* * *

  Brent was in charge of backup music, so Clay reminded him one last time. “No funny stuff,” he warned, lowering his sunglasses to give his brother a sharp stare as he cued up the song on his phone.

  His brother held up his hands as if to say who, me?

  “Yes, you. Don’t think I’ve forgotten all the stunts you pulled when we were growing up. Besides, if we have the timing right, we don’t even need the song.”

  “No stunts at your wedding. I promise. I’m just glad I got an invite.”

  Clay clapped him on the back. “Not just an invite. You’re the best man,” he said, then pulled his brother in for a hug. “I love you, bro.”

  “Even though you had a crazy weekend in my town?”

  “I’m having the best weekend ever in our town,” he said, as they pulled apart. A horn honked loudly from the Strip, not far from them.

  His brother wiped a hand across his forehead, and Clay tugged at his own shirt. The sun was high above and was practically shooting balls of fire at them. But it was August in Vegas, so that was that. Besides, a man needed to get married in a suit, no matter the weather, so Clay had on his suit from the flight on Friday, freshly pressed. He wore a crisp white button-down shirt, and his purple tie. He ran a hand down the tie; he might retire it after today. This tie had given him so much already; it might be time to hang it up and thank it for its run. He didn’t want to take any more chances with it.

  He looked at the time on his wrist. Twelve-forty. Five minutes if they wanted to make the timing work.

  “Will the bride be here shortly?”

  The question came from the justice of the peace, a smartly-dressed woman with short gray hair and a business-like manner.

  “Any second,” Clay said, tipping his forehead to the blond man now running across the plaza in front of the Bellagio: his friend, his client, and the husband of Julia’s sister—Chris McCormick.

  Chris stopped short a few feet away. “They’re about to come on down. I had to fix Julia’s necklace,” he said. “She wanted to wear it today.”

  “You fixed that clasp?”

  Chris shrugged casually. “I can fix pretty much anything,” he said, as a crowd of tourists stopped to snap photos. There would be many photos shot here today. They were about to get hitched in front of one of the icons of Las Vegas.

  Then Clay’s breath caught in his throat when he saw Julia in the distance. Walking down the stone path outside the Bellagio alongside her sister, heading towards the fountains with hundreds of sprays of water forming a sort of elemental backdrop to their wedding. His heart nearly tripped over itself as he took in the sight of her in white, wearing a dress that looked as if it was hand-sewn for her. He didn’t take his eyes off her as she walked closer, the fountains behind them spraying a soft mist that cooled him off. Music played from the fountains, as it often did. “Luck be a Lady.” Any second it would shift into the song they’d picked last night to be their wedding song when they found the website that listed the timing and order of the fountain music. Since the wedding party consisted of six people—the justice-of-the-peace, the bride, groom, best man, maid of honor, and Mr. Fix It—they didn’t need a special permit. They were just a small group of people stopping in front of one of the top tourist attractions in this town.

  As she walked across the plaza, a sprig of lilies in her hands, her sister by her side, the song began: “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra. He and Julia didn’t have a song, but this tune fit the bill. You are all I long for . . . All I worship and adore. Because that’s how they felt for each other.

  Soon, she was mere feet away, and he realized he was still wearing sunglasses. Quickly, he grabbed them, and tucked them inside his suit jacket. He wasn’t going to be that guy who got married in shades. There. Now she could look in his eyes, just as he could in hers. She stood in front of him, the Purple Snow Globe around her neck, the ring on her finger.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” she whispered.

  “Lucky me.”

  The justice of the peace cleared her throat as Brent, Chris and McKenna gathered in a small semi-circle beside them, the water behind them. Julia gave the flowers to her sister, and Clay took Julia’s hands in his. Her touch sent a charge through him. Holding her hand was still such a thrill, and always would be.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in this great city of weddings and pairings to join together Clay Nichols and Julia Bell in marriage, which is an institution ordained by the state of Nevada and made honorable by the faithful keeping of good men and women. Marriage is founded upon sincerity, trust, and mutual love,” the justice-of-the-peace said, rattling off words she’d surely said thousands of times before. The words both mattered and didn’t matter to him. They could be married by a sea captain, a minster, a rabbi, even by someone who snagged his license on the Internet. He didn’t care. All that mattered were the I dos.

  In other words, please be true. In other words, in other words, I love you . . .

  The justice-of-the-peace spoke more, but Clay couldn’t focus because he was looking in his bride’s eyes, the beautiful green eyes that he loved, and that shined back at him with such heart, love and truth. He wanted to remember this moment for the rest of his life—standing under the high heat of the desert sun, without a cloud in the bright blue sky, Frank Sinatra crooning through the water, throngs of tourists passing by, and the love of his life facing him, about to become his for all time. And he was hers. His heart threatened to burst out of his chest with joy.

  The justice-of-the-peace turned to him. “Do you, Clay, take Julia to be your lawful wedded wife?”

  There had never been an easier question to answer. “I do.”

  “Will you love, respect and honor her in all your years together?”

  Or an easier promise to make. “I will.”

  She turned to Julia. “Do you, Julia, take Clay to be your lawful wedded husband?”

  “I do,” she said, keeping her gaze locked on him.

  “Will you love, respect and honor him in all your years together?”

  “I will.”

  “The rings, please.”

  Clay turned to Brent, who handed him the band that they’d picked up that very morning.

  He slid a slender, platinum ring onto her ring finger, nestling it close to the diamond that barely matched her beauty.

  She placed a ring on his finger. “Now you’re mine,” she said playfully.

  “Always have been, always will be,” he said.

  “By the power vested in me by the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  He cupped her face, brushing his fingertips gently down her cheek, wanting to savor the seconds before he kissed her for the first time as her husband. “Hello, Mrs. Nichols,” he said, loving the way her new name sounded on his lips.

  “Mrs. Nichols would very much like a kiss,” she said, and he dropped his mouth to hers, kissing her softly, tenderly as the fountains finished playing their song, and she became his wife outside, under the sun, capping off a weekend that had gone so wrong, but had now turned into the most right thing in the world.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Sunday, 8:23 p.m., somewhere over the middle of the country

  He closed out the email as they flew through the night, en route to New York. “That’s done. Grant is taking care of everything.”

  “Is he?”

  “He used to be a sports announcer. He still has contacts at the Giants, so he’s calling in a favor,” he said, referring to the client he’d wrapped up the deal for on Friday. The very same client who’d said he’d do anything Clay needed. He didn’t normally like to call in favors from clients, but he’d learned the hard way that it was better to keep a mobster on your good side. By this time tomorrow, that’s where Charlie would be.

  Julia rested her head on his shoulder. “I think that’s a mighty clever solution you came up with, Mr. Nichols, though I do hope we have no more trouble from mobsters.”

  He wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “That seems a bit crazy to wish for, doesn’t it?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, it does.”

  A new email landed in his inbox. This one was from Brent. The subject line was Check out this post . . .

  He clicked open the email, scanning it quickly. Brent had sent a news story from a local Vegas blog tracking the goings-on in the city.

  Allegro Hotel Nabs Pickpocket, Thanks to Intrepid Guests

  The newest hotel on the Strip had a very busy weekend. Seems the security team busted the pickpocket ring that had been nicking chips left and right from tables all over town. The culprit? The city’s very own Tad Herman was caught on camera and has fessed up. Herman is a former marketing executive at Farrell Spirits, who has a rap sheet for shoplifting back in the day. Seems he never lost his taste for stealing things he doesn’t own, and the liquor company let him go. But that’s not all, folks! Details are still sketchy, but we’re hearing that the hotel also booted a pit boss who was on the take with a certain cowboy in this town. In addition, the Allegro cleaned house, getting rid of a few dealers and some other staffers who were in cahoots. We’re told a pair of husband-and-wife amateur detectives played a part in busting both the pickpocket ring and in putting a bully behind bars. Way to go, Mr. And Mrs. Whoever You Are, for helping to clean up Vegas.

  They both arched their eyebrows at the same time, and grinned.

  “Amateur husband-and-wife detectives, are we now?”

  “Not such a bad idea, is it?”

  She shook her head. “Not at all. I can just see us jetting all over the world, busting art thieves, solving jewel heists, uncovering all sorts of mysteries.”

  “Mr. And Mrs. Whoever You Are,” he said, trying the title on again for size. “I suppose that could be our next grand adventure. Especially since it seems you might not have to sign that morality clause now that Herman is history.”

  “So that means I can consort with all sorts of criminal types?” she said as the plane soared through the dark skies.

  “Maybe. Or just consort with me,” he said, closing the laptop and tucking it under the seat. “Like right now.”

  “I believe consorting in the friendly skies is a perfect place for our . . . what is this? Fifth time already as husband and wife?”

  “We’ve had a busy, busy afternoon. And let’s stay busy this evening. Besides, I have something else in mind for those pearls.”

  Her eyes sparkled with interest. “What would that be?”

  “Let’s find out,” he said, and silenced any more words with a kiss that felt like magic and movies and so much more.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Tuesday, 6:53 p.m., San Francisco

  The crack of the bat, the smell of peanuts and popcorn, the whiz of a fastball cutting over home plate—those were Charlie’s special pleasures in life. Add in the chance to meet his favorite ballplayer, Buster Posey, and he was a satisfied man.

  Clay Nichols impressed him. No one had ever said sorry quite so elegantly or appropriately, finding the perfect gift for him. A special tour of the ballpark before a game. He was really going to have to find a way to convince that man to work for him someday.

  For now, he’d kick back and enjoy a baseball game, and tomorrow he’d figure out how to win Mr. Nichols.

  * * *

  from: cnichols@gmail.com

  to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

  date: August 20, 2:23 PM

  subject: The Big Easy . . .

  Imagine the crimes we could bust in New Orleans, with all those dark corners, grand old mansions, and voodoo magic.

  from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

  to: cnichols@gmail.com

  date: August 20, 2:38 PM

  subject: London . . .

  I wouldn’t mind a trip across the pond for our honeymoon. We could catch thieves trying to steal the Crown Jewels.

  from: cnichols@gmail.com

  to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

  date: August 20, 2:51 PM

  subject: Paris . . .

  Or nab that most-wanted art theft ring in Paris . . . that is, after we kiss, and then some, on a cobblestoned street in Montmartre.

  from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

  to: cnichols@gmail.com

  date: August 20, 3:03 PM

  subject: Tell me more about this ‘then some’

  I hear public displays of affection are encouraged in the city of love. That gets my vote.

  from: cnichols@gmail.com

  to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

  date: August 20, 3:11 PM

  subject: Booking the tickets now.

  How about I just show you the ‘then some’ on our honeymoon?

  from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

  to: cnichols@gmail.com

  date: August 20, 3:14 PM

  subject: Paris is next for Mr. And Mrs. Whoever You Are . . .

  I. Can’t. Wait.

  THE END

  If you’d like to receive an email when my next title is available, including STARS IN THEIR EYES, my August release, please sign up for my newsletter.

  RECIPE FOR THE

  PURPLE SNOW GLOBE

  Julia has always been protective of her drink recipes, but I finally convinced her to share the Purple Snow Globe recipe with me, so I hereby present it to you! Cheers!

  The Purple Snow Globe infuses blackberry syrup, ginger, lemon grass and ginger ale for a deliciously sweet drink with that special zing only ginger can bring.

  To prepare a classic Purple Snow Globe you will need the following items:

  • High quality Blackberry Syrup

  • 1-inch cube of peeled fresh ginger

  • 2-inch section of Lemon Grass

  • 2 oz of Ginger Ale

  • Sugar Crystals

  • 1 wedge of lime

  • 1.5oz of Gin

  • Martini Glass, Cocktail Shaker and Strainer

  Preparation:

  Peel the ginger into a 1-inch cube and smash it lightly. Split a stick of lemon grass down the middle with a knife, and cut it into 2-inch sections. Combine the ginger and one section of lemon grass with 1.5 oz of Gin in the glass portion of a cocktail shaker. Let the flavors mingle for roughly 15 minutes (or longer to infuse more of the flavors into the gin.)

  Next, add roughly two tablespoons of blackberry syrup to the mix. Depending on the syrup and your personal taste, you can add more or less to sweeten it. Then, add 2 oz of ginger ale and a squeeze of lime.

  Add ice to the cocktail shaker. As you wait for the drink to reach your desired temperature, rub a small section of lime around the rim of the glass and dip the top of the glass into a plate of sugar to create the sugared rim.

  Finally, shake the mixture. Aim to break the ice into tiny pieces so the Purple Snow Globe remains chilled.

  Enjoy!

  Check out my contemporary romance novels!

  Caught Up In Us, a New York Times and

  USA Today Bestseller! (Kat and Bryan’s romance!)

  Pretending He’s Mine, a Barnes & Noble and

  iBooks Bestseller! (Reeve & Sutton’s romance)

  Trophy Husband, a New York Times and

  USA Today Bestseller! (Chris & McKenna’s romance)

  Playing With Her Heart, a

  USA Today bestseller! (Davis and Jill’s romance)

  Far Too Tempting, an Amazon

  romance bestseller! (Matthew and Jane’s romance)

  My USA Today bestselling

  No Regrets series that includes

  The Thrill of It

  (Meet Harley and Trey)

  and its sequel

  Every Second With You

  and

  Burn For Me, a New York Times

  and USA Today Bestseller!

  (Smith and Jamie’s romance!)

  Stay tuned for Nights With Him, a standalone novel in the erotic romance Seductive Nights series, starring Michelle Milo and her lover, Jack Sullivan, slated for a fall 2014 release . . .

  Jack Sullivan is a sex toy mogul. An extremely eligible bachelor in New York, he’s the full package, right down to his full package. Hell, this man could be the model for one of the toys his company, Joy Delivered, peddles. Instead, he’s the powerful and successful CEO, and he’s got commitment issues a mile-long after the tragic way his relationship with his fiancée ended.

  He’s looking for a way to erase the pain and that arrives in the form of Michelle Milo. From her pencil skirts to her high heels, she’s his perfect fantasy, especially since she has no idea who he is the night they meet at a hotel bar. He doesn’t have a clue either that she’s the brilliant psychologist his sister has arranged for him to see to help him get over his past. She’s simply the stunning woman he takes to bed that night and delivers many Os of joy too.

  His touch helps her forget that other man.

  When he shows up at her office door the next day, there’s no way in hell she’s going to treat him after they’ve slept together. But Jack isn’t willing to let go of the first woman he’s felt anything for in years so he proposes a deal—share her nights with him for thirty days. At the end of one month of exquisite pleasure, they walk away, having helped each other move on from their haunted pasts.

  But soon, all those nights threaten to turn into days as the lines between lust and matters of the heart start to blur. Can two people so terribly afraid of love truly fall head over heels?

  * * *

  Nights With Him excerpt…

  He was no virgin. He was no saint.

  But he’d had a quiet year by choice. Guilt had clawed at him, and though he’d had plenty of chances, and plenty of attempted set-ups from women in his office who wanted to introduce him to their sister, their best friend, their cousin, Jack had kept his head down, and his pants zipped. He was a mess in the head, and a fuck-up in the heart, and that had kept him out of the bedroom.

  A self-imposed monkhood, his sister had called it.

  But hell, he wasn’t thinking of his sister right now.

  He was thinking how much he’d like that dry spell to end tonight. Maybe even in the next hour. Because this woman was everything he wanted. Sharp, clever, playful and hot as fuck in that blouse and skirt. She had the perfect body for that business woman look she had going on, with the skirt down to her knees that made him think of her in a boardroom, crossing her strong, sexy legs as she sat at the head of the table. She probably ran her own business, and that made her even sexier to him – he was drawn to the kind of confidence that a high-powered woman possessed. And he particularly liked that this high-powered woman had no clue he ran Joy Delivered, because that meant she was actually interested in him, and not the label that sometimes lured others. With the four years he’d spent in the military after college as an army intelligence officer before founding this company, he’d been labelled by the press as the Soldier-Turned-Sex-Toy-Mogul. It wasn’t the sort of a title that could be bestowed very often, but it was part and parcel of who he was and though it didn’t bother him one bit, he also didn’t mind not being that person tonight, along with the baggage attached. He could be himself again. Not a man with a past tethered to him, or a sandwich board slung on his chest.