Page 1 of The Rented Bride

Chapter One

Ribbons of powder blue and cotton candy pink streamed across Colorado’s morning sky. Cassie Adams watched dawn break through the window of the limousine that sped away from the Vail airport. Spring flowers waved in between patches of pristine snow across the wooded mountainside in reds, blues and yellows so tangible she felt she could brush her fingertips across its living canvas. Cassie had no idea there would be snow in April. She’d grown up in southern Florida and, except for trips to the Caribbean, had never left the state.

For the thousandth time, she wanted to pinch herself. Had it been only a day since she’d answered the telephone and listened to Meg Nelson ask if she could coordinate a birthday party hosted by Trent Weston in honor of his grandfather?

Daley Enterprises’ biggest competition, Gallagher Event Planning, had committed an unpardonable offence. Cassie settled back against the limousine’s leather upholstery and imagined Teri Gallagher’s face, her red lips forming an O, not from the thrill of orgasmic pleasure, but from being caught in the storeroom straddling the head chef, her pressed, black pencil skirt pushed up to her waist as he marinated his prime piece of meat in her…literally.

Cassie smiled. Mr. Weston employed one of the finest chefs in North America. He wasn’t about to replace Ace Raines. But Teri’s little sexual faux pas landed Cassie the opportunity she’d prayed for. She could almost taste success.

James Weston himself had followed up with a call to Cassie’s partner at Daley Enterprises, Maryanne Daley, and Maryanne had placed a crew on the road an hour later. Cassie’s crew. Then Cassie jumped on a plane this morning. She would arrive before her crew, assess the situation, and begin preparations.

Cassie’s stomach hummed as if a live wire had set up housekeeping. This party was the break she and Maryanne needed to put them on the party-planning map. And the break she needed to put a dent in the money she owed Maryanne as a new partner.

The limousine slowed for a tight curve in the road and her breath caught at sight of the sun rising over the summit of the mountains.

“Is it always this beautiful, Henry?”

The driver met her gaze in the rearview mirror and smiled. “Every blessed day.”

Henry had met her at arrivals and immediately charmed her with a smile that lit his eyes. She guessed him too young to be her father, but he treated her fatherly, which added to his appeal. She’d experienced too many situations where someone on the job got too friendly.

Party details outlined in the email from Mr. Weston’s personal assistant Meg intruded upon her musings. Gallagher Event Planning knew their business. That’s why they were Daley’s biggest competition. Three hundred close friends and associates were attending the party.

Gallagher had booked a twelve-piece orchestra. The cocktail-style party required twenty-five wait staff—and that staff disappeared when Mr. Weston fired Gallagher. Ten of the staff would be replaced by the crew Maryanne had sent by van. The other fifteen would be recruited by a regional staffing company.

The limousine slowed and a road came into view on the right. Henry turned. Nestled among thick firs on the mountainside Cassie glimpsed a—

“Is that a castle?” she blurted.

Henry’s eyes flicked to hers in the rearview mirror. “Yes, ma’am.”

She straightened from the seat back, her gaze on the mammoth structure. “A castle? I didn’t know there were castles in Colorado.” She counted three, four—five—six turrets, the highest to the rear right had to be five stories high. “Is it a resort?” she asked.

“No, Ms. Adams. That’s Brettonwood, the Weston estate.”

Cassie met Henry’s gaze in the mirror. “Mr. Weston’s?” She collapsed against the seat and exhaled, “By all that is unholy.”

Henry laughed. “Takes your breath away, doesn’t it?”

“That’s an understatement. It’s huge—city huge.”

“It does feel that way sometimes,” he said.

“It looks so old,” she murmured.

“It is. Mr. Weston’s grandfather brought the castle over from Scotland stone by stone.”

“He had the castle moved here from Scotland?” she said.

“Oh yes.”

Cassie couldn’t tear her eyes from the huge compound as they wound their way up the mountain. A stone wall she estimated to be about six feet tall surrounded the compound. She couldn’t believe it. A castle from Scotland.

“There are several castles in Colorado, but none with the history of Brettonwood,” Henry said.

She eyes to meet his in the mirror. “Don’t tell me Mr. Weston owns those, as well.”

He laughed. “No.”