Bold

by Nicola Marsh

  Chantal Kramer is a confident, successful businesswoman and running Burlesque Bombshells, the premier dance revue venue in Vegas, is her life.

  Until sexy Aussie footballer Zane Harrison arrives in town and turns it upside down.

  She doesn’t have time for cocky jocks but as she sees Zane connect with the family he’s never met, she discovers he’s more than just a pretty face.

  Zane is in Vegas to meet his father and half-brothers, a part of his family he never knew existed.

  He’s determined to forget the sins of his past and forge a new future. With Chantal by his side.

  But Chantal knows for Zane to embrace his family the way he deserves, she has to set him free.

  As business wars with pleasure, the golden couple discovers love may just conquer all.

  BOLD

  By

  Nicola Marsh

  Copyright © Nicola Marsh 2015

  Published by Nicola Marsh 2015

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They’re not distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author and all the incidents in the book are pure invention.

  All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in any form. The text or any part of the publication may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the publisher.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Discover other titles by USA TODAY bestselling & multi-award winning author Nicola Marsh at

  http://www.nicolamarsh.com

  Recent titles by Nicola Marsh:

  Crossing the Line

  Towing the Line

  Blurring the Line

  Before

  Brash

  Blush

  Crazy Love

  Lucky Love

  The Second Chance Guy

  Banish (YA)

  Scion of the Sun (YA)

  Wicked Heat

  Wanton Heat

  Not the Marrying Kind

  Busted in Bollywood

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Marriage is for suckers.” Chantal Kramer raised her glass to the hottest guy she’d had the pleasure of drinking with in a long time. A sexy Aussie footballer that had landed in Vegas yesterday and had been a fellow witness at her BFF’s wedding today. “An outdated institution for romantic schmucks hell-bent on ruining their lives.”

  Zane Harrison, a taller, blonder version of Hugh Jackman, tapped his beer bottle against her glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

  “I knew I sensed a kindred spirit when you seemed bored during most of the ceremony.” She drained her glass and gestured at Dave, her favorite barman, for a refill. “Can you believe those two had a quickie Vegas wedding?”

  Zane shrugged, drawing attention to impressively broad shoulders. “I only know Reid through Jack, and not very well, so I haven’t got a clue why he’d marry Adele so quickly.”

  “She’s pregnant.” Though Chantal knew that wasn’t the reason her best friend and her cousin had got hitched so quickly.

  Adele and Reid were head over heels in nauseating love. The kind of love that transcended boundaries. The kind of love that forgave Adele’s escort past. The kind of love that made Reid give up his fast track to the senate to be a family guy with the woman he adored.

  And while Chantal openly ridiculed the apparent depth of emotion that caused two sane people to tie the knot, deep down she admitted to a touch of envy.

  She may despise marriage and all it entailed, but she’d give all the spangles in her booming business to have a guy look at her the way Reid looked at Adele.

  Zane tilted his head, studying her, as if he knew she was bullshitting. “They’re old enough not to have Adele’s dad come after Reid with a shotgun.”

  “Yeah, but both of them didn’t have happily married parents growing up, so I guess they want their kid to have that.”

  “Makes sense.” Zane nodded, staring at his beer bottle like he expected a genie to pop out. “I should know.”

  Intrigued that the macho football player she’d only met yesterday would divulge anything beyond the superficial, she glanced around her club, Vegas’s premier revue venue Burlesque Bombshells, pretending like she wasn’t curious when it was eating her up inside.

  In fact, Zane had more than piqued her interest at the airport yesterday when Reid had asked her to play tour guide for the visiting Aussie and she’d wanted to know more ever since. But he’d begged off on her offer for a quickie last night—tour, that is, worse luck—and they’d barely exchanged pleasantries before the wedding today.

  She wanted to know more, for the simple fact she hadn’t cared enough to talk to a guy in ages, let alone want to do anything else.

  “Your parents are divorced?”

  The frown she’d spotted during the ceremony returned, doing little to mar his rugged good looks. Tanned, strong jaw, standout cheekbones, and lips that could tempt the most hardened cynic—like her.

  “My dad travelled for work a lot. Fell in love with a woman over here. Ditched my mum, my brother and me, started a new family.”

  His audible bitterness made her want to hug him. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “To punch his lights out?”

  One corner of his delectable mouth quirked. “To meet my dad for the first time. And my half brothers.”

  Something niggled at the back of her mind…the surname Harrison…and then it clicked.

  “Kurt Harrison is your half brother?”

  “Yeah.”

  Chantal mouthed ‘wow’. Kurt was an NFL superstar. Men envied him, women adored him. A dead ringer for Joe Mangianello, he graced billboards across the country, with endorsements that could keep him in gold boots until he was a hundred.

  His eyes narrowed, judging her. “You’re a fan?”

  “If I say yes, will you leave me drinking here alone?”

  His wry grin eradicated the tension bracketing his mouth. “No. Because I’d need to spend the next hour indoctrinating you into the many ways Australian Rules Football is superior to your pansy-arsed game.”

  She laughed, finding his sense of humor as appealing as the rest of him. “Here’s a tip. Don’t let that be your opening line with Kurt.”

  “I’ll take that on board.” Zane drained the rest of his beer, before placing the empty bottle on the table between them. “Actually, I’m here on the pretext of looking into kicker positions with NFL teams. A few ex-AFL players have been successful over here.”

  He made it sound like he’d rather dance on stage in a burlesque costume than play NFL.

  “AFL?” She was clueless regarding sporting codes overseas but if all Aussie football players looked like Zane, maybe she needed to fast track her education.

  “Australian Football League, our national comp.”

  He didn’t smirk at her dumbass question, another thing she liked about him. Since they’d met he hadn’t just ogled her boobs and ass, he’d actually spoken to her like she had half a brain, which is more than most of the bozos who frequented her club did.

  Increasingly intrigued by this guy, she said, “Why did you say you’re using the NFL gig as a pretext?”

  “It’s the only way I could think of to get my dad’s attention.” He looked away, but not before she glimpsed a hint of sorrow. “An in.”

  Her heart gave an annoying twang. When Reid had first bullied her into playing tour guide for Zane, she’d agreed because the guy was eye-poppingly hot and she was in the middle of the longest man drought in history—by choice.

  For some reason, Zane had made her re-evaluate that choice. She didn’t
need to get laid but Zane made her want to. She’d thought bringing him back to Burlesque Bombshells for post-wedding drinks would fuel the spark between them that had ignited at the airport when they’d first met. Which red-blooded male could resist being surrounded by the overt sensuality that her club exuded?

  Crimson velvet draped everything, from the windows to the walls. Strategically placed beveled mirrors reflected the lushness back at the patrons: black silk tablecloths and matching covered chairs filled the spacious room, a dazzling chrome bar ran the length of the back wall, and crystal chandeliers dotted the high ceilings.

  Prudish people called her pride and joy a strip joint. She didn’t care. Because burlesque was beautiful, an art form born in Paris and performed at her venue by the best dancers in Vegas. Bombshells was elegant, classy and incredibly sexy. Just like her, she hoped Zane would think.

  But the hot Aussie didn’t seem interested in doing the horizontal shimmy with her. And his honest admissions about his family made her feel deeper emotions she didn’t want to: pity, and worse, empathy.

  If anyone knew about broken families, she did. The resultant fallout had molded her into the woman she was today: resourceful, ambitious, ballsy. A woman who knew what she wanted and made it happen.

  Tonight, she wanted Zane. But the pain shimmering in the depths of his gorgeous hazel eyes spoke louder than anything he’d said. The guy was hurting and the last thing he seemed interested in was a fling.

  His hand on top of hers made her jump. “Sorry for boring you. Sob stories aren’t my usual style.”

  Trying to ignore the little sparks of electricity shooting up her arm from his simple touch, she smiled. “Weddings will do that every time, turn the most resilient of us into emotional wrecks.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “You make me sound like a woman.”

  “Nothing wrong with a guy being in touch with his feminine side.” She stared at his large hand covering hers, trying to ignore the old cliché echoing through her head, ‘big hands, big feet, big…’ “Though if you suddenly don a feather boa or two, I’ll start to worry.”

  His laugh made her belly clench with desire. Spontaneous. Deep. Natural. Like him.

  There was something infinitely appealing about Aussie men. They were without artifice. Their bluntness appealed to her low tolerance for BS.

  “So you own this place, huh?” He glanced around, his gaze astute. “Impressive.”

  “I like to think so.” She almost preened under his praise. “Started as a dancer here, did some clever investing, ended up buying the place.”

  “Smart and beautiful.” He squeezed her hand and damned if her heart didn’t twang again.

  Not good. If anything twanged it could never be her heart so she did what she always did when emotion threatened to derail her. Switched to seductress.

  “You forgot talented,” she said, turning her hand over beneath his to run a fingernail from his wrist to his middle finger, then circled his palm in slow, concentric circles.

  His sharp intake of breath alerted her to the fact that maybe Zane would be up for more than talking tonight after all.

  Emboldened, she slid her hand out from under his to place both forearms on the table and lean forward, well aware of the cleavage on display from the deep V of her emerald satin sheath.

  “I like you, Zane Harrison.”

  “I like you too.” The gold specks in his hazel eyes glowed. “And that’s why I’m heading back to my hotel now instead of ravaging you all night long.”

  Heat streaked through her body at the thought of this big, beautiful guy ravaging her any time. “I don’t get it.”

  “Haven’t you heard? Anticipation is the best foreplay.” He stood, leaned down to brush a too-brief kiss on her lips, before turning his back on her and walking away.

  Leaving her frustrated, annoyed and incredibly horny, while her dumb-ass heart applauded.

  Zane stalked the Strip, surrounded by the glitz of luxury hotels, glam casinos and massive malls. Tourists streamed passed him, pausing to gawk at mega fountains or elaborate shows. Limos cruised by, as flashy as the rest of this place.

  Usually, he’d be in the thick of it, reveling in the cosmopolitan atmosphere. Not tonight.

  He had too much to mull. Starting with the ridiculous idea he had of reuniting with his dad and ending with the way he’d stuffed up with Chantal.

  He had no idea what had possessed him to unburden like that, to dump his pathetic story on her. One minute they’d been flirting at Reid and Adele’s wedding, the next he was blurting his sorry family tale.

  As for her overt come-on…it had been sheer, torturous hell walking away from the stacked, tall, leggy blonde when she’d wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  All that foreplay anticipation bullshit had been just that: bullshit. Because he knew the real reason he’d run when he could’ve been buried deep inside her right now.

  He wanted to break the habits of his past.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, swiftly sidestepping a pair of rambunctious kids tearing after their parents, as he wondered if he’d done the right thing.

  Trying to make amends for the past by being a better person might be nice in theory, but the ache in his balls insisted he was an idiot for passing up a night of raunchy fun.

  For that’s exactly what spending time naked with Chantal would entail: wicked, wanton, pure fun.

  He knew her type. Strong, confident, secure in her own skin and not afraid to articulate what she wanted. The kind of woman he was attracted to, because she knew the score and wouldn’t be left broken-hearted when he moved on.

  The kind of woman he wished his mum could’ve been. Sadly, when Christopher Harrison left Patricia, his mum had fallen apart and never recovered.

  She’d lied to them, telling his older brother Steele and him that their dad was dead. He still resented her for it. For hiding the truth until three years ago, when she’d told them everything that night in hospital when she’d died of heart failure. Broken heart, more like it, considering she’d never remarried and was emotionally detached from everyone including her sons.

  Zane knew he should hate his father. The minute he’d discovered Christopher Harrison’s existence he’d Googled him, stunned to discover how wealthy Christopher was, how his sporting goods company was one of the biggest in America, how he’d fathered two more sons with his ex-model wife.

  Christopher had ditched his Aussie family to start a new one in America and hadn’t looked back. Hadn’t reached out to his Aussie sons. Hadn’t given a flying fuck when Patricia died.

  It had taken Zane a year to work off his resentment and he’d done it the only way he knew how: by killing the opposition every time he stepped onto a footy field.

  He’d taken his team to a premiership that year, had won every accolade possible, from his team’s best and fairest, to the Norm Smith and Brownlow medals. He’d been on fire, kicking over a hundred goals that year, a guy no center-halfback could stop. Invincible, on and off the field. The women couldn’t get enough of him. He’d lost count of the number he’d slept with. Partied with. Crossed the line with.

  But it had taken its toll, that year of trying to burn the bitterness out of him, of trying to ignore the hurt, of forgetting.

  His game had turned to shit the last two years and when his tibia snapped in a tackle gone wrong, he’d called it quits. He’d taken it as a sign to grow the fuck up and had spent countless hours in rehab thinking: about his future, about his past, about reconciling the two.

  He hoped meeting his dad would go some way to doing just that.

  When he reached Circus Circus, he stopped, turned and headed back to the MGM where he was staying, wishing he hadn’t reneged on Chantal’s offer.

  He may have vowed to clean up his act, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun while he did it. Besides, in walking away from her tonight he’d proved he was different to the shallow bastard of three years ago, when he would’ve bedded her witho
ut a second thought.

  He didn’t want his sex life to be like that anymore. A quickie act, empty, meaningless. He wanted…more. Not a relationship, per se, but a connection that meant something beyond satisfying an urge, a way to let off steam or burn off frustration.

  Chantal had offered to show him around. He’d be seeing her again. Maybe next time he wouldn’t be such a sap.

  Maybe next time he’d explore the possibility of more.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Chantal valued punctuality among her employees so when she strode into her office the next morning to find the new IT subcontractor up to his ears in wires and motherboards, she should’ve been impressed.

  Instead, unable to shake her residual bad mood after being turned down last night, she scowled, downed the last of her double latte and lobbed the cardboard cup into the trash.

  “How long are you going to be?”

  The guy didn’t look up from the keyboard on the makeshift desk in the corner. “Good morning to you too, Miss Kramer.”

  “Smartass,” she muttered, taking a seat behind her desk, glaring at the stack of paperwork in her in-tray with disdain.

  She had to hire two new dancers this week and rather than emailing their résumés, half the applicants had posted them. If they couldn’t follow simple application instructions, what hope did they have learning new routines?

  “You need to stay off your PC for the next hour,” the guy muttered as his fingers clacked over the keyboard.

  “Lucky me.” Chantal rolled her eyes and was about to start sorting through emails on her cell when Mr. IT looked up.

  Curly brown hair. Dark eyes. High cheekbones. Chiseled jaw. He looked familiar and she couldn’t help but stare, trying to place where they may have met before.

  He frowned, glaring at her like she didn’t belong in her own office. “Problem?”