Waking up in Vegas: A Royal Romance to Remember!

Clearly there was a lot of money in wine. The kind of serious money that could easily buy a ticket to Europe and a couple of months’ worth of beer and pizza.

But at what price to her soul? She couldn’t do that to him. Being shackled in marriage was bad enough. Being used was a step too far. She wouldn’t do that to anyone, and especially not to Max, who had an honourable streak a mile wide, even if he had some very old-fashioned ideas.

After the show, they wandered through the Bellagio’s very own indoor botanical garden, and then sampled cocktails on a poolside deck, in one of those private cabanas that Phoenix had only ever seen in brochures. She stuck to rum-based cocktails. They were way safer than champagne.

Max quizzed her on where she lived and laughed at her behind-the-scenes stories from rock concerts she’d attended. He wasn’t like the famous or rich people she’d met, and she’d met more than a few in the nomadic life she’d shared with her father. Rock stars, record producers, even an A-list actor or two when they’d lived in LA. And she’d been spectacularly unimpressed by them all.

Max was different. He wore his wealth like a comfortable skin. There was no bling about him, just a certain expectation that he would always have the best. She’d love to see him in her drab little apartment in the far from fashionable suburbs. She couldn’t even imagine it.

He carried himself with that air of assurance that he could have anything he wanted. And tonight he made it very clear he wanted her. The fact that for five whole minutes she allowed herself to contemplate giving him exactly that was a measure of how good he was at getting exactly what he wanted.

They strolled down Fremont Street, wandering among the pushing crowds beneath the neon signs, bombarded by voices, the heavy thump of music and the scent of fast foods.

Max held her hand and it felt like a life-line. Since her father’s death she’d felt adrift, rootless but somehow in Max’s company, laughing with him, talking with him, she felt anchored and safe.

It was very tempting to give in. What could it hurt? Just one more night. She’d already done the worst anyone could possibly do on a first date by marrying the man. Surely one night couldn’t do any more damage?

So when they magically found themselves outside the Mandarin Oriental all the reasons she’d kept him at bay through the day seemed very hard to remember.

She pulled her hand out of Max’s and faced him. It was definitely easier to think without his touch accelerating her heartbeat and muddying her thinking.

“I should get home,” she said. It was a half-hearted attempt. She forced herself to sound more certain. “And I need a good night’s sleep before I go to work tomorrow… because I know for a fact Khara didn’t volunteer to take that shift too.” The daytime tips weren’t as good as the night shift, and Khara was working to put herself through college.

Max slid his hands down her arms, from shoulder to elbow, and she shivered in spite of the intense June heat.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

No, she wasn’t sure. She was far more used to giving in to her impulses than denying them. But look at the mess she’d made already - she was married to a man she barely knew. Hell, she was married. That was enough.

“I’m on the day shift tomorrow, so I get off at six. We could meet then if you want. I’ll need to collect my clothes from you, and we should talk about filing papers.”

His eyes narrowed, but his voice stayed level. “As you wish.”

He dropped his hands from her arms, and it was as though a chill breeze suddenly swept between them. He summoned one of the hovering cabs.

“This has been a truly magical day,” she said. “Thank you.”

“It doesn’t have to end, Phoenix.”

“Of course it does. There’s no such thing as magic. Today has been like a dream, but every dream ends when we wake up.”

“I’m not a dream. I’m real, and I’m not going anywhere.”

She shook her head. “You and I don’t live in the same world. We don’t even breathe the same air. You live up there,” she waved at the soaring heights of the luxury hotel towering above them, “and I live in a motel with very thin walls.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. I want us to try to give this marriage a shot.”

The thought of giving up her motel room for his hotel suite was very tempting. But she shook her head. “I serve drinks to the people in your world for a living, Max. I’m invisible to most of them. You actually saw me, and for that I’m very grateful. But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t belong in your world.”

She stepped into the cab and shut the door firmly in his face. It took all her effort not to look back as the cab pulled out into the traffic.

Chapter Three (#ude4682eb-3d0b-5e94-b7b3-4a1de20b6f45)

Phoenix couldn’t wait to get out of her work clothes and into a long hot bath. She’d been on her feet ten hours straight, she was hot, tired, and she couldn’t get a certain roguishly charming winemaker out of her thoughts. Even though he hadn’t returned her call.

Her mouth watered at the delicious, spicy scent wafting down the motel corridor. It made a pleasant change from the heavy fried grease smell from the apartment next door. The smell would have to keep her going until she’d changed out of her work uniform and ordered take-out.

She slipped her key into the latch and opened the door. The scent wafted straight out of her apartment. She blinked in surprise.

Max stood at the stove she never used, stirring a pot of fragrant…she sniffed the air…Thai curry, with coconut. Yum, another favourite.

“You cook?” Silly question considering what he was doing. Why hadn’t she asked the more obvious question of what are you doing here? Or better yet: how did you get in?

He grinned, and as if reading her thoughts, “Your landlady let me in.”

So much for that privacy she’d been promised when she signed the short-term lease.

“Well at least you’ve saved me a trip.” She kicked off her shoes and threw her purse and a large manila envelope onto the white melamine coffee table. “Those are the divorce papers.”

Turns out Khara’s brother was a divorce lawyer. She’d almost suspected a set-up but her friend had seemed truly contrite.

I can’t believe you don’t remember she’d said. It was as if you were under some sort of spell. I was so sure this was it: Love with a capital L.

That was the champagne, she’d replied.

“You shouldn’t have.” Max’s tone was dry. “Have a bath and I’ll pour you some wine.”

Too tired to argue, she headed for the bathroom which wasn’t much bigger than the closet in his fancy hotel suite. She ground to a halt in the bedroom doorway. A large designer label suitcase lay on the bed. It certainly wasn’t hers.

“What the hell is this?” she demanded.

“I told you, I really want us to give this marriage thing a shot and show you that we belong together. Since you don’t want to stay with me in my hotel, I checked out and came here.”

This was verging on stalkerish. She was sure she should care more but all she could think of was…“There’s only one bed.”

And he would never fit on the two-seater sofa.

“There was only one bed in my hotel room but that didn’t seem to matter.”

She wetted her lips. A sane and sensible young woman was not supposed to go weak at the knees at the thought of sharing a bed with her stalker. Nor was she supposed to have fantasies that involved him, her and that same bed.

She pressed her eyes shut.

“You might want to hurry with that bath. Dinner’s nearly ready.”

She shucked off her clothes as she headed to the bathroom. Another surprise awaited her there. Steam clung to the walls and frosted the mirror. He’d already run her a bath. Complete with scented oil, rose petals and candles.

All he had to do was throw in the champagne and she’d be screwed. Literally.