Chapter One

Veronica crept stealthily into the foyer of the house and quietly closed the door behind her. The click was so subtle that even standing right there she hardly heard the tiny noise.

“Where have you been!” her husband’s voice roared from the living room.

Obviously, she’d not been as quiet as she thought. Veronica’s face drew up into a terrified squint; then taking a deep breath, she relaxed and straightened, pressing her hands to the front of her short dress smoothing the wrinkles in the fabric.

“Now!” he boomed again.

“It’s now or never,” she thought to herself.

Sashaying her curvaceous hips, the ditsy redhead moved with a slutty swagger beyond the open French doors. She couldn’t see her husband’s face since his leather chair faced into the room; but feeling the intensity of his anger, she knew there’d be a battle she’d just as soon avoid.

The room was awash with the mellow light from the fireplace. Her husband had been reading—probably profit summaries or sales reports—how dull—his feet on the hassock as though he’d been there a long time. The Robert Germans’ living room was a comfortable place—modern, functional and warm. And for Veronica it was usually her sanctuary so opposite the Old World extravagance of Rutledge House—the family fortress on the hill. For a few moments, morning and evening she could pretend that the other part of her life didn’t exist. Though she now made her home in a Paris Cove condo, most of her day was still spent cloistered in the stuffy rooms of her Rutledge Vineyard office. Oh, of course they were quaint—too damned quaint for her tastes. It was so much better for her disposition to come home every night to the simplicity of her own home. She should be loving it now, though she supposed that wouldn’t happen until she found a way to pacify her pissed-off husband.

Maybe she could honey-coat their way into bed. Sometimes when he was furious, sex just sort of happened instead of the more painful consequences he probably had planned well in advance of his first booming command.

“Robert, sweetheart. It’s nearly midnight—” It was actually just past eleven-thirty. “I thought you’d be in bed by now,” she said coming around to his side and sidling in against his shoulder, hoping she could plop right down on his lap. “I bet you’re tired and could use a backrub, what do ya say?”

Robert wasn’t interested—at least not yet.

Veronica’s brassy curls had an unnatural look as the firelight reflected off the surface. Her face was seductive and impish, her lips forming a kittenish pout while her blue eyes steamed sensuously. A few drinks always loosened the last vestiges of propriety in the lusty tart—and tonight was no different.

“Why the hell would I be in bed when my wife’s not home?”

“You kne