Sinful Rapture (The Rapture #2)

Sinful Rapture (The Rapture #2)
Alexandra Ivy


CHAPTER ONE

The wedding was perfect.

Or at least it should have been.

After months of planning and a bottomless budget, Holly Sullivan had made certain nothing was overlooked.

Choosing to set the social event of the year in the gardens behind the elegant Las Vegas hotel, she’d decorated the marble grotto in white silk with accents of gold. At the altar she’d placed huge banks of white lilies and gilded roses. Even the candles had been personally hand-dipped to include Holly’s favorite lavender scent.

A glorious backdrop for her white sheath gown that was closely fitted to her tall, slender form with gold thread that had been hand-embroidered on the sleeveless bodice.

It was even a perfect spring day.

A cloudless blue sky. A soft breeze.

There was only one thing missing.

The groom.

Standing in the center of the grotto, Holly watched in numb disbelief as the uniformed employees hurriedly stripped away the gold bows that were tied to the rows of chairs.

Had it really only been three hours ago that she’d been waiting in the vestibule in the back of the hotel? She’d been surrounded by her bridesmaids and her father, Vigo Angeli, who for once had looked pleased with his bastard daughter.

It seemed like a lifetime had passed.

She blew out a weary sigh.

Maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d been jilted, she wryly conceded.

The past six months hadn’t been her finest.

Not only had her father sold his casino conglomerate after he’d all but promised that she would one day take his place at the head of the family business, but he’d sold it to Liam Conner.

A gambler, womanizer, and all-around pain in her ass.

She’d gone from loving her career as Vice President in charge of Marketing, to dreading each day spent with Liam.

He was too raw, too unnervingly sensual for her taste.

Nothing at all like Ted.

She abruptly grimaced.

Ted.

Or Theodore Wentworth Junior.

The eldest son of the Wentworths, wealthy investment bankers. He’d proposed to her nine months ago.

The man who couldn’t be bothered to show up for his own wedding.

Bastard.

Pain sliced through her numbed disbelief.

She’d just been completely humiliated in front of two hundred guests.

But far worse than that was the gut-wrenching sense of being found unworthy in front of her father.

Her entire life, Vigo had made her feel as if she would never be good enough.

Okay, Vigo had been generous in supporting her mother, a showgirl who’d been one in a long line of lovers. And he’d not only paid for Holly to achieve her MBA, but he’d invited her to join his corporation after his eldest son and heir, Luc Angeli, had walked away to start his own company.

But she’d always suspected that Vigo had only brought her in to punish Luc. He’d certainly never acted as if he was overly thrilled to have her as a part of his life.

Either as a daughter or an employee.

A fact that had been proven when he’d sold the business without even warning her what he intended to do.

And now this…

Sucking in a deep breath despite the corset that was digging into her ribs, Holly glanced toward the edge of the grotto where her maid of honor was hovering with obvious concern.

“You don’t have to keep a suicide watch,” Holly assured her best friend with a humorless smile.

Sasha Kristoff was the exotic result of a Russia-born father and a Hispanic mother.

Like Holly, she had dark hair, although she kept hers cut shoulder-length while Holly’s fell nearly to her waist. And her eyes were a dark, indigo blue where Holly had eyes the unusual shade of cognac.

“I’m not,” Sasha assured her, moving to stand at her side.

She’d changed out of the gold bridesmaid dress into a pair of tight leather pants and red halter-top.

“Good,” Holly said. “Because I’m not going to do something stupid.”

Sasha gave an inelegant snort. “Now that’s a pity.”

Holly lifted a brow. “Excuse me?”

“If ever an occasion begged for doing something stupid, this is it.”

“You mean like doing the sky jump off the Stratosphere or betting my life savings at the roulette table?”

A dangerous smile touched Sasha’s full lips. “I was thinking more along the lines of taking a baseball bat to Junior’s prized Lamborghini.”

Holly pressed a weary hand to her forehead. A headache of Titanic proportions was brewing behind her right eye.

“Sasha, please don’t.”

“Fine.” Sasha shrugged. “Then we can take the baseball bat to Junior’s smug face. Far more satisfying.”

“No baseball bats,” Holly muttered.

Sasha grimaced. “Dammit. The bastard should pay for what he did to you.”

“You never did like him.”

“Because he’s a douchebag,” Sasha said with simple honesty.

Yeah. He was. And if Holly was being completely honest, a part of her had known that he was a douchebag.

He was vain. Smug. And, quite frankly, shallow.

But when they’d started dating she’d decided that he ticked all the boxes.