Elegantly clad in a crease-free, designer blue cocktail dress, Erika Lancaster moved toward him and slid onto the bar stool next to his. “I’m surprised you texted me,” he said. “I thought you wanted time to pack and get ready for Vegas.” A nervous smile formed on her pink lips. “I needed to talk to you in person.” She ran her manicured hand over her long, smooth brown hair and gestured to the bartender. “Scotch, please.” Scotch? During the three months they had dated, she’d sipped on white wine or anything with a colorful umbrella. The bartender nodded and was about to turn away to get her drink when she blurted, “Make it a double.” He tensed. Could she be having cold feet? Impossible. Their courtship had been smooth sailing; they shared a mutual attraction that burned the sheets, and, damn it, he needed to marry her. Within a couple of hours, they’d fly to Vegas in his private jet, get hitched, and proceed to Brazil.
What do You think about Kidnapping The Brazilian Tycoon?
