The Heiress's 2-Week Affair

“Is the ring yours now?” someone else, obviously at least mildly familiar with the ring’s chain of ownership, called out to Candace.

She didn’t bother trying to hide the condescending glance she sent toward the photographer. Her laughter echoed with victory.

“It’s always been mine,” she announced.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Luke just within the entrance. Six foot two, lean and muscular, with dark hair she remembered running her fingers through, he looked incredible. A touch of nostalgia surfaced. He always did look good in a tux.

Looked damn good out of one, too, she thought with a lascivious smile.

“If you gentlemen’ll excuse me,” she murmured to the reporters. And then, because she hated the prospect of facing the night in an empty bed, she glanced back at the exotic reporter. It never hurt to have an ace in the hole. “Maybe we can get together later. I’ll fill you in on what I’ve been doing lately. For your tabloid,” she added with a wink as she patted his face, her ring sparkling and throwing off beams of light with every movement.

“I’d like that,” he told her.

She expected nothing less. “Yes, I’m sure you would. I’m staying at—”

“I know where you’re staying,” Patrick Moore cut her short.

She smiled, inclining her head. “Clever boy,” she murmured.

With that, she sashayed off to the casino, every step a calculated movement guaranteed to make men’s mouths water.

Once inside, Candace began to move just a tad faster. If she’d retained her present pace, the object of her pursuit, Luke Montgomery, would have put too much distance between them. She very much wanted to hook up with the gala host. Men of power were like an aphrodisiac for her, and Luke Montgomery, despite his humble beginnings, was now regarded as one of Vegas’s movers and shakers. Nothing she liked more than being on the winning team.

She had, she liked to think, a lot to bring to the table.

“Luke,” she called out to him. When he didn’t appear to hear her, Candace raised her voice, temporarily abandoning Marilyn Monroe’s sexy, throaty whisper for pragmatic reasons. There was still no response.

The third time she called out his name, Luke stopped walking. He could feel his shoulders tensing. He’d heard her the first time and had hoped that she would just give up.

He should have known better.

Damn that shrew anyway. He wanted the focus of this gala to be on him, his newest casino and the charity he was sponsoring, in that order. Nowhere in that hierarchy did he want to include a vapid, superficial bleach-blonde.

But if he didn’t acknowledge her, he knew she was going to cause a scene, and that was the last thing he wanted tonight.

So Luke turned around, a perfunctory smile of civility on his lips worn for the benefit of anyone who might be passing by.

“Hello, Candace,” he said as soon as he crossed back to her. Towering over the woman, he all but quietly growled, “I don’t seem to remember sending you an invitation.”

A careless laugh met his statement. “I’m sure it was just an oversight.” Candace possessively threaded her arms through his. Being so close to Luke vividly reminded her of the last time they’d been together. Though she’d never said anything, she’d considered settling down with him. At least for a while. A ladykiller who lived up to his reputation, he was a magnificent lover who always left her wanting more.

Because she sensed that this gala meant a lot to him, she tried to get on his good side by saying, “This certainly has the looks of being quite a successful event.”

He certainly hoped so. Luke had undertaken hosting this event and pulling together all the beautiful people from the four corners of the world not just to benefit the charity he was sponsoring but also because hosting such an event, where all the rich and famous showed up in droves, would garner him an enormous amount of goodwill. Good publicity was crucial since he was on the verge of building yet another casino and hotel—this one on the exact spot where the tenement building he’d lived in as a child had stood.

The Phoenix, as the new establishment would be called, was very near and dear to him, and he wanted nothing to hamper its success. Someone like Candace Rothchild and the kind of attention she attracted could do a lot of harm to all his good intentions.

He wanted her out of here, and he had no time to be polite about it. Moving over to a more private corner of the casino, he asked in a controlled, low voice, “What is it you want, Candace?”

Her eyes raked over his body, blatantly undressing him as she looked up into his eyes. “Why, darling, that should be very evident to someone as smart as you.” Tightening her hold on his arm, Candace raised her face up to his. Her mouth was barely inches away from his lips. “You.”

Gone were the days when he would have been flattered. He knew her for what she was. A woman with no soul on her way out, living in a town that didn’t care. She was swiftly becoming a punch line to a good many insulting jokes.

“Not now, Candace.”

A pout appeared on her moist lips. “Then when?” she wanted to know.

What had he ever seen in her? he couldn’t help wondering. Granted, there’d been a time when he would have gladly taken her up on her offer, but he’d been younger then and far more impressionable. He’d like to think he was too smart now to be tempted to lie down with a black widow.

He shook his arm free and then grasped hers. He began directing her toward the front entrance. “Some other time, Candace,” he said forcefully.

Instantly, her face clouded over. “I don’t like being rejected, Luke. Your little party won’t go so well if I make a scene. That’s what they’ll remember, me,” she emphasized, “not you or this little jewelry store display of yours.”

It was a threat with teeth, and they both knew it.

He didn’t react well to threats. “I think you’ll be happier elsewhere, Candace,” Luke told her coldly. He snapped his fingers over her head at someone across the floor.

She didn’t bother looking to see who Luke was summoning. She wasn’t interested.

“And I think I’ll be happier here,” she insisted. Accustomed to getting her way, it infuriated her to be contradicted.

The next moment, they were joined by a third party. Matt Schaffer, the head of security for Montgomery Enterprises, was at her elbow. But rather than look at her, his attention was completely focused on his employer. Matt waited silently for instructions.

Candace always perked up when in the company of a good-looking man, and this time was no exception as recognition entered her eyes.

“Why, hello handsome,” she purred.

Candace had already had too much to drink, Matt realized. He could smell it on her. But he was careful not to allow his disdain to register on his face. Instead, he raised his eyes to Luke’s face.

“Mr. Montgomery?”

“Schaffer, please escort Ms. Rothchild out of the casino,” Luke requested, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. “She was just leaving.”

Candace became incensed. “No, I wasn’t,” she insisted heatedly. She gave every impression that she was about to dig in her heels, and if Matt intended to remove her, it was going to have to be by force.

But rather than take hold of her arm and drag her from the premises, cursing and screaming, Matt leaned over and whispered into her ear. “There are a bunch of photographers outside asking about you,” he told the Rothchild heiress smoothly. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint your public, would you?”

Her blue eyes flashed, reminding him of another pair of blue eyes. Matt banked down the memory and the feelings it threatened to usher in with it. He’d made his choice, and he had to live with it…had been living with it these last eight years.

“I don’t want to be disappointed,” Candace told him haughtily.

There was another, more logical approach to this. “You’ll save face if you make it look as if leaving is your idea. Ms. Rothchild,” Matt told her quietly. “But make no mistake, one way or another, you are leaving the casino.”

Candace exhaled angrily, then, right before his eyes, she managed to get herself under control. There was a squadron of cameras waiting to capture her beautiful likeness, she thought, and she knew that when she frowned, she looked closer to her own age. Thirty was a horrible number.

As she moved toward the door, Candace thought she could see that reporter—the sexy one—looking in her direction. Patrick Moore.

Something told her that the evening was not going to be a total waste after all.