by Maya Blake
* * *
The forty-fifth floor of the Grecian Las Vegas had been blocked off for the visiting Marshalls. Six self-contained suites, complete with two butlers and a chef apiece, a dedicated concierge service, and a private sommelier, meant they only needed to lift a finger for every desire to be catered for.
Rachel turned away from spectacular view of the Strip and did just that, suppressing a little squeal of excitement as the butler hurried forward and glided to a smooth stop before her.
“Can I help Madam with anything?” he inquired solicitously. “Another cocktail, perhaps?”
She wanted to object to the madam label—she was nowhere near old enough to be called that—but this suite, this hotel, hell, this family, was proving to be too classy for her to voice such objections. She’d known the family she was marrying into had serious clout, but although her grandfather’s millions had left her family well off and she’d stayed in some of the best hotels and resorts in the world, she hadn’t been on the receiving end of this much power and wealth until today.
They’d been treated like royalty from the moment they’d stepped out of the SUV to board their private jet to Vegas. And it hadn’t been just any jet. The Global 6000 was the latest in the line of sleek private jets. She knew because she’d heard her father rhapsodize about flying in one at Christmas.
She couldn’t wait to tell him she’d experienced the luxury for herself. Couldn’t wait to tell him she would be experiencing it, and many more such awesome perks, from now on. He would be so proud of her. But what would make him even prouder would be the announcement that she was expecting the next Marshall heir, once she managed to get herself pregnant. Now that she’d talked herself into the idea, she was impatient to get on with it. It would be nine months of hell, sure, but a quick C-section for the birth and a nanny once the baby was born, and she could get back to the serious business of living her intended life as the latest Marshall.
“Madam?” the butler prompted gently.
A little annoyed to be caught daydreaming about her future, she glared at the man in front of her. She thought of ordering another Grecian mint julep, the hotel’s signature cocktail. Other than the fabulous taste, she conceded there was something decadently fantastic about drinking a cocktail that contained shavings of edible gold leaf. She’d already had two of the hundred-dollar cocktails. She needed to remain classy. Besides, a third cocktail in the space of half an hour was a little too much. Especially if she intended to keep her ovaries healthy enough to snag herself a pregnancy in the very near future.
“No, thanks. Maybe later. Have you seen my fiancé?” She stressed the term so there would be no confusion as to what her position was in the Marshall hierarchy. She knew part of her angst stemmed from the fact that she’d discovered Mariella had flown Vanessa to Vegas too. She intended to keep a close eye on the little bitch. Possibly even turn the situation to her advantage if she could.
“Dr. Marshall is in the bedroom, madam,” the butler responded.
“Thanks. Have our bags been unpacked?”
“Of course. It was taken care of right away. If there’s anything thing else you need, just let me know.”
She nodded, handed him her glass and headed for the suspended marble stairs that led to the giant master suite one floor above.
Luc was coming out of the shower when she entered. She felt a little prickle of disquiet that he hadn’t even bothered to tempt her into the shower with him. But no matter—she had her ways.
“There you are.” She sashayed to where he was toweling his hair dry and leaned up to kiss him. Although he responded, he pulled away much too quickly for her liking. Lowering herself back to her feet, she smiled at him. “Help me with my zipper, baby?” She presented him with her back and swept her carefully styled hair out of the way.
She’d chosen the dusky-pink Zac Posen dress because it was similar to the first dress Luc had ever complimented her on. It didn’t hurt that the body-hugging design also showed her slim figure and long legs to perfection. And the full length zipper afforded a quick exit to nakedness when needed. She was banking on that when she let it drop and turned to face him in nothing but her heels.
“Jesus, Rach, you got on the plane to Vegas with no panties on?” Luc said with a frown.
“No bra, either, let’s not forget that,” she supplied with a sultry wink.
The subtle wetting of her lips went unnoticed as his frown deepened. “Why the hell would you do that?”
Uh...duh. She stepped closer and slipped her arms around his neck. Her breath hitched a little when her nipples brushed his chest. But a look at his face showed he was waiting for an answer. God, men could be so obtuse sometimes. “Well, I was hoping we would get the chance at some mile-high action, but—”
“With my mother on board?” His tone joined the frown on his face.
Okay, when he put it that way, maybe it hadn’t been one of her better ideas. “You’ve been working so hard these past couple of weeks. Do you blame me for feeling a little neglected?”
“So neglected you wanted to have sex with me with my mother a few seats away?” he asked.
“Fine, it was a bad idea, but at least you know I was thinking about you. Were you thinking about me?” she pouted, rocked her hips closer to the bulge behind the towel tied around his waist.
“It’s hard not to when you’re right there next to me.”
Not the answer she’d been looking for, exactly, but she was nothing if not persistent. Standing on tiptoe once again, she trailed her mouth along his firm jawline. God, she loved the way he smelled when he came out of the shower. She loved the way he smelled, period. “Come on, Luc. I know your mom’s been driving you all nuts this past week.”
“She’s doing it because she wants this weekend to be a success,” he replied with an unmissable tone of warning.
Rachel drew back sharply, a little scared and a little annoyed that he’d mistaken her gesture. “I wasn’t criticizing her, Luc. Your mom’s amazing. God, she’s my idol. I’m just saying that I understand that perfection comes at a cost. You’re all on tenterhooks, you most of all. But I want you to know I’m here for you.” She moved closer against him, and when he didn’t put his arms around her, she trailed her hands down his broad shoulders, down his arms and drew them decisively around her waist. Then she went back to trailing kisses on his jaw. “I want to do my part, even if it’s just making you feel good. You do want to feel good, don’t you, baby?” she whispered in his ear, grazed his earlobe with her teeth, then hid a smile when a light shudder went through him.
About to move in for the kill, she jerked back when a firm knock came at the door.
“Great, that would be lunch.” He dropped his hands and headed for the door. “I’m starving.”
“Lunch?” She winced at the slight screech in her voice.
“I came straight from the office to get you so we could go to the airport. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“Luc, I’m naked!” This time her screech was real as he put his hand on the doorknob.
He shrugged. “Go put some clothes on then. I don’t want my steak to get cold.” He pulled open the door, muttered a few words to the butler. Then, shutting the door, he walked into the adjoining dressing room and pulled on a pair of Lululemon sweatpants and a T-shirt. “I ordered enough for the two of us. Come join me when you’re dressed,” he threw at her as he headed for the door. Two seconds later, she was alone in the bedroom. Butt naked. With her jaw on the floor.
Had that really just happened? Had Luc just chosen steak over her naked body?
Anger and fear mingled in her gut as she slowly made her way to her side of the dressing room. The private jet and this hotel had cemented her desire to become a part of the Marshall family at any cost. Coupled with Luc’s love, of course. His rejection didn’t mean anything
.
This was just a little bump in the road. But it was no time to let a little bit of anxiety take over. If anything, she needed to step up her game.
Eyeing her neatly packed things, she selected a gold lamé bikini that had cost her an eye-watering seven hundred dollars. It’d been worth it the moment she took a look in the mirror. It would be worth it when Luc got an eyeful of her in five minutes. At the very least, she could elicit some aggression on his part at the thought of other men seeing her wearing it. Luc was possessive. Given the choice between letting her go to the pool like this without him and him dragging her back to bed, she was sure she knew which option he’d take.
The anticipation made her put a little bit more effort into the way she took the stairs down to the living area. She knew she’d succeeded when she saw his eyes flare at the sight of her. Pleased with herself, she took a seat next to him at the dining table and placed a hand on his thigh. When he glanced at her, she caught her lower lip between her teeth.
“I thought we could head to the pool when you’re done eating,” she ventured as he cut up the last of his steak.
He sent her a droll look. “I’ve just taken a shower, Rach. I prefer not to get wet again any time soon.”
“Okay. How about we hit the casino? Maybe stop by a couple of those exclusive shops on the way back up?”
“I’m not in the mood to gamble,” he replied as he took a large gulp of his wine.
She gritted her teeth. “I don’t want to be cooped up in here all afternoon, Luc.”
“Then don’t be. No one’s stopping you from going out.”
“You want me to go out without you? How would that look?”
“Who the hell cares how it’ll look? If I’m fine with it, that’s all that matters.”
“What if I’m not fine with it? I don’t want some creep hitting on me because I’m alone. Do you care about that?” she demanded.
He sighed. “Fine, we’ll go out, but not now. I’m fucking bushed. Can I catch a few winks first?”
She smiled. “Of course, baby. Shall I wake you up in half an hour?”
Luc shook his head. “Make it an hour. And since you’re already dressed for it, why don’t you head to the pool? It’ll make me feel better knowing you’re not down here twiddling your thumbs waiting for me.”
“I...okay,” she conceded.
Although he smiled and placed a kiss on her head, Rachel couldn’t shake the feeling that he was preoccupied as she watched him sprint back up the stairs. And not just with the thought of taking a nap. She definitely sensed a distance from Luc.
Was it because her fiancé was thinking about someone else? Vanessa?
For a moment her vision went red as anger pounded through her. She hadn’t heard from Gabe since their last unsatisfactory conversation. But she hoped, for his sake, that he’d stuck to his word and taken care of the pesky little housekeeper. Anything less than news of Vanessa’s permanent disappearance and Gabe would get a very real sample of just who the hell he was dealing with. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more the idea from earlier made sense. Vegas was the perfect place to dispose of her little housekeeper problem. And this time she would make sure she came away with a firm yes.
* * *
The hired limos pulled up in front of Opus Marshall at seven thirty on the dot, because Mariella had timed their arrival to perfection. She’d snapped, cajoled and threatened her way into making it happen, and as the Marshall clan stepped out onto the red carpet leading into the second-largest Marshall restaurant in the country, she took a moment to bask in the satisfaction of pulling it off.
As arranged, a healthy amount of the media were in attendance. The Marshalls at one of their award-winning restaurants were always big news. Questions about Harrison’s whereabouts and state of health couldn’t be avoided, not that she intended to answer any of them. She’d accepted that it would come with the territory this weekend.
But that particular downside had been offset by good news. Since their arrival and announcement of their plans for the weekend, the reservations for Opus Marshall had doubled, with tonight’s seatings fully booked by midday. The manager of their restaurant had called with the effusive news just before she’d headed for the shower this evening.
Mariella intended to maintain that theme for the rest of the weekend. Nothing could be allowed to go wrong. Nothing.
* * *
“Are you all right, honey?”
Elana forced herself not to wince as another flash went off in her face, just as she forced herself not to wince at Thom’s gentle question. But keeping her emotions—and the nausea she’d foolishly hoped was banished forever but had suddenly returned with a vengeance—under wraps was turning out to be a bear to wrestle down. Especially when she was in the full glare of the whole fucking world. As much as she loved to party, she really wished her mother hadn’t embarked on this particular Save the Marshalls crusade right now. She could do with a week or two of lying low and getting her head around the fact that she was knocked up to the gills with zero idea of who the father of her baby was. And a husband who, bless his clueless heart, seemed to be on a crusade of his own, this one titled Best Husband Evah.
She pulled her stomach in and tugged on the hem of her black Carolina Herrera cocktail dress. The plunging neckline showed off her girls to perfection, but the fitted dress wasn’t doing her bloated belly any favors. Shit, she should’ve gone with the super-short Balenciaga tunic her stylist had packed for her. Then the only thing she would be concerned about now was flashing her thong at the paparazzi.
Instead she would be spending the rest of the night worrying if she was going to pass out from keeping her stomach sucked in.
“Elana?” Thom inquired a little more urgently.
“I’m fine. Stop worrying about me. It’s freaking me out a little,” she retorted sharply, then winced again when he frowned. “Seriously, I’m okay.”
He nodded, but she could tell she hadn’t totally convinced him. He confirmed that by moving closer to her and sliding his arm around her waist. Well, it could’ve been that, or it could’ve been the fact that Mom had told them all to play up to the camera. Present a united, smiling front.
She sighed under her breath as she bared her clenched teeth in a blinding smile. Behind them the door to the restaurant opened. A second later she was hit with the cloying smell of garlic. Her stomach rolled, and she had to swallow fast and hard to keep herself from hurling right there onto the red carpet.
Holy fuck, this evening couldn’t end fast enough.
* * *
“Rachel, how’s it feel to be a Marshall-to-be?”
“Have you set a date for the wedding?”
“Who will you be wearing?”
“Can you tell us where it’ll be held?”
“What mask will you be wearing to the ball tomorrow?”
Rachel beamed and clung tighter to Luc’s arm. The attention being showered on her went a long way to soothing her roiling emotions from this afternoon. Sure, those emotions had been compounded when she and Luc had joined the rest of the family in Mariella’s suite and she’d caught her first glimpse of the jewelry the Marshall women were packing. Elana’s Bulgari necklace and Ana’s Harry Winston jewelry had only been eclipsed by the Chopard masterpiece Mariella herself was sporting. It’d made Rachel’s platinum diamond solitaire necklace, a twenty-first birthday present from her parents, look like a piece of useless paste jewelry. Plus she’d also caught Luc watching Vanessa more than once. Seriously, that bullshit was going to end this weekend.
On the flip side, she knew it was just a small sampling of what awaited her once she became a Marshall bride.
So, really, she had nothing to be insecure about. Her hair and makeup were flawless, her dress an original sourced from Paris fashion week. And with Luc now
smiling indulgently at her, it was almost a shame when they were shown inside the stunning Opus Marshall.
* * *
“Waiter, bring us another round of cocktails! And a cognac on the rocks for my son.”
Gabe suppressed a growl and schooled his features, just as he’d been trying to all evening. His biological mother’s steady drinking aside, he’d had a task on his hand to keep being civil to Rachel when he knew the depths the woman was prepared to plunge to keep her claws on Luc. He couldn’t show his hand, of course, but he fully intended to keep a very close eye on her.
As for his mother...
Mariella had arranged for them to be seated in a semiprivate space in the stylishly elegant restaurant. Their positioning gave the dining public a chance to see them, even be photographed by those brazen enough to do so, while affording them the kind of exclusivity that got them talked about. At least that had been the intention.
Ana’s progressively boisterous behavior, both vocally and physically, was in danger of getting them talked about for all the wrong reasons. He’d been a fool to think they’d make it through the five-course meal without incident. His birth mother hadn’t quite made a scene yet, but all the signs were there that her overexuberance would manifest itself in an unpalatable way sooner or later. It always did with Ana.
He leaned toward her as she carried on instructing the waiter on the precise way to prepare her favored caipirinha. “I think you should slow down with the drinks.”
Ana waved the waiter off on his journey, then turned to spike him with a glare. “And I think you should change your name from Gabriel Santiago to Gabriel Downer. It suits you more.”
“I’m fine with my name as it is, thanks. What I would prefer, though, is not to have to carry you out of here because you’re too drunk to walk. And worse still, not to have you photographed in that state.”
Ana rolled her eyes. “I’m nowhere near drunk. Dios mío, lighten up, mi hijo.”
