Chapter One

Ambush In Scarlet Satin

The oppressive August heat coaxed beads of sweat from Vance Gamble’s forehead during the short walk from his air-conditioned BMW to the entrance of the dining hall at Brandyhaven Country Club in one of Philadelphia’s tony suburbs. Even the clouds rolling in from the west offered no relief, yet.

Vance stopped inside the foyer to cool off and let his eyes adjust to the artificial lighting—subdued, even compared to overcast skies. A wry smile crossed his lips while he pondered the cherry wood wainscoting. He thought, No cherries here!

A stunning brunette Amazon with dark eyes and a detached expression approached. “May I help you, sir?” Her uniform pants, tie, and the trim of her white shirt all glared a bright red, matching the central coat-of-arms in an ostentatious display on the wall above the wood paneling. Her sleek, black high-heeled boots punctuated her otherwise functional—though well-filled—uniform with two kinky-sexy exclamation points.

Did she step out of a dream? he wondered. Or a nightmare? Aloud, he said, “I’m Vance Gamble. Matt Dorman invited me.” Her name badge read, “Ms. Ryder.” Different spelling, he mused, but her name fits: Woman on Top. She’s not “Ms. Ridden.”

“Welcome to Brandyhaven.” The subtlety of her hand lovingly caressing the nightstick at her belt looked habitual, if not instinctive. Her calculating eyes hinted that she wanted Vance to step out of line so she could club him. “My first name is Nastassia.”

“After the star of Cat People?” Vance’s gray eyes surveyed her from head to toe. Her physique suited her role as security guard. Her high heels elevated her higher than Vance’s six-foot height, and she weighed much less than his one-eighty. And what a difference in the distribution of flesh!

“After the actress,” she confirmed, “except she spells her name with a j in place of the i.” She studied his face instead of smiling. “My friends call me ‘Nastia—or Nastier.’”

Vance avoided her hypnotic eyes. “What do your enemies call you??”

“Unconstitutional.”

Vance succumbed to those untamed windows to her soul. He should retreat—or run—from Nastassia. She probably got off by crushing riffraff like him to protect the spoiled, filthy rich club members. But