rock-star ex, gave new meaning to the notion that men are dogs. He was probably where the label originated. And the son-of-a-bitch deserved what she’d done during the divorce proceedings in retaliation.
Niko’s biting laughter filled the room, bringing Veronica back to the present. His demeanor nibbled at her already fragile ego. He plucked a folded paper off the nearby table and tossed it at her.
The document, although written in French, looked official. The words Certificat de Mariage inscribed across the top freaked her out—even if it was in French, any idiot could figure it out. She stared at the paper, amazed and shaken. Two other decipherable lines jumped off the page. The names Nikolas Alessandrio Leandros and Veronica Renee Stanford confirmed her suspicions.
Holding the paper loosely between her fingers, she cut her eyes toward him. “Is this some kind of joke?”
* * *
“A joke?” Niko crushed the urge to laugh. He dropped into a plush chair near the bed. “The joke is that I let you talk me into this.” Okay, so that wasn’t entirely accurate. But she was already riled up, and he liked the way her frustration tinted her cheeks a blushing red. It was sexy as hell.
“Talk you into this? I did no such thing.” She defended herself, drawing the sheet closer to her neck. As if that could stop him.
“Oh, but you did, my dear.” He paused, turning on the charm. “You were very convincing.”
“Well apparently you didn’t mind obliging me.” Her eyes threw daggers of retaliation across the room.
Niko’s ego responded with the urge to laugh. “Not at all,” he said in a flirtatious tone. “Any time I can be of service...” His words trailed off, leaving the statement open to suggestion.
“In your dreams.”
“Reality is so much more fun.”
She snarled and threw him a nasty look. “Where are my clothes?”
Niko surveyed the room before settling his leisurely gaze back on her. “Scattered.”
“Do you know where the Des Lices is?” Anxiety creased her brow as she mentioned the hotel.
Why was he not surprised? The economically priced, mid-grade hotel was a favorite of Americans who pretended they didn’t care about the costs. If they truly didn’t, they’d be staying here, at the Messardiere.
“Inland. It’s not far.” His trifling and dismissive tone outed his disapproval.
“Well excuse me for not finding the most showy and expensive place I could to waste my money on.” She turned away, refusing to look at him. He didn’t like that either. He’d hurt her feelings, but he hadn’t meant to. Especially before he got her into bed again—sober.
But she was already in his bed. Right now. She was naked, and he was pretty sure she’d sobered up by now.
What am I doing? God, it’d take an idiot not to take advantage of these circumstances. Just move in and start talking . When he turned on the charm, it was just a matter of time.
But he didn’t want to have to talk her into it. He wanted it to be her idea. He wanted her so enamored with him that nothing would do until he sated her fire.
A primeval groan rumbled up his throat as he rose from the chair and slinked back to the bed. Again, he left a space gaping between them. He could tell she was conscious of it and wanted him to close the gap. He acknowledged the break between them and locked his eyes with hers—as brown as chocolate. Considering her hair was as gold as the morning sun, he thought her eyes made her stand out among all those blue-eyed blondes that were forever vying for his affections.
No matter how attractive he found her, he couldn’t let whatever feminine wiles she’d bewitched him with last night reemerge. He gave himself a mental kick in the rear. Niko was a businessman who knew that neglecting the obvious could end up a costly mistake. And getting married without a prenup was definitely a mistake.
“By what right do you accuse me of being reckless with my money?” he asked, partly to goad
Niko’s biting laughter filled the room, bringing Veronica back to the present. His demeanor nibbled at her already fragile ego. He plucked a folded paper off the nearby table and tossed it at her.
The document, although written in French, looked official. The words Certificat de Mariage inscribed across the top freaked her out—even if it was in French, any idiot could figure it out. She stared at the paper, amazed and shaken. Two other decipherable lines jumped off the page. The names Nikolas Alessandrio Leandros and Veronica Renee Stanford confirmed her suspicions.
Holding the paper loosely between her fingers, she cut her eyes toward him. “Is this some kind of joke?”
* * *
“A joke?” Niko crushed the urge to laugh. He dropped into a plush chair near the bed. “The joke is that I let you talk me into this.” Okay, so that wasn’t entirely accurate. But she was already riled up, and he liked the way her frustration tinted her cheeks a blushing red. It was sexy as hell.
“Talk you into this? I did no such thing.” She defended herself, drawing the sheet closer to her neck. As if that could stop him.
“Oh, but you did, my dear.” He paused, turning on the charm. “You were very convincing.”
“Well apparently you didn’t mind obliging me.” Her eyes threw daggers of retaliation across the room.
Niko’s ego responded with the urge to laugh. “Not at all,” he said in a flirtatious tone. “Any time I can be of service...” His words trailed off, leaving the statement open to suggestion.
“In your dreams.”
“Reality is so much more fun.”
She snarled and threw him a nasty look. “Where are my clothes?”
Niko surveyed the room before settling his leisurely gaze back on her. “Scattered.”
“Do you know where the Des Lices is?” Anxiety creased her brow as she mentioned the hotel.
Why was he not surprised? The economically priced, mid-grade hotel was a favorite of Americans who pretended they didn’t care about the costs. If they truly didn’t, they’d be staying here, at the Messardiere.
“Inland. It’s not far.” His trifling and dismissive tone outed his disapproval.
“Well excuse me for not finding the most showy and expensive place I could to waste my money on.” She turned away, refusing to look at him. He didn’t like that either. He’d hurt her feelings, but he hadn’t meant to. Especially before he got her into bed again—sober.
But she was already in his bed. Right now. She was naked, and he was pretty sure she’d sobered up by now.
What am I doing? God, it’d take an idiot not to take advantage of these circumstances. Just move in and start talking . When he turned on the charm, it was just a matter of time.
But he didn’t want to have to talk her into it. He wanted it to be her idea. He wanted her so enamored with him that nothing would do until he sated her fire.
A primeval groan rumbled up his throat as he rose from the chair and slinked back to the bed. Again, he left a space gaping between them. He could tell she was conscious of it and wanted him to close the gap. He acknowledged the break between them and locked his eyes with hers—as brown as chocolate. Considering her hair was as gold as the morning sun, he thought her eyes made her stand out among all those blue-eyed blondes that were forever vying for his affections.
No matter how attractive he found her, he couldn’t let whatever feminine wiles she’d bewitched him with last night reemerge. He gave himself a mental kick in the rear. Niko was a businessman who knew that neglecting the obvious could end up a costly mistake. And getting married without a prenup was definitely a mistake.
“By what right do you accuse me of being reckless with my money?” he asked, partly to goad
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