Marie Ferrarella - Las Vegas - Seduction - The Heiress's 2-Week Affair

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MARIE FERRARELLA, a USA TODAY bestselling and RITA ®Award-winning author, has written more than one hundred and fifty books for Mills & Boon, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website at www.marieferrarella.com.

To

Shana Smith.

Welcome

aboard.

Prologue

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

The burst of joy that bathed over her like warm summer rain when Natalie Rothchild opened her eyes began to recede as the reality of the situation slowly penetrated her consciousness.

The spot beside her on the bed was empty.

Empty and cool to the touch when she ran her fingers over it.

“Matt?” She called out his name, but only the echo of her voice answered her. There was no sound of running water from the bathroom, no indication that there was anyone else in the hotel room but her.

Her heart began hammering hard, so hard that it physically hurt her. It felt as if someone had shot arrows through it.

He couldn’t have gone.

But if he was here, where were his clothes? The ones that he’d torn off so carelessly last night, throwing them on the floor along with hers? The first time they’d made love last night, she’d all but caught on fire.

The ache within her chest grew.

“Matt?” she called out again. Fear and bewilderment filled her voice as she sat up. A chill ran down her spine. Something was wrong.

Last night, he’d told her that he loved her, told her that they’d be together forever. He’d said he wanted to marry her. She knew he’d meant it. Knew it wasn’t just something expedient to say because he wanted to make love to her. He’d said it after, not before. After was when it carried weight.

So where was he?

And why did she have this awful, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, this uneasy sensation that something was very, very wrong?

As Natalie shifted to swing her legs out of bed, she saw it. Just beneath his pillow—his pillow—there was a bit of paper peeking out.

Natalie froze.

She wanted to leave it there. To ignore it. Because the moment she acknowledged it was the moment she had to read it. And the moment she read it, she knew that the euphoric state she’d allowed herself to slip into would burst apart like a soap bubble that had floated on the breeze a second too long, done in by the very thing that had made it float.

But she was Natalie Rothchild. Natalie, the sensible one. The one who faced her problems and life in general head on and fearlessly. Natalie, the rebel who refused to allow her family’s vast fortune to keep her from living a life of purpose.

Matt told her that was one of the things he loved about her.

He loved her.

Didn’t he?

Pressing her lips together, steeling herself, Natalie pulled the note out from beneath the pillow. She held it in her trembling hands and forced herself to read it.

Her eyes clouded with tears, nearly blinding her before she finished.

Balling up the paper, she threw it across the room and then buried her face against her raised knees. Her heart broken, Natalie did what she rarely did. She surrendered to despair.

Quiet sobs filled the silence within the room.

She was really alone.

Excitement vibrated through Candace Rothchild’s veins.

She could literally feel her adrenaline accelerating. Creating a rush. It was always this way when she stepped out in front of the cameras. Being the center of attention—even anticipating being the center of attention created a high that few drugs, legal or otherwise, could equal. Ever since she could remember, Candace thrived on the limelight, ate it up as if it was a source of energy for her.

Unlike her twin sister, Natalie, whom she considered a dull, placid being with little imagination or flair, Candace positively bloomed when attention was thrown her way. The bigger, the better had always been her motto.

To this end, she always made sure that she was picture perfect. She wore the latest fashions, had the kind of figure women would kill for and men remembered long after she had passed out of their lives. If, at times, that necessitated starving herself and spending outrageous amounts of money, well, so be it. It was all worth it. She wasn’t cut out for the tranquil, humdrum life. Which meant the role of doting mother, to sons she hardly knew and had less time for, wasn’t for her. The only plus from that end was that the tabloids were forever attempting to guess who had fathered them and if, indeed, it had been the same man in both cases.

Beyond that, the children—Mick and David, named after her favorite singers—held no interest for her. Far more important was that there was always another premiere, another function, another occasion to be photographed and fawned over. At times, she would imagine average, desperate women hungrily devouring the tidbits of her life, fantasizing about the men she’d bedded, all in an effort to leave, however briefly, their own drab lives behind.

She was doing a public service living this way, Candace told herself, a smirk twisting her ripe, collagen-full lips. She gave those poor, hopeless women something to dream about.

Why, she was positively noble, if you gave it any thought, Candace silently congratulated herself as she gracefully slid out of the backseat of the limousine and onto the red carpet that was unfurled before The Janus. This opulent casino, where tonight’s charity gala was being held, was Luke Montgomery’s most extravagant enterprise to date. Never mind that Luke and her father were rivals the way only the nouveau riche could be in Las Vegas, where the stakes that ran highest were not always found on a blackjack table.

The gala Luke was hosting centered around an international jewelry convention. On display was a breathtaking collection of gems that had been donated by various members of the rich and famous, all in the name of charity. The price of admission was high but only in terms of what the average person could afford.

The sum meant nothing to Candace. Money had never been a problem for her. Sustaining her high had been—because she needed to stay in the spotlight in order to survive. Without it, the insecurities that lingered in the background began to encroach, darkening her world and threatening to sink her into a nether region fraught with madness.

So she did what she could to ensure that she would never descend to those levels. She surrounded herself with glamorous people and basked in the glow of the limelight the way no one else could.

Charity or not, Candace had no gems she was willing to part with. She never met an expensive bauble she didn’t immediately love. And tonight, she was sporting the best of the best, a legendary diamond that, according to a rumor she’d heard, had been in her family for several decades. The Tears of the Quetzal. Only gems of quality had names, she thought with a smug grin.

Her father, Harold Rothchild, thought the ring was safely under lock and key. But then, he had no idea how determined she could be. Or how clever. Like everyone else, he had underestimated her. His problem, she thought carelessly.