voice caressed his mind like the stroke of a petal.
He’d definitely been too long without sex, he thought. Too long without anything except work.
And now, thanks to his old college buddy Hunter—who’d gone to his grave too young—he had too much time to think about it.
At Harvard, he and Hunter and five other guys had formed a small band—a fraternity unto themselves. One night, across a table strewn with beer bottles, they’d vowed to make their own marks on the world, though they’d come from families of distinction and wealth. They’d vowed to come together again in ten years to celebrate their friendship and success.
But shortly before graduation, Hunter’s sudden and shocking death from melanoma had ripped the group apart, and they’d eventually lost touch.
That is, until a few months ago, when he and the remaining Seven Samurai had gotten letters from a Los Angeles law firm representing the Hunter Palmer Foundation.
Before his death, Hunter had apparently made arrangements for a lodge to be built near Lake Tahoe, and now, reaching from beyond the grave, he expected his friends, as they reached their milestone decade past graduation, to honor the vow they’d made to one another.
By the terms of Hunter’s will, if each guy spent a month at the lodge, at the end of six months, twenty million dollars would go to charity and the lodge itself would be bequeathed to the town of Hunter’s Landing so it could be used as a restorative place by cancer survivors and patients.
Twenty million was a lot of moola, and not even Ryan, hard-hearted millionaire that he was, could say no.
So that was how he found himself in this predicament. He was trapped in Hunter’s Landing at the precise moment he was closing in on the goal he’d worked years to achieve—making Webb Sperling pay and then pay some more.
His mouth twisted. Of course, leave it to Hunter to find a place called Hunter’s Landing for his old college buddies to serve their time. Hunter had always had a peculiar sense of humor.
Three guys had gone before him to the lodge, Ryan thought, so they were already halfway through this ordeal.
Of course, all three of his old buddies had somehow managed to get themselves engaged or married, including Devlin, whose month at the lodge had just ended.
In fact, Ryan had shown up in Tahoe early—and had stayed at a casino last night while the caretaker was having the lodge cleaned in anticipation of his arrival—because Dev was getting married tomorrow and had asked Ryan to be his best man.
Ryan grimaced. Devlin had even referred to the lodge as the Love Shack.
Right.
He eyed Venus again. He’d settle for a good lay, since that alone would be a vast improvement over his recent love life.
“I hope you enjoy your purchase.”
Venus’s voice broke into his thoughts.
He glanced around to see her walking her customer to the door.
A jangle of bells marked the customer’s departure and Venus paused to organize a display of books. Silence heralded the fact that they were alone.
He watched her line up the spines of some books and then adjust the angle of a photo frame.
Finally, after what felt to him like aeons, but what was certainly no more than a few moments, she looked up and fixed him with a smile.
“May I help you?” she asked, walking toward him.
“Looking for a wedding gift,” he said. “I was passing by and the name of your shop made me curious.”
“A lot of people have had the same reaction,” she admitted. “The name’s served as a good advertisement for the shop.”
“You’re a savvy marketer.”
This close, he could see her eyes were hazel beneath perfectly arched brows. Her lips were full and glossy pink, her complexion creamy and unblemished. It was hard not too be knocked over by so much perfection.
“Thank you.” She seemed to consider him. “Our style aims for shabby elegance so—”
“Shabby elegance?” The name wanted to make every male cell in him snort in derision. “That’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one.”
“Yes,” she responded, “but it’s also part of a hip trend—one of its hallmarks being furniture with a distressed finish.”
“And here I thought the name of your store was a description of my life.”
She laughed.
He liked her laugh. It had a musical quality to it and he wondered if he could get it to a huskier timbre in bed.
He lifted a clock from a nearby shelf, checked the price and raised his eyebrows. “People are willing to spend a lot of money to look poor.”
She nodded. “Celebrities included.” She added with a light laugh, “This is Tahoe, after all.”
“There’s a market for expensive mismatched china?”
“Yes,” she confirmed, refusing to look the least bit insulted. “It’s an art form to bring together disparate pieces to create a harmonious look. I’ll hunt for something a client is looking for if one of my regular suppliers doesn’t have it.”
He supposed more than one customer had been seduced by Venus’s sales pitch. “Any suggestion for a wedding gift for a couple that already has everything?”
His question brought a smile to her lips. “Young couple or old?”
“Young,” he said. “He’s a millionaire and she’s about to become the wife of one.”
“Lucky girl,” she said, then looked around her shop thoughtfully.
He glanced around, too. Everything in her store seemed designed to appeal to feminine tastes—to women, with perhaps the occasional husband in tow.
He was lost.
Her eyes alighted on something and she took a few steps forward. He followed.
“What about crystal candlestick holders?” she suggested.
The candlestick holders on a nearby shelf were about a foot high and had deep, crisscrossing cuts.
He knew he’d be sending a more expensive gift to Dev and his bride in the future, but he liked the thought of bringing something with him tomorrow, to add to the significance of the day.
Venus looked from him to the candlesticks and back. “Crystal is always appropriate, always timeless, always—”
“Sold,” he said. “I’ll take them.”
She looked surprised but pleased.
He took one of the candlestick holders off the shelf and turned it
