The Taken: Celestial Blues by Pettersson Vicki

Author:Pettersson, Vicki [Pettersson, Vicki]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harper Collins, Inc.
Published: 2012-06-11T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Kit had never been to Caleb Chambers’s lakeside estate before, though she’d read about the fabled parties in the gossips, the glossies . . . even in her own newspaper. Despite his prestige and accessibility, he retained an aura of exclusivity. Do business with Chambers, it was said, and you were practically guaranteed success. He never faltered, never failed. Never a professional misstep, or financial fumble.

“Too good to be true,” Kit murmured as the tram ferrying them around the still, glossy lake slid past a looming evergreen and the estate came into view.

“What was that?” Grif asked, tucked in close beside her. The valet had assumed they were a couple, and dropped a fur over their legs before she could protest.

Not that she’d protest. As promised, she hadn’t mentioned their shared kiss to Grif, or even alluded to the fight that followed. She wasn’t going to lower herself to mentioning that he’d pretend to be an angel just to get away from her touch.

Grif had been tense around her at first, but was loosening up now that he saw she was keeping her word. And she would continue to do so. She had her pride. She didn’t chase down men like they were game. She certainly didn’t chase moody dangerous strangers who claimed to have wings and dead wives.

But Fleur was right, Kit thought, now that she’d calmed. The bad-boy gene got her motor running. So it wasn’t Grif. It certainly wasn’t angels. It was something faulty in her—something she was going to put a stop to immediately.

Maybe I’ll pick up a nice, safe Mormon boy at the charity ball, she thought, as the tram began its final leg up the drive.

“Did you say something?” Grif asked, and she realized she’d been mumbling to herself. Who’s crazy now? Kit thought, sighing.

“I was just thinking of our illustrious host,” she told Grif, as they rolled past cypresses spaced like sentinels, and torches mimicking the same.

“You mean why his name keeps popping up along those suspected of running illegal brothels.”

“Yeah. I mean, why risk all of this?” she said, as they came to a stop in front of a mansion reminiscent of a Tuscan villa.

“Well, what do you know about the man?”

“Facts or hearsay?”

“I’m not picky.”

She eyed him in the dark. “It’s quietly rumored that he keeps his wives at the lake estate. Or most of them. The first one lives with him at the Trails. No one is ever invited there.”

Grif’s expression remained blank. “So he’s a polygamist.”

“Alleged.” Kit nodded. “Nothing has ever been proven, and though there are whispers, most of Vegas couldn’t care less. Not the most judgmental town, if you haven’t noticed.”

They followed the other partygoers through an arched courtyard with bubbling fountains, naked statues, and doorways flung wide to reveal a foyer dripping with chandeliers. The noise level rose just inside as guests mingled in a social tapestry of conversation, music, and laughter. Tuxedoed waiters bore hors d’oeuvres, while hostesses in tiny black dresses and two-hour heels offered champagne flutes from sparkling silver trays.

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