She was the reason for the wildest night of my life.
There"s only one problem, I forgot everything" except marrying her.
I"m used to my billions getting me into sh*t situations.
I should have known a night in Vegas would be no different.
But it was, thanks to one tall, gorgeous woman.
Her plump, full lips as they grazed my skin,
Warm, soulful eyes watching me as I made her mine.
F*cking each other all night.
When I awoke, she was gone.
With a fresh tattoo and ring on my finger, I started my search.
I could have never guessed what I"d find,
Now her life"s in my hands. I have to protect her.
If this mafia bastard is used to getting what he wants,
He"s about to be disappointed.
Cause I protect what"s mine. Period.
I"ll keep her safe. He better be ready, I"m done playing games.
“One Night Bride” is a full length standalone romance with no cheating and no cliffhangers, but with plenty of a steam and a HEA.Books by Author:Sarah J. Brooks Books
I hated Vegas. I remembered how much I hated Vegas when I stood there in the lobby of the Bellagio listening to the incessant dinging of the money stealing, soul-sucking contraptions simultaneously begging for my attention. This wasn"t my place; Vegas was never my thing. Unfortunately, being a famous fashion designer and a self-made multi-millionaire, Vegas was something I had to swallow at times. High rollers wanted to look their best. This was why my likeness was on a seventy-foot-tall billboard in the center of the Las Vegas strip. I was wearing only a pair of jeans, no shirt. The caption read "Bare it all, Xavier Dean." It was titillating. I"d just been named one of the sexiest men of the year, and my PR company was taking advantage of it. One of the reasons I agreed to the billboard was I thought I"d never see it, and yet, here I was.
While I was often here on business, this time I wasn"t. My best friend, Damon Rockwell was holding his bachelor party in Vegas of all the god-awful places, so I was drinking a big gulp of Vegas in a fancy, high octane, one hundred proof glass that scorched my throat as it went down. Damon and I grew up on the same street. We learned to skateboard with one another, and his grandmother made the best spaghetti with meatballs and homemade sauce. I can still taste it. My mother was never one for cooking. We were both raised in a moderate middle-class town where we weathered boyhood travails such as crushes on girls who were aloof and disinterested and learned to deal with the occasional bully. We found and defeated enemies attacking us on the X-box and went head to head, one upping each other in sports. We eventually matured, went to college and found different interests, but we remained friends.
He became a lawyer and a staunch businessman and was marrying a stunning trophy wife in a week. The goal of this boys" weekend with me and a few of his closest friends was to be mostly drunk and debaucherous, and all was going to plan. I, however, could only take so much drunken revelry and ducked out of the last event, which was a strip club where the girls offered special services after the show. I was not interested. After only twenty-four hours, the hedonistic lifestyle was wearing thin. Contrarily, Damon was enjoying himself. I was not. Standing in the casino with nothing to do, I thought about playing for an instant. I didn"t need to play for more money, I had more than enough for my lifetime and then some.
My clothing brand was one of the most successful menswear brands in the world. I started out with a vision for men"s fashion and built it into a San Francisco-based fashion label which I simply entitled after myself: Xavier Dean Designs. My label nearly ran itself after a decade of success. I worked hard on creating elegant menswear, but I wasn"t so busy I couldn"t go out and have some fun. The trouble was, I wasn"t really having any fun.
I was sitting at the bar trying to focus on the one thing that had caught my eye amid the dinging and clatter. In fact, it nearly dragged my eyes right out of my face. Bent over the craps table was the most perfectly formed ass I"d ever seen. It was round, firm, and delicious. Connected to that perfect ass was a pair of long shapely legs with a tiny little golden purse dangling at her hip.
The dress she wore wasn"t as garish or offensive as some around me, too low cut for their shape or too high hemmed for their size but was an exquisite silhouette on a beautiful form. She was draped languidly over the table, nonchalant and almost bored. She wasn"t trying to entice anyone overtly, but thoughts of taking that ass on the table, holding it still and diving my cock right up into her pussy, were pretty all-consuming. The alcohol haze wasn"t doing anything to subdue my libido, so getting my mind off taking her from behind wasn"t going to happen.
She seemed not to care about what others in the room thought of her. She had rings of golden hair with highlights that shone like strands of gold in the dim light. Her large round eyes made you weep, but her soft full lips were the real draw. I had a hard time taking my eyes off them as they screwed into a sneer when she threw the dice. It must have been habitual, but it was sexy as fuck.
I"d be hard-pressed to find any man in the room not thinking about having their way with her, bent over the table as she was. I liked to wine and dine a woman into bed. Treating women well was my trademark and yet, I"d always leave behind a note the next morning thanking them for the fun without giving them so much as an email address. Some found me and tried to pursue something more, but most got the picture; I was only interested in one night. I wasn"t exactly a bastard. I had my reasons for not wanting complications to my already hectic life.