Runaway Mistress

Runaway Mistress
Robyn Carr

Not much can go wrong when you're traveling first-class with your fabulously wealthy boyfriend–until you find his wife's body in your hotel suite.Convinced she's next on Nick Noble's hit list, Jennifer Chaise takes off down the Vegas Strip armed with only her wits and a Kate Spade bag full of money. Giving herself a drastic makeover–complete with a new name–she lands herself a waitressing job in a nearby town. For someone used to private jets and waterfront condos, the change in lifestyle couldn't be greater. Yet, oddly enough, Jennifer couldn't be happier.And then she meets Alex Nichols. One of the Las Vegas police department's finest, he's everything she's ever wanted. But when Nick's bodyguards arrive in town, Jennifer knows that if she wants a future she's going to have to deal with her past….

Praise for the novels of

ROBYN CARR

“This is one author who proves a Carr can fly.”

—Book Reviewer on Blue Skies

“Robyn Carr provides readers [with] a

powerful, thought-provoking work

of contemporary fiction.”

—Midwest Book Review on Deep in the Valley

“A remarkable storyteller…”

—Library Journal

“A warm, wonderful book about women’s

friendships, love and family. I adored it!”

—Susan Elizabeth Phillips on

The House on Olive Street

“A delightfully funny novel.”

—Midwest Book Review on The Wedding Party

Runaway Mistress

Robyn Carr

www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)

For Heather Hudson Carr, my favorite.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

One Year Later

One

When she walked into the Fort Lauderdale Executive Airport, heads turned. Not just the men’s, but the women’s, as well. Jennifer was used to this; she did not come by her fabulous looks by accident. Trim, tan, blond, leggy, buxom, with a face that could stop time, she drew the attention of everyone she passed. She went to the counter and recognized the agent, a woman she’d seen several times before. “Hi, Elaine. Jennifer Chaise, here to meet Mr. Noble for the Las Vegas flight.”

“He hasn’t checked in yet, Ms. Chaise, but you can board if you like.”

“Thank you, but I’ll wait until he gets here.”

“Why don’t we go ahead and load your luggage to save time?” she said.

Jennifer gave a nod and a smile, glanced over her shoulder to the skycap who had followed her with her bags, and then went to a leather sofa in the waiting room. From there she could see the terminal entrance.

As she waited for her gentleman friend, Nick, to arrive at the airport, Jennifer reminded herself that not all that long ago she’d been a girl who couldn’t afford a bus ticket. Now she was a woman waiting for a private jet. Who would’ve guessed?

The private jet sent by the MGM Casino Resort would whisk them away to Las Vegas, where they would spend a few days. Nick was what was known as a Whale—a high-stakes gambler. She assumed he lost as well as he won because at least four times a year the MGM would send their Gulfstream to pick him up. But, according to them, gamblers never lost. And, despite the fact that he was married, Jennifer was the woman who accompanied him on these trips.

Jennifer was something of a gambler herself, but she didn’t wager money. She put herself on the line, betting that she could keep someone like Nick Noble so enchanted by her charms and beauty that he would be a generous suitor. It required quite a lot of skill and confidence. The skill she had acquired over time, but the confidence always threatened to elude her. Sometimes she was required to fake it. All the people who ogled her were completely unaware that beneath the veneer of wealth and glamour beat the heart of an uncertain girl who had come from nothing.

She reached over her knee to smooth her two-thousand-dollar eelskin boots over her shin—they were as soft as butter and were her favorite. There was a time years and years ago, when she was eight or nine years old, that her mother picked through a Dumpster, where she’d seen a pair of discarded shoes just about the right size for Jennifer. That had been an especially bad patch for them. Maybe that was what had fostered her passionate love of footwear. These boots were sage-colored and perfect with the cream skirt and jacket she wore; the skirt was short with a strategic slit up the left side and the jacket buttoned just under her breasts to emphasize her cleavage.