Secrets Of The A-List Box Set, Volume 3

The galvanized crowd herded a stumbling Vanessa toward the chair his sister had vacated minutes ago.

“For fuck’s sake, Luc, you don’t have to do it,” Rachel muttered under her breath, her fingers clamping on his arm for a tight second.

Luc knew he had no choice. Already he was shrugging off his fiancée’s hold, and his feet were propelling him to where the woman who made his heart race with terrifying longing sat waiting.

Under the lights, she looked even more gorgeous than he’d first thought when he saw her dancing the fucking tango with that asshole. Her made-up face was flawless, if a little pale, as she watched him approach.

Her eyes, though...

Hell, she looked as if all her nightmares had decided to take the form of one Luc Marshall. His gaze dropped in time to catch the hands in her lap trembling before she tightened them into fists.

God, had he really read her and the chemistry he’d sensed between them that wrong? If so, why the hell was his blood thrumming in his veins as he stood before her? Why did he have an almost unstoppable urge to bend and bury his face in her neck, refresh his memory with the intoxicating scent of her?

He pulled himself back from the edge.

Get this fucking thing done already.

He dropped to his haunches and tried his best not to stare at her cleavage or her small, delicate feet framed by her spectacular heels.

“Lift up your skirt.” Shit. Could his fucking voice sound any more like a rusted drainpipe in a thunderstorm?

Her mouth compressed at the corners for a tiny second before she tugged up one side of her dress. At the sight of her long shapely leg, Luc swallowed. With mounting alarm, he felt his cock stir to life.

Great, all he needed was a boner to compound this hell he’d been flung into.

“Higher,” he instructed, his voice none too smooth.

She hitched the material higher until her upper thigh was visible. A deep tingle charged through to his fingertips as he fought the urge to glide his hand up the back of her leg, investigate for himself if her naked flesh was as smooth as it looked.

The knowledge that he was seconds away from developing a tent in his pants had him grabbing Vanessa’s ankle and pulling it toward him. And hell if her skin wasn’t as warm and silky as he’d known it would be.

He ignored her gasp, concentrated on shoving the damned piece of silk over her foot and up her leg with minimum contact.

All around him, the wolf whistles had started again, louder this time, perhaps because the guests sensed something more? Because he wasn’t the only man turned on by the sight of her exposed leg?

Another emotion—a hot, green, slimy one he recognized as jealousy—spiked through him.

Jesus, what was wrong with him?

Luc pulled the garter up and over her knee. The moment it reached the vicinity of her upper thigh, he dropped his hands and lurched to his feet.

Had it been any other woman, he would’ve held out his hand to help her stand. To accept the suggestive congratulations he was receiving with a smile.

But this was Vanessa.

The woman whose Keep Off signs were flashing as big as the Hollywood sign. Hell, she was already putting daylight between them by sidling away.

Awesome.

Luc turned away and stalked toward the nearest waiter. He grabbed a drink and downed it just so he wouldn’t have to make conversation with anyone just yet. He needed a moment to get his head—and libido—under control.

He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or resigned when he saw Rachel making a beeline for him.

He swallowed the last of his champagne just as she reached him. Her smile was still in place, but her eyes were edged in steel. As were the fingers she laced through his in blatant possession.

“I think it’s time we said our goodbyes, don’t you?” she suggested pointedly.

Luc discarded his glass, then gave a curt nod. “Sure. Lead the way, sweetheart.”

He didn’t mind that she all but dragged him through their hasty goodbyes and bossed him all the way out the door.

Like Vanessa, he was more than ready to put some daylight between himself and the unwanted feelings she drew so effortlessly from him.

Chapter Three (#u50a36db6-4929-595b-8539-9b46ec00c124)

A few days later

Elana untied her white sarong, dropped it on the lounger and dived into the blissfully cool waters of her private infinity pool. She swam a few lengths of the black-and-aqua-tiled pool before she slowed to a stop, braced her arms on the edge and basked in the view.

Their three-bedroom Balinese honeymoon villa was beyond spectacular. Perched on the side of a hill with a secluded bay beyond the extensive grounds, the tropical paradise was stunning enough to make Elana’s jaw drop. In the four days since they’d been here, their every wish had been catered to and exceeded.

Although she was reluctant to admit it, she felt miles better now that the wedding was behind her and she was a world away from Santa Barbara and the fraught situation with her dad.

She’d been pampered to within an inch of her life, and the first signs of stress relief she’d felt when she and Thom boarded her family’s private jet at Van Nuys airport had finally bloomed into full-blown relaxation. And the extra bonus was the disappearance of the nausea that had plagued her. It was enough for her to conclude that old woman’s comment in the bathroom before the wedding had been exactly what she’d thought it was at the time—complete crap! But, truth be told, she’d been seriously worried there for a while that she was pregnant. Hell, the thought had lingered long enough to ruin her drinking at her own wedding, save for a few sips of champagne to prevent any probing questions.

But just as quickly as it’d started, her nausea had abated. And now all of that worrying nonsense was behind her, she could truly enjoy her honeymoon.

Bali was truly beautiful, and their piece of heaven even more so.

A tiny part of her wished she and Thom could stay here forever. She didn’t want to go back to Santa Barbara and spend endless hours watching the worry on her mother’s face she tried so hard to hide, or witnessing Luc and Rafe skirt each other like cage fighters about to tear each other to pieces.

Above all, she didn’t want to go back to having Jarrod within tempting distance. In fact, she didn’t feel like thinking about or even seeing Jarrod again.

Liar.

She smothered the pang of guilt. Sure, she missed him. Missed the excitement he evoked in her. Missed the illicit thrill of their connection. Missed the unmistakable power of his cock inside her, pounding her to mind-altering ecstasy.

But this was her honeymoon.

She was married now.

Thom was a good, sweet man, if a little clueless at times. The sex wasn’t exactly setting her world on fire, but surely there was more to life, and marriage, than great sex, right?

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

She jumped at the voice that scattered her thoughts. “What?”

“You’re staring at your wedding ring and frowning,” Thom observed from his relaxed position on the lounger next to the one she’d been using.