Page 1 of After-Party Consequences

PROLOGUE

Four years ago...

‘HEY,MRLANDRY, what is it about British bad girls that makes them so hot, do you reckon...?’

Cade Landry stood in the Las Vegas event space, with the lights of the city’s famous Strip glittering thirty-five storeys below them through the panoramic windows, nursing a glass of vintage bubbles which cost more than his first car, and scowled at the bad girl in question on the other side of the exclusive venue. She was dancing on a table, her slender figure moving in sensuous rhythm in a scrap of jewelled red satin which barely covered her butt.

‘I don’t know, Chad,’ he shouted above the music from a world-famous DJ he’d paid to finish the evening with some fun after the formal event. Fun which was descending into a free-for-all thanks to the wild child and her posse. ‘But whoever she is, she’s leaving,’ he added.

Exactly how old was she? Because she looked like an out-of-control kid who’d had one too many tequila slammers—and wasn’t even legal to drink. He’d told security to get rid of them when they’d arrived ten minutes ago, but the guard looked as dazzled by her antics as the other guys around her.

‘Don’t you know who she is, Mr Landry?’ Chad piped up again, his voice filling with awe. ‘That’s Charlotte Courtney.’

Damn.

He’d heard of Charlotte Courtney. Part-time model, full-time wild child, who’d hit the headlines hard a year ago when she’d chopped all her hair off and flounced out of a lucrative contract.

He dumped his glass on a passing tray and headed through the crowd, letting his temper build.

Yeah, Cade knew all about kids like Charlotte Courtney.

A poor little rich girl—who had never had to toe the line.

As a poor-boy-made-good from Louisiana, whose mom had kicked him into the system, age five, because feeding him had been too much trouble in between feeding her habit, he was the perfect person to teach her a lesson about how to behave herself. And not cause a ruckus in his place at his expense.

Which made the surge of protectiveness more than a little aggravating when a hand reached out from the crowd to slap her butt.

The girl swung round, her face a picture of outraged contempt, and kicked out at Mr Handsy. Cade could hear her giving the guy hell—in a British accent which was sharp enough to slice through flesh. The surge of protectiveness was joined by fury and an equally aggravating spurt of admiration for her.

He blocked another guy from getting too close as he reached the table, which had started to wobble.

‘Take your hands off me, you creep,’ Charlotte shouted at the man.

‘How about I get you out of here, kid,’ he bellowed to her above the music.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded. The flash of outrage in her eyes, though—which were a stunning, sparkling and surprisingly lucid emerald—had his admiration disappearing fast.

Who the hell did she think she was? Gate-crashing his event with a crew of hangers-on and behaving as if she owned the place?

‘Cade Landry,’ he shouted back. ‘This is my place and my party. And as I didn’t give you an invitation, I figure it’s time you left.’

She scowled—obviously not liking his tone. So it caught him off guard when she shouted, ‘Okay, thanks, Sir Galahad,’ and took a flying leap off the table—and into his arms.

He staggered back, as no more than a hundred pounds of lithe female landed on top of him. He braced himself just in time to catch her, and stop them both from ending up on their butts. She looped her hands around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist with impressive agility.

He inhaled a lungful of her scent—wild summer flowers and clean female sweat—for his pains. Her beautiful face—all high cheekbones and wide green eyes—broke into a grin.

‘Well, don’t just stand here, Galahad,’ she demanded. ‘Move. Before we end up as tomorrow’s internet sensation.’

He didn’t take orders from anyone any more, and especially not spoilt little rich girls. But Cade decided she had a point about the crowd as the cell phone lights blinked on around them.

Once he’d whisked her out of here, away from prying camera phones, he could give her a piece of his mind. He set off through the crowd, forced to do the chivalrous thing, when he wasn’t a chivalrous guy, his anger building with each stride.

Eventually, they made it into the elevator lobby, the music pounding behind them. Another security guard stood by the door.

‘Mr Landry, sir?’ he said, taking in the sight of the girl in Cade’s arms just as her fingernails brushed across his nape—sending a jolt of something he didn’t like one bit rippling through his system.

‘Get the rest of them out of here, too,’ he snarled. ‘And tell your colleague he’s been canned,’ he added.

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