When lingerie heiress Brandy Summer gets cold feet and runs out on her Vegas wedding, she has nowhere to turn--so she hijacks a hunky biker waiting for a red light and begs him for help. What she doesn't know is that her instincts are right: the groom has a hidden agenda. He needs her money to pay off his gambling debts and she' s his ticket to the good life.
Marco Vargas isn't sure what he' s getting himself into when he rescues Brandy, but figures he' ll do the chivalrous thing. He offers her a job in his bar and the chance to sort out her feelings. But it seems that keeping Brandy hidden is easier than keeping his hands off her--and what will happen when Brandy discovers that Marco has secrets of his own?
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Marco Vargas tried to block out the mind-numbing traffic and cursed his own stupidity again. He should have known better than to get on the Strip this time of day. But he'd been so busy thinking about how to drum up more business for the bar on weeknights, that he'd turned right onto Las Vegas Boulevard instead of taking the back roads to his home in Henderson.
And now he was suffering for it. Not just with the traffic, but also with the crazy ass summer heat. At least the Boulevard had eye candy of all varieties, from the ladies rolling into the town for bachelorette parties, to the half-naked showgirls on the billboards. Speaking of which...some of those girls looked pretty fine.
Seriously? He shook his head, realizing where his mind had gone. Damn, he really needed to get laid if he was getting turned on by a goddamn billboard.
There was a sudden flash of white out of the corner of his eye. He turned to investigate and a blur of fluff launched itself onto the back of his bike.
"Go! The light's green," the fluff--which sounded suspiciously like a woman--yelled.
Marco turned around to get a look. What was this? Some weird attempt at a motorcycle jacking? All he saw were wide blue eyes staring out at him from behind a stained veil.
Great, just what he needed. A runaway bride.
Their gazes locked for a few seconds and then she blinked, still looking desperate.
"Please!" she cried, grabbing the sides of his T- shirt. "Go!"
Tell her to get off your bike and drive away.
Her panic increased visibly--she must have realized he was about to throw her off his bike.
"Please," she begged. "I've got money. Lots of it. I'll pay you."
He'd been there, done that with women and money. It did little to sway him. In fact it was more of a deterrent.
"And I'll buy you a beer."
Really? A beer? Was she serious? The cars behind him were laying on their horns, swerving around to pass him in the other lanes.
He chanced a look backward and spied one of those cheesy wedding chapels, a man in a tux bursting through the doors, making his way towards them.
Love muffin? Her fiancé called her love muffin? His pity level increased a notch. Damn, he was not a pity guy, what the hell was he doing?
Marco cursed, even as he reached behind the woman to grab a spare helmet. He thrust it towards her. "Pull your dress up so it doesn't get caught in the bike."
He waited for her to roll the acres of fabric up over her legs and out of danger from the chain and exhaust pipes. Fortunately, the ditched groom was still wading through a throng of tourists. After she had the helmet on and her arms wrapped around his waist, he rolled
back the throttle and sped them through the light.
She damn well better make good on that beer. He sure as hell would need one after this.
About Shelli Stevens
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Published May 23, 2011
by Carina Press.
Romance, Literature & Fiction.