Waking Up in Vegas Read Online Free Page A

caught his eye, and he’d been dazzled.
    He still felt dazzled.
    And she still hadn’t removed his ring from her finger.
    He stroked his finger lightly down her cheek, and Phoenix stirred in her sleep, full, pink lips curving in a brief smile as she sank deeper into sleep. She smiled a lot when she was awake, but that smile was nothing like this one. She seemed to have a public smile, a wide, bright one, and this smile, her more intimate, sexier one. Fitting. He knew all about the difference between the public persona and the private one, and it would make life easier on his wife if she did too.
    He fluffed the pillow beneath his head and rolled on his back to look up at the ceiling. For the first time since he’d received the tearful midnight phone call from his mother, he felt at peace.
    The big state funeral in the gothic cathedral in Neustadt had been more than he could bear. All that ritual and pomp for someone who was no longer there to appreciate it. It was life that should be celebrated, not death. So he’d said the right words, shaken the right hands, and got on the first plane back to the States.
    He’d stood in the vast concourse at JFK and watched the flight announcements flashing on the large screens, and for a moment he’d wondered what life was really all about. He’d felt as if he stood at a crossroads, between a life only half lived and all those things he still wanted to do. Then the Las Vegas flight had shown up and he’d known that’s where he wanted to be.
    Destiny had called and here he was.
    He traced a finger over Phoenix’s lips. She’d met death up close and personal too. And she too had chosen to celebrate being alive. He’d never met a woman so full of life and energy, so dedicated to making the most of every moment, that in the space of an hour she’d made him feel more alive than he ever had before. It had taken even less time than that to lose his heart to her.
    He had no intention of letting her go now that he’d found her. All he had to do was talk her out of this nonsense about a divorce.

Chapter Two
    By the time she finally woke, Max had dressed, phoned his grandfather to check all was well at the vineyard, and glanced through the evening papers. He breathed a sigh of relief to see Westerwald’s grief hadn’t made the US press. The death of an unknown European Arch Duke was already old news and Max’s anonymity was still safe.
    Phoenix padded into the living room, rubbing her eyes, blonde, sun-streaked hair rumpled. Her hair was darker underneath, he noticed, and curlier where the strands touched her collar bone.
    “What time is it?”
    He folded the paper and set it aside. “Lunchtime. Shall we go out?”
    “I’d rather not.” She began to collect her clothes that still lay scattered across the floor, a vivid reminder of the passion that had overtaken them the night before.
    “Perfect. I’m sure we can find a way to make staying in very pleasurable.”
    “I meant I’d rather not spend the afternoon with you.”
    He’d known exactly what she meant, but he wasn’t having it. “You don’t perhaps want to spend a few waking hours with me to find out why you liked me enough to marry me?”
    She bit her lip, sorely tempted but not yet giving in. He could only imagine how galling it was to have lost a huge chunk of time. Possibly even more galling than having the woman of your dreams not remember you. Worse, not remember falling in love with you.
    He wasn’t used to either situation. He’d left Westerwald and made a new life in the States precisely because women had a terrible habit of falling in love with him. The trail of broken hearts he’d left behind had embarrassed his father’s staid ministers.
    Westerwald didn’t handle embarrassment well. They preferred their royals dutiful and dull, and Max had never had an inclination to be much of either.
    The States had been kinder to him. No-one here had expected him to be anyone but himself and no-one expected him