“What if I say no?”

Not an option. Conrad played his trump card. “Do you want my signature on those divorce papers?”

Jayne dropped her rings on top of the computer that just happened to be resting over the divorce papers. “Are you blackmailing me?”

“Call it a trade.” He rested his hand over the five-carat diamond he’d chosen for her, only her. “You give me two days and I’ll give you the divorce papers. Signed.”

“Just two days?” She studied him through narrowed, suspicious eyes.

He gathered up the rings and pressed them to her palm, closing her fingers over them again. “Forty-eight hours.”

Forty-eight hours to romance her back into his bed one last time.

Dear Reader,

For as long as I can remember, I have adored James Bond movies—the glitz, the glamour, the thrills! Regardless of the actor, 007’s alpha appeal has certainly stood the test of time. Some of my favourite Bond movies include Monte Carlo-based Casino Royale, Never Say Never Again and GoldenEye. (Dreamy sigh!)

However, beyond the glitz, glamour and thrills, the part of the Bond mystique that touched my heart most came from seeing such an indomitable hero fall truly and deeply in love, like in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. What a treat to write a story about my own Monte Carlo secret-agent hero as he secures happily ever after with his one true love!

Thank you for choosing an Alpha Brotherhood read. I’m pleased to say there will be more in the series, the next one featuring Malcolm Douglas in Playing for Keeps.

Happy reading!

Cheers,

Cathy

catherinemann.com

facebook.com/CatherineMannAuthor

Twitter: @CatherineMann1

About the Author

USA TODAY bestselling author CATHERINE MANN lives on a sunny Florida beach with her flyboy husband and their four children. With more than forty books in print in over twenty countries, she has also celebrated wins for both a RITA® Award and a Booksellers’ Best Award. Catherine enjoys chatting with readers online—thanks to the wonders of the internet, which allows her to network with her laptop by the water! Contact Catherine through her website, www.catherinemann.com, find her on Facebook and Twitter (@CatherineMann1) or reach her by snail mail at PO Box 6065, Navarre, FL 32566, USA.

All or Nothing
Catherine Mann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Shelley, welcome to the family! Love you much!

One

Monte Carlo, Casino de la Méditerranée

It wasn’t every day that a woman bet her five-carat, yellow-diamond engagement ring at a roulette table. But it was the only way Jayne Hughes could think of to get her pigheaded husband to take the rock back.

She’d left Conrad messages, telling him to contact her attorney. Conrad ignored them. Her lawyer had called his, to no avail. Divorce papers had been couriered, hand delivered to Conrad’s personal secretary, who’d been told not to sign for them under any circumstances.

As Jayne angled through the crush of gamblers toward the roulette table, her fist closed around the engagement ring Conrad had given her seven years ago. Since he owned the Casino de la Méditerranée, if she lost the long-shot bet, the ring would be back in his possession All or nothing, she had to lose to win. She just wanted a clean break and no more heartache.

Jayne plunked down the ring on the velvet square for 12 red. The anniversary of their breakup fell on January 12, next week. They’d spent three years of their seven years married apart. By now Conrad should have been able to accept that so they could move on with their lives.

Familiar sounds echoed up the domed ceiling, chimes and laughter, squeals of excitement mixed with the “ahhhh” of defeat. She’d called these walls full of frescoes home for the four years they’d lived together as man and wife. Even though she moved with ease here now, she’d grown up in a more down-to-earth home in Miami. Her father’s dental practice had kept them very comfortable. Of course, they would have been a lot more comfortable had her father not been hiding away a second family.

Regardless, her parents’ finances were nowhere close to touching the affluence of this social realm.

Her ring had been a Van Cleef & Arpels, one-of-a-kind design that had dazzled her back when she believed in fairy tales.

Cinderella had left the building. Jayne’s glass slipper had been shattered right along with her heart. Prince Charming didn’t exist. She made her own destiny and would take charge of her own life.

Nodding to the croupier in charge of spinning the wheel, she nudged her ring forward, centering it on the number 12 red. The casino employee tugged his tie and frowned, looking just past her shoulders and giving her only a second’s warning before …

Conrad.

She could feel his presence behind her without looking. And how damn unfair was that? Even after three years apart, never once laying eyes on him the entire time, her body still knew him. Wanted him. Her skin tingled under the silky beige gown and her mind filled with memories of spending an entire weekend making love with the Mediterranean breeze blowing in through the balcony doors.

Conrad’s breath caressed her ear an instant ahead of his voice. “Gaming plaques can be obtained to your left, mon amour.”

My love.

Hardly. More like his possession. “And divorce papers can be picked up from my lawyer.”

She was a hospice nurse. Not a freaking princess.

“Now why would I want to split up when you look hot enough to melt a man’s soul?” A subtle shift of his feet brought him closer until his fire seared her back as tangibly as the desire—and anger—pumping through her veins.

She pivoted to face him, bracing for the impact of his good looks.

Simply seeing him sent her stomach into a predictable tumble. She resented the way her body reacted to him. Why, why, why couldn’t her mind and her hormones synch up?

His jet-black hair gleamed under the massive crystal chandeliers and she remembered the thick texture well, surprisingly soft and totally luxurious. She’d spent many nights watching him sleep and stroking her fingers along his hair. With his eyes closed, the power of his espresso-brown gaze couldn’t persuade her to go against her better judgment. He didn’t sleep much, an insomniac, as if he couldn’t surrender control to the world even for sleep. So she’d cherished those rare, unguarded moments to look at him.

Women stared and whispered whenever Conrad Hughes walked past. Even now they didn’t try to hide open stares of appreciation. He was beyond handsome in his tuxedo—or just wearing jeans and a T-shirt—in a bold and brooding way. While one hundred percent an American from New York, he had the exotic look of some Italian or Russian aristocrat from another century.

He was also chock-full of arrogance.

Conrad scooped the five-carat diamond off the velvet, and she only had a second to celebrate her victory before he placed it in her palm, closing her fingers back over the ring. The cool stone warmed with his hand curling hers into a fist.

“Conrad,” she snapped, tugging.

“Jayne,” he rumbled right back, still clasping until the ring cut into her skin. Shifting, he tucked alongside her. “This is hardly the place for our reunion.”

He started walking and since he still held her hand, she had no choice but to go along, past the murmuring patrons and thick carved pillars. Familiar faces broke up the mass of vacationers, but she couldn’t pause to make idle chitchat, pretending to be happy around old friends and employees.

Her husband’s casino provided a gathering place for the elite, even royalty. At last count, he owned a half dozen around the world, but the Casino de la Méditerranée had always been his favorite, as well as his primary residence. The old-world flair included antique machines and tables, even though their internal mechanisms were upgraded to state of the art.

People vacationed here to cling to tradition, dressed to the nines in Savile Row tuxedos and Christian Dior evening gowns. Diamonds and other jewels glittered, no doubt original settings from Cartier to Bvlgari. Her five-carat ring was impressive, no question, but nothing out of the ordinary at the Casino de la Méditerranée.

Her high heels clicked faster and faster against the marble tiles, her black metallic bag slipping down to her elbow in her haste. “Stop. It. Now.”

“No. Thanks.” He stopped in front of the gilded elevator, his private elevator, and thumbed the button.

“God, you’re still such a sarcastic ass.” She sighed under her breath.

“Well, damn.” He hooked an arm around her shoulders. “I’ve never heard that before. Thanks for enlightening me. I’ll take it under advisement.”

Jayne shrugged off his arm and planted her heels.

“I am not going up to your suite.”

“Our penthouse apartment.” He plucked the ring from her hand and dropped it into her black bag hanging from her shoulder. “Our home.”

A home? Hardly. But she refused to argue with him here in the lobby where anyone could listen. “Fine, I need to talk to you. Alone.”

The doors slid open. He waived the elevator attendant away and led her inside, sealing them in the mirrored cubicle. “Serving the papers won’t make me sign them.”

So she’d noticed, to her intense frustration. “You can’t really intend to stay married and live apart forever.”

“Maybe I just wanted you to have the guts to talk to me in person rather than through another emissary—” his deep brown eyes crinkled at the corners “—to tell me to my face that you’re prepared to spend the rest of your life never again sharing the same bed.”

Sharing a bed again?

Not a chance.

She couldn’t trust him, and after what happened with her father? She refused to let any man fool her the way her mother had been duped—or to break her heart the way her mother had been heartbroken. “You mean sharing the same bed whenever you happen to be in town after disappearing for weeks on end. We’ve been over this a million times. I can’t sleep with a man who keeps secrets.”

He stopped the elevator with a quick jab and faced her, the first signs of frustration stealing the smile from him. “I’ve never lied to you.”

“No. You just walk away when you don’t want to answer the question.”

He was a smart man. Too smart. He played with words as adeptly as he played with money. At only fifteen years old, he’d used his vast trust fund to manipulate the stock market. He’d put more than one crook out of business with short sales, and nearly landed himself in a juvenile detention center. His family’s influence worked the system. He’d been sentenced by a judge to attend a military reform school instead, where he hadn’t reformed in the least, only fine-tuned his ability to get his way.

God help her, she still wasn’t immune to him, a large part of why she’d kept her distance and tried to instigate the divorce from overseas. The last straw in their relationship had come when she’d had a scare with a questionable mammogram. She’d desperately needed his support, but couldn’t locate him for nearly a week, the longest seven days of her life.

Her health concerns turned out to be benign, but her fears for her marriage? One hundred percent malignant. Out of respect for what they’d shared, she’d waited for Conrad to come home. She’d given him one last chance to be honest with her. He’d fed her the same old tired line about conducting business and how she should trust him.

She’d walked out that night with only a carry-on piece of luggage. If only she’d thought to leave her rings behind then.

Standing here in the intimate confines of the elevator, with classical music piping through the sound system, she could only think of the time he’d pressed her to the mirrored wall and made love to her until she could barely think, much less remember to ask him where he’d been for the past two weeks.

And still he wasn’t talking, damn him. “Well, Conrad? You don’t have anything to say?”

“The real problem here is not me. It’s that you don’t know how to trust.” He skimmed his finger along the chain strap of her black metallic shoulder bag and hitched it back in place. “I am not your father.”

His words turned residual passion into anger—and pain. “That’s a low blow.”

“Am I wrong?”

He stood an inch away, so close they could lose themselves in a kiss instead of the ache of all this self-awareness. But she couldn’t travel that path again. She stepped closer, drawn by the scent of him, the deep ache in her belly to have his lips on hers. The draw was so intense it took everything inside her to step back.

“If you’re so committed to the truth, then how about proving you’re not your father.”

When Conrad had been arrested as a teen, the papers ran headlines, Like Father, Like Son. His embezzling dad had escaped conviction as well for his white-collar crimes thanks to that same high-priced lawyer.

In her heart she knew her husband wasn’t like his old man. Conrad had hacked into all those Wall Street companies to expose his father and others like him. She knew intellectually … but the evasiveness, the walls between them … She just couldn’t live that way.

She reached into her large, dangling evening bag and pulled out the folded stack of papers. “Here. I’m saving you a trip to the lawyer’s office.”

She pushed them against Conrad’s chest and hit the elevator button for her floor, a guest suite, because she couldn’t stomach the notion of staying in their old quarters, which she’d once decorated with hope and love.

“Conrad, consider yourself officially served. Don’t worry about the ring. I’ll sell it and donate the money to charity. All I need from you is your signature.”

The elevator doors slid open at her floor, not his, not their old penthouse, but a room she’d prearranged under a different name. Her head held high, she charged out and into the carpeted corridor.

She walked away from Conrad, almost managing to ignore the fact that he still had the power to break her heart all over again.

Conrad had made ten fortunes by thirty-two years old and had given away nine. But tonight, he’d finally hit the jackpot with his biggest win in three years. He had a chance for closure with Jayne so she wouldn’t haunt his dreams every damn night for the rest of his life.

He stalked back into the lobby toward the casino to turn over control for the evening. Once he’d been alerted to Jayne’s presence on the floor, he’d walked out on a Fortune 500 guest and a deposed royal heir, drawn by the gleam of his wife’s light blond hair piled on top of her head, the familiar curve of her pale neck. Talking to Jayne had been his number-one priority.

Finding her thunking down her ring on 12 red hadn’t been the highlight of his life, but the way she’d leaned into him, the flare of awareness in her sky-blue eyes? No, it wasn’t over, in spite of the divorce papers she’d slapped against his chest.

She was back under his roof for tonight. He folded the papers again and slid them inside his tuxedo jacket. As he walked past the bar, the bartender nodded toward the last brass stool—and a familiar patron.

Damn it. He did not need this now. But there was no dodging Colonel John Salvatore, his former headmaster and current contact for his freelance work with Interpol, work that had pulled him away from Jayne, work that he preferred she not know about for her own safety. Conrad’s wealthy lifestyle and influence gave him easy entrée into powerful circles. When Interpol needed an “in” they called on a select group of contract operatives, headed by John Salvatore, saving months creating an undercover persona for a regular agent. Salvatore usually only tapped into his services once or twice a year. If he used Conrad too often, he risked exposure of the whole setup.

The reason for the missing weeks that always had Jayne in such an uproar.

Part of him understood he should just tell her about his second “career.” He’d been cleared to share the basics with his spouse, just not details. But another part of him wanted her to trust him, to believe in him rather than assume he was like his criminal father or a cheating bastard like her dad.

The colonel lifted his Scotch in toast. “Someone’s in over his head.”

Conrad sat on the bar stool next to the colonel in the private corner, not even bothering to deny Salvatore’s implication. “Jayne could have seen you there.”

And if the colonel was here, there had to be a work reason. The past three years in particular, Conrad had embraced the sporadic missions with Interpol to fill his empty life, but not now.

“Then she would think your old headmaster came to say hello since I’d already come to see another former student’s concert at the Côte d’Azur.” Salvatore wore his standard gray suit, red tie and total calm like a uniform.

“This is not a good time.” Having Jayne show up unannounced had turned his world upside down.

“I’m just hand delivering some cleanup paperwork—” he passed over a disc, no doubt encrypted “—from our recent … endeavor.”

Endeavor: aka the Zhutov counterfeit currency case, which had concluded a month ago.

If Conrad had been thinking with his brain instead of his Johnson, he would have realized the colonel would never risk bringing him into another operation this soon. Already, Jayne was messing with his head, and she hadn’t even been back in his life for an hour.

“Everybody wants to give me documents today.” He patted the tux jacket and the papers crackled a reminder that his marriage was a signature away from being over.

“You’re a popular gentleman tonight.”

“I’m sarcastic and arrogant.” According to Jayne anyway, and Jayne was a smart woman.

“And incredibly self-aware.” Colonel Salvatore finished off his drink, his intense eyes always scanning the room. “You always were, even at the academy. Most of the boys arrived in denial or with delusions about their own importance. You knew your strengths right from the start.”

Thinking about those teenage years made Conrad uncomfortable, itchy, reminding him of the toxic time in his life when his father had toppled far and hard off the pedestal Conrad had placed him upon. “Are we reminiscing for the hell of it, sir, or is there a point here?”

“You knew your strengths, but you didn’t know your weakness.” He nudged aside the cut crystal glass and stood. “Jayne is your Achilles’ heel, and you need to recognize that or you’re going to self-destruct.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” The bitter truth of the whole Achilles’ heel notion stung like hell since he’d told his buddy Troy much the same thing when the guy had fallen head over ass in love.

“You’re definitely as stubborn as ever.” Salvatore clapped Conrad on the shoulder. “I’ll be in town for the weekend. So let’s say we meet again for lunch, day after tomorrow, to wrap up Zhutov. Good night, Conrad.”

The colonel tossed down a tip on the bar and tucked into the crowd, blending in, out of sight before Conrad could finish processing what the old guy had said. Although Salvatore was rarely wrong, and he’d been right about Jayne’s effect.

But as far as having a good night?

A good night was highly unlikely. But he had hopes. Because the evening wasn’t over by a long shot—as Jayne would soon discover when she went to her suite and found her luggage had been moved to their penthouse.

All the more reason for him to turn over control of the casino to his second in command and hotfoot it back to the penthouse. Jayne would be fired up.

A magnificent sight not to be missed.

Steamed as hell over Conrad’s latest arrogant move, Jayne rode the elevator to the penthouse level, her old home. The front-desk personnel had given her a key card without hesitation or questions. Conrad had no doubt told them to expect her since he’d moved her clothes from the room she’d chosen.

Damn him.

Coming here was tough enough, and she’d planned to give herself a little distance by staying in a different suite. In addition to the penthouse, the casino had limited quarters for the most elite guests. Conrad had built a larger hotel situated farther up the hillside. It wasn’t like she’d snubbed him by staying at that other hotel. Besides, their separation wasn’t a secret.

She curled her toes to crack out the tension and focused on finding Conrad.

And her clothes.

The gilded doors slid open to a cavernous entryway. She steeled herself for the familiar sight of the Louis VXI reproduction chairs and hall table she’d selected with such care only to find …

Conrad had changed everything. She hadn’t expected the place to stay completely the same since she’d left—okay, maybe she had—but she couldn’t possibly have anticipated such a radical overhaul.

She stepped into the ultimate man cave, full of massive leather furniture and a monstrous television screen halfway hidden behind an oil painting that slid to the side. Even the drapes had been replaced on the wall-wide window showcasing a moonlit view of the Mediterranean. Thick curtains had been pulled open, revealing yacht lights dotting the water like stars. There was still a sense of high-end style, like the rest of the casino, but without the least hint of feminine frills.

Apparently Conrad had stripped those away when they separated.

She’d spent years putting together the French provincial decor, a blend of old-world elegance with a warmth that every home should have. Had he torn the place apart in anger? Or had he simply not cared? She wasn’t sure she even wanted to know what had happened to their old furnishings.

Right now, she only cared about confronting her soon-to-be ex-husband. She didn’t have to search far.

Conrad sprawled in an oversize chair with a crystal glass in hand. A bottle of his favored Chivas Regal Royal Salute sat open on the mahogany table beside him. A sleek upholstered sofa had once rested there, an elegant but sturdy piece they’d made love on more than once.

On second thought, getting rid of the furniture seemed like a very wise move after all.

She hooked her purse on the antique wine rack lining the wall. Her heels sunk into the plush Moroccan rug with each angry step. “Where is my bag? I need my clothes.”

“Your luggage is here in our penthouse, of course.” He didn’t move, barely blinked … just brooded. “Where else would it be?”

“In my suite. I checked into separate quarters on a different floor as you must know.”

“I was informed the second you picked up your key.” He knocked back the last bit of his drink.

“And you had my things moved anyway.” What did he expect to gain with these games?

“I’m arrogant. Remember? You had to already know what would happen when you checked in. No matter what name you use, the staff would recognize my wife.”

Maybe she had, subconsciously hoping to make a prideful statement. “Silly me for hoping my request would be honored—as your wife.”

“And ‘silly’ me for thinking you wouldn’t embarrass me in front of my own staff.”

Contrition nipped at her heels. Regardless of what had happened between them near the end of their marriage, she’d loved him deeply. She was so tired of hurting him, of the pain inside her, as well.

She sank into the chair beside him, weary to her toes, needing to finish this and move on with her life, to settle down with someone wonderfully boring and uncomplicated. “I’m sorry. You’re right. That was thoughtless of me.”

“Why did you do it?” He set aside his glass and leaned closer. “You know there’s plenty of space in the penthouse.”

Even if he wouldn’t offer total honesty, she could. “Because I’m scared to be alone with you.”

“God, Jayne.” He reached out to her, clasping her wrist with callused fingers. “I’m fifty different kinds of a bastard, but never—never, damn it—would I hurt you.”

His careful touch attested to that, as well as years together where he’d always stayed in control, even during their worst arguments. She wished she had his steely rein over wayward emotions. She would give anything to hold back the flood of feelings washing over her now, threatening to drown her.

Words—honesty—came pouring out of her. “I didn’t mean that. I’m afraid I won’t be able to resist sleeping with you.”

Two

With Jayne’s agonized confession echoing in his ears and resonating deep in his gut, holding himself still was the toughest thing Conrad had ever done—other than letting Jayne go the day she’d walked out on their marriage. But he needed to think this through, and fast. One wrong move and this confrontation could blow up in his face.

Every cell in his body shouted for him to scoop her out of that leather chair, take her to his room and make love to her all night long. Hell, all weekend long. And he would have—if he believed she would actually follow through on that wish to have sex.

But he could read Jayne too clearly. While she desired him, she was still pissed off. She would change her mind about sleeping with him before he finished pulling the pins from her pale blond hair. He needed more time to wipe away her reservations and persuade her that sleeping together one last time was a good thing.

Pulling back his hand, he grabbed the bottle instead and poured another drink. “As I recall, I didn’t ask you to have sex with me.”

If she sat any straighter in that seat, her spine would snap. “You don’t have to say the words. Your eyes seduce me with a look.” Her chin quivered. “My eyes betray me, because when I look at you … I want you. So much.”

Okay, maybe he could be persuaded not to wait after all. “Why is that a bad thing?”

A clear battle waged in her light blue eyes that he understood quite well. The past three years apart had been a unique kind of hell for him, but eventually he’d accepted that their marriage was over. He just refused to end it via a courier.

Call him stubborn, but he’d wanted Jayne to look him in the face when she called it quits. Well, he’d gotten his wish—only to have her throw him a serious curveball. She still wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her.

Granted, sex between them had always been more than good, even when they’d used it to distract them from their latest argument. One last weekend together would offer the ultimate distraction. They could cleanse away the gnawing hunger and move on. He just had to persuade her to his way of thinking

The battle continued in her eyes until, finally, she shook her head, a strand of blond hair sliding loose. “You’re not going to win. Not this time.” Standing, she demanded, “Give me my clothes back, and don’t you dare tell me to go into our old bedroom to get them myself.”

He’d been right to wait, to play it cool for now. “They’re already in the guest room.”

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry for thinking the worst of you.”

He shrugged. “Most of the time you would be right.”

“Damn it, Conrad,” she said softly, her shoulders lowering, her face softening, “I don’t want to feel bad for you, not now. I just want your signature and peace.”

“All I ever wanted was to make you happy.” Tonight might not be the right time to indulge in tantric sex, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t start lobbying. He shoved to his feet, stepped closer and reached out to stroke that loose lock of hair. “Jayne, I didn’t ask you to have sex, but make no mistake, I think about being with you and how damn great we were together.”

Teasing the familiar texture of her hair between his fingers, he brushed back the strand, his knuckles grazing her shoulder as he tugged free the pin still hanging on. Her pupils went wide with awareness and a surge of victory pumped through him. He knew the unique swirl of her tousled updo so well he could pull the pins out of it blindfolded.

He stepped aside. “Sleep well, Jayne.”

Her hands shook as she swept back the loose strand, but she didn’t say a word. She spun away on her high heels and snagged her purse from the wine rack before making tracks toward the spare room. He had a feeling peace wasn’t in the cards for either of them anytime soon.

Jayne closed the guest-room door behind her and sagged back, wrapping her arms around herself in a death grip to keep from throwing herself at Conrad. After three long years without him, she hadn’t expected her need for him to be this strong. Her mind filled with fantasies of leaning over him as he sat in that monstrously big chair, of sliding her knees up on either side until she straddled his lap.

There was something intensely stirring about the times she’d taken charge of him, a scenario she’d half forgotten in their time apart. But she loved that feeling of sensual power. Sure, he could turn the tables in a heartbeat—a gleam in his eyes would make that clear—but then she would tug his tie free, unbutton his shirt, his pants …

She slid down the door to sit on the floor. A sigh burst free. This wasn’t as easy as she’d expected.

At least she had a bed to herself without arguing, a minor victory. She looked around at the “tomato-red room” as Conrad had called it. He’d left this space unchanged and the relief she felt over such a minor point surprised her. Why did it mean so much to her that he hadn’t tossed out everything from their old life?

Shoving back up to her feet, she tapped a vintage bench used as a luggage rack and skimmed her fingers along the carved footboard. He’d even kept the red toile spread and curtains. She’d wanted a comfortable space for their family to visit. Except Conrad and his older sister only exchanged birthday and Christmas cards. Since his parents and her mother had passed away, that didn’t leave many relatives. Jayne definitely hadn’t invited her father and his new wife …

Had she let some deep-seated “daddy issues” lead her to choose a man destined to break her heart? That was not the first time the thought had occurred to her—okay, how could she dodge the possibility when Conrad had tossed it in her face at least a dozen times? She’d forgotten how he had a knack for catching her unaware, like how he’d sent her clothes here rather than demanding she sleep in their old room.

Like the way he’d tugged the pin from her hair.

Her mind had been so full of images of them together, and she’d actually admitted how much she still wanted him. Yet, he’d turned her down even though it was clear from his eyes, from his touch—from his arousal—how much he wanted her, too. She knew his body as well as her own, but God, would she ever understand the man?

She tossed her purse on the bed and her cell phone slid out. She snatched it up only to find the screen showed three missed calls from the same number.

Guilt soured in her stomach, and how twisted was that? She wasn’t actually dating Anthony Collins. She’d been careful to keep things in the “friend” realm since she’d begun Hospice care for his aged great-uncle who’d recently passed away from end stage lung cancer.

She’d seen a lot of death in her job, and it was never easy. But knowing she’d helped ease a person’s final days, had helped their families as well, she could never go back to filling her time with buying furniture and planning meals. She didn’t even want to return to working in an E.R.

She’d found her niche for her nursing degree.

While there were others who could cover her rounds at work, she wanted to resume the life she’d started building for herself in Miami. And to do that, she needed closure for her marriage.

She thumbed the voice mail feature and listened …

“Jayne, just checking in …” Anthony’s familiar voice piped through with the sound of her French bulldog, Mimi, barking in the background since he’d agreed to dog sit for her. “How did your flight go? Call me when you get a chance.”

Beep. Next message.

“I’m getting worried about you. Hope you’re not stranded from a layover, at the mercy of overpriced airport food.”

Beep. Next call from Anthony, he hung up without speaking.

She should phone him back. Should. But she couldn’t listen to his voice, not with desire for Conrad still so hot and fresh in her veins. She took the coward’s way out and opted for a text message instead.

Made it 2 Monte Carlo safely. Thanks 4 worrying. 2 tired to talk. Will call later. Give Mimi an extra treat from me.

More of that remorse still churning, she hit Send and turned off the power. Big-time coward. She pitched her phone back in her purse. The clink as her cell hit metal reminded her of the ring Conrad had slipped back inside. She’d won a battle by delivering the divorce papers, and she could think of plenty of charities that would benefit from a donation if—when—she sold the ring.

She may not have gotten to place her bet, but she’d won tonight. Right?

Wrong. She sagged onto the edge of the bed and stared at her monogrammed carry-on bag. Good thing she’d packed her ereader, because there wasn’t a chance in hell she would be sleeping.

Parked on the glassed-in portion of his balcony, Conrad thumbed through the Zhutov document on his tablet computer.

Monte Carlo rarely slept at night anyhow, the perfect setting for a chronic insomniac like himself. Beyond the windows, yachts bobbed in the bay, lights glowing. No doubt the casino below him was still in full swing, but he’d soundproofed his quarters.

The divorce papers lay beside him on the twisted iron breakfast table. He’d already reviewed them and found them every bit as frustrating as when his lawyer had relayed the details. And yes, he knew the contents even though he’d led Jayne to believe otherwise.

She was insistent on walking away with next to nothing, just as she’d done the day she’d left. He’d already drawn up an addendum that created a trust for her, and she could do whatever the hell she wanted with the money. But he’d vowed in front of God and his peers to protect this woman for life, and he would follow through on that promise even beyond their divorce.

He hadn’t made that commitment lightly.

Frustration simmered inside him, threatening his focus as he read the Zhutov report from Salvatore. He’d given up his marriage for cases like this, so he’d damn well better succeed or he would have lost Jayne for nothing.

The world was better off with that bastard behind bars. Zhutov had masterminded one of the largest counterfeiting organizations in Eurasia. He’d used that influence to shift the balance of power between countries by manipulating the strength of a country’s currency. At a time when many regions were struggling for financial survival, the least dip in economics could be devastating.

And from all appearances, Zhutov had played his tricks out of an amoral need for power and a desire to advance his son’s political aspirations by any means possible.

Helping Interpol stop crooks like that was more than a job. It was a road to redemption after what Conrad had done in high school. He’d committed a crime not all that different from Zhutov’s and gotten off with a slap on the wrist. At the time he’d manipulated the stock market, he’d deluded himself into thinking he was some sort of dispenser of cosmic justice, stealing from the evil rich to give to the more deserving.

Utter crap.

At fifteen, he’d been old enough to know better. He’d understood the difference between right and wrong. But he’d been so caught up in his own selfish need to prove he was better than his crook of a father, he’d failed to take into account the workers and the families hurt in the process.

He might have avoided official prison time, but he still owed a debt. When Salvatore had retired as headmaster of North Carolina Military Prep and taken a job with Interpol, Conrad had been one of his first recruits. He’d worked a case cracking open an international insider trading scam.

The sound of the balcony door opening drew him back to the moment. He didn’t have to turn around. Jayne’s scent already drifted toward him. Her seabreeze freshness, a natural air, brought the outdoors inside. She’d told him once she’d gotten out of the practice of wearing perfume as a nurse because scents disturbed some patients. And yes, he remembered most everything about her, such as how she usually slept like a log regardless of the time zone.

That she was restless now equaled progress. It was already past 2:00 a.m.

He shut down the file and switched to a computer game, still keeping his back to her.

“Conrad?” Her husky voice stoked his frustration higher, hotter. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Business.” The screen flashed with a burst of gunfire as his avatar fought back an ambush in Alpha Realms IV.

She laughed softly, stepping farther onto the balcony silently other than the swoosh of her silky robe against her legs. “So I see. New toy from your pal Troy Donavan?”

Conrad had the inside track on video games since a fellow felonious high school bud of his now ran a lucrative computer software corporation. “It’s my downtime, and I don’t even have to leave town. Did you need something?”

“I was getting a glass of water, and I saw you’re still awake. You always were a night owl.”

More than once she’d walked up behind him, slid her arms around his neck and offered to help him relax with a massage that always led to more.

“Feel free to have a seat.” He guided his avatar around a corner in dystopian city ruins. “But I can’t promise to be much of a conversationalist.”

“Keep playing your game.”

“Hmm …” Alpha Realms provided a safe distraction from the peripheral view of Jayne sliding onto the lounger. The way the silky robe clung to her shower-damp skin, she could have been naked.

Her legs crossed at the ankles, her fuzzy slippers dangling from her toes. “Why do you keep working when you could clearly retire?”

Because his fast-paced, wealthy lifestyle provided the perfect cover for him to move in the circles necessary to bring down crooks like Zhutov. “You knew I lived at the office when you married me.”

“I was like any woman crazy in love.” She cupped a water glass between her hands. “I deluded myself into believing I could change you.”

He hadn’t expected her to concede anything, much less that. He set aside his tablet, on top of those damn divorce papers. “I remember the first time I saw you.”

The patio sconce highlighted her smile. “You were one of the crankiest, most uncooperative emergency room patients I’d ever met.”

He’d been in Miami following up on a lead for Salvatore. Nothing hairy, just chasing a paper trail. He would have been back in Monte Carlo by morning, except a baggage handler at the airport dropped an overweight case on Conrad’s foot. Unable to bear weight on it even when he’d tried to grit through the pain, he’d ended up in the E.R. rather than on his charter jet. And he’d still protested the entire way.

Although his mood had taken a turn for the better once the head nurse on the night shift stepped into the waiting room to find out why he’d sent everyone else running. “I’m surprised you spoke to me after what an uncooperative bastard I was.”

“I still can’t believe you insisted you just wanted a walking boot, that you had an important meeting you couldn’t miss because of what you called a stubbed toe.”

“Yeah, not my shining moment.”

“Smart move sending flowers to the staff members you pissed off.” She scratched the corner of her mouth with her pinky. “I don’t believe I ever told you, but I thought they were for me when they arrived.”

“I wanted to win you over. Apologizing to your coworkers seemed the wisest course to take.” He’d extended his stay in Miami under the guise of looking into investment property.

They’d eloped three months later, in a simple ocean-side ceremony with a couple of his alumni buddies as witnesses.

Jayne sipped her water, her eyes unblinking as if she might be holding back tears. “So this is really it for us.”

“Nice to know this isn’t any easier for you than it is for me.”

Her hand shook as she set aside her glass. “Of course this isn’t easy for me. But I want it to be done. I want to move past this and be happy again.”

Damn, it really got under his skin that he still hurt her even after all this time apart.

“I’m sorry you’re unhappy.” Back when, he would have moved heaven and earth to give her what she wanted. Now it appeared all he could give her was a divorce.

“Do you really mean that?” She swung her feet to the side, sitting on the edge of the lounger. “Or is that why you held off signing the papers for so long? So you could see me squirm?”

“Honest to God, Jayne, I just want both of us to be happy, and if that means moving on, then okay.” Although she looked so damn right beside him, back in his life again. He would be haunted by the vision of her there for a long time to come. “But right now, neither of us seems to be having much luck with the concept of a clean break.”

“What are you saying?”

Persuading her would take a lot more savvy than sending a few dozen roses to her friends. “I think we need to take a couple of days to find that middle ground, peace or closure or whatever the hell therapists are calling it lately.”

“We’ve been married for seven years.” She fished into the pocket of her robe and pulled out her engagement ring and wedding band set. “How do you expect to find closure in two days when we’ve been trying for the last three years?”

He did not want to see those damn rings again. Not unless they were sitting where he’d put them—on her finger.

“Has ignoring each other worked for you? Because even living an ocean apart hasn’t gone so well for me.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.” Her fingers closed around the rings. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

He sensed victory within his sights. She was coming around to his way of thinking. But he had to be sure because if he miscalculated and moved too soon he could risk sending her running.

“I suggest we spend a simple night out together, no pressure. My old high school buddy Malcolm Douglas is performing nearby—in the Côte d’Azur—tomorrow night. I have tickets. Go with me.”

“What if I say no?”

Not an option. He played his trump card. “Do you want my signature on those divorce papers?”

She dropped her rings on top of the computer that just happened to be resting over the divorce papers. “Are you blackmailing me?”

“Call it a trade.” He rested his hand over the five-carat diamond he’d chosen for her, only her. “You give me two days and I’ll give you the divorce papers. Signed.”

“Just two days?” She studied him through narrowed, suspicious eyes.

He gathered up the rings and pressed them to her palm, closing her fingers over them again. “Forty-eight hours.”

Forty-eight hours to romance her back into his bed one last time.

Three

Gasping, Jayne sat upright in bed, jolted out of a deep sleep by … sunlight?

Bold morning rays streamed through the part in the curtains. Late morning, not a sunrise. She looked at the bedside clock: 10:32 a.m.? Shoving her tangled hair aside, she blinked and the time stayed the same.

Then changed to 10:33.

She never overslept and she never had trouble with jet lag, thanks to her early years in nursing working odd shifts in the emergency room. Except last night she’d had trouble falling asleep even after a long bubble bath. Restless, she’d been foolish enough to dance with temptation by talking to Conrad on a moonlit Mediterranean night.

He’d talked her into staying.

God, was she even ready to face him today with the memory of everything she’d said right there between them? The thought of him out there, a simple door away, had her so damn confused. She’d all but propositioned him, and he’d turned her down. She’d been so sure she would have to keep him at arm’s length she’d checked into the room on another floor. That seemed petty, and even egotistical, now.

He’d simply wanted the common courtesy of a face-to-face goodbye and he’d been willing to wait three years to get it. The least she could do was behave maturely now. She just had to get through the next forty-eight hours without making a fool of herself over this man again.

Throwing aside the covers, she stood and came face-to-face with her reflection in the mirror. A fright show stared back at her, showcased by the gold-leaf frame. With her tousled hair and dark circles under her eyes, she looked worse than after pulling back-to-back shifts in the E.R.

Pride demanded she shower and change before facing Conrad, who would undoubtedly look hot in whatever he wore. Even bed-head suited him quite well, damn him.

A bracing shower later, she tugged on her favorite black skinny jeans and a poet’s shirt belted at the waist, the best she could do with what little she had in her suitcase. But she’d expected to be traveling back to the States today, divorce papers in hand. At least she’d thought to change her flight and arrange for more time off before going to bed last night.

Nerves went wild in her chest as she opened the door. The sound of clanking silverware echoed down the hallway, the scent of coffee teasing her nose. He’d said they would spend two days finding peace with each other, but as she thought about facing him over breakfast, she felt anything but peaceful.

Still, she’d made a deal with him and she refused to let him see her shake in her shoes—or all but beg him for sex again.

Trailing her fingers down the chair railing in the hall, she made her way through the “man cave” living room and into the dining area. And oh, God, he’d swapped her elegant dining room set for the equivalent of an Irish pub table with a throne at the head. Really?

And where was the barbarian of the hour?

The table had been set for two, but he was nowhere to be seen. A rattle from the kitchen gave her only a second’s warning before a tea cart came rolling in, but not pushed by Conrad.

A strange woman she’d never met before pushed the cart containing a plate of pastries, a bowl of fruit and two steaming carafes. At the moment, food was the last thing on Jayne’s mind. Instead, at the top of the list was discovering the identity of this stranger. This beautiful redheaded stranger who looked very at ease in Conrad’s home, serving breakfast from a familiar tea cart that had somehow survived the “purge of Jayne” from the premises.

Jayne thrust out her hand. “Good morning. I’m Jayne Hughes, and you would be?”

Given the leggy redhead was wearing jeans and a silk blouse, she wasn’t from housekeeping.

“I’m Hillary Donavan. I’m married to Conrad’s friend.”

“Troy Donavan, the computer mogul who went to high school with Conrad.” The pieces fell into place and, good Lord, did she ever feel ridiculous. “I saw your engagement and wedding announcements in the tabloids. You’re even lovelier in person.”

Hillary crinkled her nose. “That’s a very polite way of saying I’m not photogenic. I hate the cameras, and I’m afraid they reciprocate.”

The photos hadn’t done her justice, but by no means could Hillary Donavan ever look anything but lovely—and happy. The newlywed glow radiated from her, leaving Jayne feeling weary and more than a little sad over her own lost dreams.

She forced a smile on her face. “I assume that breakfast is for us?”

“Why yes, it is,” Hillary answered, sweeping the glass cover from the pastries. “Cream cheese filled, which I understand is your favorite, along with chocolate mint tea for you and coffee for me.”

And big fat strawberries. All of her favorites.

She couldn’t help but dig to find out who’d thought to make that happen. “How lovely of the kitchen staff to remember my preferences.”

“Um, actually …” Hillary parked the cart between two chairs and waved for Jayne to sit. “I’m a former event planner so nosy habits die hard. I asked Conrad, and he was wonderfully specific.”

He remembered, all the way down to the flavor of hot tea, when he’d always preferred coffee, black, alongside mounds of food. As she stared at the radically different decor, she wondered how many other times he’d deferred to her wishes and she just hadn’t known.

Jayne touched the gold band around a plate from her wedding china. “I didn’t realize you and your husband live in Monte Carlo now.”

“Actually we flew over for a little unofficial high school reunion to see Malcolm’s charity concert tonight. Word is he’s sold out, set to take the Côte d’Azur by storm.”

They were all going in a group outing? She felt like a girl who thought she’d been asked to the movie only to find out the whole class was going along. How ironic when she’d so often wished they had more married friends.

“I have to confess to having a fan girl moment the first time I met Malcolm Douglas in person.” Hillary poured coffee from the silver carafe, the java scent steaming up all the stronger with reminders of breakfasts with Conrad. “I mean, wow, to have drinks and shoot the breeze with the latest incarnation of Harry Connick, Jr. or Michael Bublé? Pretty cool. Oh, and I’m supposed to tell you that evening gowns are being sent up this afternoon for you to choose from, since you probably packed light and it’s a black-tie charity event. But I’m rambling. Hope you don’t mind that I’m barging in on you.”

“I’m glad for the company. Not many of Conrad’s friends are married.” When Troy had come to visit, she’d wished for a gal pal to hang out with and now she finally had one … too late for it to matter. “And when we were together, none of his classmates had walked down the aisle yet.”

“They’re getting to that age now. Even Elliot Starc got engaged recently.” She shook her head laughing. “Another bad boy with a heart of gold. Did you ever get to meet him?”

“The one who was sent to the military high school after too many arrests for joy riding.” Although according to Conrad, the joy riding had been more like car theft, but Elliot had influential friends. “Now he races cars on the international circuit.”

“That’s the one. Nobody thought he would ever settle down.” Hillary’s farm fresh quality, her uncomplicated friendliness, was infectious. “But then who would have thought my husband, the Robin Hood Hacker, would become Mr. Domesticity?”

The Robin Hood Hacker had infiltrated the Department of Defense’s system, exposing corruption. After which, he’d ended up at North Carolina Military Prep reform school with Conrad. Malcolm Douglas had joined them later, having landed a plea bargain in response to drug charges.

Taking their histories into account, maybe she’d been wrong to think she could tame the bad boy. Was Hillary Donavan in for the same heartbreak down the road?

Shaking her head, Jayne cut into the pastry, cream cheese filling oozing out. “You’re not at all what I expected when I read Troy got married.”

“What did you expect?”

“Someone less … normal.” She’d always felt so alone in Conrad’s billionaire world. She hadn’t imagined finding a friend like the neighbors she’d grown up with. “I seem to be saying all the wrong things. I hope you didn’t take that the wrong way.”

“No offense taken, honestly. Troy is a bit eccentric, and I’m, well, not.” She twisted her diamond and emerald wedding ring, smiling contentedly. “We balance each other.”

Jayne had once thought the same thing about herself and Conrad. She was a romantic, and he was so brooding. Looking back now, she’d assumed because of his high school years he was some sort of tortured soul and her nurse’s spirit yearned to heal him.

Silverware clinked on the china as they ate and the silence stretched. She felt the weight of Hillary’s curious stare and unspoken question.

Jayne lifted her cup of tea. “You can go ahead and ask.”

“Sorry to be rude.” Hillary set aside her fork, a strawberry still speared on the end. “I’m just surprised to see you and Conrad together. I hope this means you’ve patched things up.”

“I’m afraid not. The divorce will be final soon.” How much, if anything, had he shared with his friends about the breakup? “We had some final paperwork to attend to. And while I’m here, I guess we’re both trying to prove we can be civil to each other. Which is crazy since our paths will never cross again.”

“You never know.”

“I do know. Once I leave here, my life and Conrad’s will go in two very different directions.” Jayne folded her napkin and placed it on the table, her appetite gone.

She couldn’t even bring herself to be mad at Hillary for being nice and happy. And Jayne hoped deep in her heart that Troy would be the bad boy who’d changed for the woman he’d married.

She’d been certain Conrad had changed, too, but he’d been so evasive about his travels, refusing to be honest with her when she’d confronted him again and again about his mysterious absences. He didn’t disappear often, but when he did, he didn’t leave a note or contact her. His excuses when he returned were thin at best. She’d wanted to believe he wasn’t like his father … or her father. She still wanted to believe that.

But she couldn’t be a fool. He kept insisting she should trust him. Well, damn it, he should have trusted her. The fact that he didn’t left her with only two conclusions.

He wasn’t the man she’d hoped, and he’d very likely never really loved her at all.

This little fantasy two-day make-nice-a-thon was just that. A fantasy. Thank God, he’d turned her away last night, because had she fallen into bed with him, she would have regretted it fiercely come morning time. Her body and her brain had never been simpatico around her husband.

But she had a great big broken heart as a reminder to listen only to her common sense.

Common sense told him that keeping his distance today would give him an edge tonight. But staying away from Jayne now that she’d returned to Monte Carlo was driving him crazy.

Seeing her on the security camera feed from the solarium didn’t help his restraint, either.

But the secure room offered the safest place for him to hang out with a couple of his high school buds—Donavan and Douglas—who’d also been recruited for Interpol by Colonel Salvatore. The colonel had his own little army of freelancers drafted from the ranks of his former students. Although God knows why he’d chosen them, the least conformist boys in the whole school. But they were tight with each other, bonded by their experiences trying to patch their lives back together.

They’d even dubbed themselves “The Alpha Brotherhood.” They could damn well conquer anything.

Now, they shared a deeper bond in their work for Salvatore. For obvious reasons, they still couldn’t talk freely out in public. But a vaulted security room in his casino offered a place of protected privacy so they could let their guards down.

The remains of their lunch lay scattered on the table. Normally he would have enjoyed the hell out of this. Not today. His thoughts stayed too firmly on Jayne, and his hand gravitated toward her image on the screen.

Donavan tipped back his chair, spinning his signature fedora on one finger. “Hey, Conrad, I picked up some great Cuban smokes last week, but I wouldn’t want to start Malcolm whining that his allergies are acting up.”

Douglas scratched at the hole in the knees of his jeans. “I do not whine.”

“Okay—” Donavan held up his hands “—if that’s the story you want to go with, fine, I’m game.”

“I am seriously going to kick the crap out of you—” Douglas had picked fights from day one “—just for fun.”

“Bring it.”

“I would, but I don’t want to risk straining my vocal cords and disappoint the groupies.” Douglas grinned just like he was posing for the cover of one of his CDs. “But then, you’ve been benched by marriage so you wouldn’t understand.”

Some things never changed. They could have all been in their barracks, seventeen years ago. Except today Conrad didn’t feel much like joining in. His eyes stayed locked on the screen showing security feed from his place.

Or more precisely, his eyes stayed locked on Jayne at the indoor pool with Donavan’s wife. He couldn’t take his eyes off the image of her relaxed and happy. Jayne wore clothes instead of a swimsuit, not that it mattered when he could only think of her wearing nothing at all. She was basking in the sun through the solarium windows.

Donavan sailed his hat across the room, Frisbee style, nailing Conrad in the shoulder. “Are you doing okay, brother?”

Conrad plucked the hat from the floor and tossed it on the table alongside his half-eaten bowl of ratatouille. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know …” Malcolm lowered his chair legs to the ground again. “Maybe because your ex-wife is in town and you haven’t stopped looking at her on that video monitor since we got in here.”

“She’s not my ex-wife yet.” He resisted the urge to snap and further put a damper on their lunch. “Anybody up for a quick game of cards?”

Donavan winced. “So you can clean me out again?”

Malcolm hauled his chair back to the table. “Now who’s whining?”

Pulling his eyes if not his attention off Jayne, Conrad swept aside the dishes and reached for a deck of cards.

Between their freelance work for Interpol and their regular day jobs, there was little time left to hang out like they’d done during the old days. Damn unlucky for him one of those few occasions happened to be now, when they were all around to witness the final implosion of his marriage.

And what if he didn’t get one last night with Jayne? What if he had to spend the rest of his life with this hunger gnawing at his gut every time a blonde woman walked by? Except no woman, regardless of her hair color, affected him the way Jayne did.

No matter what he told his brothers, he was not okay. But damn it, he would be tonight after the concert when he lay Jayne back on that sofa and made her his again.

Jayne hadn’t been on a date in three years, not even to McDonald’s with a friend. How ironic that her first post-separation outing with a man would be with her own estranged husband. And he’d taken her to a black-tie charity concert on the Côte d’Azur—the French Riviera.

Although she had to admit, his idea of finding a peaceful middle ground had merit—even if he’d all but blackmailed her to gain her cooperation.

At least seated in the historic opera house she could lose herself in the crowd, simply sit beside Conrad and enjoy the music, without worrying about temptation or messy conversations. Malcolm Douglas sang a revamp of some 1940s tune, accompanying his vocals on the grand piano. His smooth baritone voice washed over her as effortlessly as the glide of Conrad’s fingers on her shoulder. So what if her husband had draped his arm along the back of her seat? No big deal.

In fact, she’d been surprised at how little pressure he’d put on her throughout the day, especially after their intense discussions, their potent attraction, the night before. Waking up alone was one thing. But then to have him spend the entire day away from her …

His amenability was good. Wasn’t it?

That niggling question had grown during the rest of the afternoon without him. Lunchtime passed and she started to question if she’d heard his offer of a date correctly. Except Hillary had mentioned it, as well. Then the staff brought a selection of evening wear in her size. She’d chosen a silver gown with bared shoulders, the mild winter only requiring a black satin wrap.

By the time Conrad arrived at their suite to pick her up, her nerves had been strung so tightly, she was ready to jump out of her skin. The sight of him in a tuxedo, broad shoulders filling out the coat to mouthwatering perfection, had just been downright unfair. All the way to the limo, she’d thought he would make his move, only to find Troy and Hillary Donavan waiting in the limousine, ready to go out to dinner with them before the concert. But then hadn’t Hillary said Troy and Conrad were having some kind of reunion?

The evening had been perfect.

And perfectly frustrating.

Conrad’s thumb grazed the sensitive crook of her neck, along the throb of her pulse. Did he know her heart beat faster for him? Her breath hitched in her throat.

Hillary leaned toward her and whispered, “Are you all right?”

Wincing, Jayne resisted the urge to shove Conrad’s arm away. “I’m fine, just savoring.”

Savoring the feel of Conrad’s hand on her bare skin.

Damn it.

He shifted in his seat, his fingers stroking along the top of her arm and sending shivers along her spine. She struggled not to squirm in her seat and draw Hillary’s attention again. But that was getting tougher and tougher to manage by the second. He had to know what he was doing.

Still, if he’d been trying to seduce her, he could have been a lot more overt, starting with ditching the other couple. Her mind filled with vivid memories of the time he’d reserved a private opera box for a performance of La Bohème and made love to her with his hand under her dress.

Only one of the many times he’d diverted an argument with sex.

Yet now, he turned her down. Why?

The lights came up for intermission, and Conrad’s arm slid away as he applauded. She bit her lip to keep from groaning.

He stood then angled back down to her. “Do you and Hillary mind keeping each other company while Troy and I talk shop? He’s developing some new software to prevent against hackers at the casino.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” She’d given up the right to object when she’d walked out on him three years ago. Soon, their breakup would be official and legal.

“Thanks,” he said, cupping her face in a warm palm for an instant before straightening. At the last second, he glanced back over his shoulder. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you look even more beautiful than the night we saw La Bohème.”

Her mouth fell open.

The reference to that incredible night had been no accident. Conrad had known exactly what he was doing. No doubt, her savvy husband had planned his every move all day with the express purpose of turning her inside out. The only question that remained?

Had he done so just for the satisfaction of turning her down again? Or did he want to ensure she wouldn’t back away at the last second?

Either way, two could play that game.

Four

Conrad downshifted his Jaguar as he took the curve on the coastal road, Jayne in the passenger seat.

After the concert ended, he’d sent Troy and Hillary off in the limo, his Jaguar already parked and waiting for the next part of his plan to entice Jayne. She’d always loved midnight rides along the shore and since neither of them seemed able to sleep much, this longer route home seemed the right idea for his campaign to win her over.

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