Xavier King. And in August, read the final book in the trilogy, King’s Pleasure, featuring Jeremy King.

Remember, in love, never bet against a King.…

Adrianne

Contents

Prologue

The Reluctant King

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Who’s Afraid of Victoria Gregory?

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Omission vs. Truth

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Then There Were Three

Chapter 27

Epilogue

Prologue

Quentin Dewayne Hinton was at a crossroads. Actually, he’d been there for quite some time. The hard part had been admitting it. Once upon a time, his father had told him that “pride was the bane of all men.” If anyone knew that, it would be his father. Roger Hinton was a proud man who ran his family like a corporation. His God was the Dow Jones, and his heart and soul belonged to the numbers in his bank account.

Chuckling at his analogy, Q climbed out of his black Mercedes and gave the parking deck a casual glance from behind his Oliver Peoples sunglasses. He slid his hand into the pants pocket of his gray, tailored Italian suit while he opened the glass door to the high-rise building with his other hand. Though he was nervous about this meeting, one would never know it by his confident stride through the Peachtree Tower. Inside the massive, ornate lobby, Quentin kept his focus straight ahead toward the brass elevator doors.

As luck would have it, a very tall and very beautiful woman stepped into the compartment behind him as he pushed the button for the thirty-third floor. As usual, he started his inspection from the feet up. Pretty toes, nice ankles, firm calves. So far, everything had his imaginary dog tail wagging. Amazing legs, slim waist—by the time he made it to the woman’s long neck, he was turning toward her ready to spit his best pick-up line.

But then the image of Alyssa Hinton’s face smiled.

Quentin jumped back.

“You know it never would have worked between us,” she said.

“What?” He blinked and then snatched off his shades.

“Are you okay?” the beautiful woman who was not Alyssa asked, frowning at him.

Quentin quickly glanced around the small compartment and saw that they were the only two people in the elevator.

“Sir?” The woman’s brows dipped in concern and suspicion. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“I…uh.” He straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. “I guess I was awed by your beauty.”

The woman’s expression clearly reflected that she wasn’t buying his answer and she inched closer to the corner of the elevator car.

Q didn’t blame her. He rubbed his eyes and slid his sunglasses back on just as the elevator arrived on his floor. He tossed the woman another quick smile but then rushed out of the small compartment.

Pull yourself together, man.

He squared his shoulders again and marched toward suite thirty-three hundred. Once in the quiet office, he felt another wave of relief to see the lobby was empty.

“May I help you?” the receptionist asked from behind the counter.

Q approached the girl-next-door ebony cutie with a smile. “Yes. I’m here to see Dr. Turner.”

“Name?”

“Quentin Hinton.”

The woman looked down and ran her finger over a column of names in her appointment book. “Ah. Here you are. If you can just sign in for me here.” She handed over a clipboard.

Quentin took it and the pen and scrawled his name. When he looked up to hand the clipboard back to the receptionist, Alyssa smiled.

“The doctor will be with you in a second.”

Q blinked and then snatched his shades off again.

The receptionist frowned. “Are you all right?”

You mean other than my seeing things? “Yes. I’m fine. Thanks.” He quickly turned toward the waiting area and commanded himself to pull it together. He sat down and slipped his sunglasses in the inside breast pocket of his coat jacket. A second later an office door to his right opened.

A tall, older dark-skinned brother in an Armani suit crossed the threshold while still shaking hands with an attractive, red-bone sister who was needlessly hiding her curves in a black, shapeless skirt-suit.

“Thank you, doctor,” Mr. Armani said, cheesing at her as he released her hand.

“I’ll see you next week,” Dr. Turner replied, smiling before turning her soft brown eyes toward Quentin.

“Mr. Hinton?”

“Yes.” He stood up, feeling his nerves twist.

“Hello. I’m Dr. Julianne Turner. Won’t you come in and have a seat?”

Q forced a smile and strolled into the office. He hesitated for a second before he took his seat in the chair in the psychiatrist’s office. He shifted a bit, trying to make himself comfortable, but that wasn’t possible on the first visit.

“You look uneasy,” the doctor said, removing her golden pen from her breast-pocket.

“Nah. Nah,” Quentin said, shifting some more. “I’m good.”

“Uh-huh.” Dr. Turner clicked the back of the pen and started writing.

Q frowned. What the hell had he done to warrant her writing something down already? He leaned forward to read her handwriting on the yellow tablet, but before he could make out the words, the doctor looked up with a knowing smile.

“So what brings you here today…do you mind if I call you Quentin?” she asked.

“No. Please do.” This should’ve been the one question that Quentin was prepared for. But instead his brain zoned out, leaving him staring at the doctor as if he was waiting for an answer.

“Please don’t tell her that you think you’re still in love with me,” Alyssa said from across the room. She was wearing those wonderful tight blue jeans and the white top that she’d worn the day they had gone horseback riding together and the first time he’d kissed her under an oak tree.

“Mr. Hinton?” Dr. Turner interrupted.

He paused for a couple more seconds and then said, “Love.”

Dr. Turner’s brows arched upward at the answer.

Across the room, Alyssa groaned.

“Are you in love, Quentin?”

Q’s head turned toward Alyssa, but she was gone. “I thought I was.”

“But you’re not sure?”

Silence.

“Quentin?” she pressed.

He faced her again. “Let’s just say that I don’t understand love. How it magically appears, puts you in a spell and then poof! After that, you question whether it was ever there at all.” Sensing that he wasn’t making any sense, Q cleared his throat. “Maybe I should lie down.”

“If you like,” Dr. Turner said as she scribbled away on her notepad.

Q assumed the position on the doctor’s leather chaise and leaned back on the arm. “You know, my brothers have been telling me for years that I needed to see a shrink.”

“Are you here at their urging?”

“No.”

“So you wanted to come?”

Pause. “More like I needed to come.”

Scribbling. “And why is that?”

Quentin lowered his gaze from the ceiling to stare at the floor-to-ceiling glass window to see an image of Alyssa in her white wedding gown, checking out her reflection. “I’m afraid that I missed my one chance.”

“At love?” Dr. Turner asked.

Alyssa spun around and shook her head at Quentin. “You don’t love me.”

“Quentin?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “The woman I thought was for me married my brother two years ago. I went to the wedding, stood in line with the other groomsmen and watched Sterling marry the woman of my dreams—then I left and haven’t seen them since.”

“So you’re estranged from your brother?”

“With Sterling—yes.” Q shrugged. “I still talk to my other brother Jonas from time to time. But it’s not the same. He’s happily married with children and…everything has changed. Everyone has changed. Everyone is falling in love,” Q chuckled. “Who knows, maybe something is wrong with me.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” she asked.

Alyssa shook her head at him.

“I don’t know what I believe. Once I lost Alyssa, I swore off love and renewed my vow to be a bachelor for life. And why not? There are more than enough women out there who’d love the pleasure of my company. You know what I mean?” He turned his head and caught a glimpse of the doctor’s long legs. Nice.

Dr. Turner cleared her throat.

“Sorry.” Quentin smiled and turned back around.

Alyssa rolled her eyes.

“Anyway,” Q said, “like I was saying, bachelorhood is for me. So I figured that birds of feather flock together, right?”

Scribbling. “You tell me.”

This is like talking to myself.

“It beats talking to a woman that’s not really here,” Alyssa said, twirling around in her dress.

Quentin rolled his eyes but had to concede her point. “Well, I considered my business partners and cousins Xavier, Jeremy and Eamon a part of my flock. Well, maybe not Eamon so much—but definitely Xavier and Jeremy. They all loved women as much as I did. None of them wanted to settle down with just one, which actually made them the perfect partners in The Dollhouse.”

“What’s The Dollhouse?”

“Only the hottest gentlemen’s clubs in the country, of course I’m a little biased.” A smile eased across Quentin’s face as his chest expanded with pride. “We’re in Atlanta, Las Vegas and Los Angeles. But the big moneymaker is our side business called Bachelor Adventures—where we host the wildest bachelor parties ever. The women have their day, the men have their night. You know what I mean?”

Scribbling. “So you and your cousins provide a service for men to enjoy their last night of bachelorhood?”

“That was the plan.”

“Until?”

Q drew a deep breath. “Until love showed up. What else? Then they started to fall one by one. Take Eamon for example…”

The Reluctant King

Chapter 1

“Welcome to The Dollhouse, Las Vegas,” Eamon King shouted above the crowd, raising his glass to toast the raucous bachelor party as fifty or so guys entered the V.I.P. section of his exclusive Vegas nightclub. Most of them whooped and hollered, and fist-pumped over the loud, pulsing music—a clear sign that they were married men who’d planned to go buck wild on this rare night away from their wives. A few of their eyes were already bulging at the sexy-looking women who worked at The Dollhouse.

“Now, which one of you is Marcus Henderson?” Eamon asked, his gaze combing the crowd.

“Right here,” they shouted and then pushed a six-foot, pencil-thin nerdy-looking brother in black-rimmed glasses.

Eamon ignored his private thoughts about the guy looking like a stereotypical paper pusher and hooked one of his muscled arms around the man’s neck. “All right, Mr. Henderson,” he boasted. “As one of the owners of this establishment, I want to personally guarantee you that tonight will definitely be a night that you will never forget!”

“Whooo-hoooo!” Henderson’s party shouted.

“Last night of freedom,” Marcus joked shyly.

“Plenty of time for you to change your mind,” someone shouted from the crowd.

Although there was a smile on Marcus’s face, Eamon detected a note of uncertainty in his voice. He gave Henderson another casual glance and thought to himself that if this man had found a woman—any woman—to say yes, then maybe he’d better get on his knees, say his prayers and seal the deal as fast as he could.

“Ladies! Please come on up here,” Eamon shouted.

On cue, Shawn, Brittani and Cassie strolled into the V.I.P. room smiling from ear-to-ear in their metallic gold Daisy Dukes and matching bikini tops. In their hands each one carried a golden ice bucket with a bottle of Cristal.

All the men’s eyes grew even wider and their mouths sagged to the floor.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” the beauties greeted in sync.

“Oh sweet baby Jesus,” Marc mumbled.

Eamon reached over and nudged Marc’s chin so that he’d close his mouth before he started to drool. “Now gentlemen, these three ladies will be your hostesses for the evening. If there is anything that you need, your hostess will take care of you. But first…” Eamon walked to the back of the V.I.P. room and stepped onto the stage and grabbed the microphone lying on the lone chair next to a stripper pole. “I need the man of the evening to come on up here.”

The men clapped and shoved Marc forward.

It was clear that he wasn’t used to the spotlight as he seemed to tuck his head down and had trouble making eye contact as he made his way up to the stage.

Amused, Eamon shook his head and then swung his arm around Marc’s shoulder and directed him to face forward. “Now. We at The Dollhouse have something special for you, my man.”

One side of Marc’s lips curled upward as he asked in a quivering voice, “Really?”

“Ooooh yes. I have a special girl in mind for you. “He tossed him a wink and then signaled to the DJ. The music quickly transitioned into Li’l Wayne’s “Lollipop.” To the crowd Eamon said, “Gentlemen, won’t you welcome to the stage DELICIOUS!”

A gold-and-silver disco ball descended from the ceiling. The men gave enthusiastic barks and shouts as The Dollhouse’s number-one moneymaker, Delicious, stepped onto the stage, working her hips like a figure eight and rolling her chest so that the small tassels on the ends of her gold pasties spun like mini-helicopters.

The crowd went wild while Marc stood like a deer in headlights and Eamon exited the stage and handed off the mic to one of the hostesses. Delicious knew how to work a crowd and within seconds, she had them all eating out of the palm of her hand.

As Eamon worked his way to the back of the V.I.P. room, he spotted his brothers, Xavier and Jeremy, with their arms folded and leaning against the back wall. The three of them were similar in build and coloring: tall, milk-chocolate brown with solid, sculpted muscles. Of the three, Eamon sported a pencil-thin goatee, a slightly squarer jaw, with eyes that were slanted like Tyson Beckford’s. While Eamon and Xavier stood at an even six-four, Jeremy, the pip-squeak, came in at six-three and three quarters. It was hardly noticed by others, but it made for endless teasing by his older brothers.

They were all pretty laid-back. They were very close having grown up in a family that didn’t have a lot of money, but plenty of love. Their parents had taught them the value of hard work and didn’t accept any excuses. The three put themselves through college and then went into business together. They weren’t as rich as their cousins, the Hintons, but they each had a couple of million in the bank.

“What are you guys doing here?” Eamon asked, suspiciously.

“Damn. What? No hug or ‘how in the hell are you’?” Xavier shouted above the music, smiling.

Eamon lifted a brow. His brother was showing a little too much teeth with that smile. “I’ll hook you up at the next family reunion.” His gaze then shifted to Jeremy who was acting like he’d never seen Delicious perform before. Playing along, Eamon folded his arms and turned back toward the stage.

Marcus Henderson sat in the chair center stage, looking like he’d died and gone to heaven. His ebony goddess backed up her beautiful, oiled, brown booty with a disappearing gold string down the middle up on him and then started bouncing her round cheeks until he was damn-near hypnotized.

“WHOOOOOAAAA!” His friends whooped and hollered as they crowded around the stage and tossed bills of every denomination onto the stage.

Marc’s mind spun like a pinwheel while money rained down on him and this goddess of the stripper pole like they were in their own little money globe.

Delicious bent over at the waist, giving him a better view of just where her mysterious gold string disappeared to before effortlessly making both cheeks clap.

The erotic applause made Marc tug at his collar. Even though the sucker was already open, it still felt as if it was choking him. Completely wiped clean from his mind were any thoughts of the woman he was going to marry tomorrow. In that moment, all that mattered was Delicious. She gave Marc an erection so hard that he swore he could feel his inseams popping.

Marc turned his head, while his jaw elongated and his hands trembled with want.

“Your boy is looking like Gollum up there,” Xavier chuckled.

Jeremy turned with his fingers creeping toward Eamon’s face. “Precious. I must have the precious booty.”

Eamon swatted Jeremy’s hands away from his face and then rolled his eyes. “Grow up.”

That just succeeded in making Jeremy laugh. “Testy. Maybe we should arrange a private lap dance for you, as well. You need to relax.” He put his hands on Eamon’s shoulders and started rubbing. Since he didn’t know what he was doing, the shoulder rub hurt like hell.

“Will you two just spit it out. What the hell do you want before this fool lands me on a chiropractor’s table?” He shrugged Jeremy’s hand off his shoulder, but then turned in time to catch his younger brothers sharing a look. “What?”

Xavier sucked in a deep breath. “Maybe we should talk about this in the office?”

Eamon frowned as a ball of anxiety picked up speed in his chest. “It’s that bad?”

His brothers stood mute blinking at him.

Cursing under his breath, Eamon cast a quick glance back at the stage. Delicious had Marc’s face planted in between her chests while she slapped both cheeks with her fresh-out-the-box silicon-filled breasts. When she finally pulled his head back again so that he could breathe, Marc looked like he was in love.

“Another satisfied customer,” Eamon chuckled. But when he looked back up at his brothers that ball started rolling again. “C’mon. Let’s go to the office.”

The three Kings exited the V.I.P room and entered the main floor of the club where it looked as if they had a full house. Prince’s old-school jam “Get Off” pumped through the mounted speakers while seven of his hottest women on seven different stages worked golden stripper poles while their customers rained money on them.

As the Kings traveled down the glass staircase, a harem of belly-dancing strippers were coming up for the bachelor party’s next set. Eamon plastered on a smile as he glanced down at his watch. “Running late, ladies.”

The women gave him meek apologetic smiles as they continued running up the stairs. At the bottom, Azizi, an African beauty with gorgeous coal-black skin, waited with a sly grin…and a goat.

“Now that’s something you don’t see every day,” Xavier said with mild amusement.

The brothers stood on the side of the staircase so that Azizi and the goat could climb up. Right behind her were a dozen dwarfish women, no more than three and a half feet tall, dressed in two-piece black cat costumes with furry ears.

The look on Jeremy’s face was priceless. “What kind of freaks are you hosting tonight?”

“The kind whose credit card is approved when I swipe it,” Eamon laughed while he threaded his way through the thick Saturday-night crowd. He could literally hear the ca-ching of the cash registers as he watched the army of bartenders, waitresses and dancers scurry about.

The success of The Dollhouse defied the odds and baffled all their competitors—not only in Atlanta, but also in Las Vegas and Los Angeles. But the Kings believed, as their father had always taught them, that the fundamentals were what made success: vision, integrity, talent and communication. After that was location, location, location—marketing, marketing, marketing—and cash, cash, cash.

That last part—the money—was particularly hard. When Xavier and Jeremy first approached Eamon about expanding their small adult nightclub and laid out an impressive business plan, he was skeptical. The normal movers and shakers who did what his brothers were suggesting usually came from old money. They argued about it for so long that he finally tossed up his hands and told his brothers that if they could find the money to finance their grand fantasy, then he would go along.

He should have never underestimated Xavier and Jeremy. They could sell condoms to a nun if they set their minds to it. In this scenario, Eamon was the nun.

Unfortunately, their new financier came straight from another branch of the family tree, the branch that Eamon didn’t particularly care for—the Hintons.

Correction. He actually didn’t mind Jonas and Sterling so much. They were solid, hardworking men who didn’t put on airs or walk around like they were better than everyone else. However, his Uncle Roger and his cousin Quentin were his least favorite and for different reasons.

Uncle Roger, billionaire extraordinaire, tended to walk around, thinking that everyone had a price tag on them. There was no deal too dirty and no trickery or underhanded tactic that was beneath him. In fact, the only time that Eamon had ever felt a little sorry for his cousin Quentin was when his uncle bribed him into marrying some business associate’s daughter so he could better position himself on the company’s board. It was no shock that Quentin took the money. After all he’d been cut off financially by his father in a feeble attempt to force him to grow up and support himself. But Q was accustomed to a certain lifestyle, and he was immune to the whole notion of actually working. So after about a year of roaming from one sugar momma to the next, he jumped at his father’s offer.

It came as no surprise that the marriage didn’t last, but Q reclaimed his inheritance. So when Xavier approached him with his business proposal, a deal was struck. The Kings and one Hinton became business partners provided that Quentin Hinton remained a silent partner.

“Hello, Eamon,” a feminine voice floated in between the music.

He stopped and looked down just as a woman’s slim hand slid up his broad chest. When he shifted his gaze to the hand’s owner, he was pleasantly surprised to see Charelle. His lips stretched wider at the short, red number she had on. It showed off her long, lean and toned physique to perfection. “Hello, Charelle.”

“Ah. So you do remember me?” She moved closer and pressed her small curves against him. “You know, six months is a long time not to hear from someone.”

He laughed while his gaze dragged down her body. “If I remember correctly, you were the one who left town.”

Charelle’s cherry-red lips curled higher. “Silly man, you were supposed to chase after me.” Her hands and arms looped around his neck. “Don’t you know when a woman is playing hard to get?”

Behind him, Xavier and Jeremy chuckled. “Actually, I do,” Eamon said, reaching behind his neck and, gently but firmly, pulling her arms down. “And like I told you before, I don’t like playing games.”

Charelle moaned and pushed out her bottom lip. “Then don’t think of it as a game. Think of it like a dance.”

“Oh. A dance, huh?” He playfully rolled his eyes.

“What?” She pushed on one of his bulging biceps and flashed her pearly whites up at him. “You’re a man who owns a strip club. Don’t tell me you that you don’t like dancing.”

Xavier cut in. “Actually, it’s a gentlemen’s club.”

Charelle’s gaze shifted to the brothers. “Sorry. I didn’t know that I was interrupting a family reunion. Hello, boys.”

They quickly said their hellos.

“Then you won’t mind excusing us.” He started to move away.

“So we’ll finish this dance later?” she asked, rocking her hips to entice him with what could be waiting for him when he was through.

It wasn’t enough. “No. I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head and stepping away. “When I dance, I like to lead.”

Charelle’s face fell while Xavier and Jeremy sucked in a quick breath as if Eamon had delivered a body blow. He should have known better than to do this in front of them. They had a tendency to be juvenile.

“You’re welcome to stay. Just tell the bartender I said that the drinks are on the house tonight.” He stepped around her and then threaded through the crowd when she grabbed him by his trim waist.

“Is that it?”

“Did you need anything else?” he asked benignly.

“Hey, Eamon.” A woman walked behind him and gave his firm butt a good squeeze.

He turned his head in time to see Hayley, one of his waitresses, sashay away. “Hey, I require dinner and a few drinks before I allow a woman to have her way with me.” He laughed.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hayley teased and continued to navigate her way through the crowd with her tray of drinks.

Laughing, Eamon turned back toward Charelle whose face was twisted in annoyance.

“Well, no wonder you’ve been M.I.A., you’ve already moved on to the next trick.”

Unfazed and, quite frankly, bored by Charelle’s penchant for drama, Eamon folded his arms. “You do realize that you just called yourself a trick, right?”

“No. I’m calling you a flea-infested, roaming dog.”

“Then you were smart to leave me when you did,” he agreed. No matter what she said, he was not going to indulge her by fighting. What was the point? Hayley meant nothing to him. It was harmless flirtation between good friends and not out of the ordinary for colleagues who worked in their type of establishment. “It was good seeing you again, Charelle.”

Making a clean break this time, Eamon finally maneuvered the rest of the way through the club to his private sanctuary: the office. “Shut the door behind you,” he instructed and then opted for the leather couch instead of the executive chair behind his desk.

“Yes, boss. Right away, boss,” Jeremy joked before closing the door behind him. In doing so, he lowered the volume at least fifty percent from the loud music bumping in the club.

“All right,” Eamon said, stretching back on the couch and kicking up his feet. “Lay it on me. What’s so important that it takes both of you to fly in to talk to me?”

His younger brothers looked at each other again as if waging a silent battle as to which one of them should drop the bomb.

“You guys are really trying my patience,” he warned. “Spill it.”

Xavier sucked in a deep breath. “It’s Quentin.”

Dropping his head back, Eamon groaned. “I should’ve known. What has he done now—tear up the Atlanta club again?” he asked, referring to a drunken brawl Q had gotten into about six months back.

“No. It’s nothing like that,” Xavier rushed.

“But?” Eamon asked. “Why do I hear a ‘but’ coming?”

“But…he’s driving me—”

“Us,” Jeremy corrected and then nodded for Xavier to finish.

“Yes. He’s driving us crazy. We thought—”

“Actually it was Xavier’s idea,” Jeremy cut in again and then rolled his hand at Xavier. “Go ahead. Tell him your idea.”

Xavier looked like he was two seconds from going for Jeremy’s jugular.

“Anyway,” Xavier said, cutting his eyes back to Eamon. “We were thinking that he could come out here and work with you for a little while. This is our biggest club. Surely there’s plenty for him to do around here.”

Eamon was already springing back up from the couch before Xavier could finish his sentence. “No. No. And, oh hell no!”

Jeremy slapped his hand against his forehead. “C’mon, Eamon. It’s your turn. He’s already spent time at our clubs, drinking and chasing women. It’s like having a kid around that we have to babysit twenty-four hours a day.”

“So when you say put him to work you meant that in the loosest terms possible, right?”

Xavier sighed. He and Quentin were actually best friends though Eamon never understood why. They couldn’t be more opposite than the North and South Poles.

“I don’t understand,” Eamon said. “Why do we have to do anything? Quentin is a silent partner. Kick him to the curb and tell him to take a trip or something?”

Xavier raked his fingers across his finely shaved head. “Well…let’s just say that he’s going through a little emotional crisis at the moment.”

Eamon frowned. “What do you mean?”

“He has a broken heart,” Jeremy answered. “And it’s bad.”

“Real bad,” Xavier agreed, nodding. “Sterling married the woman Q thinks he was in love with.”

“Quentin is always in love,” Eamon dismissed. “Give him a couple of weeks and he’ll be fine.”

“It’s been six months,” Xavier said.

“It’s getting worse not better,” Jeremy added.

“And what am I supposed to do? Babysit? Does it looks like I have time to babysit a cousin I don’t even like?”

“You mean the same cousin that has made us all rich?” Xavier asked.

Here comes the guilt. “No.”

“Just for a little while,” Xavier continued. “He’s excommunicated himself from his family.”

“No.”

“He’s a broken man. We’re all he has,” Jeremy added. “Just keep him for a couple of months and then you can send him back to…Xavier in Atlanta.”

“Me?” Xavier turned. “What about you? You’re his cousin, too.”

“I just had him.”

Eamon and Xavier stared at Jeremy.

“Fine.” He tossed his hands. “He stays out here with Eamon first, then Xavier and then me. We’ll just keep him in rotation until he gets back onto his feet again.” Jeremy glanced around. “Deal?”

Xavier smiled. “Deal.”

They looked toward Eamon.

“I don’t believe this.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead, trying to get ahead of the stress headache that was coming his way.

“Is that a yes?” Xavier asked.

“All right. All right. I’ll do it.”

Xavier clapped his hands. “Great! He’s staying at the Bellagio.”

“What?”

“C’mon, Jeremy. Let’s hit the road before we miss our flights.”

Before Eamon could get another word out, his brothers damn near disappeared like a couple of ghosts. One thing was clear. He’d been set up…again.

Chapter 2

In the penthouse suite in the Waldorf Astoria hotel, Victoria Gregory stood looking as regal as a queen in her Versace French-vanilla-and-gold empire wedding gown. The sweetheart neckline, gold Cinderella tiara and Harry Winston diamonds dripping from her ears, neck and wrist were the result of hours of deliberation by a committee of family and friends. The wedding planner, location, caterer, florist, musicians and guest list had all been handled with Victoria’s usual meticulous eye for detail. Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, the sky was a crisp blue without a single cloud in sight.

“A perfect day for a wedding,” she finally said wistfully, taking in the scenery one last time. After that, she drew in a deep breath, squared her shoulders and then whipped around toward her five bridesmaids. “Are you absolutely positive that they missed their flights? Maybe the limousine driver was late and missed them? They probably took a cab or something.”

Her twin cousins, Grace and Iris, cut a strange look toward each other that instantly piqued Victoria’s hackles a few more inches.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice lowering to a lethal level. If Victoria was known for anything, it most certainly was for her quick temper. It was something that she had inherited from her father and she made no apologies for it. “Tell me,” she snapped with a stomp of her foot.

Lolita, another cousin of hers on her mother’s side of the family, cleared her throat since it was obvious that the twins were too afraid to speak. “We called Cole’s cell phone a few minutes ago.”

Victoria didn’t like the smirk that crept across Lolita’s face. “And?”

“And…after threatening him within an inch of his life, he gave us some slurred statement about how he didn’t think that Marcus was going to make it.” Lolita’s smirk continued curling up until it reached the corners of her mouth. “Sorry.”

Victoria’s hands balled at her sides while the room around her started turning a vibrant shade of red. “What do you mean he’s not going to make it?” she hissed. “I have over three hundred guests waiting downstairs.”

In sync, Grace and Iris stepped back while Lolita’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

This wasn’t the first time Victoria regretted asking her cousin-slash-arch nemesis to be a bridesmaid in her wedding, but after her mother pleaded and begged, she gave in. Since then, the heifer had been like a steel thorn in her butt. She bitched and complained and seriously thought that she had a vote on every aspect of the wedding. Every time Victoria came close to catching a case, her mother would step in and reel her back down to earth.

Still smiling, Lolita shrugged her shoulders. “I could go down there and tell everyone that Marcus has just dumped you.”

The twins gasped.

“I’m sure that they’ll understand,” Lolita added. “Lord knows I do.”

Before the bitch could bat her faux mink eyelashes, Victoria launched and snatched the girl’s lace-front wig clean off her head, exposing her thin edges and mini afro-puff of hair underneath.

The twins jumped back.

Lolita screamed and then clutched at her unkempt natural hair.

Satisfied, mainly because it was a hideous wig in the first place, Victoria threw it down and proceeded to stomp on it.

Lolita finally stopped her long wail and spat, “You bitch,” before launching toward the bride herself.

Two seconds before, the twins recognized the look in Lolita’s eyes and finally found the courage to jump into the mix before it got too ugly. The result was them landing right where they didn’t want to be: in the middle. Lolita’s arms spun like a windmill trying to get to the bride while Victoria’s hard fist was landing some pretty good blows on contact. A second later, all four of them fell into a heap on the floor.

The door to the suite flew open and, after a momentary gasp to take in the situation, a stream of women rushed into the room and struggled to pull them apart.

“Enough! Enough! Enough!”

Celya Gregory’s strength never ceased to surprise Victoria. Before she knew it, she was peeled away from the girls, but she was still pissed at her cousin’s determination to ruin her wedding day. Who does that?

The team of family and friends helped them all to their feet, but Victoria and Lolita continued to stare each other down.

“Oh, some of the beads fell off your dress,” Ceyla fretted while she checked her daughter over.

Aunt Brenda settled her hands on her hips. “What on earth is going on? Have you two lost your minds?” Her head swung from Victoria to Lolita, but then her face twisted into a frown. “Child, what on earth happened to your head?”

Lolita thrust an acrylic-tipped finger toward Victoria and started shaking it. “She did it! Crazy bitch! No wonder Marcus doesn’t want to marry you. If I was him, I’d run like hell, too.”

Victoria’s temper shot back up and she was once again in the launching mode. “Let me at her!”

This time the army of women caught her and pulled her back.

Her deranged cousin laughed as she swooped over and snatched her wig from off the floor. “I guess things don’t always turn out the way we plan, do they, cuz?”

Lolita’s mother, Fiona, snickered as well, but then grabbed her daughter’s arm and pulled her toward the door. “C’mon. Let’s go.” Before they reached the door, she also added, “I guess it’s a good thing that we didn’t waste any money, buying a gift.”

They laughed like a pair of hyenas and then slipped out of the room.

Clenching her teeth together, Victoria’s gaze shifted to her mother. “Gee. I’m so glad you talked me into inviting those two.”

Celya’s cafe-latte complexion pinkened as she exhaled a long breath. “I’m sorry, baby. I’d hoped…”

Victoria shook her head and then turned away from her mother. She wasn’t in the mood to rehash the strained relationship of her mother’s older and crazy sister who couldn’t deal with her own petty jealousy. Everyone could see the truth, but her mother generally saw or wanted to see the best in everyone.

It was an annoying habit that Victoria was happy that she didn’t inherit. “Someone get me a phone.”

“Sweetheart, what did Lolita mean about Marcus not wanting to marry you? Where is he?”

All eyes turned toward her. “I don’t know, Mother. She probably made it up. Lord knows she’s evil enough. All I do know is that he’s not here.”

Everyone’s eyes shifted away.

Victoria resisted the urge to scream and instead turned around and stormed from the living room suite and to the elegant master bedroom with her torn chapel train sweeping the floor behind her.

“Oh wait, sweetheart. Your train.” Her mother fretted behind her.

Victoria continued her steady march away from everyone’s gazes. They probably couldn’t wait until she was out of sight anyway so they could start calling and texting everyone that she had just been dumped at the altar. “Dumped! Me? I don’t believe this.”

“Well have you tried to call him?”

She sucked in a breath and rolled her eyes. “That’s why I’m looking for a phone, Mother.” Victoria grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand and speed-dialed Marcus. On the first ring, she impatiently tapped her foot. On the second, she was pacing the room. By the third, she was mentally threatening to kill her tenuous fiancé if he didn’t answer his damn phone.

“This is Marcus. I’m sorry but I can’t come to the phone right now. But if you leave a message, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” BEEP!

“Marcus Lawrence Henderson, I don’t know where you are, but I know that you better be on your way to our wedding.” She turned her back toward her mother and then added in a low hiss, “I swear. If you embarrass me today, there’s not a rock on God’s green earth that you’ll be able to hide under. Get your butt here. Now!” She disconnected the call but still felt the need to stomp, scream or hit something.

“All right now, sweetheart,” her mother said, coming up behind her and wrapping her arm around her waist. “Calm down. I’m sure that everything will be all right. He and the boys probably just hung out a little too late at their silly bachelor party.”

Victoria’s eyes rolled back so far that she could almost see behind her. “I know Kent is behind this.”

Her mother sighed but didn’t refute the comment. That was enough to make Victoria feel like she was on the right track. Kent Bryce had been doggedly pursuing her hand since college. Not because he loved her, but because he wanted to position himself with her billionaire father and his successful investment company. She wasn’t a fool. She saw straight through Kent and all his lame attempts to woo her. So when she pivoted and selected Marcus Henderson, a simple paper pusher out of account receivables, as an attempt to spur his calculated affection, Kent proved to be quite adept and positioned himself to become Marcus’s new best friend.

Marcus, being a shy man, didn’t know what to make of his rise in social standing and popularity and was snookered into Kent and Victoria’s chess game before he ever knew what had happened. Relentless, Kent beat out Marc’s own brother for the position of best man and was primarily responsible for this harebrained idea of having the bachelor party out in Las Vegas.

Victoria protested the idea, but she was seen as feebly trying to prevent the groom from his one rite of passage. Her father even poo-pooed her concerns and said that she was just being paranoid. So here she was, waiting for the groom along with all of New York’s elite society.

Victoria took another deep breath while the fear of becoming a laughingstock rose like a tidal wave. Marcus wasn’t much of a party man. He didn’t drink or indulge in anything crazy. All of that played a part in her selecting him as her husband in the first place. Sure. She would’ve liked to have done this the old-fashioned way. You met someone, there’s a connection, you fall in love and then you walk down the aisle. In Victoria’s world that was just a fantasy sponsored by the fairy-tale spinners out of Hollywood. In her short thirty-two years, she had found one constant in life: people only liked her for her family’s money and prestige.

She was irrelevant.

Her father, Mondell Gregory, made his fortune in hedge funds and this year cracked the top twenty on Forbes’s list of richest Americans. A worthy accomplishment to be sure, but it resulted in her having a rather difficult upbringing. When you can’t trust those around you because you suspect their intentions had nothing to do with you, but everything to do with them trying to boost their social standing, it leads to a rather lonely existence. So she built a wall around her heart and protected herself the best way she could. As a result, she had little patience for fools and it could be argued that she was a little anal and controlling.

It was the best way to avoid getting hurt.

When Victoria attended prep school, she was dubbed the poor little rich girl because she isolated herself from the crowd. By the time she was in college, she was the ice queen—and the loneliest person in the world. The years that followed didn’t improve much. She’d become an investor herself and was rich in her own right. She had plenty of acquaintances, but no real friends. She just learned how to play the game. Smile and pretend she was happy during long, tedious society events. Men did find her attractive. After all, she did have her mother’s long legs and coke-bottle curves. But after a while, those same men would show their true hand and start talking more about her father than about her.

Again, she was irrelevant.

Now, despite all her careful planning and maneuvering, she was about to be left standing at the proverbial altar. Turning, Victoria walked over to the bed and plopped down. All she could do was just sit, wait…and pray for a miracle.

Forever an optimist, Celya stayed next to her side and insisted. “Everything is going to be all right. You’ll see.” She smiled and squeezed her daughter’s shoulders.

Despite her struggle not to succumb, a tear skipped down Victoria’s face.

So much for that damn brick wall.

Chapter 3

Eamon woke feeling like he was riding an out-of-control carousel. So much so that it was difficult for him to even lift his head. He lay still, trying to recall his last moments of consciousness—without much success. He certainly remembered making a ridiculous agreement with his brothers to babysit their spoiled cousin, Quentin. And there were vague memories of him rejoining the Hendersons’ bachelor party. Looks were deceiving when it came to those New York Wall Street types. Those men really knew how to party. That was saying something from a man who specialized in running bachelor parties.

Bachelor Adventures was his brainchild and operated as a side business for The Dollhouse. There was definitely a market for this type of service and it struck Eamon as a no-brainer when he’d read how much the wedding business actually made. But with everything primarily geared toward the brides, it seemed only logical to give the grooms’ last night of singlehood the sort of send-off it deserved. It took some time, but soon word-of-mouth spread among soon-to-be-married guys like a modern underground railroad. They came from near and far, filling The Dollhouse’s calendar in all three club locations resulting in an extensive waiting list.

So what in the hell happened last night that resulted in him sleeping on a floor? The floor?

At last, Eamon’s eyes fluttered open and verified that he was indeed curled up on a carpeted floor. Despite the spinning and the pounding going on in his head, he forced himself to glance around. He found little comfort in the fact that there were at least twenty other people sleeping among throw pillows, colorful fabric that he thought he recalled one of the belly dancers wearing, food, shoes—hell, the list went on and on. The bottom line was the place was wrecked.

“Neah. Neah.”

Eamon slowly turned his head and came face-to-face with a billy goat. “Morning.”

“Neah. Neah.” The goat responded and then with his thick tongue he proceeded to lick Eamon’s face.

“Eeeww.” Eamon jumped back and tried to wipe the foul-smelling saliva from his face. It was nowhere near enough to make him feel clean so he hopped up, spinning room and pounding temples be damned, and went in search of the bathroom. It required him jumping over quite a few sleeping bodies. The hotel suite’s wreckage continued as he made his way to the bathroom and still he had no recollection of all that went on last night. Had he hit his head or something?

Amazingly the bathroom had survived whatever shenanigans they had indulged in last night and it was thankfully empty. He went straight for the sink and started splashing cold water on his face. It was an instant relief to soothe his headache and to wash away his unusual morning kiss. After he shut off the water and grabbed a towel, he finally took a look at his reflection in the mirror.

“What in the hell?” He leaned in close because he didn’t quite trust his eyes. But he wasn’t seeing things. Someone had written in permanent marker across his face: BOY TOY. Eamon took the towel and roughly rubbed at his forehead. The words remained. “No. No. No.”

But it didn’t matter how many times he pleaded or rubbed his forehead raw, the bold letters stayed stubbornly in place.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Eamon jumped and then turned toward the door. “Who is it?”

“How long are you going to be in there, man? I gotta pee,” a woman whined.

Eamon gave himself one last look in the mirror and then tossed the towel down. “Here I come.” He opened the door and the unidentified woman raced in and hopped on the toilet before he had a chance to clear the threshold. Shaking his head, he closed the door behind him and went on to try and inspect the damage.

A few more people were starting to stir, a couple of them had more to do with the goat licking their faces and the others just look like extras in a zombie film.

“Damn. What the hell happened?” one of the men he recognized from the bachelor party asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Eamon told him. Though everything was a mess, he didn’t see anything broken. That definitely came in handy in case the hotel came after him and The Dollhouse.

“What time is it?” the guy asked, looking at his wrist and seeming disappointed to discover that he didn’t have on a watch.

Eamon thought he’d help by looking at his own watch, but his was gone, too. “It’s a hair past a freckle, apparently.” He glanced around on the floor.

“Ohmigod! The wedding! Where’s Marcus?”

“That’s a good question.” Eamon started looking around at the faces on the floor, but didn’t see the groom anywhere. “I guess he has to be around here somewhere.”

They worked their way around the living room and then finally headed back to the master bedroom. However, the moment he opened the door, something came whizzing toward Eamon’s head. He ducked but the object hit the man behind.

“Ooof!”

Eamon shut the door and turned around. “Are you okay, man?”

The dude placed a hand over his left eye for a moment and then declared, “I’m okay. What the hell was that?”

They looked down to see that it was only a plastic bowl full of colored popcorn. Then something else hit the closed door, drawing their attention.

“What the hell is in there?” Eamon asked, almost afraid to try to open the door again.

“I think I saw a monkey,” the brother behind him offered.

“A monkey?” he asked for clarification. I don’t remember a monkey being ordered.

“Robert!” Another brother from the bachelor party called out and then raced down the hallway to join them. “Man, we’re missing the wedding.”

Robert, the monkey-bowl victim, shook his head. “I don’t think there’s a wedding without the groom.”

“Is he in there?” the guy asked.

“We’re just about to check, but he might have been killed by a raging monkey.”

That explanation succeeded in making the new guy look just as confused as they were.

“Okay,” Eamon said, starting to crouch before he opened the door again. “Everyone, be prepared to duck.”

“That warning would’ve come in handy the last time,” Robert snipped.

“Sorry.” Eamon turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open.

Oooooh ooohhh aaaah aahhh!

Sure enough there was a white-face capuchin monkey, clearly losing his mind while he jumped up and down in the center of the bed. Eamon found himself echoing his brother from last night.

“Now, there’s something that you don’t see every day.”

“With good reason,” Robert whispered. “Do you see Marcus anywhere?”

While the monkey was busy having a fit, Eamon glanced around the bedroom and came up empty. “No. He’s not in here.”

At the sound of his voice, the monkey whipped his head around and with lightning speed, grabbed one of the bed’s pillows and hurled it at him. Though Eamon wasn’t normally afraid of pillows, he quickly jerked back and slammed the door again before the fluffy bomb smacked him in the face.

Exhaling as if he’d just saved their lives, he turned toward the men and asked, “Is there any chance Mr. Henderson left without you guys?”

“Highly unlikely,” Robert said.

They turned and headed back toward the front of the villa, checked the dry and the steam sauna, then the courtyard and then lastly the private pool. No Marcus.

“I don’t know what to tell you guys,” Eamon said. “He’s not here. Maybe he went and got breakfast.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. After a couple of rings, he reached Johnson’s Cleaning Crew on the line. “Hey, it’s Eamon. Can you go ahead and send your guys on over to the Henderson suite? Yeah.” He glanced around again and spotted the goat still roaming around. “Wait. Actually, wait an extra hour. I need to call animal control first.”

The moment he disconnected the call, the villa’s front door opened and in walked Marcus Henderson, smiling and gushing at…Delicious. “Good morning, everybody,” he said with a goofy smile.

The rest of his friends started peeling themselves off the floor while most of the women were making a beeline to the bathroom.

“Where have you been?” Robert asked.

Another guy in the villa, smiled just as broadly. “Everyone, gather around. Marcus has an announcement to make,” he broadcasted like he was the King of England or something.

Intrigued, Eamon folded his arms and wondered why Delicious—a.k.a Michelle—was bouncing around and holding Marcus’s hand, but he had a suspicion that he wasn’t going to like it.

It took a few seconds, but everyone gathered around and waited.

“All right, Marcus,” the man said. “The floor is all yours.”

“Thank you, Kent.” Marcus smiled at Michelle, squeezed her hand and said, “First, I want to thank you all for giving me a wonderful bachelor party. I’ve never had anything like it.”

The small crowd clapped and Eamon was pleased that he had indeed pulled off another successful party.

“However,” Marcus continued and then started gushing as much as the woman beside him. “There’s been a change in plans…or rather…a change in brides.”

“Please no,” Eamon moaned, filling in the blanks a second before Marcus held up Michelle’s hand and announced, “Delicious and I just got married!”

Eamon groaned. “Oh God.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I please have your attention?” Mondell Gregory announced in the center of the Waldorf’s Park Avenue lobby. Three hundred sets of eyes zoomed to the larger-than-life man with rapt attention. He took a deep breath and with his head held high he continued. “First of all, I want to thank you all for coming today, but I regret to inform you that the wedding has been called off.”

As expected there was a collective gasp followed by a low, steady murmur as most of the invited guests turned to one another to express their surprise.

“However, since we are all here and since we have a mountain of food and good music arranged for you, I don’t see why we can’t just turn this into an old-fashioned brunch party and take pleasure in one another’s company.” He held up his glass of champagne, though he wished that it was something stronger. “Enjoy!” Mondell nodded his head and then downed his drink in one gulp.

Plastering on a smile, he strolled briskly back out of the grand ballroom, ignoring a few questions being thrown at him as he passed. “How did I do?” he asked his wife, Celya, once he exited the room.

“Great. Given the circumstance,” she answered as she began the difficult task of trying to keep up with his long strides. “What do you think has happened?”

He took an impatient breath and then shook his head. “He better be lying in someone’s hospital bed. That’s all I know. If not, he’s going to be once I get my hands on him.”

Celya didn’t like the sound of that. Instead of enjoying her daughter starting a new chapter in her life today, it looked like she was going to have her hands full trying to calm and soothe two people. That meant a full plate when dealing with her husband and daughter. They were too much alike when it came to temperament. If Marcus was smart, he’d forget that the whole state of New York even existed, because if he ever came back, it would be to attend his own funeral.

When they returned to Victoria’s suite, they found her exactly where they left her. Sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at her cell phone as if willing it to ring. Grace hovered around closely, though it was clear they were also at a loss as to what to say. No one saw this coming. Marcus Henderson seemed as dependable as they came.

Mondell swore under his breath. He didn’t like seeing his daughter looking so distraught and it was clear that it was eating him up inside.

“Is it done?” she asked without looking back at them.

Celya instantly went to her side. “Yes, sweetheart. Your father took care of everything.” She squeezed her daughter’s shoulders.

Exhaling a long sigh, Victoria leaned over and rested her head on Celya’s shoulders. “Did they laugh?”

“Of course they didn’t laugh!” Mondell thundered. “They wouldn’t dare.”

Victoria closed her eyes. No doubt her father truly believed that, but she knew better. Right now, it was just three hundred people. By tomorrow, it will be all of New York when the news hit Page Six. Then again, maybe the whole world was already twittering and Facebooking about the whole debacle.

“It looks like I really know how to pick them,” she moaned.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Her mother delivered another squeeze. “Please don’t beat yourself up over this.”

Well who else was there? Marcus? Hell. She didn’t even know where he was.

Her cell phone rang and vibrated on the nightstand.

Victoria’s head popped up off her mother’s shoulder and she stared blankly at the phone.

“I’ll answer it,” her father said, moving in to swipe up the phone.

But the idea of him tearing a chunk out of Marcus’s hide before she had a chance didn’t set well. “No! I’ll handle this.” She seized the phone from her father’s hands and ignored the disappointment written on his face.

“Hello,” she answered coolly.

“Uh…Vicki?”

Victoria pulled the phone away from her face and frowned at it. No one called her Vicki. No. One. Rocking her neck from side to side, she cracked a few stiff bones in her neck and then placed the phone back up against her ear. “Marcus, where in the hell are you?”

“I’m still in Las Vegas.”

“Did you miss your flight? Did you forget that we were supposed to be getting married?” Her voice rose with every question. “How about, did you forget that we have over three hundred people here—waiting?!”

The phone line fell silent.

“Marcus?!”

“Um…no.” Marcus cleared his throat. “I didn’t forget. That’s sort of why I’m calling. I, uh, I’m not going to be able to, um, marry you.”

This time, she let the phone go silent.

“Vicki?”

“What is it with this Vicki crap?” she snapped. “Stop calling me that.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“And what do you mean you can’t marry me? Do you know how much has gone into this wedding? The time? The money?” She started pacing back and forth, wishing that he was actually there so that she could wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze it until his eyeballs popped out.

“Yeah. I’m sorry about that. But, you see, I met this wonderful woman out here and…well…we got married last night.”

Victoria stopped pacing and, once again, the phone line went silent.

“Vicki—I mean, Victoria? Are you there?”

Frankly, she wasn’t sure whether she was there or not. This certainly felt more like an out-of-body experience. “What do you mean, you got married last night?” she hissed so low that it sounded like she was pouring venom into the phone.

“HE WHAT?” her father roared.

Undoubtedly Marcus heard her father’s roar because suddenly he developed a stuttering problem. “S-see. Wh-what had h-happened was…D-Delicious and I—”

“DELICIOUS? You’re dumping me at the altar for some trick named Delicious? Have you lost your damn mind?”

“WHAT?” her father continued to thunder. “Give me that phone.”

Before Victoria could really unload on her second-rate Urkel-wannabe fiancé, her father successfully grabbed the phone from her.

“NOW, LOOK HERE, MARCUS! Clearly you’ve either had too much to drink or you’ve smoked something that has cooked your brain. You must have forgotten who you’re dealing with. From now until you’re six feet under, I will take great pleasure in personally destroying you. Do you hear me, young man?”

Trembling with anger and humiliation, Victoria turned and stormed out of the master bedroom and went in search of a good stiff drink—or a whole bottle. At this point, it didn’t matter.

The twins and her mother shuffled behind her. Each of them told her to calm down and tried to assure her that everything was going to be all right, while her father continued to rant and rave into the phone. Three quick shots of Jack Daniels later, her nerves started to settle down, but her fury was just getting started.

Chapter 4

One week later…

Quentin Dewayne Hinton was rocking Eamon’s last nerve. This simple babysitting project was backfiring more rapidly than he’d anticipated. Sure, he knew that his older cousin was a spoiled rich kid, but he was unprepared for Q’s total disregard for reality. The man had managed to arrange his life to be one giant party. Since he’d arrived, he’d basically hired most of The Dollhouse’s dancers to perform at his over-the-top private parties on the top floor of the Bellagio. Who in the hell rents the entire top floor of a casino?

Now Eamon was up to his ears with complaints from customers, because he didn’t have enough women working the floor or the upcoming slew of bachelor parties. And where were his two brothers? Apparently nowhere since they were clearly dodging the fifty calls he made to each of them a day.

“I know that you’re screening your calls,” Eamon barked into the phone. “Call me back!” He slammed the phone down and then ground his back teeth together until he swore that he could taste powder.

Knock! Knock!

“What do you want?” he barked and then immediately regretted it.

The door slowly cracked open, but then just enough for Hayley to stick her head through. “Sorry to disturb you, but we have all the new girls ready to audition.”

“You have their applications and had them fill out the questionnaires?” he asked.

Hayley bobbed her head and tried to flash a smile.

Sighing, Eamon climbed out of his chair and headed toward the door. “I guess the faster I do this, the faster it’ll all be over with.”

Hayley handed him a thick folder and then patted him on the arm. “See. That’s the spirit, Boy Toy.”

The meek smile that he was trying to force died as he cut her a look.

She just laughed.

The permanent marker that had been used on him at the Hendersons’ bachelor party had been scrubbed with everything from soap, alcohol, makeup remover and at one point a few cotton balls of bleach. The lettering had faded significantly, but if anyone was to look real close, they would still be able to make out the words.

“It’s not funny,” he grumbled when Hayley’s laughter refused to die out.

“I think that depends on who you ask,” she volleyed back.

Sighing, Eamon picked up his pace. He had enough of everyone’s cackling.

It being just a little past noon, there were just a few people scattered about cleaning and stocking up the club. At the main stage in the center of the club were approximately fifty new girls, ready to audition. At first glance, the women were all very beautiful and their dancing outfits ranged from everything like the naughty nurse to the dominatrix police officer.

Pretty much the typical stuff.

Drawing in a deep breath, he pulled out a chair and plopped down. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. King,” they chimed back as though they had been practicing all afternoon.

Eamon smiled and opened the folder Hayley had handed him and immediately started delving into the women’s head shots and applications. “Okay. First up, Regina Bailey?”

“That’s me.” Regina stepped forward, showcasing a smile that stretched from ear to ear.

Eamon looked her over. “Like the smile. Like the legs…” His eyes parked on her flat chest and then hesitated. “So how long have you been dancing?” he asked while he read her information as she answered him.

“Since I was six,” Regina said, remaining chipper.

“Professionally?” he asked, even though he’d already made up his mind that she wasn’t right for the club.

“No. Actually, I just moved out here from Madison, Wisconsin. It’s always been my dream to become a showgirl.”

Eamon arched a brow and eased back into his chair. “A showgirl? You know The Dollhouse is a gentlemen’s club. This isn’t casino work.”

Regina fidgeted a bit, but her smile never faltered. “Yeah. I know, but…I haven’t been able to land anything yet. And—” she snuck a quick glance at the other women behind her “—well…I sort of really need a job.”

Eamon stared at the young girl for a long moment before he then glanced back down to see that she was just twenty-one. An innocent. “Have you ever done any waitressing?”

“Yeah. Actually, my daddy owns a restaurant back home. I grew up helping wait tables. Problem is that it’s just as hard trying to find a waitressing job out here as it is trying to land a dancing gig.” Her smile finally started to falter.

“Well, today is your lucky day. I just happen to have an opening. It’s yours if you’re interested.”

Eamon watched as if he’d just lifted the world off her shoulders.

“Really?”

He nodded. “I’m sure as long as you keep flashing that pretty smile of yours. You’ll rake in a lot of money in tips.”

“Oh, thank you so much.” She blew him a kiss and started bouncing up and down. “You just don’t know how much that means to me. I thought I was going to have to go back home with my tail tucked between my legs. Thank you. Thank you.”

“All right. All right. You’re more than welcome.” He turned toward Hayley and handed her Regina’s picture and profile. “Will you take Regina here and make sure that she fills out all the necessary paperwork?”

Her eyes danced with amusement as she whispered, “I didn’t know we had a position available. I would’ve had my cousin Gwen apply.”

“When Gwen learns to walk and chew gum at the same time, you do that.”

Hayley laughed and then escorted Regina to the back office.

For the next two hours, Eamon watched the rest of the girls audition. There were a few potentials, maybe one or two break-out stars, but the majority of them were rhythm and balance challenged. Just when he and the DJ were getting down to the last dozen women, the front door swung open.

Eamon glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry, but auditions are closed right now.” He shook his head. Tardiness was a trait that he couldn’t stand. But when he heard a pair of heels stab the hardwood floors, he turned his attention to his right. “I said…”

Nothing, absolutely nothing could’ve prepared Eamon for the tall, fiery divinity that was storming his way. Six feet tall, with long flowing brown hair and blond highlights, this woman commanded attention like no one he’d ever seen before. Though her eyes were hidden behind a pair of fashionable bumblebee sunglasses, Eamon took time to note her high cheekbones and her thick kissable lips. And her body was sick. Sleek shoulders, high D-cup breasts, slim waist and butt that had just the right amount of jiggle when she walked.

“Now, this is more like it,” he said and then shifted in his seat to relieve some of the pain of his erection that was creeping down his right leg and threatening to escape his boxers.

“I’m looking for the owner,” the woman announced with a thinly concealed attitude.

Eamon didn’t answer. He was too busy taking in her tight, white-lace dress that hugged her body like a second layer of skin and just barely kissed the middle of her incredibly toned thighs.

Clearly impatient, his dream woman snatched off her glasses and proceeded to stare him down with her blazing green eyes. He froze, looking at her face and remembering.

“HELLO!” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Do you speak in English? ¿Habla inglés?”

Eamon finally broke out of his trance. “I’m sorry, what?”

She huffed out a breath and she settled a hand on her hips. “I said that I was looking for the owners.”

“Well, you’re in luck. You just found one of them. What are you going to perform for me today, honey?” He couldn’t stop the smile that was creeping across his face. The image of her slicked down with baby oil and swinging that incredible body around a golden pole had him feeling like a preteen schoolboy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this—if ever.

“Perform?” She whipped her head around and finally took notice of the other scantily clad women behind her. When she turned back around, she was bubbling with laughter. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She rocked her neck. “Do I look like someone who works a pole for a living?”

Eamon took the question as invitation to take another look at the incredible brick house in front of him. Apparently he was taking too long because she started clearing her throat.

“Are you done?”

Eamon’s gaze sprang back to her heated stare. “I guess I am now.” He leaned forward and planted his elbows on the table and then braided his hands together. “All right. I’ll bite. If you didn’t come here to audition today, then why are you here?”

Her lips spread into a tight smile as she reached inside her large purse and withdrew some folded paper. “I came to serve you this.” She thrust the papers toward him.

He froze at the word serve and refused to take the papers from her. “What is it?”

His discomfort and mistrust seemed to amuse her further because if her smile grew any wider, she was going to look like the Joker after a while. “I’m suing you.” She dropped the papers on the table in front of him. “Honey.”

“What for?” He snatched up the papers and rolled his gaze over the pages. So entrenched in his reading, he didn’t hear when Quentin entered the club, let alone him walking up to the table.

“Hey, cuz. What’s up?”

“FIFTY MILLION DOLLARS!” Eamon roared.

“Congratulations. You can read,” she said smugly. “Now, if you can write and add, I’ll be expecting that check when we go to court.”

Quentin placed one hand on the table and leaned over so that he could catch the fire-breathing Amazon’s attention. “Aren’t you a feisty one?” He flashed his woman-magnet dimples at her. “Please don’t break my heart and tell me that you’re dating my knucklehead cousin here.”

She leaned away from Quentin, suspicious of his over-the-top charm and his seemingly X-ray eyes.

“Fat chance,” Eamon barked. “She’s suing us.”

“Oh? Are you one of the owners of this—” she glanced around and drew a deep breath “—establishment?”

“Guilty. Quentin D. Hinton at your service.” He looked her over again. “Have you ever thought about a career as a dancer?”

“What the hell is wrong with you two?”

Eamon popped up from his chair. “Q, would you mind finishing up the auditions? Ms.…” He looked down at the paperwork. “Gregory?”

She smiled. “You’re still impressing me with those reading skills.”

He frowned at her constant sarcasm. “Ms. Gregory and I will be in the office if you need anything. There are just a few more girls. I’m sure you’re more than qualified to handle it.”

Quentin saluted. “Yes, sir. It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it.” He shifted his gaze back to Ms. Gregory. “When you finish your meeting you know where to find me.”

She simply stared at the handsome playboy like she had never met or even seen anyone like him before.

“This way, Ms. Gregory.” He swept his arm in the direction of the back office.

She hesitated for just a moment, but then finally pulled her purse strap over her shoulder and then marched off toward the back.

Quentin cocked his head to check out her walk.

Eamon socked him on the arm. “Ow. What?”

“Just…handle the auditions. Geez.” He fell in line behind Ms. Gregory. But after a few strides, his head slowly started to tilt to the side as well while he twisted his face at the sight of that wonderful jiggle this woman had.

She reached the door first and turned.

Eamon fixed his face and pasted on a smile just a nanosecond before she busted him.

However, her hard green eyes narrowed like she had eyes in the back of her head.

Playing it straight, he just opened the door. “After you.”

She hesitated again.

“Don’t worry. I don’t bite,” he assured her.

“Too bad,” she volleyed without missing a beat. “I do.”

Eamon’s brows jumped up at the response as she turned and crossed the threshold. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind,” he said and then fought like hell to keep his eyes trained on the back of her head. It didn’t work. He snuck another peek.

“Let me guess,” Hayley said from his assistant’s desk. “Another new hire?”

Ms. Gregory started to settle her hands on her hips again when Eamon jumped in. “No. Ms. Gregory and I have business to discuss in my office.” He opened his door.

“Aaah. Business.” Hayley winked. “I gotcha.”

Eamon shook his head. This was not one of those times to toss sexual innuendos around. He tried to convey that by casting a hard look at Hayley, but she gave him the same clueless expression as Quentin. “What?”

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Eamon finally entered his office and closed the door. “All right, Ms. Gregory. What’s this lawsuit all about?” He walked around his desk and plopped into his chair.

“The fact that my name is still Ms. Gregory,” she seethed.

Of course that answer only confused him more. He frowned and wrinkled his forehead.

She squinted and leaned forward. “Does your forehead say boy toy?”

Eamon coughed and then tried to bring the subject back to this lawsuit. “You want to explain what you mean?”

“It does,” she persisted. “Why do you have boy toy written on your head?”

Propping one elbow on the desk, Eamon tilted his head and then slapped his hand across his forehead. “Can we stick to the subject here? The lawsuit?”

“It’s all right there. The Dollhouse also runs a sideline company called Bachelor Adventures, right?”

“Yes. And?” He dropped his hand and then leaned back in his chair. Clearly getting information out of her was going to be like squeezing water out of a rock.

“Well, Mr. King. You and your establishment hosted my fiancé’s—my ex-fiancé’s—bachelor party a week ago. And instead of him showing up the next day to marry me in front of my family and most of New York’s elite society, just imagine how all warm and fuzzy I felt when Marcus called me and told me that instead of marrying me he’d married a lovely booty-popper named Delicious.”

Eamon’s mouth stretched open while his gaze stroked her curves again. “Marcus Henderson was your fiancé?”

“Ah. I finally dusted off a few cobwebs in that small brain of yours.”

His brows jumped, but his chest finally started to rumble with laughter. “You gotta be kidding me. You’re suing me for fifty million dollars because you were left at the altar? That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? You lure men here for some wild fantasy night, pump them full of liquor and God knows what else while an army of naked women swing around on poles and seduce them into having a quickie marriage at a drive-thru chapel that you guys seem to have on every street corner around here.”

Eamon heard the words but he couldn’t believe that someone would be crazy enough to say them, let alone believe them. Not to mention he still couldn’t square the circle on just how Marcus Henderson managed to land a vixen like her. He rolled the riddle around in his head while he stared at her.

She started fidgeting. “Well? Aren’t you going to say something?”

“What would you like for me to say?” He rose from his chair with a smirk on his face. “Clearly, you’re insane or at the very least bitter.”

SLAP!

Eamon blinked while the sting of her hand lingered. “Feel better?”

Her hand whipped around again, but before it could make contact, Eamon stopped it in midair and then pinned it to the wall behind her. There was something about the way her electric green eyes widened in surprise or the way she smelled like jasmine and white roses. No. Who in the hell was he kidding? It was the way her mesmerizing breasts heaved up and down against his firm chest that proved to be one temptation too many. So he did the very thing that he’d been thinking about since she walked into the club: he kissed her.

Chapter 5

Victoria didn’t know what happened. One minute she was so angry that she was breathing fire and then in the next she was a dripping pool of wax from the heat of this stranger’s kiss. Not only that, there must be something wrong with her brain because she could swear that she heard her sensors crackling and popping. Yet she didn’t want him to stop.

He tasted like those wonderful bits of chocolate with the heady filling of cognac. His tongue probed inside her mouth and she had the embarrassing response of moaning as if he’d found an oral G-spot. While he kept her one hand pinned to the wall, the free hand took full liberty to slide up the back of her thigh and then cupped the back of her right butt cheek and squeezed.

She moaned again, but he swallowed it up while kneeing her legs apart. This must be what it felt like to be ravished. The way the heroes always did in those old black-and-white films. The ones she never understood in which the women were always willing to drop everything they ever knew and all that they’d ever wanted to be just so that they could ride off into the sunset with some man. In this one weird moment she understood those women perfectly.

Just when oxygen was becoming a distant memory, King tore his mouth away from hers and started setting little fires along the column of her neck and then was well on his way toward her cleavage when the door bolted open.

“Victoria, are—oh!”

Victoria’s passion-drugged eyes finally popped open just as King’s head lifted off her breasts. And when had she hooked her right leg around his hip?

At Grace’s stunned face, Victoria suddenly remembered herself and became appalled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get off me!” With the strength of Super Woman she shoved Eamon back, but it was the shock of the sudden maneuver that sent him tumbling back and tripping over the corner of his desk. The next thing everyone saw was his hands and feet flying into the air. When he hit the floor, he hit it hard.

BAM!

“Oomph!”

Victoria winced and then leaned forward to peek over the desk to see if he was still conscious. He was and looking around like he was still trying to process what had just happened.

“Next time, keep your hands to yourself!” She snapped her head as if she’d just given him a really good piece of her mind and then jerked back toward her cousin. “Let’s go!”

Grace’s wide gaze shifted down Victoria’s body and then pulled at her own top.

Picking up her signal, Victoria glanced down and saw that half her right breast hung out the low-cut V of her dress. Like a runaway brush fire, Victoria’s entire face became enflamed with embarrassment. But she tucked herself back in, lifted her head and stormed out of the office like a level-five hurricane.

“Victoria, wait up,” Grace called after her.

However, slowing down was the last thing Victoria wanted to do. She wanted to hurry and get out of that place as fast as possible. She burst out the back of the club only to be blasted by some hard-bass music booming from the surrounding speakers. She pressed her fingers into her ears and kept moving, but then the woman on stage in front of her caught her attention and her angry strides slowed.

The woman on the golden pole was amazing. She couldn’t even begin to understand how it was even possible for someone to hold themselves upside down with one leg while twirling around. Then she stopped, folded herself back up while her legs split open into a perfect V. It was erotic beyond belief, yet at the same time graceful. Slowly, she glided down the pole until she gently settled down into the textbook full split. Then the dancer did something that she’d never seen before. Somehow she was able to make both butt cheeks pop, then one at a time.

“How in the world?”

Just then that Quentin character she met earlier turned his head and caught her checking out the show. He flashed those dangerous dimples at her and waved.

“Ooooh,” Grace said from behind her. “Now, I wouldn’t mind five minutes alone in the back with that one.”

Victoria groaned as shame and embarrassment part deux washed over her with even bigger waves.

“Are you ladies sure that you don’t want to audition?” Quentin yelled above the music. “We’re always looking for more talent.” He winked.

“Let’s get out of here,” Victoria said and then turned for the door. After a few steps, she realized that Grace wasn’t behind her. Rolling her eyes and huffing out a frustrated sigh, she marched back, grabbed Grace by the arm and dragged her out of the club before Quentin convinced her to jump on that pole and quite possibly break her neck.

“Oooooh. He was cute,” Grace panted. “Did you see him?”

“Yes. I saw him. Beware of wolves in sheep’s clothing.” She shoved open the glass door.

“You mean sort of like that gorgeous wolf that pawed your breasts out of your dress in the back office?”

Victoria cut her gaze over at cousin. “So if I jumped off a bridge would you do it, too?”

Grace blinked.

“Exactly. Get in the car.” Victoria rolled her eyes and opened her door. But before she could hop in behind the wheel, she saw King—she didn’t even know which brother he was—jog out of The Dollhouse and head toward her. “Get in the car, Victoria,” she mumbled under her breath and wasted no time doing just that.

“Ms. Gregory, wait up!”

Victoria slammed her door and locked it just as Eamon reached it and tried to open it.

“What took so long?” Iris asked, scooting up from the backseat and folding her arms on the back of their chairs. “Who is that? He’s fine.”

You don’t have to tell me.

“Ms. Gregory!” He knocked on the window and then yelled, “We haven’t finished talking.”

“Is that what we’re calling talking nowadays?” Grace snickered.

“Shut up.” Victoria crammed the key into the ignition and started the car.

King tossed up his hands. “You’re the one that came to see me. Remember?”

She shifted the car in Reverse. “You can talk to my lawyer,” she yelled back and then jammed her foot down on the accelerator. He jumped back in time to save his precious toes from being run over and Victoria felt a stab of disappointment.

“You’re not even going to tell me where I can find you?” he shouted.

Victoria shifted the car back into Drive and jerked the wheel to the right.

But while she was in the middle of making her getaway, Grace powered her window down and screamed, “We’re staying at the Bellagio!”

“Grace!” She peeled out of the parking lot.

Her cousin whipped around in her seat, smiling like a peacock. “What?”

“Why in the hell did you do that?”

She crossed her arms. “You heard him. You guys haven’t finished talking.”

Victoria seethed as she took off like she was trying to qualify for the Indy 500.

Iris piped up again. “Okay. Does anyone want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Trust me. I’ll fill you in on every tantalizing detail when we get back to our hotel,” Grace promised.

“I don’t know why in the hell I asked you two to come with me,” Victoria grumbled.

“Yeah. You would hate that about now. Though I wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t walked in on you two. Lord knows how many carpet burns I saved you from. You should be thanking me. Not trying to take my head off.”

“SHUT UP!” Iris popped them both on the shoulder. “Victoria was making out with that chocolate god back there?”

“Girl, it was like animal kingdom up in there,” Grace laughed. “That brother had her pinned down and mounted.”

The twins squealed with laughter before high-fiving each other like pro athletes.

Victoria continued to stew in her seat. What in the hell was I thinking? She shook her head, but the question kept looping inside her mind. By the time they pulled up to the hotel, she just had to admit the truth to herself. She wasn’t thinking. She was just feeling—feeling things that she had never felt before.

That’s good enough reason to stay the hell away from him.

She exchanged her key for a ticket at the valet and then waltzed into the casino’s hotel.

“I say you forget about the lawsuit and hook-up with Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome.”

“I hardly think that he’s a fifty-million-dollar lay,” Victoria snipped.

The twins exchanged a look.

“You know I really hate it when you two do that,” Victoria said as they stepped into the elevator. “If you’ve got something to say, I wish that you would just say it.”

“It’s just that…the lawsuit. You don’t think that maybe you’re overreacting?”

Victoria’s mouth dropped open as she turned toward her cousins. “Overreacting? Have you forgotten how I was humiliated last week? My wedding announcement was in the New York Times. Three hundred of the most important people in New York show up for a wedding that cost my father a mint—only for my fiancé to fly to Vegas for a bachelor party and fall head over heels in love with a stripper named Delicious. Are you hearing me? Delicious. And you just calmly stand there and ask me if I’m overreacting?!”

Grace shrugged and mumbled, “It was just a question.”

“Then the answer is no. When I get through with Marcus and his hoochie momma—and even that lecherous club owner with the octopus arms—they’re going to wish that I’d hired a hit man to take them out of their misery.”

The elevator dinged on the thirtieth floor and Victoria, with her anger renewed, marched out with her cousins rushing behind her. “Victoria, we didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You know what? Don’t worry about it. I’m just going to take a long shower, get some sleep and then we can just fly out in the morning,” Victoria said, sliding her card key into the lock. “I’ll just catch up with you two later.”

“Wait.”

“No. Really. I’m tired and I would really like to get some sleep.” More like she was on the verge of crying again and wanted to make her escape before the first tear fell.

“Well…all right,” Iris said, looking to her sister to see if she had any pearls of wisdom that would help the situation.

Before Grace could open her mouth, Victoria was slamming her door closed. It was a good thing, too. Not two seconds later, two fat teardrops seeped from her lashes and rolled down her face. Why did she expect anyone to understand where she was coming from? They didn’t have every society page and blogger laughing and saying mean things about them.

“Billion-dollar Bride Jilted at the Altar.”

“Slam-Dumped!”

“Runaway Groom!”

“Money Can’t Buy You Love.”

All she wanted was not to get hurt. She had been so meticulous and so careful that she didn’t understand how this whole thing blew up in her face. Marcus was not ambitious, he was unassuming and everything pointed to low drama. No. She didn’t love him. Love had nothing to do with their union. But she had thought that they’d grown fond of one another—friends, certainly. And that was the most important thing, according to her grandmother before she died. A woman’s looks faded with time, and sex was overrated. The secret to a long-lasting relationship was friendship—companionship. She thought that at least she had that with Marcus.

Now she didn’t even know where the hell he was. But she had a detective on it and as soon as he reared his head, she was going to ruin him. In the meantime, she would take her frustrations out on the people she could find: the owners of The Dollhouse.

Victoria closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath. There was no point in getting herself all worked up again. But while she chugged in huge gulps of air, the image of Mr. King floated to the forefront of her mind and her body became all warm and tingly. He had to be at least six-four with the skin the color of a Hershey’s milk-chocolate bar. Just remembering its rich and smooth texture had her one cavity acting up.

And his lips—not too big, not too small. They were just right and pillow soft. And the taste of his kiss…

Victoria’s head drifted back while she emitted a long “Mmm.” But as soon as she heard herself, her eyes sprang back open and she glanced around to make sure that she was indeed alone.

“Get a hold of yourself, Victoria.” She exhaled and then leaned to each side to remove her high heels. But as she moved around the large suite, forgetting about her sexy King proved hard to do. She remembered vividly his surprising speed. The way he’d pinned her back against the wall. That one brief moment of helplessness and his pure dominance over her still had a way of stealing her breath.

When had she ever come up against a force that powerful? And why had that one act made her not only aware of being a woman, but conscious of a unique power she never wielded before? At a glance someone would’ve easily thought that he was in control, but she was certain that she was.

As Victoria entered the bathroom and turned on the hot water in the whirlpool tub, she analyzed everything that happened after she’d laid eyes on King. She remembered vividly how his eyes caressed her body. The glint in his eyes told her that he definitely liked what he saw. Clearly her years of veganism and five a.m. boot-camp workouts had paid off.

By the second time, his gaze performed a slow drag over her body, her heart was pounding, her nipples were hard as rocks and she was aching in between her legs. Long before King’s cute cousin strolled in, there had to be enough pheromones raging between the two of them to ignite an orgy.

Victoria smiled as she removed her clothes, but remained in a dreamy state as she eased into the tub’s hot water. What would’ve happened if Grace and that other woman hadn’t barged in? Would she have allowed a complete stranger to do her up against the wall of his office?

The answer was obvious, but she lied to herself by shaking her head. The good, conservative girl within her said that she would have ended things before he had gotten the chance to ease his hand anywhere near her panties. But the bad girl in her said who needed a hand when she could clearly feel his hard erection pressed against her through their clothes. She knew exactly what he was working with and it had only turned her on more—not less. Plus, hadn’t the man already laid claim to her butt? He was squeezing and caressing it as if it had been his God-given right. And wasn’t his mouth just mere inches from popping her right nipple into his mouth? Where were her good sense and values then?

Her smile widened while she absently scrubbed her body. It wasn’t long before she was wishing that their little interlude could’ve lasted just five more minutes. Five more minutes of that wonderful mouth, those talented hands and hard, thick rod that was poking her in between her legs, begging her to say the word. “Yes,” she whispered, smiling.

In the distance, the hotel phone rang.

The twins. She sighed. I told them that I wanted to be left alone. She rolled her eyes and sank deeper into the tub. When the phone stopped ringing, Victoria smiled and went back to her memories of the sexiest man that she had ever met.

Chapter 6

“Damn it!” Eamon disconnected the call and then pocketed his cell phone.

“Maybe it’s just me, but I could have sworn that you were a lot smoother with the ladies,” Quentin chuckled as he eased onto the bar stool next to him. “I certainly don’t recall you having them run away from you like escaped convicts.”

Eamon lifted a brow. “You want to give me advice on women?”

“Who better than a man who has been in the boxing ring with love?” Quentin volleyed without missing a beat. “I jabbed when I should’ve ducked and ducked when I should’ve jabbed.”

“So you’re an expert now?”

“Only enough to know that I’ll never get into the ring again.” Q winked. “But if you’re just trying to lure these delectable creatures into your bed, keep the nights from getting too cold, then I’m your man. You’d have to talk to my brothers for that happily-ever-after crap. They seem to have that down pat.”

Though Quentin maintained his smile, there was an underlying sadness in his eyes and a voice that he couldn’t cover up. Why hadn’t Eamon noticed before?

When Q grew uncomfortable with Eamon staring at him too hard, he patted him hard on the back. “Cheer up. Let me buy you a drink.”

Eamon twisted his face. “We own the bar.”

“Let’s not get hung up on technicalities.” He climbed out of his seat and went behind the counter. “What will it be, cuz? Bourbon? Jack?”

“Kamikaze,” Eamon answered.

“Ahh. Vodka and triple sec.” Quentin cocked his head. “Now, why doesn’t that come as a surprise to me? A Kamikaze man is adventurous, bold and courageous.”

Eamon laughed. “You’re psychoanalyzing me based on the kind of drink I like?”

“Laugh if you wanna, but all bartenders know that it’s an art as well as a science.”

“You always did look at things differently.”

“No. I think I’m on to something with this,” Quentin said, reaching for the bottle of vodka. “Ask any bartender and they will tell you the same thing I am. You can tell more about a man by what he drinks than the clothes he wears.”

“Is that right?”

“That is a fact,” Quentin boasted confidently. “What any man or woman wears is for show. It’s to proclaim a certain lifestyle or status, whether it’s real or not is irrelevant. It has nothing to do with what’s on the inside. But a drink is a little more intimate. I should know. I have drowned my sorrows in more than a few bottles.”

Amen.

“So what’s your drink?” Eamon asked.

“Whiskey sour.” Quentin winked. “I let you figure that one out on your own.”

Eamon laughed. He had to hand it to his cousin. He was definitely a charming guy.

“Here you go,” Quentin announced. “One Kamikaze.” He set the drink on the bar.

“Thank you.”

Quentin corked up a brow. “What? No tip?”

Eamon twisted his face. “Add it to my tab.”

“I’ll tell you. No one ever appreciates a good bartender.”

They shared a laugh while Quentin made himself a whiskey sour.

“So how long are you planning to hide out here?”

“Hide out? That’s an interesting choice of words,” Quentin said. “Is that what Xavier told you? He thinks I’m hiding?”

Briefly Eamon wondered if he said something that he shouldn’t have, but he went ahead down this rocky road since his brothers had left him with very little to go on. “How would you describe it?”

“I would say that I was celebrating.” His smile stretched a little wider.

“Celebrating?”

Quentin nodded as he turned up his drink. Once the contents were gone he immediately started to pour himself another. “I’m celebrating life, women and a hell of a lot of money that my father gave me.”

“It must be nice,” Eamon mumbled.

Quentin frowned. “The last time I checked you’re not exactly destitute, cuz.”

“No. But I’m not exactly a trust-fund baby, either. Some people actually have to work for a living.” That only seemed to amuse Quentin more.

“Is that the thorn in your paw between me and you? You don’t like my carefree lifestyle?”

“I have a problem with a man who doesn’t make his own way in the world.” Their eyes locked, but Eamon continued. “You’re a spoiled little rich kid who has never taken anything in life too seriously.”

“And why would I want to do that?” Quentin challenged. “Who in their right mind would want to jump on some hamster wheel chasing after some vague definition of success? Is success money? I have money. Is success happiness? Five days out of seven I’m pretty happy. Maybe with love and family?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Believe it or not, I have those, too.”

“What about starting your own family?” Eamon asked.

“Said one bachelor to the other.” Q smiled. “Unless you’re going to tell me that you have some little woman clubbed and cooking in your kitchen at home that you forgot to tell anyone about.”

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