Prince Charming For 1 Night

Oddly arousing.

The curtains over the door parted, and Vera LaRue suddenly stood there, holding a sweating champagne bottle and two crystal flutes. She’d put the wedding dress back on.

Hey, now.

“Hello,” she said, her voice throaty and rich like a tenor sax. “I understand you wanted to speak with me about my sister.”

Suddenly, talk wasn’t at all what he wanted.

Wait. Yes, it was.

“Why don’t you come in and open up that bottle,” he suggested, indicating the champagne in her hand. The hand with the Tears of the Quetzal diamond on it. Focus, Conner.

“I, um…” She suddenly looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, sir. I really don’t think so. Truth is, I don’t do this.”

He hiked a brow. “Drink champagne?”

She blinked. Flicked her gaze down to the bottle then back to him, even more flustered. “No. I mean yes, I drink champagne. Of course I drink champagne. Everyone does. But I don’t do lap dances. I only came because you mentioned my sister. Now, what was it—”

“I understand,” he cut in agreeably. Not having to endure her gyrating on his lap without being able to touch her was probably a good thing. If maybe a little disappointing. Fine, a lot disappointing. “Let’s have some bubbly and then we can talk.”

She gave him a look. What? She didn’t believe him, either? “Sir, I’m serious. It’s nothing to do with you. You seem like a nice guy. I just really don’t—”

“Please. Call me Conner. If you don’t want to dance for me, Ms. LaRue, that’s fine. As appealing as that might be, it’s not why I’m here.” He held out his hand with a smile. “Here. I’ll open it.”

When she still balked, he stood up. That made her jump. But she recovered quickly. She gave him the bottle and pulled back her hand a little too fast. As though she were…afraid to touch him?

Impossible. The woman who’d practically had sex with him with her eyes from the stage could not possibly be nervous about physical contact, regardless of what he might or might not have had in mind for this tète à tète.

Which was just to talk.

Honest to God.

Or…did she perhaps realize who he was? That hadn’t occurred to him. Had Darla warned Vera someone might come looking for the ring? Maybe asking questions about a murder? Was this modesty thing all a big ploy to throw him off?

Nah. If so, she would have run away, not flirted mercilessly and then locked herself and the ring in a tiny room with him.

The cork flew, startling her into raising the flutes to catch the golden liquid. Her satiny gown rustled against his legs as he stepped closer to fill the glasses. The scent of her perfume clung to the air around her—sweet and spicy. Very nice.

Suddenly, the most insanely irrational thought struck him. What if she really were his beautiful bride, that this really was their wedding night and he really was about to peel that bridal gown off her and—

Whoa, there, buddy. Hold on.

Where the hell had that come from?

Totally inappropriate temporary insanity, that was where. Obviously he’d gone without sex for far too long, and it was somehow damaging his brain’s ability to function in the presence of a beautiful woman.

He eased a flute from her stiff fingers and clicked it with hers. Back to business.

But instead of a trust-inducing get-to-know-you question, what came out of his mouth was, “You do have some amazing moves, Ms. LaRue.”

To make matters worse, his rebellious gaze inched boldly down her delectable body, all of its own volition.

Help.

“Um, thanks, Conner. I appreciate your…um, appreciation. But now you really need to tell me whatever information you have about my sister, or I’ll be leaving.”

Damn, she looked good. And so sweetly uncomfortable, he pulled out his roll, thumbed off two C-notes, held them up, and confessed, “Okay, you were right. I would like to see you dance up close.”

Okay, way to go, you total moron. What was wrong with him? This was not the way he conducted business.

“I knew it.” She shook her head, taking a step backward, away from him. “Look, I’m really sorry, but this is not happening. I’ll just go find someone else—”

An incredible thought flew through his mind as she chattered on about getting him another girl. Could this befuddling change in his self-control be the mysterious power of the ancient Mayan legend-slash-curse Uncle Harold was always talking about? The part he was obsessed with portended terrible things would befall anyone who possessed the ring with evil intentions. But the other part said the spirit of the Quetzal would bring any truly worthy person within its range of influence true, abiding love.

For a second he just stood there, stunned.

He-llo?

Had he gone completely insane?

Mystical powers? True love? With an exotic dancer?

He gave himself a firm mental thwack.

And smiled at her. “No, it’s you I want, and the room is already paid for.” By the quarter-hour, no less. He held up his money roll. “Tell me, what did you make in tips onstage? I promised to match it.” To talk, he tried to compel his mouth to say. But the words just wouldn’t come out.

She didn’t even blink. “That’s very nice of you, but no. Thank you. As I said—” She launched into her spiel yet again.

But he wasn’t listening. It was like he was standing next to himself watching as he was being taken over by pod people. He should be taking it slow. From arm’s length. Gaining her trust. Not trying to jump her bones. Certainly not until after he’d gotten his answers. And his family’s ring back. He knew that. But she was simply too delicious to resist.

Ah, what the hell.

He surrendered to it. Changed tactics. Her first. Answers later. Then the ring.

Yeah, that worked.

Determined, he thumbed out several more bills, bringing her chatter to a stuttering halt. He didn’t doubt for a second she’d eventually capitulate. One thing his ruthless family had taught him—everyone capitulated. It was all just a matter of negotiation. “Four-hundred? Five?”

She swallowed. “Really. I don’t think you under—”

He started peeling and didn’t stop till he reached ten. “Let’s say an even thousand, shall we?”

That really shut her up. She stared at the money, then shifted her gaze to stare at him for an endless moment. “Why?” she finally asked.

Good freaking question.

Vera LaRue was so different from the type of woman he was usually attracted to…this was completely unknown territory. Sure, he frequently worked with hookers, dancers and runaways in his legal practice. Worked. But he was definitely not attracted to them. Never slept with them. Ever.