Secrets Of The A-List

It’s the wrong bride for a white wedding!

The venue is perfect, the dress is divine, but Elana Marshall’s feet are looking mighty chilly. And she’s not the only Marshall with doubts. Rachel may be perfect on paper, but the heart wants what it wants, and Luc can’t decide if his wants her. Decisions, decisions. With guests arriving and the Marshalls’ reputation on the line, will the happy couple get hitched without a hitch? Or does the Fixer have another last-minute crisis to deal with?

Super Rich. Super Sexy. Super Addictive.

Secrets of the A-List—read all 12 episodes!

Secrets of the A-List (Episode 8 of 12)

Cat Schield

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Praise for Cat Schield

“Sexy, sassy and romantic, this tale is a real win-win for readers.”

—RT Book Reviews on A Win-Win Proposition

About the Author

CAT SCHIELD has been reading and writing romance since high school. Although she graduated from college with a BA in business, her idea of a perfect career was writing books for Harlequin. And now, after winning the Romance Writers of America 2010 Golden Heart® Award for Best Contemporary Series Romance, that dream has come true. Cat lives in Minnesota with her daughter, Emily, and their Burmese cat. When she’s not writing sexy, romantic stories for Harlequin Desire, she can be found sailing with friends on the St. Croix River, or in more exotic locales, like the Caribbean and Europe. She loves to hear from readers. Find her at catschield.net and follow her on Twitter, @catschield.

Dedication

For Stephanie

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Praise

About the Author

Dedication

Episode Eight

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Copyright

Episode Eight

With only a few more hours to go until Elana takes that fateful walk down the aisle, the Marshalls are celebrating the happy couple as only they can. Luc is dodging Rachel’s obvious hints at every diamond in sight. Mariella and Joe can’t stop eyeing each other. Gabe is keeping an eye on Thom. And the bride? Why, she’s deciding between doing the right thing...and just doing Jarrod’s forbidden body one last time! Will she settle for love—or lust?

Chapter One

Elana awakened in slow increments, aware of her body’s lethargy and the stiffness of muscles well used. She lay curled on her side, hands tucked against her neck. Sunshine waited on the other side of her eyelids. She burrowed her face into the lavender-scented pillow and gave a soft groan.

She was getting married today.

If she opened her eyes, she’d have to meet reality head-on. Right now, she longed to retreat into the darkness and hold on to last night for as long as possible.

Straining her ears for any sound, she decided she was alone. No sexy snores erupted from the bed beside her. Jarrod was gone. Bastard. The word rolled around in her mind like a caress. He truly was a wicked devil. The way he’d made her beg and plead last night. She’d nearly sobbed with desperation before he’d slid inside her and let her come. She burned at the memory, need flaring between her legs once again. Lust fogged her mind. She never felt anything close to that urgent wildness with Thom. Maybe that wasn’t bad. An orgasm was an orgasm. No need to be driven into frantic, unrelenting madness each time she made love.

The room smelled of musk and Jarrod’s cologne. When she’d flung open the bathroom door and found him standing there, gorgeous, ripped, charismatic and fully aroused, he’d been impossible to resist. She’d called herself every sort of fool even as she dropped to her knees and laid claim to him with her mouth, taking him in the way she knew he loved.

Before her mother had knocked on the door last night, Elana had planned to send Jarrod packing. But when that noise had come from the bathroom and her adrenaline spiked, so had her libido. If it truly was all about the excitement of the forbidden, wouldn’t she be even less able to resist him? Even though she was determined to be faithful to Thom, her addiction to Jarrod was impossible to stop.

Yet she’d managed to say no to Jarrod when he’d demanded she call off the wedding. And when she’d refused, he’d spent the rest of the night showing her why she should.

Elana punched her pillow. Oh, what had she been thinking to let Jarrod stay last night? If only she had been thinking. Instead, she’d let longing and passion overcome her better judgment. But oh, Jarrod’s hands on her. And his mouth. Driving her mad. The aching desire filled her again. She rolled onto her back, fingers sliding through the damp heat between her thighs.

No.

Last night had been goodbye. If he wasn’t going to change, she had to. Today she would speak vows, and she intended to keep them. She intended to be a good wife to Thom. Dear, blessedly unsuspecting Thom. He was a good man. They would have a good marriage. He would be a wonderful father to their children and a doting husband to her.

Abruptly, an image popped into her head. The expression on Rafe’s face last night as he and Thom were talking at the bar flashed in her memory. Did her brother really have feelings for Thom? Could he be in love with her fiancé? It wasn’t possible. She’d misinterpreted the longing look. Perhaps Rafe merely regretted that he had yet to find someone he loved. He hadn’t met anyone right. Besides, Thom wasn’t gay and Rafe had never been attracted to straight men. It was her imagination brought on by prewedding jitters. But the turmoil in her gut didn’t subside. Nor the fact that she was filled with more questions than answers.

Elana shoved off the covers and sat up. Pushing her tangled hair off her face, she glanced at the clock. How could it have gotten so late? Why hadn’t anyone come to wake her before this? Her mother should have been all over her by now.

She rushed into the bathroom for a quick shower. In twenty minutes she needed to be at the spa for the first of her treatments. Massage, hair and makeup. She and her bridesmaids would all be done up in the coordinating autumn colors of her wedding palette. Like yesterday, they’d booked the spa for the entire morning and part of the afternoon. By the time she left there today, she would be relaxed, tranquil and gorgeous.

In five minutes Elana stepped out of the shower and wrapped a thick white towel around her body. She brushed her teeth as the steam cleared from the mirror. When she could see her reflection clearly, she blinked in surprise. Something appeared odd. Her normally unblemished skin had strange blotches around her neck and chest. Was she having an allergic reaction to something? They didn’t itch. She leaned closer to the mirror and gasped.

Those weren’t blotches or reactions. They were hickeys. Jarrod had marked her as clearly as if he’d used a black permanent marker. She stripped off her towel and shrieked as she noticed the numerous discolored circles on her breasts, stomach and the insides of her thighs. Frowning, she tried to recall if she’d noticed what he was doing. Obviously she’d been too preoccupied with his clever fingers making her writhe to notice.

Humiliation flooded her. Between the plunging neckline and the sheer fabric, few of these marks would be concealed by her daring white lace gown. The wedding photos could be touched up, but there were five hundred guests invited. What would everyone think?

Elana raced for her phone. She would give Jarrod a piece of her mind. But another nasty surprise awaited her when she awakened the screen. He’d sent her a text. A photo. A selfie of himself and...was that her breast? The man was impossible. Deleting the picture, she got dressed and headed into the bathroom to see if she could cover up the marks. Her hands shook as she applied concealer. When finished, the spots continued to stand out, but for the opposite reason now. They were too pale against her skin.

This was a disaster. What was she going to do?

* * *

Mariella woke with a start, knowing immediately that this was not her room. And definitely not her bed. The sheets slipped, warm and cozy, against her naked flesh as she shifted to put a tiny bit of distance between her and the furnace of a man beside her. She didn’t need to turn her head to know Joe slept beside her. His purring snores were unfamiliar and yet utterly wonderful.

For heaven’s sake. What was the matter with her? She shouldn’t think that way. She’d just had sex with a man who wasn’t her husband. Again. And it had been better than the first time. They were learning more about each other’s bodies. Such as how he liked it when she played with his nipples. Harrison hated her to go anywhere near them, while Joe was thrilled when she gave his a tentative tweak.

But no matter how exciting the sex, she shouldn’t have come to Joe last night. No matter what Harrison had done to her, sleeping with her comatose husband’s best friend on the eve of her daughter’s wedding was not done. And yet, why not? Why shouldn’t she approach her sex life like her husband did his? She could leave responsibility and fear of consequences at the door and throw herself into passion. Why should she bow to guilt? In all the times that Harrison fucked that disgusting French tart of his, had he wrestled with his conscience once?

Thirty-two years of marriage, and what did she really know about the man? How many things had he lied to her about? Certainly this affair was the merest tip of the iceberg. The more she thought about it, the more she knew his French mistress couldn’t be the first. Just how many had there been? Harrison’s appetite for sex had always been keen. But as the years went by and their children had been born, she’d believed that they’d settled into a comfortable level of intimacy. After all, they weren’t randy newlyweds who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. They were busy people coping with the intense pressure of running a successful multibillion-dollar enterprise. That sort of stress certainly took the fun out of getting naked and chasing each other around the bedroom.

Had she been fooling herself?

If she was honest with herself, the signs had been there all along. The mysterious phone calls, lengthy business trips, the smell of other women on his clothes. She’d thrown herself into working at the company to prevent herself from noticing that her marriage wasn’t as fulfilling as it once was. And yet, she hadn’t wanted to confront Harrison. What good would that have done? Confirmation of his affairs would have left her with a decision to make—stay, and continue to enjoy the benefits of being Harrison’s wife with all the power and prestige that position offered, or leave and make her way on her own.

And yet, wasn’t that exactly what had become of her? Whether Harrison woke from his coma or not, she couldn’t unring the bell. She was no longer the wife who could turn a blind eye to her husband’s questionable activities. She’d become the wife who engaged in her own questionable activities.

Oh, what she’d been missing. A sensual smile curved her lips as Mariella ran her fingertips over her warm skin, remembering Joe’s passionate touch, the way his lips had left tingles in their wake as he’d kissed and caressed every inch of her body.

Being with Joe was so easy. Too easy. He could swiftly become a habit she wouldn’t want to break.

“Good morning.” His deep voice rumbled through her. The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he perused her disheveled appearance. “You look gorgeous in the morning.”

At his compliment, Mariella fought a ridiculous urge to simper like some idiot girl. He seemed to prefer her mussed and had spent a great deal of time the previous night breaking down her guards, unraveling her composure and enjoying her unrestrained passion.

Had Harrison ever cared about her pleasure? She frowned as she struggled to recall. Maybe in the early days of their marriage. Had things cooled because of his affairs, or was it the other way around?

But it was one thing to have an affair and another to father a child with another woman. Mariella recalled the voice on the phone. The French-accented gold digger who claimed to be pregnant with Harrison’s child. Was it possible? Could he have gotten this woman pregnant and then abandoned her?

With each new revelation about Harrison, Mariella realized she had no idea whom she’d married.

“I’m glad you decided to spend the night,” Joe said.

“Yes, well...”

His smile, so filled with delight and so dear, tore at her heart. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Staying the entire night was just not done. She’d meant to put on her clothes and go. It was bad enough that she’d come to his room on the eve of her daughter’s wedding.

The wedding!

Mariella realized the room was quite bright. What time was it? She glanced at clock on the nightstand and blinked in shock at the numbers glowing at her. It’s impossible that so much of the morning could’ve gotten away from her. She should’ve been at Elana’s room a half hour ago.

“It’s so late,” she exclaimed, staring at Joe’s face with regret mingled with dismay. “I have to go.”

Flooded with embarrassment and confusion, she snatched the sheet to her chest and spied her clothes strewn all over the floor of his suite. So far away. What foolishness. She wasn’t a silly virgin unaccustomed to a lover’s lust-filled gaze. She’d made love to the man twice. He’d slid his hands and mouth over every inch of her. Why was she now so reluctant to let him see her naked body?

There was nothing else to do. She simply had to get dressed and go find her daughter. Elana had been acting odd for weeks. This wedding was too important to let anything go wrong.

* * *

Thom stands at the foot of Harrison Marshall’s bed. The once powerful, charismatic tycoon lies as still as death, trapped in his coma. Around the patriarch’s bed cluster his children and wife. Each of them stares at the man in the bed, their faces inconsolable masks of sadness and regret.

Beside him, Elana weeps softly. Thom hasn’t ever seen his fiancée so sad. He yearns to put his arm around her and offer comfort, but Rafe occupies her other side and she leans her head on her brother’s shoulder. For a second Thom envies their closeness. What would it be like to have siblings to lean on? To share secrets with and be able to count on?

Thom would give anything to have a brother to share the burden of the family business. To spread the load of his parents’ expectations. Expectations that are leading him to marry Elana to look “normal.” Although Thom isn’t sure what normal is anymore.

Harrison opens his eyes.

“You’ve lied to everyone.” Harrison’s accusation echoes ominously in the silent room.

“I’ve...what?” Thom recoils from the icy fury in the man’s eyes and stumbles back several shocked steps. “No.” Tearing his gaze away, he glances from Elana to Rafe to Mariella and back to Elana. At Harrison’s words, their heads swiveled in his direction. Searing, unblinking gazes fix on him. “No.” He’s moaning now. “I haven’t lied about anything. I swear.”

Harrison sits up in a fluid motion. Back stiff, eyes cold fire, his arm is extended, finger pointing straight at Thom. “You lie about the reasons you’re marrying my daughter.”

“I... I...haven’t. I’m not. I swear.” But the last word comes out weakly. He’s hidden the truth for so long, it’s become second nature to be who everyone wants him to be.

Abruptly Luc points a finger at Thom. His voice is the acid hiss of hatred. “Liar.”

“Liar.” Rafe whispers the word. His eyes brim with disappointment.

Mariella scowls. “Liar.”

“Why did you lie?” Tears fill Elana’s eyes.

Thom stumbles back, away from her sadness. He bursts through a door. Blinded by the brightness beyond, it takes a couple of seconds for him to realize where he is. Above his head is a flower-festooned arbor. The sweet scent of so many blossoms fills his nostrils, making his head spin. A minister’s deep voice intones the beginning of a wedding ceremony.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today...”

Thom’s fingers clench into fists as he turns his head and spies Elana. She’s gorgeous in her white wedding dress, her face obscured by a heavy lace veil.

As the minister drones on, Thom begins to calm down. He’s doing the right thing for everyone—his parents, Elana, her parents. He needs to focus on making Elana happy. He can do that. They’ve been friends forever. He wants the best for her.

Calmer now, at the minister’s directions, Thom turns to face Elana. It’s nearly time for their vows. He will promise to be true to her. And he will keep that vow. Till death parts them.

“If there is anyone who can show just cause that these two should not be joined together in holy matrimony, let him speak now...

Thom starts to reach for Elana’s hands, but she steps back and snatches at the hem of her veil, lifting it. Suddenly Thom isn’t looking into Elana’s beautiful face, but Gabe’s. The Fixer. And he is laughing.

“Surprise.” Gabe sneers. “Did you really think I’d let you marry Elana? You are lying about who you are. It’s all your fault.”

“What’s my fault?”

“That.” Gabe gestures toward the chairs where the wedding guests sit.

Five hundred guests stare at him in cold accusation. At first he doesn’t understand why, and then he sees the carnage. The entire Marshall family is slumped to the ground like marionettes with their strings cut. They lie together in a broken pile. Crimson droplets are splattered over them like hundreds of rose petals, each one glistening wetly as if drenched in tears.

Who could have done this and why?

“You did this,” Gabe says as if reading Thom’s mind. “This is all because you told.”

“You told.”

“You told.”

A rising chant swells from the guests. Five hundred pairs of eyes pin him where he stands paralyzed by terror and confusion. There’s no escape. Flies begin to buzz over the Marshall family’s lifeless bodies, dipping and lurching through the air as if drunk on the taint of all that blood.

“You told.”

Thom’s head starts to spin, and he sways. “I swear I didn’t.”

And then Gabe’s hand comes up, blood soaked and bearing a silver knife. Thom has a split second to take it all in before that blade begins its deadly arc in his direction. Sunlight glints off the razor-sharp edge, blinding him. He throws up his hand to ward off the killing blow and...

Thom jolted awake. Heart pounding, adrenaline surging through his body, he realized he was sitting straight up in bed. Never had he had such a vivid dream. All that blood. He could still smell the coppery tang of it. He gazed wildly about his suite, half expecting to see a dozen hollow-eyed corpses crowding around him.

“Holy shit.”

No doubt a large percentage of grooms woke in a cold sweat on the morning of their weddings. But Thom was pretty sure not for the reasons affecting him. Secrets. His head was full of them. And not all of them his. But he was keeping the truth from enough people that this wedding—not to mention his marriage—was built on a house of cards. It would only take one to send his entire world plummeting.

Flopping onto his back, he stared at the ceiling and contemplated his options. They were limited. Marry Elana. Keep his mouth shut.

Breathing hard, Thom shuddered. The sheets of his king-size bed were a damp tangle around his legs. Giving vent to his anxiety, all too aware that his heightened apprehension was the product of his own subconscious, he kicked his feet free.

Terror and panic continued to rampage through him. He could recall the tiniest details, from the way Elana stared blindly at the cloudless sky to how Luc and Rafe had collapsed over their mother as if trying to protect her. He grimaced and swung his legs off the bed. Feet on the floor, he glanced around. Everything was in its place. Not a drop of blood anywhere.

“It was only a dream.”

A dream. Or a premonition?

It was obvious who had killed the Marshall family. Gabe had been the one wielding the blade. He’d struck down his own aunt and cousins. The man had gone mad with power. But was he mad enough to harm the people he loved? Had he already? Was he responsible for what had happened to Harrison? Impossible. That had been a tragic accident. But wasn’t making things seem one way when they was actually another part of what being the Fixer was all about?

And if Thom was the only one who knew, didn’t that make him obligated to keep everyone safe? But at what cost to himself?

What was he supposed to do?

Chapter Two

Luc sipped the strong hotel coffee, letting the flavor burst on his tongue. After a sleepless night, he felt flat and groggy. Later, he would go downstairs for breakfast. At the moment his stomach churned. Somewhere around four in the morning he’d stopped wrestling with what he wanted and come to grips with what he should do.

On the desk were two sheets of paper embossed with the hotel’s name. Each of them had a woman’s name scrawled across the top. A line down the middle separated positives from negatives. After Rachel left to meet up with the bridal party in the spa, he’d spent the better part of two hours emptying his brain of every single adjective to describe Rachel and Vanessa.

The number of positive items beneath Rachel’s name had required him to turn the paper over and continue on the second side. Words like: Beautiful. Eager to please. Good Great Fantastic in bed. Respected family. Supportive. All these summed up his perfect mate.

That she was a touch immature and spoiled could also be said of ninety percent of the women in his social circles. Money and a doting father meant that Rachel had never had to work for anything. Yet she wasn’t lazy. She had her charity work and liked to stay active with her father’s campaign.

And she was smart. Not to mention socially astute. She could handle herself with the media and his family. The latter could be a major pain in the ass at times. He admired the way she just fit right in, and in these recent weeks, while his father lay in his coma, she’d been there to support him with her love and distract him with her body.

She melded seamlessly into his life. If he just stopped fighting the inevitable and surrendered to what made the most sense.

The list of Vanessa’s cons was as long as Rachel’s pros. Topping the list was that they didn’t come from the same social class. Not even close. Marrying the help was such a cliché. She would have no idea how to behave, and his family would never embrace her as his wife. This would chip away at what little confidence she had. She’d be looked at as a gold digger. A social climber. No one would take her seriously. And as a doctor’s wife? What would she have to talk about with other members of his profession?

Certainly she was beautiful. Her fiery Latina beauty called to him. No question they would make a stunning couple with their shared heritage. But was she capable of being his partner and supporting him? Or would the gap between their current social stations forever come between them?

A third piece of paper had his own name at the top. He’d once again scrawled a line down the middle, separating the sheet into two columns. This time he’d only listed two items. One on each side. On the left were the words Rachel wants to marry me. The opposite column held the words Vanessa doesn’t.