Page 7 of Theirs to Treasure

“Yeah. You heard all that?”

“Enough.”

“I need a good stiff drink.”And the wedding night I was robbed of.It’s time to get rid of my V-card. Surely it can’t be too difficult go find someone to fuck me. Even if my own husband-to-be wouldn’t.

“Somewhere high class?”

“Only the best.” Especially since it will go on the disloyal asshole’s card.

“Bella Rosa?” he suggests.

There couldn’t be a better recommendation. Sin City’s newest resort, at the end of the Strip, is also its most exclusive. They’ll be paying plenty of attention to security. “Perfect.”

As we near the luxurious property, I wrench off my engagement ring and shove it into my purse.

The driver stops under the beautiful awning, and a door attendant rushes over to open the taxi door and help me out. If he’s shocked to see me in full bridal attire, he hides it well.

Of course, itisVegas, after all.

Courtesy of Edward, I pay the driver and tip him very well.

He smiles his thanks, then adds, “Look, lady. Not all men are cheating whores.”

With a shrug, I offer a half-smile. “Thanks for that.” Right now, though, I’m not sure I believe him.

Then, my clutch held to my chest, I square my shoulders and exit the car, heading for the resort entrance that’s held open for me.

Spying a trashcan to one side, I detour toward it. I shrug off the ridiculous robe with its fanciful writing and wad it into a satisfying ball and stuff it in the bin.

At this point, I don’t care if my gown gets ruined. If everything goes according to my plan, my makeup and hair will be a mess before too long anyway.

After brushing my hands together, continue through the glass door and stride toward the registration sign.

At the check-in desk, I’m informed that the rooms are sold out, not that this should surprise me. They have been for months.

Desperate, I throw myself on the mercy of the well-dressed representative. Honestly I have nowhere else I can think to go. And I need that drink.

Maybe my panic gets through to her, because she picks up a nearby phone and asks me to wait.

A few minutes later, my tension stretched to the breaking point, the resort owner—Lorenzo Carrington himself—joins us.

He works some sort of magic at the computer. Then he nods at me. “One night, Ms. Pembrooke?”

“That will be fine. Thank you for your help.” In the morning, I’ll figure out my next move.

“Anything else I can help you with?”

Worrying my lower lip, I glance around. “If anyone is looking for me, I’m not here.”

“Discretion is a hallmark of our hospitality.”

“I appreciate your help.”

He nods. “Enjoy your stay at the Bella Rosa.”

“Oh,” I say. “One last thing? Where’s the nearest bar?”

When he points me in the correct direction, I grab the hem of my gown and start straight toward it.