Chapter one

Elizabeth POV

I was married.

My husband also knownas my sister's ex-boyfriend was sleeping next to me in a bed in a suite at the Bellamy in Las Vegas.

First, we were having a blast. He was drunk and I was a little tipsy.

Next thing I knew we were saying "I do" and The reverend pronounced us husband and wife.

I loved Jackson Labonair. Had since I was a kid and my father began working for Labonair Galleries. I'd been five and Jackson had been fifteen. Love at first sight. Instalove. Crazy about you kinda love. I'll die for you love.

I had made up my mind to wait for Jackson. Eventually, he would notice me and fall in love with me.

It did not work that way. Jackson did fall in love, but not with me; he fell head-over-heels for love, 'balls deep I will fuck you until I die' kind of love with Pearl.

My sister and Pearl together lasted for three years. It wasn't all plain sailing; they'd break up and get back together quickly. But this time they'd been apart for over a month and wasn't the slightest chance they were reconciling. I knew nothing of it. I knew nothing of my sister's life. Pearl and mom versus; and me on a need to know basis…which was nothing it seemed. Father was unto himself an island.

I was the loser sister, the Invisible Miss Warren. What was I to do when Jackson paid attention to me? My knees wobbled, and I was a slobbering mess. When we wandered off onto the strip and ended up at Silver Bells Wedding Chapel, Jackson joked on his knees: "Marry me,

ElizabethI'm heartbroken. Heal me, babe."

Babe? Yeah, so wrong thing to focus on. Should have focused on the heartbroken part. My sister had broken his heart. I really should have known better than to say what I did.

"Of course, I'll marry you."

There was no excuse. I wasn't that drunk, but I pretended-even to myself-that I was. This man was giving me everything I had ever wanted in my twenty-three years-I couldn't say no.

I shouldn't have done it. He was drunk, still sore about Pearl. I took advantage of him.

God! Why did I have to marry him?

Because you are a horrible person. You stole your sister's boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend. No stealing was involved, I told myself petulantly.

I hadn't expected to see Jackson in Vegas. I was here for a meeting. I worked for my mother and Pearl; they were co-CEOs of Make Me Beautiful, a chain of salons that catered to the rich and famous. Chain was perhaps inappropriate; they had three salons, one in San Francisco, one in Oakland, and the third in Santa Clara. I didn't think they should have opened the two salons, which they did in rapid succession, burning through money.

That's why I worked for them, helped them because they couldn't afford to hire a proper buyer.

I was in Vegas to meet with distributors, and while I was getting a drink at the Bellagio, in walked Jackson Labonair and my panties melted away.

Now, he lay on his stomach, his face turned toward me.

He was beautiful. Steel-gray eyes. Long lashes. Olive complexion.

Thanks to Veronica, his Spanish mother who had a temper to match. I wanted to touch him but didn't feel I had the right even though we were now married, even though last night we had sex.

I had sex with Jackson Labonair!

I was mortified and thrilled all at the same time

I'd given him my virginity. Now, I'm not one of those girls who thinks her virginity is some gift. I wanted to offload it years ago, but the Invisible Miss Warren simply couldn't get her act together and date, couldn't find a man to be interested enough in her to fuck her.

The sex with Jackson had been amazing. Or maybe this was how sex was supposed to be. What did I know? What I did know was that I hadn't expected to have one orgasm the first time I had sex and instead I had three.

Count with me: one, two, three.

One with his fingers. One with his tongue. One with his cock.

I had expected pain and there was some of that but honest to God, this was sex that romance writers write about. The kind of sex that makes readers reach for their vibrators.

"I want you, babe."

Again, with that babe. I hated it when he called me that. He called all his women babe. Except Pearl, He called her precious pearl.

"I want you too, Jackson."

God, I was such an innocent. I should have said something sexier, but it was the only thing that came out of my mouth.

He ripped off my dress-the one I had just worn to work meetings all day long.

It was a beige sheath Anne Klein that Anne Klein bought on sale because it would fit my body like almost everything else did. I didn't have curves like Pearl. I was flat.to the extent that when anyone did notice me the way they did in high school, I went from Invisible Miss Warren to Ironing Board Miss Warren. I liked being invisible better.

He squeezed my breasts and I whimpered. His eyes glazed over. "You're so fucking responsive, El."

"It's you," I whispered. So turned on I was going to die.

He laid me flat on the bed naked and kissed me. It was our second kiss.

The first was when Elvis told us we could after we said we do.

This kiss was deep. His mouth was soft and hard in the same instant. How many times had I sat and watched his mouth, wondering what it would be like to kiss him? He tasted like leather and smoke: like aged whiskey.

My nipples pebbled, and my pussy grew wet. I'd never kissed a man this way. I'd kissed…guys had even groped around, but nothing had felt like this. I felt hot and cold at once, like some kind of fever was burning through me.