California Girl

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Blurb

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Epilogue

Broken Wings

A Catered Romance

Books by Sandra Edwards

About Sandra Edwards

CALIFORNIA GIRL

by

Sandra Edwards

California Girl

Copyright © 2012 Sandra Edwards

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from Sandra Edwards.

Published by Amazon KDP

Seattle, WA

Electronic KDP Edition: April, 2012

This book is a work of fiction and all characters exist solely in the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any references to places, events or locales are used in a fictitious manner.

After divorcing her cheating rock-star ex-husband Ray Hudson, Veronica Stanford flees to Europe to let the dust settle after she makes sure the divorce leaves Ray in financial dire straits.

In St. Tropez, after a night of serious partying, she finds herself married again—this time to a very sexy Greek named Niko Leandros.

Immediately she begins to suspect that Niko is actually an actor who's been hired by her ex to discredit her. The problem is, Veronica is so consumed with her smoldering attraction to Niko that she fears, through him, Ray just might get his revenge.

CHAPTER 1

THE CHATTER OF RAINDROPS coaxed Veronica Stanford awake. Soft, luxurious, indulgent bedding pleased her naked body and compelled her to keep sleeping.

Naked! What the—?

Veronica bolted upright in the bed. A French linen sheet settled around her waist. Too dazed to notice her exposed breasts, she shook her head trying to expel the sleepy fog.

Languor fading, her consciousness unfolded into a luxury hotel suite, at least she thought it was a hotel. The scent of Issey Miyake—she’d know that smell anywhere—filled the air. Veronica marveled at the upscale furnishings, they were spiffier than anything she’d ever seen, and Veronica had seen a lot.

The morning sunlight blazed through a wall of windows and pierced through pale-yellow curtains, searing her sight. A figure emerged, silhouetted by the luminosity. She squinted, trying to identify—what was it?

A man?

Standing in the midst of the sheer drapery, with his back to her, was the most exquisitely chiseled, half-naked man she’d ever seen. His bronze skin showed no signs of tanning. Nope, his complexion was natural.

Veronica drank in the sight of him, from his bare feet up to a pair of black boxers—probably silk—the only thing he wore.
Oh, my
. His trim waist bloomed into broad shoulders and splendid arms. All of it, the entire package, rippled with faultless muscles. Waves of jet-black curls tumbled down nearly to his shoulders, the perfect touch to a striking display.

Her head swooned and her stomach swirled.
Oh, lord
. She cradled her face in her hand. What had she gotten herself into? A sweet aftertaste lingered on her taste buds. Peach Schnapps? The tang churned her fragile stomach. She remembered something about a bartender enticing her with upside-down shots. That probably had something to do with how she ended up here.

Veronica peeked at the stranger through louvered fingers. He was still gazing out the window. She cleared her throat.

He looked over his shoulder; his eyes traveled from her face to her breasts and his lips curled into a mischievous grin.

Under his blazing glare, her bareness became painfully obvious. Panic flushed hot against her cheeks. She grabbed the silken sheet and tugged at it, covering herself.

“It’s a little late for shyness, don’t you think?” An accent—Greek, maybe—accompanied his smooth appealing voice. He moved toward her with such purpose and confidence that it made her nervous. Not the kind of nervous that scared her, but the kind that steamrolled a girl when she was being seduced by a man she was powerless to stop.

Her companion claimed a place on the king-size bed and left a gap between them. The empty space didn’t go unnoticed. It felt huge and small all at the same time. A lump, a big fat lump of exaggerated panic crowded her chest. She sucked in a gulp of optimism and pushed the dread down into the depths of her gut.

Curiosity nagged at her until she gave in and settled her sights back on the masterpiece.
A Greek masterpiece
. Yep, he must be Greek.

Cobalt eyes, as blue as deep sapphires, assaulted her. Giddiness rained over her like a cool, summer shower and settled low in her belly with a tug of lust. She wanted to laugh, but her nerves caught it and shoved the urge back down her throat.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Niko. My name is Niko.” He inched closer and reached for her hand, the one holding the sheet over her breasts, and drew it to his lips.

She scrambled to grab the sheet with her free hand to cover herself. Soft, sensual lips grazed the top of her hand. The thrill of his touch swelled through her like a pebble rippling a pond. It was distracting. She hated that, but she liked the sensations tingling through her.

Her breathing quickened. It’s a shame she couldn’t remember the particulars from last night. Not that she objected to sexing it up with him again. She was sure she had last night, even though the details were hazy. That truly was a shame, but she needed to stay focused. Getting wrapped up in an extended sexual diversion, as tempting as that may be, wasn’t conducive to her goal—staying one step ahead of the press.

Retrieving her hand, she let concern furrow her brow, hoping it would do its job and overshadow the yearning building inside her. “Where are we?”

Niko pushed off the bed. “We’re at the Messardiere.” Towering over her, a frown suggested his waning patience. “Do you recall nothing about last night?”

Last night
? She muddled through the flashes of sexual overtures commanding her thoughts. Her brain seemed amazingly empty and void of anything—except those particulars detailing her shame and embarrassment back in the States. “No.” She lowered her head and crooked her eyes up at him. “I was, ah...washing away my sorrows yesterday.”

That was one way to put it. The divorce, the final decree barely two months old, still hurt. Actually no, it was the events leading up to the divorce that chipped at her ego, and the fact that the whole of America and half the world knew about her humiliation.

Ray Hudson, her rock-star ex, gave new meaning to the notion that men are dogs. He was probably where the label originated. And the son-of-a-bitch deserved what she’d done during the divorce proceedings in retaliation.

Niko’s biting laughter filled the room, bringing Veronica back to the present. His demeanor nibbled at her already fragile ego. He plucked a folded paper off the nearby table and tossed it at her.

The document, although written in French, looked official. The words
Certificat de Mariage
inscribed across the top freaked her out—even if it was in French, any idiot could figure it out. She stared at the paper, amazed and shaken. Two other decipherable lines jumped off the page. The names Nikolas Alessandrio Leandros and Veronica Renee Stanford confirmed her suspicions.

Holding the paper loosely between her fingers, she cut her eyes toward him. “Is this some kind of joke?”

* * *

“A joke?” Niko crushed the urge to laugh. He dropped into a plush chair near the bed. “The joke is that I let you talk me into this.” Okay, so that wasn’t entirely accurate. But she was already riled up, and he liked the way her frustration tinted her cheeks a blushing red. It was sexy as hell.

“Talk you into this? I did no such thing.” She defended herself, drawing the sheet closer to her neck. As if that could stop him.

“Oh, but you did, my dear.” He paused, turning on the charm. “You were very convincing.”

“Well apparently you didn’t mind obliging me.” Her eyes threw daggers of retaliation across the room.

Niko’s ego responded with the urge to laugh. “Not at all,” he said in a flirtatious tone. “Any time I can be of service...” His words trailed off, leaving the statement open to suggestion.

“In your dreams.”

“Reality is so much more fun.”

She snarled and threw him a nasty look. “Where are my clothes?”

Niko surveyed the room before settling his leisurely gaze back on her. “Scattered.”

“Do you know where the Des Lices is?” Anxiety creased her brow as she mentioned the hotel.

Why was he not surprised? The economically priced, mid-grade hotel was a favorite of Americans who pretended they didn’t care about the costs. If they truly didn’t, they’d be staying here, at the Messardiere.

“Inland. It’s not far.” His trifling and dismissive tone outed his disapproval.

“Well excuse me for not finding the most showy and expensive place I could to waste my money on.” She turned away, refusing to look at him. He didn’t like that either. He’d hurt her feelings, but he hadn’t meant to. Especially before he got her into bed again—sober.

But she was already in his bed. Right now. She was naked, and he was pretty sure she’d sobered up by now.

What am I doing?
God, it’d take an idiot not to take advantage of these circumstances.
Just move in and start talking
. When he turned on the charm, it was just a matter of time.

But he didn’t want to have to talk her into it. He wanted it to be her idea. He wanted her so enamored with him that nothing would do until he sated her fire.

A primeval groan rumbled up his throat as he rose from the chair and slinked back to the bed. Again, he left a space gaping between them. He could tell she was conscious of it and wanted him to close the gap. He acknowledged the break between them and locked his eyes with hers—as brown as chocolate. Considering her hair was as gold as the morning sun, he thought her eyes made her stand out among all those blue-eyed blondes that were forever vying for his affections.

No matter how attractive he found her, he couldn’t let whatever feminine wiles she’d bewitched him with last night reemerge. He gave himself a mental kick in the rear. Niko was a businessman who knew that neglecting the obvious could end up a costly mistake. And getting married without a prenup was definitely a mistake.

“By what right do you accuse me of being reckless with my money?” he asked, partly to goad her, but mostly to get a idea of what it was going to take to make him a carefree bachelor again.

She snorted and thrust her hands into the air, rolled her eyes and surveyed the room.

“Well, it’s not the Palais de la Mediterranee,” he said, hurrying his speech because he thought it made his words come across as blasé.

“What?” Confusion drained the color from her expression.

“It’s a hotel in Nice.” Seducing her amidst the rarity of the luxurious hotel was a brilliant idea. “Would you like to go there?”

“No.” She secured the sheet under her arms. “What I’d like is to find my clothes and get back to my mediocre hotel.”

“But you’re forgetting something.”

“What’s that?”

“You just can’t go back to your hotel, like nothing happened.”

“Why not?”

“Veronica, my love,” he said, turning on the charm and moving closer.

Shaking her head, she tucked the sheet around the side of her body facing him. “I’m not your love.” The words breezed off her lips, just above a whisper. She was going to be a tough one to crack. But Nikolas Alessandrio Leandros was not a man to back down from a challenge.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Undaunted, he crawled across the bed toward her. He invaded her space, propped his balled fists on either side of her and leaned closer in a slow, deliberate fashion. “You were all mine, last night.” He breathed the words against her ear and felt her body tremble.