by Robyn Thomas
She planned for everything...except him.
Sara Greaves has been planning her perfect wedding since she was five. Twenty years. Wasted. When she’s dumped by her fiancé, she heads to Vegas to forget and ends up at a hotel hosting a Romance Readers conference. Cuz she’s lucky like that. Mr. Tall, Dark, And Anti-Marriage buys Sara a drink, and makes her a bet...she could marry any guy in Vegas tonight and make it work.
She wasn’t supposed to choose him.
Ethan Munroe is a ruthless divorce lawyer who would have been voted “Least Likely To Marry (Ever)” in school. And yet, here he is with a hangover, a wedding band, and a sexy, gorgeous bride for the next month. A bride who doesn’t want to stay married to him. He never planned this, but he can’t bring himself to go for the speedy divorce. Has Mr. Anti-Marriage finally met his match?
Table of Contents
Dedication
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
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discover the What Happens in Vegas series… Tempting Her Best Friend
The Makeover Mistake
His Unexpected Family
Famously Engaged
Find love in unexpected places with these satisfying Lovestruck reads… One Night in Vegas
The Rules According to Gracie
The Perfect Bargain
Flirting with the Competition
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Robyn Thomas. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Lovestruck is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Alethea Spiridon Hopson
Cover design by Heather Howland
Cover art by iStock
ISBN 978-1-63375-320-4
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition June 2015
To Bernie, Matt and Rosie. “Birthday week” wouldn’t be the same if I couldn’t share it with all of you.
Chapter One
Bright lights. Big city. Anonymity and a chance to be recklessly, drunkenly single.
The mantra had fueled seven hours of nonstop driving, but the lights of Vegas made the words jumble in Sara’s throat. Pawning her big ass diamond ring and living large on the proceeds had seemed like a brave move this morning. Now? Not so much.
Sara coasted to a halt on the shoulder of the road and scowled at the indent her engagement ring had made on her finger. Considering the size of the rock and the years she’d worn it, she should be glad the damage was so slight. She adjusted the angle of the rearview mirror and stared at her reflection, surprised to see the same old Sara returning her gaze. Perhaps she’d been wrong to come here. Maybe…
“Don’t even think about driving back to Pity City, Utah,” she told the woman in the mirror. “Leaving was the hard part. Getting rid of the damn ring and booking a room ought to be easy.” Her eyes narrowed on the long brown braid trailing over her shoulder. “If you need some incentive, get a haircut.”
The idea held definite appeal. Her waist length locks were her best feature, but they were what her ex had loved most about her. He’d actually told her that midway through dumping her, each new compliment like a knife to her heart. “You’re sweet and loyal and you have pretty hair that never changes,” he’d said in a gentle tone. “But honestly, Sara, I could describe the poodle next door the same way. You can’t blame me for not wanting to marry a woman with no sense of style or adventure.”
Actually, I can. I can also get a radical haircut anytime I want. With a decisive nod, she flipped on the turn signal and joined the traffic headed for Vegas.
When the six o’clock news came on the radio she began to panic. She was pretty sure you could drink, dance, and gamble all night in Vegas, but what hours did pawnshops keep? Nine to five? She hoped not. A burger might be affordable with what was in her wallet; a bed for the night wasn’t.
She blinked at the sight of a strange white building adorned in striped poles with huge gold, red, green, and purple ribbons cascading down the sides. The Masquerade Hotel was disgustingly cheerful and kitsch. Staying there was bound to cheer her up.
She drove along the Strip, scanning the neon for the keywords “buy” and “sell.”
“Please be open. Please. Please. Please.”
Avoiding pedestrians and looking for a pawnshop was proving difficult, so she found a parking garage then set out on foot. An hour later, dehydrated and discouraged, she glimpsed hope in the distance and dragged herself toward it.
The pawnshop’s shabby exterior was almost enough to make her forget the whole idea. She stood on the sidewalk, twirling her braid like a skipping rope, debating whether to go inside and accept whatever pittance they offered, or sleep in her car and find a more reputable looking place tomorrow.
“You can’t afford a decent meal,” she muttered under her breath. “Take what you can get, and make it last until you get the wedding insurance payout.”
She shoved the door open and stepped inside, her resolve wavering as she realized that other patrons were browsing in the shop. It would be mortifying to have an audience while she bargained for funds. Everyone within earshot would know about her failed engagement. They might even think she’d called it off and kept the ring.
“Can I help you, miss?”
“Uh?” No. Maybe? I’m not sure. When the bell on the door rang again, signifying more customers, Sara plucked the ring out of her wallet and thrust it at the wizened old woman behind the counter. “I want to pawn this.”
The woman bounced the ring lightly on her palm. “It’s heavy.” She gave Sara’s peasant blouse and baggy harem pants a disapproving once over. “Did you steal it?”
“Of course, but it was too easy. No thrill, you know? It has quite a distinctive setting, so I flashed it around, hoping someone would recognize it. No one did.” She flipped her braid back over her shoulder and raised her chin. “Now I’ve chosen a public place to try to convince a cynic to buy it.”
A snort of laughter from one of the other patrons made her flush and stammer out an apology. “Sorry, that was rude of me.” She dug in her bag for proof of purchase, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, wishing she could snatch the ring back and leave. “It’s mine. I have a receipt from Tiffany and Co.”
The shop owner tilted the ring to study the hallmark then whistled softly through the gap in her front teeth. “Tiffany.” She seemed more interested now, but something felt a little off. Maybe it was too upmarket for this particular store?
“My expectations are low even though it’s designer,” Sara said. “I’ll settle for f—”
She yelped in surprise when a man’s arm encircled her shoulders and drew her against his side. He angled his muscular, suit-clad body slightly forward of hers, seeming to place himself between her and the shopkeeper, although he barely moved. “Darling,�
� he drawled, “let the lady do her thing. She’ll tell us what our ring is worth and then we’ll accept or decline her offer.”
Darling? Sara’s heart beat a rapid staccato as Mr. Tall, Dark, and Possessive took control. Her gaze zeroed in on his chin dimple and refused to budge. The ridiculous urge to touch it, to trace the dip with her fingertips, made her freeze in place. Initiating contact of any sort was out of the question. She didn’t even know this man. She couldn’t fathom why he was pretending they were a couple, but his subtly aggressive body language suggested it was for her benefit. The air vibrated with tension as he and the storeowner exchanged hard looks. What the hell was going on? Why did she feel as if the two of them might arm wrestle?
“Darling?” Strong fingers prodded her shoulder, demanding a response.
Sara gave it without thinking. “We’re happy to wait while you value it,” she told the storeowner.
When the woman turned away, and the man released his hold on her, Sara finally remembered to breathe. It was a mistake. The action lifted her breasts just enough to press against the curve of his elbow. She gasped and accidentally nudged him again, blushing when he looked down. Every other man she knew would have stepped back. He didn’t. And she dared not breathe because he was still staring at the slight gap between her chest and his elbow.
She cleared her throat. “Why did you say it’s our ring?”
His focus shifted to her face. A devastating smile curved his full lips, and then he laughed. “You needed an ally. I had to improvise.” His amusement faded as he continued to look at her. “First time in a pawn shop? First time in Vegas? I can’t place your accent. Where are you from?” He curled his hand behind her neck and brought her braid forward, nodding in satisfaction, almost as if he knew she preferred it there. “Tell me what you’re doing here. You hopped a bus from—?”
“I drove.” She took a step back and drew herself up to her full height. “From Utah.”
“Why?”
She wrapped her fingers around her braid and squeezed, taking out her frustration on it instead of him. “I just—had to. I hate being pitied.” His scowl told her she was in no danger of being pitied by him. After the week she’d had, it was liberating to interact with someone who wasn’t affected by her broken engagement. “Saturday was supposed to be my wedding day,” she said. “It’s kind of a big deal because I’ve been planning it for twenty years.” She ignored the way his brows hiked. “And everyone in my hometown is involved in one way or another. When Gabe called it off they started to smother me with attention—calling, stopping by for coffee, leaving casseroles and flowers and notes of condolence on my doorstep.” She exhaled unsteadily, shifting her attention to a display case full of vintage hair combs. “One of my neighbors, a lovely man in his seventies, proposed yesterday.”
He made a choked sound. “Congratulations.”
“It’s not funny. His proposal is the fourth one I’ve had this week.” She tried to ignore his quick, doubtful appraisal. “It’s not me they want.” She worried her lip, and then shrugged. “I hadn’t realized how excited everyone was to see all the wedding preparations finally come together. Apparently they don’t care who stands up at the front as long as it goes ahead.”
He laughed, and her tension eased for the first time in a week. She smiled up at him. “I took delivery of my wedding cake early this morning, and then my mailman delivered two hundred personalized bottles of champagne with heart shaped chocolates draped around their necks.”
His dark blue eyes glinted with humor. “Did you smash them or drink the lot?”
“Neither. I put them in the shade on the porch along with a note that said please take one, and then I left.” She paused. “Do you have a name?”
He leaned close and spoke in a hushed tone, as if his name was privileged information. “Ethan Munroe.”
Being singled out by him was a heady feeling. She stared, waiting for him to add some kind of distinction: Ethan Munroe III, or perhaps Ethan Munroe, PhD, and felt confused when he didn’t. The way he looked at her demanded…something, she just didn’t know what. Her face warmed under his scrutiny. Man, he was intense. He could get a job as an interrogator of women. With a few disapproving looks, he’d make any female spill her secrets. She’d already told him most of hers, but he clearly wanted more information.
“Name?”
“I’m Sara.” She hesitated. “Sara Greaves.”
“May I?” He tugged on the receipt she’d pulled from her tote, and cursed when he read it. “The ring’s worth seventy grand?”
She felt tears well in her eyes. Ethan’s exact words had come out of her mouth four years earlier when her ex showed her the receipt. “Gabe took out a loan to buy it. He spent the exact amount on the ring that I’d saved toward the cost of our wedding. He said it was fair, that it made us equal partners going forward, and reflected his level of commitment.” She shrugged. “Clearly, that was a lie. He refused to take the ring back though, so now it feels as if he’s paid seventy grand to be free of me. Having it around gets me down. I just want to sell it quickly and try to forget.”
Ethan frowned. “Sara,” he said gently, “you need to ask for the ring back. If you still want to pawn it tomorrow, at a better place than this, I’ll help you. But not here, not tonight.”
I need money tonight. Our wedding costs blew out my savings and I had to tap into my business account. My credit cards are maxed out as well, and Gabe emptied our joint checking account.
The storeowner cleared her throat, cutting Sara’s thoughts short. “It’s genuine,” the woman said. “You serious about parting with this?”
Ethan’s jaw tightened. “One more day, Sara. What’s the harm in waiting?” He laced his fingers through hers and tilted his head toward the door. “C’mon, I’ll buy you dinner.”
Sara almost nodded before common sense kicked in. Despite being almost too handsome and acting like her personal bodyguard, Ethan was a stranger who knew that her ring retailed for more than an average year’s salary. Wandering off into the night with him wouldn’t be her smartest moment. She gently disengaged her hand from his and stepped back. “Whether I choose to sell my ring or not, we won’t be leaving together.”
His slow smile caught her off guard. “Playing it safe? Good girl. Vegas must be a far cry from what you’re used to, but you’re a quick study.” His voice was pitched low enough to keep their conversation private. “If you pawn your ring tonight, even for a paltry amount, it will be held securely until you redeem it with your ticket.”
Money and safety and time to scope out the competition? You’re a genius.
Ethan’s smile widened as if she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. He settled his hand at the small of her back, his long fingers splayed wide as he guided her toward the counter. “While you’re filling out the forms, wrap your head around the idea of eating with me once you’re done.”
Chapter Two
Vegas was Ethan’s playground, his pick-me-up of choice, the one place guaranteed to infuse him with energy. But something was off on this trip. The familiar temptations didn’t appeal. He’d been on the verge of leaving before he saw Sara vacillating outside a pawnshop. She was different. Intriguing. She had a braid that she turned like a skipping rope.
His assessment of her changed from minute to minute. It was damned infuriating. As a divorce attorney he often had to make snap judgments of character, and they were always decisive. Sara didn’t fit into any of the pigeonholes he tried to slot her into. At first glance she’d seemed vulnerable, naïve, and in serious danger of being ripped off, but she was no pushover. His sweet little innocent had left the pawnshop with a dinner date, five grand in cash, and a check for thirty-two grand.
She wasn’t beautiful or shallow, his favorite qualities in a woman, yet he’d insisted on buying her dinner. He didn’t know why. Perhaps because Vegas was new and exciting to her? She had a bounce in her step, green eyes shining as she considered her next move. When she did something u
nexpectedly stupid, he wanted to be around. Vegas looked a lot better with her in it.
He tensed his arm, drawing her closer to his side as they passed a handful of drunken men in drag, one wearing a bridal veil. Even in their inebriated state, the men didn’t leer at her. Their looks were appreciative, though, and he realized with a start that she was smiling at them.
Great. You’re wary of a clean-cut guy in a Gucci suit, but you’re happy to flirt with these morons. Why can’t you pick a personality type and stick to it?
She sucked in a gasp of air, bouncing in excitement as she tugged him toward an all-night beauty salon. She stared, captivated by a giant black and white poster of a bald chick.
“Wow.”
Her sense of awe tripped an alarm inside him. The poster was a basic studio shot of a model with flawless skin and too much eye makeup—nothing special, unless the artistry appealed to her. “Are you a photographer?”
“No, just an admirer. She’s exquisite, even without hair, don’t you think?” She trailed her fingers down her braid from collarbone to waist, as if running a silent comparison between herself and the poster. When she turned to face him, her smile was brilliant. “I want to go in. You’re off the hook for dinner, unless you’re willing to wait.”
Was that hope in her voice? No way in hell was he leaving her here with a stack of cash. He gestured at the giant advertisement. “She’s attractive because stylists have spent hours creating an illusion. Real women don’t have that luxury.” He sensed his mistake the moment Sara stiffened. “I know a thing or two about this, Sara. My mother—”
Sara finished his sentence, her words kinder than he would have chosen. “Your mother is meticulous about her appearance?”
He laughed. “You make it sound like a good thing.”
“Says the man in Gucci loafers.”
He plucked at his lapel. “My suit?”
“Also Gucci, although your shirt and tie aren’t.” She patted his arm and grinned. “I’m guessing the apple doesn’t fall far?”
