Raider: Venus & Mars

By blaine kistler

As a golden girl of Louisville society, Alisha Shelby's childhood, meant private schools, a social life with the horsy set, and doting parents. Her father raised Alisha as the son who would inherit the family business, Econ Utilities. At an early age, Alisha sat by her father's side and learned the business from the ground up.

 

Kyle Talbot was ten years old when his father was killed in a horse training accident. A year later, the Earl of Chelmsford came calling and returned to England with the beautiful widow, her stable's blooded stock, and a headstrong stepson. As a man Kyle had one ambition--to prove to his stepfather that he would build his own status. He starts at the bottom rung of the earl's company, World Energy, laying pipeline under rigorous conditions.

 

Fate brings Kyle and Alisha together as adversaries, when Kyle's stepfather sends him back to his childhood home as a corporate raider, to acquire ownership of Econ Utilities. Alisha's world goes into a tailspin as she fights to save Econ, while struggling against her fierce attraction for the man who represents her family's worst enemy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: blaine kistler
• Release date: Jun 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227456816

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Clouds greyed the sky, and the wind snapped at the canvas of the white pavilion. The storm was still a few hours away. Alisha wrapped her arms against the sudden chill and studied the interior of the tent’s decor. Masses of pink roses were centered on linen-clad tables, and crystal bowls with floating candles sparkled in the dusk. Linen napkins had been twisted into cones and stuffed into fragile goblets. Rose petals were strewn around the buffet table. If that wasn’t enough, the bower of lilies and greenery was completely over-the-top. The perfumed air made Alisha’s head ache, and she gnawed at her lip in aggravation.

Scotty’s plan was that the two of them would stand beneath the bower when they announced their engagement. He would kiss her, and the cameras would flash. Scotty did love his drama. Given a choice, she would have kept it simple. It was the second try at matrimony for both of them, and they were supposedly grown-ups

Her first marriage had been a disaster. She and Brad had eloped, parted a week later, and her father had had it annulled. She didn’t regret the annulment, but in truth she hadn’t known that kind sexual heat since. Maybe you had to be a teenager to be capable of such passion. And maybe it happened once in a lifetime.

I’m moody because of the weather, she thought. The spring shower loomed above and even Scotty couldn’t direct the weather. She thought of two-hundred people crammed under the pavilion during a downpour, and of Siddons’ shock when the mob relocated into the mansion, dripping wet and hollering for booze. Almost amusing.

A clatter rang through the tent, as the caterers unloaded trays of food. She complimented them on a job well-done, and headed for the house. More decorative flair was in evidence at the pool area. The linden trees that surrounded the terrace were strung with mini lights. The bar under the lanai was stocked with cocktail supplies, coolers of champagne, and pink paper napkins labeled Scott and Lissie. A tropical island complete with palms and birds-of-paradise floated in the middle of the pool, while somewhere in the background a tape was playing The Hawaiian Wedding Song. She groaned and fled.

Several hundred miles away and three miles above the Shelby mansion, the pretty stewardess whose name tag labeled her Rachel approached the passenger who occupied 3A and 3B in first class. Smiling, offering to refill his coffee cup, she studied him through fringed lashes. The laptop and scattered folders bespoke a business type, but otherwise he didn’t look the part. He looked the cowboy type, tanned and tough, with hard hands and a muscular body that stirred heat between her thighs. Even her flight-mate, Shirley, blissfully married, had raised her eyebrows in approval.

Check the biceps, she’d whispered to Rachel, and the tight buns next time he walks to the john. Rachel had already done that.

The flight to New York was landing in an hour and she’d made no progress, even with less-than-subtle hints about the layover she’d have before flying back to London. He’d had one drink, a scotch and soda, no ice, then had switched to coffee. She’d seen too many first-class, booze-guzzling passengers, not to appreciate that. No wedding ring, no jewelry except a Rolex watch. He waved away the coffee, a polite smile on his face, the sapphire eyes unfocused. She moved on, disappointed and peeved. It wasn’t often she was turned down.

It wasn’t that Kyle hadn’t noticed the stewardess’s attention. She was noticeable, with a blonde pixie haircut and curves in the right places, a pouty mouth that needed kissing. He had too much on his mind and no time for a flirtation. He frowned as the plane lurched downward, and closed his laptop. He wished to hell Hume had furnished him with better detail on Econ Utilities’ financial picture. At this point he had incomplete knowledge of the company’s worth.

He shoved the folders into his briefcase, the frown still in place. His company’s takeover plans were sure to turn hostile. Econ’s major stockholders, the Hornsbys and the Shelbys, would fight it to the bloody end. Not that he minded a fight, and he’d enjoy destroying George Shelby enough that he’d do it for that pleasure alone. He wanted to look in the man’s face when he put him down. He stowed his gear under the seat and stretched his legs. He had time for a quick snooze before they landed and he had to catch his connection to Kentucky.

He dreamed the restless dreams of twilight sleep.

Kyle’s eyes swept the room, wishing Sir Edwin would get to the point and proceed with the inquisition. Trust the Earl to prolong the agony. Mentally he dismissed the five minor players seated around the massive Elizabethan table, and focused on the others, three men among the most influential industrialists in the world, now sitting in judgment on his future.

His stepbrother Hume’s glare drilled him from across the table. Steady, little brother, get a grip, Hume signaled, knowing that the indolence of Kyle’s posture masked a slow-boiling fury. Dammit, it was easy for Hume to be calm, his ass wasn’t on the line.

Kyle had known he was in for trouble when he’d fired off his last report from Bombay. He’d been sent to the subcontinent eighteen months before to oversee the construction of a pipeline off the western coast, a pipeline that would triple the company’s gas production in that area. The line was in place, every hard won mile of it, but there’d been more than a few problems getting there. He’d ignored the Earl’s Urgent you return summons for days, but Hume’s terse Get your arse back here text had gotten his attention.

Adding to his annoyance, he’d been forced to leave during negotiations with the Indian government to expand his company’s offshore reserves. They were wasting time with dead issues, and he’d been promised a fat bonus if he could pull off a favorable lease agreement. Bonus be damned, at this point he was sweating his job. He ignored Hume’s silent warning. With a body accustomed to outdoor work, he’d rather wrestle rotten weather, rugged terrain and a recalcitrant labor force than sit through one of the earl’s meetings.

Time to speak up.

Ah, he interrupted the Earl of Chelmsford. Sir Edwin, I wonder--

The Earl didn’t like interruptions, and took his chairman duty seriously by conducting a formal meeting. Squinting an eye in Kyle’s direction, he continued the sonorous reading of his notes. It was a crock. Everyone at the table had read the report: a synopsis of the pipeline project, detailing the delays caused by labor unrest and monsoon weather, and a meticulous account of cost over-runs. But his stepfather was spinning the facts, making it Kyle’s failure.

Kyle cursed under his breath. He wasn’t proud of the report, but given the circumstances he was damned if he could see--He’d had enough. Abruptly he stood, rapped the table with his knuckles, gave a nod to the men sitting there and strode out, leaving them gaping at empty space, powerful men surrounded by the stuffy elegance of the Shropshire room, one of London’s most private and few remaining, male clubs. Hazy fumes of brandy and cigars followed him out the door. If they were going to sack him they could damn well send a memo. He didn’t intend to sit there waiting to be drawn and quartered.

In the washroom, his tie stuffed in his pocket, his shirt undone to the waist, he splashed cold water on his face. Damn them! He'd like to chase Sir Edwin's fat arse around the jungle for a few days. That would melt some of the lard off. Probably wouldn't do much for his fat head though.

A lean face with a strong chin stared back at him from the mirror. The eyes were flinty with anger, anger at himself. He’d behaved stupidly and knew it. His options were to apologize or to quit, and neither one appealed to him.

Great work, Kyle, boomed a voice behind him, followed by a cuff on the shoulder. The old boy sent me in here to drag you back to the slaughter. You know how he loves his executions.

Kyle replied with a rude suggestion of what Sir Edwin could do to himself, sending Hume into cackles of laughter. You tell him that. I don’t suffer from a death wish, little brother. Do you have any idea of the protocol you upset? May I remind you that the Markashorn lineage dates back to Henry the Eighth?

Kyle shrugged. Your old man never has had any love for me.

His years spent in the British Isles showed in the clipped speech pattern. He wanted my mother and couldn’t get her without taking a package deal. Then she had the bad manners to die, leaving him stuck with a Yankee stepson.

Hume pursed his lips and rocked on his heels, nodding. Somewhat the case, but he has a grudging respect for your abilities. That’s worried me a bit, ever since you came back from MIT with that fancy graduate degree. What? Eight, nine years ago? Egad, has it been ten? Me, I’m an ordinary solicitor and bean counter. Not nearly as glamorous as your Indiana Jones image. He peered into the mirror, straightened his tie an inch and smoothed his salt and pepper hair. Makes you hell with the ladies, too, damn your hide.

Kyle snorted and stuck has head back under the cold water faucet. He still hadn’t cooled down and they both knew Hume was far from ordinary. And Hume’s wife, Kate, was mouth-watering gorgeous. Hume hadn’t gazed at another woman in fifteen years of marriage.

Hume handed him a linen towel from the stack on the marble counter and said quietly, You’ll have to come back in. And for God’s sake, start with an apology. Blame it on jet lag. But he’s going to relish giving you the sack if you don’t make a token gesture of humility. They know you’re not at fault for the cost overruns. The Guv just enjoys seeing you squirm.

Kyle scrubbed, gave a savage snap to the towel and hurled it onto the counter. Guess what, big bro? I don’t frigging give a rat’s ass. I can walk down the street and have a better job in two hours. And he knows it, and I’m done squirming.

The white-coated washroom attendant, who had been standing against an equally pristine white tile wall, glided to the sink and retrieved the soiled towel for disposal. A twenty-pound note left Hume's jacket pocket and was transferred to the attendant’s extended fingers. Hume tipped his head toward the door and the attendant nodded. There was a discreet gush as the door opened and closed, and Hume sighed in relief. The attendant would buy them a few undisturbed minutes by blocking the door, minutes Hume needed to accomplish the task his father had set him to.

The two men eyed each other in the mirror. Hume felt more comfortable addressing Kyle this way. His stepbrother’s eyes hovered five inches above his, and the mirror was a bit of an equalizer. And while Hume was almost ten years older, Kyle could, when he wanted to, make him uneasy. When Kyle lost control, the darkness lurking beneath the urbane polish was exposed. Women sensed it. They fluttered around him like night moths and cared less if they were burned in the process.

The truth was, there wasn’t another man that Hume knew of who could have accomplished the laying of that pipeline in eighteen months, given the difficulties that the rugged Indian terrain and weather conditions had presented. The cost overruns were a minor annoyance compared to the revenue the pipeline would generate.

He wants me out, Kyle stated flatly.

With Hume following him into the washroom it was no longer a question.

Not exactly. What he doesn’t want is you dogging my footsteps. That’s why he sent you to the jungle. He’s shocked as hell you got out with your skin and accomplished the task. You’re more popular with the board than ever, and Singh says your proposal to the Indian government is a done deal.

Kyle absorbed this news. If Singh said it was a done deal, it was. He shook his head. Then why the drubbing he’d been subjected to in the Shropshire room?

Hume turned and faced the younger man directly. He’s not forgiven you for Meg, you know. Never will. He thinks you’re the reason she’s not married well.

Dammit, Hugh, that’s twenty years over and done with! I was sixteen for God’s sake, and your sister was twenty-five. I’d just buried my mother. You tell me who was seduced.

A moot point with him. You did the deed and have to accept the consequences. A gentleman must, you know. Hume's tone was ironic. The Earl’s ability to twist facts to his own convenience was well known.

Bloody hell. Does he want me to marry her? Let’s see, I’d be number three? Or is it four?

He might like that. Any chance?

Not for every bean his lordship possesses. I’d rather skydive without a parachute.

A pity. We’ll have to go with Plan B then. He took a deep breath. You scare him because he can’t control you. Truth is, he thinks you’re Attila the freaking Hun and he never knows what you’re going to do next. He knows you take every cent you make and buy stock. You didn’t think you could hide that from him, did you?

I never tried to. It’s my business what I do with my money.

Just what are you up to? Hume was deadly serious now. A coup? You have Singh in your pocket and probably Boswell. Does the Guv have reason to be afraid of you? Don’t mistake whose side I would be on.

A straight question that deserved an honest answer.

Maybe, he met Hume's eyes. But not yet. I won’t deny I'm building a base, but I’m ten years away, and now it looks like I’ll be working from the outside. You can pass on my apology to the Board for my bad manners. I’ll have my resignation on his desk by morning.

This wouldn’t do at all, Hume thought. If there was one thing that would gall the earl more than Kyle as a threat inside the company, it was Kyle taking all that he was capable of to a rival firm. Hume took his stepbrother’s arm.

Settle down, dammit, this is important. They have a job for you, and I think you should listen. He knows you feel a misfit here and have since your mother died, and he’s come up with a plan, one that could suit both of you. He can stop feeling obligated and you might get out with the brass ring, jabbing an old enemy in the bargain. What say you give it a listen?

Kyle lifted an eyebrow, intrigued in spite of his anger. Folding his arms and slouching against the marble counter, he met the eyes of the shorter man.

Okay, he agreed. Tell me.

Ten minutes later the two men walked in tandem, back toward the meeting room, Hume still meticulously groomed, Kyle with his shirt hanging undone and sopping wet, suit jacket now slung over his shoulder. His apology was only going to go so far. They thought he was an outlaw, by God he'd show them an outlaw.

The plane lurched downward, jarring Kyle from the shadow world..

The pretty stewardess came on the intercom and went into her spiel. Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent into the New York International Airport---

Kyle stood and stretched and reached into the overhead for his leather jacket. Not ready to give up completely, Rachel scrawled her cell number on her business card, planning to tuck it in his jacket pocket as he disembarked.

Why, why am I doing this? Alisha fretted, as she hurried into the house to check her appearance. Yes, she was thirty-four and women were supposed to be desperate by that age. Yes, there was her cousin Gloria’s Freudian Notion that Alicia’s Scotty decision had been brought on by the recent death of her father. But the fact was she was comfortable with Scotty, he made her laugh and didn’t make too many sexual demands. They had common friends, common interests and seldom argued.

That was a better basis than most marriages she was acquainted with. Look at the divorce rate and you knew people were making the wrong choices. Too many people let their libido rule their heads. I did that once, and never again. But threatening skies aside, why this nagging sense of disaster? Why was she so sad, so distraught?

Feeling a cottony rub on her ankles, she bent over and scooped up the sixteen-pound cat that belonged to Mrs. Siddons, the housekeeper. Mr. Piggity, you’re a love. You always know when I need a hug.

The cream-colored beast squeaked in protest and reluctantly she let him down. He batted peevishly at her ankles and stalked away, tail up, his dignity ruffled. Like all men. Love on their terms.

Damn, there was a run in her panty hose. She rummaged in her dresser. She had a terrible time finding panty hose to fit her long legs. Score another one for Scotty. He was a comfortable six feet two. Three inches taller than she was. She brushed away the cat fur clinging to the sea-green Chanel. Not showy, but sexy. She knew her mama would have approved.

A great brain never will get a woman as far as her looks, Lissie. Ladylike with a hint of naughtiness was Mama’s very southern style, much like Lissie’s sister, Mavis.

Mama would have been sad at the lack of passion in Alisha’s relationship with Scotty. Alisha enjoyed sex, but admitted what she and Scotty had was lukewarm. Mama would have wanted more for her first-born daughter. Her parents had an affectionate marriage ‘til her mother had died eight years ago. The funeral was the only time she’d ever seen her father cry.

People said she’d inherited her papa’s business acumen, and in lieu of a son, Papa had taught her the family business. And God hopes it will be enough to get me through the months ahead. Another plus for Scotty. His family were major stockholders and if marriage was the price of their loyalty, at least she wasn’t selling herself cheaply. After the marriage, the Shelbys and the Hornsbys could run the company unopposed. Scotty’s father, Hornsby senior, was particularly delighted at the prospect.

Mentally she ticked through all the positive points for the marriage and lifted her chin. It was the right choice. Tonight they would announce their engagement, and in three months she would be Mrs. Scott Hornsby, Jr. Her place in the company would be solid and she would be in a position to defeat the World Energy takeover op. She picked up the engagement ring lying on her dressing table and slipped it on. She had to get through this blasted party and ignore this blasted headache. She could hear her mother sigh, Stubborn, like your father.

The party will be in full swing, Gloria thought, as the clock on the dashboard of her Beemer blinked ten p.m. She’d stalled as long as she could, had deliberately taken the wrong turn on the way to Twin Oaks. They’d wound up on the road to Captain’s Quarters, where she’d insisted on buying her guest a drink to welcome him to the city. He’d been agreeable and couldn’t have known her tactics were deliberate, but he was barely containing his amusement about something.

Darn! It was Daddy’s fault.

Now, Peaches, he’d drawled to his daughter. I understand he’s a ladies’ man, so y’all behave yourself. Just take the man to Lissie’s little party. I’ll be along shortly, so tell your mama I’m running late. Scotty and some of his buddies can entertain him until I get there. Put a glass of bourbon in his hand, have Scotty get him into a poker game and we’ll see what he’s made of.

He’d waved her off, chuckling at the thought, aware of the melee there would be at Lissie and Scott’s party. Throw him to the wolves, Gloria thought. Sly old fox, her daddy.

Her stomach had caved when she’d spotted Kyle Talbot coming through the airline exit door. She’d expected a beefeater type, not this tall and sexy double-o-seven clone. He was dressed casually in brown slacks and a white shirt, a battered leather jacket slung over one arm, carrying a briefcase in the other. If she hadn’t been undone already, his voice when he answered her inquiry as to whether he was waiting for George Shelby finished the job. It was a husky voice, the British accent softened by a slur she couldn’t quite identify.

So this is Louisville hospitality, he said, his face crinkled in a crooked grin. I like it. It was almost southern. He was a tempting prospect, and despite Daddy’s orders she hadn’t wanted to bring him to the party and lose him to a cluster of cooing Kentucky belles.

Oh, well, she sighed, as she drove up to the front of the Shelby mansion. At least I’ll make an entrance. She handed the keys to one of the parking attendants that Lissie had hired for the occasion, and flashing her best smile, linked arms. C’mon, Kyle Talbot. We’re going to make some waves.

The sea of people parted as they pushed through the throng gathered on a lawn lit by dozens of flickering Japanese lanterns. She tossed smiling How-yas about, calling most of the guests by name.

Kyle could see why her father used Gloria as his unofficial emissary. She was friendly as a puppy, had a memory for names and was a born politician.

Kyle pumped dozens of hands, pasted a smile on his face and did his best to keep up. He’d been introduced to a hundred people, and he was going to be expected to remember names? He grabbed a drink from the tray of a formally jacketed waiter walking by. A julep, made from prime bourbon, and it was a bonus that most of the ice had melted. When in Rome, they say, and he was in julep country. Ye Gods, he’d forgotten how much he hated mint julips, and dumped the remainder on the ground. He’d do a lot for The Company, but drinking swill wasn’t one of them.

As per orders, he suspected, Gloria had disappeared. He had no idea if he was going to see her or his luggage again in this millennium. He flagged down a waiter and asked for scotch and soda, no ice. Yessir, we have it. But it might be quicker if you’d go to the bar. There’s one under the lanai by the pool and another in the big tent. I’m just champagne, you see.

It was a conspiracy to get him back on a plane to England. He’d fallen down a rabbit hole and the Red Queen would appear at any moment yelling "Off with his head!" It was four a.m. in London and he’d been on one plane or another for twelve hours. Plus he didn’t know a soul at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party except a mop-headed nymphet with a southern drawl who had disappeared. He longed for the jungle---snakes, sinkholes, mosquitoes, malaria, typhoons and all. It seemed a safer place.

His mind leapt back to the Earl's last words: One of the reasons you’re right for this job is that it was your territory once and there shouldn’t be many surprises. Some of ‘em could teach the peerage about arrogance. Luckily you’ve had experience dealing with that lot.

Wrong. While he’d spent some time in the states doing graduate work, he hadn’t been to Kentucky since he was twelve, and he’d never been part of this inbred crowd. His mother had hated society trappings even though she'd been born into them, and he suspected that she liked horses more than people.

The Earl had continued. So pace the drinking and stay away from their women. I don’t want to hear about you fighting some damned duel over there. Bad for our image.

Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Kyle had been twelve when his mother and Sir Edwin had met. The earl had come over the water looking for blooded horse stock, and Hillsdale Stables had specialized in race horses. Even at his young age, Kyle knew that his widowed mother had several serious suitors. Give the old man credit and whether he’d fought any duels or not, he’d returned to England accompanied by most of Hillsdale’s prized stable along with the beautiful widow, her recalcitrant son trailing behind

The rest, as they say, was history.

He wondered over to the tent in search of a decent drink. On the grassy berm topping the sloped lawn, a stringed quartet was packing up their instruments, and guests were leaving. But no Gloria in sight. The scent of roses drifted out to greet him. Hadn’t Gloria said something about this being her cousin’s engagement party? She’d been vague with details. Scott and Lissie the pink cocktail napkins were labeled. Must be the happy couple.

He wondered where in the deuce his hostess was, seemed rude not to present his best wishes. If he could hack his way through hundreds of miles of bush, he sure as hell could survive this carnival. And if he remembered anything about Kentucky weather, the carnival was over, because it was going to storm at any moment.

Inside the tent, tables were piled with dishes and glasses, the scent of stale champagne overpowering the scent of crushed roses. The pavilion was deserted except for a knot of young males in the far corner who were noisily occupied with a deck of cards. Napkins were crumpled in pink heaps and most of the centerpieces had been decimated. A horde of locusts had laid waste to the buffet, and some idiot had piled plates and cups a half-meter high, balancing a full champagne goblet on the top. It was swaying as he watched.

Looks more and more like the Mad Hatter’s tea party, he muttered.

Doesn’t it, a chuckle agreed from behind. Where do you suppose Alice went?

The accent was similar to Gloria’s drawl, but came from the height of his shoulder. The amused voice skimmed his senses, a soft voice with sensual possibilities, and a voice to inspire pure male lust. He didn’t turn to face her, not ready to be disappointed. The women he’d met so far had not warranted good old pater’s admonition to stay away from the female population.

In bed with the Mad Hatter? he ventured, his back to her.

Perhaps, but didn’t the Hatter have a thing for the white rabbit?

Only after he got drunk. I’m sure he preferred Alice as a bedmate.

Poor Alice. Is the Mad Hatter her only choice?

Don’t forget the Jabberwock.

Ahh, the Jabberwock. How very--dangerous for her.

But worth it, she might find.

"--the jaws that bite, the claws that catch⁠—"

What if I promise to be gentle?

There was another soft chuckle and he knew the game was over, so he swung to face her. Far from disappointing, the sight of her was a kick in the gut. She was tall with killer legs, and dressed in sea-colored silk that was a stunning compliment to her taffy hair. Her cat’s eyes flashed cool green one minute, warm brown and sleepy the next. If a mint julep tasted like she looked, he’d never have one out of his hand. She wore a diamond as big as a pigeon’s egg on her left ring finger.

Oh, bloody hell.

Pardon? She quirked an eyebrow.

You’re not the bride-to-be? Tell me you’re not.

Sorry, guilty. I’m Lissie. And you are--? She supposed it was one of Scotty’s friends, he was always inviting people she didn’t know. It had been tasteless of him to have invited a Brit, even one as smooth as this. The specter of a World Energy takeover of her family company was the last thing she wanted to be reminded of tonight. She wasn’t fond of anything British these days, and her fiancée should have remembered that.

Look, I apologize. I was out of line.

She waved it away. Forget it. I could have stopped you at any time. Can I offer you a drink? I’m afraid most of the food has been devoured.

Actually I was looking for my-- not exactly my date, but I came with her and then she deserted me. A munchkin named Gloria?

Ah, my long-lost cousin. I wondered where she’d gotten to. So he was Gloria’s escort. She detests Scotty so intensely I wasn’t sure she’d come. Ooh, no, she gasped, as the tent flap snapped open, a gust of air signaling that the storm was eminent. Damn, I knew it couldn’t hold off much longer!

The wind blasted through the tent, scattering blossoms and napkins, overturning empty goblets. The stack of crockery he’d noticed earlier begin to list to one side. The crash that followed was spectacular. Plates toppled, rolling off the table and cartwheeling down the rose-petalled aisle. Lissie stood paralyzed when the champagne glass flipped toward her. In an instant her dress was drenched with stale wine.

She was going to cry, Kyle thought. Oh God, she was going to cry, any woman would. What blasted idiot--

A whoop punctured the air. That did it. That sucker held for nine minutes, thirty-two seconds! Two minutes longer than the highest bet. Pay up gents, you owe me.

A lot of money was changing hands at the far corner of the tent and a group of glum males filed out, leaving the winner to count his gains. He was tall and good-looking in a fleshy way, had thinning blonde hair and was dressed in an expensive, if disheveled, suit. Grinning widely he ambled toward their end of the tent.

Sorry about the dress, Liss, but I made enough to buy you two new ones. We’ll go shopping tomorrow.

I liked this one, she hissed, dripping champagne. He’d been wrong, she wasn’t going to cry. She was furious.

You’ll change your mind. The winner casually flipped his hand. "We’ll find you something pretty. Never liked that rag anyway. Why don’t you shuck it and call it a night? I’d walk you to your room, hon’, but I’ve gotta go. The