“And mortgaged to the hilt. He’s done a lot of the work himself.”

“No way. He’s talked some lovesick woman into paying at least some of his bills.”

“Always a possibility.”

She needed to know more, but when she pressed, Trev shut her down. “You’re both my friends, and I’m not getting involved in this, although I definitely want a dinner invitation so I can watch the fireworks.”

She had a total of thirty-eight messages and texts on her cell, with her father accounting for ten of them. She could imagine how frantic he was, but she couldn’t bear talking to him yet. April had left with her family for their Tennessee farm two days ago. Georgie dialed her number, and as she heard her friend’s voice, some of her defenses fell away, and she bit her lip. “April, you have no way of knowing that just about everything I’m getting ready to tell you is a pack of lies, so that means you can pass on the information with a clear conscience, okay?”

“Oh, sweetie…” April sounded like a worried mother.

“Bram and I met accidentally in Las Vegas. The sparks flew, and we realized how much we’d always loved each other. We decided we’d wasted too much time being apart, so we got married. You don’t know for sure where we are, but you suspect we’re still holed up at the Bellagio enjoying an impromptu honeymoon, and isn’t everyone glad that Bram Shepard has finally reformed and the world has the happy ending they didn’t get when Skip and Scooter was canceled?” Georgie’s breath snagged in her throat. “Would you call Sasha and tell her the same thing? And if Meg resurfaces…”

“Of course I will, but, honey, I’m really worried about you. I’m going to fly back and-”

“No.” The concern in April’s voice made her want to burst into tears. “I’m fine. Really. Just shaken up. Love you.”

As she hung up, she made herself face reality. She was trapped in this house for the immediate future. The public would expect Bram and her to be glued together while they were newlyweds. Weeks would pass before she could go anywhere without him. She leaned back on the veranda chaise, shut her eyes, and tried to think. But there were no easy answers, and eventually she dozed off to the sound of the brass wind-bells.

When she awakened two hours later, she felt no more refreshed than when she’d fallen asleep, and she reluctantly headed upstairs. Latin music reverberated from the far end of the hallway. On her way to investigate, she passed Bram’s bedroom and spotted her suitcase sitting in the middle of the floor.

Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen.

If she’d had to guess what Bram Shepard’s bedroom looked like, she’d have imagined a disco ball and a stripper’s pole, but she’d have been wrong. The barrel vault ceiling and roughly plastered buckwheat-honey walls defined a space that was rich, elegant, and sensual without being sleazy. Rectangular leather panels set in a bronze metal grid made up the headboard of the king-size bed, and a comfortable lounging area occupied the turret she’d spotted from the front of the house.

As she went in to retrieve her suitcase, the music stopped. Moments later, Bram appeared at the bedroom door in a sweat-damp Lakers T-shirt and gray workout shorts. Just the sight of him looking so healthy made her temper erupt. “I met your girlfriend downstairs. She fell on her knees and thanked me for getting you out of her life.”

“I hope you were nice to her.”

He didn’t have the grace to apologize for his lie, but then he’d never told her he was sorry for anything he’d done. She moved in on him. “There’s no girlfriend, and there’s no apartment. This is your house, and I want you to stop lying to me.”

“Couldn’t help it. You were getting on my nerves.” He walked right past her toward the bathroom.

“I mean it, Bram! We’re in this together. No matter how much we hate it, we’re officially a team. I know you don’t understand what that means, but I do. A team only works if everybody cooperates.”

“Okay. You’ve gotten on my nerves again. Try to entertain yourself while I clean up.” He whipped off his damp T-shirt and disappeared into the bathroom. “Unless”-he stuck his head back out-“you want to hop in the shower with me and play some water games.” He deliberately smoldered her with his eyes. “After last night…I’m not saying you’re a nympho, but you sure are close.”

Oh, no. He wasn’t getting her that easily. She lifted her chin and smoldered him right back. “I’m afraid you have me confused with that Great Dane you used to own.”

He laughed and shut the bathroom door.

She grabbed her suitcase and carried it out into the hallway. Once again, the sense of being trapped made her heart race, and once again she fought to steady herself. She needed someplace to sleep tonight. She’d glimpsed a guesthouse in the back, but he almost certainly had some kind of household staff, so she couldn’t settle in that far away.

She explored the upstairs and discovered five bedrooms. Bram used one for storage, he’d converted another into a well-equipped exercise room, and a third was spacious but empty. Only the room next to the master had furniture, a double bed with an ornamental Moorish headboard and matching dresser. Light spilled in through a set of French doors that opened out onto the rear balcony. The cool lemony walls provided an appealing contrast to the dark wood and colorful Oriental rug.

Her assistant would bring over some clothes tomorrow, but until then, she had only one clean outfit left. She unpacked her suitcase and carried her toiletries into the adjoining glass block and cinnabar tile bathroom. She badly needed a shower, but when she returned to her room to undress, she found Bram stretched out on her bed in a clean T-shirt and cargo shorts with what looked like a tumbler of scotch balanced on his chest. It wasn’t even two in the afternoon.

He swirled the liquid in the glass. “Your sleeping in here isn’t going to work. My housekeeper lives over the garage. I have a feeling she’ll notice if we have separate beds.”

“I’ll make the bed every morning before she sees it,” she said with fake sweetness. “As for my things…Tell her I’m turning this into my dressing room.”

He took a sip of scotch and uncrossed his ankles. “I meant what I said yesterday. We’re doing this by my rules. A regular sex life is part of the deal.”

She knew him too well to even pretend to be surprised. “This is the twenty-first century, Skipper. Men don’t issue sexual ultimatums.”

“This man does.” He uncoiled from the bed like a tawny lion getting ready for the hunt. “I’m not giving up sex, which means I can either screw around on you, or we’ll do what married couples do. And don’t worry. I’m not nearly as much into S and M as I used to be. Not that I’ve given it up entirely…” His light mockery seemed more intimidating than the surly scorn she remembered. He took a lazy sip of scotch. “There’s a new sheriff in town, Scooter. You and Daddy don’t hold the power card any longer. We’re playing with a fresh deck, and it’s my deal.” He lifted his glass in a mock toast and disappeared into the hallway.

She took a dozen deep breaths, then half a dozen more. She’d known turning herself into a woman of purpose wouldn’t be easy. But she held the checkbook, didn’t she? And that made her up to the challenge. Definitely, absolutely, positively up to the challenge.

She was almost sure of it.

At the bottom of the stairs, Bram’s cell vibrated in his shorts’ pocket. He moved into the farthest reaches of his living room before he answered. “Hello, Caitlin.”

“Well, well…,” a familiar throaty female voice responded. “And aren’t you just full of surprises?”

“I like to keep life interesting.”

“Lucky I turned on the television last night, or I wouldn’t have heard the news.”

“Call me insensitive, but you weren’t at the top of my contact list.”

As she went off on him, he gazed out through the French doors onto the veranda. He loved this house. It was the first place he’d lived that felt like home, or at least the way he imagined home should feel, since he’d never before had one. The luxurious mansions he’d rented during Skip and Scooter had been more like frat houses than real homes, with at least four guys living with him at a time. Video games used to blare in half the rooms, porn in the others, beer cans and fast food everywhere. And women, lots of women-some of them smart, decent girls who’d deserved to be treated better.

As Caitlin ranted on, he wandered through the back hall and down a few steps into the small screening room he’d refurbished. Chaz must have watched a movie last night because it still smelled faintly of popcorn. He took a sip from his drink and sank into one of the reclining armchair seats. The empty screen reminded him of his current state. He’d blown the opportunity of a lifetime with Skip and Scooter, just like his old man had blown every opportunity that had come his way. A family inheritance.

“I’ve got another call, sweetheart,” he said as his patience ran out. “I have to go.”

“Six weeks,” she retorted. “That’s all you have left.”

As if he’d forgotten.

He checked for messages, then turned off his phone. He couldn’t blame Caitlin for being bitter, but he had a much bigger problem at the moment. When he’d heard that Georgie was going to spend the weekend in Vegas, he’d decided to follow her. But the game he’d set out to play had taken a lunatic twist he’d never anticipated. He sure as hell hadn’t planned on getting married.

Now he had to figure out how to turn this farcical situation to his advantage. Georgie had a thousand excellent reasons to hate him, a thousand reasons to exploit every weakness she could find, which meant he could only let her see what she expected. Fortunately, she already thought the worst of him, and he wasn’t likely to do anything to change her opinion.