Penelope Brand wore a curve-hugging white dress like the night he’d seen her at the club. He’d been there with a friend who had long since left with a woman. Zach hadn’t been looking to hook up until he spotted Pen’s upswept blond hair and the elegant line from her neck to her bare shoulders.
Seeing her hair down tonight dropkicked him two weeks into the past. Her apartment. The moment he’d tugged on the clip holding her hair back and let those luscious locks down. The way he’d speared his fingers into those silken strands, before kicking her door closed and carrying her to her bedroom.
He’d sampled her mouth before depositing her onto her bed and sampling every other part of her.
And he did mean every part.
They hadn’t discussed rules, but each had known the score—he wouldn’t call and she wouldn’t want him to—so they’d made the most of that night. She’d tasted like every debased teenage fantasy he’d ever had, and she’d delivered. He’d left that morning with a smile on his face that matched hers.
When he’d stepped into the shower at home that morning, he’d experienced a brief pinch of regret that he wouldn’t see her again.
Though, hell, maybe he would see her again given lightning had already stricken them twice. He hadn’t wanted to let her get away that night at the bar—not without testing the attraction between them.
He felt a similar pull now.
“If you’ll excuse me.” His brother Chase moved off, arm extended to shake the palm of a round-bellied man who ruled half of Texas. As one-third owner of Ferguson Oil, it was Zach’s job to know the powerful players in his brother’s life—in the entire state—but this man was unfamiliar.
“Just Zach,” Pen snapped, drawing his attention. Her blue eyes ignited. “I thought you were a contractor in Chicago.”
“I used to be.”
“And now you’re the mayor’s brother?”
“I’ve always been the mayor’s brother,” he told her with a sideways smile.
He’d also always been an oil tycoon. A brief stint of going out on his own in Chicago hadn’t changed his parentage or his inheritance. When Zach had received a call from his mother letting him know his father, Rand Ferguson, had suffered a heart attack, Zach had left Chicago and never looked back.
He wasn’t the black sheep—had never resented working for the family business. He’d simply wanted to do his own thing for a while. He had, and now he was back, and yeah, he was pretty damn good at being the head honcho of Ferguson Oil. It also let his mother breathe a sigh of relief to have Zach in charge.
Penelope’s face pinched. “Are you adopted or something?”
He chuckled. Not the first time he’d heard that. “Actually, Chase and I are twins.”
“Really?” Her nose scrunched. It was cute.
“No.”
She pursed her lips and damn if he didn’t want to experience their sweetness all over again. He hadn’t dated much over the past year, but the way Penelope smiled at him had towed him in. He hadn’t recognized her at first—the briefest of meetings at a Crane Hotel function three years ago hadn’t cemented her in his mind—but there was a pull there he couldn’t deny.
Pen finished her champagne and rested the flute on a passing waiter’s tray. With straight shoulders and the lift of one fair eyebrow, she faced Zach again. “You didn’t divulge your family status when I met you on Saturday.”
“You didn’t divulge yours.”
Her eyes coasted over his tuxedo, obviously trying to square the man before her with the slacks and button-down he’d worn to the club.
“It’s still me.” He gave her a grin, one that popped his dimple. He pointed at it while she frowned. “You liked this a few weeks ago.” He gestured to himself generally as he leaned in to murmur, “You liked a lot of this a few weeks ago.”
Miffed wasn’t a good enough word for the expression that crossed her pretty face. The attraction was still there, the lure that had existed as they came together that night in her bed twice—no, wait, three times.
Zach decided he’d end tonight with her in his bed. They’d been good together, and while he wasn’t one to make a habit of two-night stands, he’d make an exception for Penelope Brand.
Because damn.
“I’ll escort you to the dining room. You can sit with me.” He offered his arm.
Pen sighed, the action lifting her breasts and softening her features. Zach’s grin widened.
So close.
She qualified with, “Fine. But only because there are a lot of people here I would like to meet. This is a business function for me, so I’d appreciate—”
The words died on Penelope’s lips when a female shriek rose on the air. “Where is he? Where is that son of a bitch who owes me money?”
The crowd gasped and Pen’s hand tightened on his forearm.
Zach turned in the direction of the outburst to find a rail-thin redhead in a long black dress waving a rolled-slash-wadded stack of paper in her hand. Her brown eyes snapped around the room, and her upper lip curled in a way that made him wonder how he’d ever found her attractive.
Granted she wasn’t foaming at the mouth when they’d exchanged their vows.
“You.” Her eyes landed on him as the security guards positioned around the house rushed toward her. Zach held up a hand to stop them. He’d try and talk Yvonne down from whatever crazy idea she’d birthed before they caused a bigger scene.
“V,” he said, hoping to gain ground with the nickname he’d coined the night they met. A night soaked in tequila. “You’re at my brother’s birthday party. You have my attention. Is there something I can help you with?”
A big, bald security guy with an ugly scar down one cheek stepped closer to Yvonne, his mitts poised to drag her out the second Zach gave the signal.
“Write me a check for a million dollars and I’ll be on my way.” Yvonne cocked her head and waved the crumpled stack of papers in front of her. “Or else I’ll tear up our annulment.”
Tearing it up wouldn’t make it go away. What was her angle?
“Marrying you entitled me to at least half your fortune, Zachary Ferguson.”
It was laughable that she thought a million was half.
Penelope’s hand slipped from his forearm and Zach reached over and put it back.
“Ex-wife,” he corrected for Penelope’s—hell, for everyone’s—benefit. “And no, it doesn’t.”
“I’m going to make your life miserable, Zachary Ferguson. You just wait.”
“Too
