by Nina Bruhns
He handed Vera her glasslike shoes with a wry smile. “Don’t lose one, Cinderella,” he teased.
She snatched them back. “You know, your cousin Candace didn’t like you very much.”
“Now there’s a shock,” he said, leading her up the mansion’s sweeping front steps.
“She said you’re mean, stubborn and ruthless…and will do anything to get your clients off.”
“Never a good thing in a lawyer,” he said drily.
She met his amused gaze, so strong and confident. Not to mention devoid of shadiness or deceit. With a sinking feeling, she suddenly knew the slain heiress had been completely wrong about him. She shouldn’t be surprised. The rivalry between the Rothchild family cousins was legendary in Vegas.
“Touché,” Vera acknowledged, thinking just maybe she’d been wrong about Conner, too.
Not good. She did not want to like this man. Bad enough she was hopelessly attracted to him. What if he turned out to be honorable and principled, too?
He ushered her inside. “Welcome to my home.”
Said the spider to the fly.
Dear Reader,
What little girl hasn’t dreamed of being Cinderella, swept away by a handsome Prince Charming? But as grown women, we know things like that just don’t happen…or do they?
In the glitzy, glamorous world of Las Vegas, anything is possible! Even for a poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks, trapped by circumstances in a life not of her choosing.
Just like Las Vegas, Silhouette novels are all about hope and dreams. Dreams of love and fulfillment, and finding that perfect partner to share your life with. For sixty years, Harlequin and Silhouette Books have brought women like you and me stories of passion and commitment. Stories that touch your heart and make your pulse pound just a little faster.
I am so proud that my books have been a small part of those sixty years of romantic adventures, and am looking forward to writing a lot more stories for you during the next sixty years!
Meanwhile, immerse yourself in the continuing saga of the Las Vegas Rothchilds as they pursue the mystery of the Tears of the Quetzal, the diamond ring that leaves starstruck lovers in its wake, and fulfills the romantic dreams of those who are worthy.
Good reading!
Nina
NINA BRUHNS
Prince Charming for 1 Night
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Nina Bruhns for her contribution to the Love in 60 Seconds miniseries
Books by Nina Bruhns
Silhouette Romantic Suspense
Catch Me If You Can #990
Warrior’s Bride #1080
Sweet Revenge #1163
Sins of the Father #1209
Sweet Suspicion #1277
Ghost of a Chance #1319
Blue Jeans and a Badge #1361
Hard Case Cowboy #1385
Enemy Husband #1402
Royal Betrayal #1424
The Forbidden Enchantment #1454
Top-Secret Bride #1480
The Rebel Prince #1504
Killer Temptation #1516
Prince Charming for 1 Night #1568
Silhouette Nocturne
Night Mischief #25
NINA BRUHNS
credits her Gypsy great-grandfather for her great love of adventure. She has lived and traveled all over the world, including a six-year stint in Sweden. She has been on scientific expeditions from California to Spain to Egypt and Sudan, and has two graduate degrees in archaeology (with a specialty in Egyptology). She speaks four languages and writes a mean hieroglyphics!
But Nina’s first love has always been writing. For her, writing for Silhouette Books is the ultimate adventure. Drawing on her many experiences gives her stories a colorful dimension, and allows her to create settings and characters out of the ordinary. She has won numerous awards for her previous titles, including the prestigious National Readers’ Choice Award, three Daphne DuMaurier Awards of Excellence for Overall Best Romantic Suspense of the year, five Dorothy Parker Awards and two Golden Heart Awards, among many others.
A native of Canada, Nina grew up in California and currently resides in Charleston, South Carolina, with her husband and three children. She loves to hear from her readers, and can be reached at P.O. Box 2216, Summerville, SC, 29484-2216 or by e-mail via her Web site at www.NinaBruhns.com, or via the Harlequin Web site at www.eharlequin.com.
To Dorothy McFalls, Judy Watts
and Vicki Sweatman: wonderful friends,
insightful critiquers, amazing writers
and rockin’ concert buddies!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Chapter 1
“Hey, Vera, whatcha think?”
Vera Mancuso—or as the patrons of the Diamond Lounge gentlemen’s club knew her, Vera LaRue—glanced over at her friend Tawnisha and nearly dropped her makeup brush.
“My God, Tawni! Kinky Cat Woman?”
When she looked closer, she did drop her jaw—all the way to the floor beneath her own four-inch crystal-clear heels. Why she continued to be surprised by her friend’s outrageous outfits she’d never know. Vera had worked at the club for nearly four years now and Tawni’s daring outfits still managed to shock her. Tawni always teased her for being too naive for an exotic dancer. Maybe she was right.
“Too much?” her friend asked.
Vera choked on a laugh. “Uh. Maybe too little?” Yikes. “Aren’t there parts missing?” The black latex Cat Woman costume—complete with whip—was minus several strategic bits. The outfit left pretty much nothing to the imagination.
But then again, Vera reminded herself, that was the whole idea here, wasn’t it?
Tawni grinned. “Only the important parts.”
“Too hot to handle, girl!”
“Just the reaction I’m going for.” Tawni wiggled her hips in imitation of what she’d be doing onstage in a few minutes. “Rumor is there’s a real hottie out there tonight.”
Vera grinned. “Loaded, too, I hope? Because I could seriously use a few good tips tonight.”
“You and me both.” Tawni crooked her fingers playfully. “Come to mama, baby. Let’s see you boys flash those twenty-dollar bills.”
“Twenties? Damn. That outfit’s gonna bring out the fifties.”
“What I like to hear, girlfriend,” Tawni said. “Those poor slobs don’t stand a chance.” She gave the mirror a final check, winked and strutted out of the dressing room.
Ho-kay, then. Great news for Tawni. Bad news for Vera. If the punters tossed all their cash at the Kinky Cat Woman during the first set, there’d be nothing left for Vera’s Naughty Bride half an hour later. No, not good. Joe’s retirement home payment was due in a few days, and after her vintage Camry finally broke down last week she was still three hundred bucks short, let alone her own expenses for the month.
Unbidden, her eyes suddenly swam at the thought of her once-burly stepfather lying in his antiseptic white room. He’d been so full of life, had so many friends, before. Now…she was his only visitor, and he hadn’t even recognized her two nights ago.
She blew out a breath, fanning her misty eyes. Don’t go all weepy on me, Mancu
so. Spoil your makeup and forget about those big tips. Buck up, girl!
Besides, tears wouldn’t help—they never did.
And if she got really desperate, she could always borrow the money from Darla, her sister. Well, half sister. Except Darla had taken off, and who knew when she’d be back. Maybe Tawni could help out if worse came to worst. If her friend hadn’t already spent all her money on some outrageous new costume by that time. The woman went through expensive stage outfits like Vera went through romance novels.
Not that Vera should be complaining about the costumes. In fact, she was very grateful for them. Tawni was one of the big reasons the punters kept coming back night after night—and telling their friends back home in Des Moines about the great club they’d found in Vegas on their last business trip. Diamond Lounge: Women in the rough, perfect and polished. Yeah, that’s what it actually said on the playbill out front. Seriously. With a sigh, Vera rolled her eyes. Lecherous Lou’s idea, of course. Who else? Now there was a loser. Why couldn’t he get Alzheimer’s and forget all about Vera and his relentless campaign to get her to sleep with him?
Anyway, Tawni was one of the rough girls. Supposedly, according to Lecherous Lou. And Vera was polished. She snorted. Ha. Tawnisha Adams had graduated from UCLA magna cum laude and was one of the smoothest operators she knew. Vera was the only trailer trash around here, living the life her mother had lived before her. Mentally kicking and silently screaming.
Ah, well. It was what it was.
She leaned forward toward the big lighted mirror that covered an entire wall of the dressing room and critically examined her already generous eye makeup. Maybe a bit more mascara.
There was a fine line between virgin and whore. In her act, she was supposed to be a blushing, innocent bride who revealed her inner bad girl on her wedding night. Right. Like a real virgin would ever know those moves she did onstage. Hell, she barely did. But whatever. The punters loved it. Which kept Lecherous Lou from firing her even though she steadfastly refused to “do the dirty” with him, as he disgustingly referred to it. That’s all that really mattered. Keeping her job.
At least until her Prince Charming came to sweep her away from all of this. Maybe tonight would be the night.
Uh-huh.
She sighed. More mascara it was.
“Vera!”
Her sister burst through the dressing-room door and skidded to a halt against the vanity counter, scattering bottles of nail polish and hair products willy-nilly.
Darla’s expression was wild. “Thank God you’re here!”
“Whoa!” Vera jumped up and steadied her. “Sis, what’s wrong? Where have you been all week? You have to stop disappearing like that. Tell me what’s going on!”
“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Darla said, yanking open her purse.
Darla’d done one of her runners two weeks ago. Which in itself wasn’t unusual. Her ditzy sister took off for parts unknown all the time, at the drop of a hat. But she always came back happier and even more relaxed than she normally was, never looking like hell warmed over. Or agitated.
Like this.
“Darla, you look something the cat dragged in,” Vera said, genuine worry starting to hum through her. “Seriously, are you all right?” She’d never seen her chronically anesthetized and laid-back half sister so upset. Well, not since their poor excuse for a father had tried to throw Vera out of Darla’s penthouse apartment for being a, quote, “money-grubbing gold-digging daughter of a streetwalker.” But that was a whole different story.
“Yes. No! Oh, I don’t know,” Darla wailed. “Where the hell is it?” Stuff spilled all over the dressing table as she clawed desperately through her designer purse. A new Kate Spade, Vera noted. The real deal. Not like the knockoff Vera was carrying today, sitting on the counter next to Darla’s purse. What a difference.
She caught a lipstick that went flying. “Sis, you’re talking crazy. Where’s what?”
“I gotta get out of town for a while, Vera. And I need you to do something for me—Yes! Here it is!”
Triumphantly, her sister held up a ring. A big sparkly one. Jeez Louise, was that a diamond? Nah, had to be fake. Even rich-as-Ivanka-Trump Darla St. Giles wouldn’t have a rock that huge.
Darla thrust the ring at her. “Can you hide this for me back at our place somewhere?”
Despite their father’s objections, Vera shared Darla’s penthouse apartment, for which—at Darla’s insistence—she paid a ridiculously small amount of rent. Amazingly generous, and a true godsend. Without it Vera’d be living in some low-rent dive in the burbs, an hour from work. Or on a sidewalk grate.
Half sisters, Vera was a product of their playboy father Maximillian St. Giles’s legendary philandering. It pleased Darla—whom he basically ignored in favor of her older brother—Henry—to no end to throw their father’s many faults and mistakes in his face. Sharing a penthouse with his by-blow ranked right up there. Why should Vera feel guilty about that? The man had treated them both like crap. And it was fun having a sister, even if Darla was a bit out of control at times. Okay, most of the time. They even looked alike. Superficially, at least. Darla meant a lot to her. She’d do anything for her sister.
She looked at the diamond ring in her hand. “Omigod, it’s gorgeous! Where’d you get it? Why do you want me to hide it?” Vera asked, instantly drawn in by the astoundingly beautiful sparkling jewel.
Darla scooped her stuff back into her Kate Spade. “Just as a favor. Lord, you’re a lifesaver. I—” Her sister turned and for the first time noticed what Vera was wearing. Her eyes widened and a fleeting grin passed over her lips. “Dang, sis. Great corset. Man, that’ll have ’em whackin’ off in the aisles.”
Darla always did have a way with words.
“Thanks, I think,” Vera said wryly. Another thing about Darla: she might be an unholy mess, but she was an honest and genuine unholy mess—and never, ever judged Vera. About anything. “It is pretty spectacular, isn’t it? I had it made to match my bride costume. What do you think? I designed it myself.”
Seeing the fake wedding dress hanging from the mirror, a lightbulb went off behind eyes that looked so much like Vera’s own. “Oh, it’s fabulous,” Darla exclaimed. “Hey! The ring’ll blend right in! Go ahead, put it on,” she urged.
She didn’t have to ask twice. Vera slid the flashy ring onto her finger. “Wow. A perfect fit. It is so incredibly beautiful.” And Darla was right. It went great with the bride outfit.
Again Vera’s eyes were dazzled by the kaleidoscope of colors swirling in its center—green and blue and violet. Like one of those pinwheel whirly things used to hypnotize people in bad movies.
She shook her head to clear it of the weird feeling. “Seriously, what’s the deal with the ring?”
A noise sounded out in the hall. Her sister darted a panicked glance at the door, then gave her a smile she knew darn well was forced. “No deal,” Darla said. “Just hide it for me, okay?”
“Okay, but—”
“And whatever you do, do not talk to Thomas.”
As in Thomas Smythe? Darla’s ex-boyfriend? Before Vera could ask anything more, Darla pulled her into a quick, hard hug, then grabbed her Kate Spade and vanished out the door as quickly as she’d arrived.
Okay, that couldn’t be good. Something was up.
Darla was never like that—all twitchy and in a rush. Darla never rushed anywhere. Or panicked over anything. Possibly because of the drugs she used far more than she should, but no doubt also because she had learned long ago that money could solve anything and everything. Even a messed-up life.
Tell her about it. Vera only wished she’d had the chance to learn that particular lesson.
Speaking of which, she’d better get her butt moving. If she missed her cue to go onstage, Lecherous Lou would pitch a fit. And have one more excuse to hit on her and expect capitulation. Gak. As if.
Luckily, because of her close association with the wealthy St. Giles family, Lecherous Lou
—along with everyone else at the Diamond Lounge—was under the mistaken impression that Vera was loaded, too, and didn’t need this job. That she just played at exotic dancing as a lark, to piss off conservative parents or whatever. Thank God for small favors. She knew other girls at the club didn’t have that kind of leverage against Lecherous Lou to resist his overtures. Or other, shadier propositions. She’d heard about the “private gentlemen’s parties” he ran off the books. It was really good money, and she’d been sorely tempted a time or two, but in the end, the thought of what else she’d be expected to do—according to those who did—made her just plain queasy. She shuddered with revulsion.
She might really, really need this job…and she might not have had sex in so long she’d probably forgotten how to do it…but she would never, ever, ever—
No. Way.
Hell, she wouldn’t even do lap dances.
Brushing off the sordid feeling, she carefully shook out the satin skirt of her faux wedding dress and wrapped it around her waist, fastening it over the sexy white, beribboned corset she was wearing. Then she slid on the matching satin bolero-style jacket that made her look oh, so prim and proper, just like a blushing bride. Gathering the yards and yards of see-through veil—the punters particularly liked when she teased them with that—she attached the gossamer cloud to a glittering rhinestone tiara that held it in place on her head.
There.
She checked herself in the mirror. Not bad. The dress was actually gorgeous. In it, she felt like Cinderella stepping from the pumpkin coach. Every man’s fantasy bride come to life.
