1

      RICHARD D’ARCY KRISTOF, heir to the Kristof family fortune, strode into a private library at his country club, removed his bow tie with a jerk and quickly unbuttoned his collar. “That’s better. I hate these monkey suits.’’ He took the glass of smooth aged bourbon his older cousin, Nicholas Demetries, handed him, and downed the contents in one gulp, handing it back for another shot.

      Nicholas chuckled and refilled the glass. “Rough night, Cousin?”

      Darcy scowled. “If I had to dance with one more debutante, or listen to one more proud parent telling me how lovely their…whoever…is, I would have jumped off the balcony.”

      The Tremont twins paused in setting out the poker chips and cards. “Wouldn’t have done you any good,” Tommy said. “Not if you were thinking suicide. The balcony is only five feet off the ground.”

      “Yeah,” Terry agreed. “Worst that would happen is you’d break a leg and end up in the barberry bushes.”

      Nicholas, tall, handsome and immaculately dressed in summer formal attire, clasped his cousin’s shoulder. “Then all those lovely debutantes you’re trying to avoid would be banging on your door trying to give the ‘millionaire stud’ some comfort.”

      “God forbid.” With a twist of his lips, Darcy sat down at the table and drew the deck of cards toward him. “And don’t call me that. You know how much I hate that idiotic—”

      Nicholas smiled. “The press has to sell their stories any way they can, Cousin.”

      “Tell you what, Darcy,” said Tommy. “If you need help with that mob of women who’re always chasing you, I’m at your service.”

      “Me, too,” echoed Terry.

      Darcy began dealing, snapping the cards off and zipping them across the table to the respective players. “Be my guest. I haven’t met the woman yet who could intrigue me for more than forty-eight hours. Most of them bore me stiff.” He doubted a woman existed who could capture his mind as well as his senses, but that didn’t stop him from enjoying them every chance he got.

      “Are you talking about in bed or out of it?” Tommy gave him a horrified look. “You don’t actually talk to them, do you?”

      Terry nodded as he considered his cards. “Yeah, what’re you doing talking to them, anyway? That’s a mistake I never make.”

      “You’re right, Terry.” Tommy grinned. “Take our advice—much better to look at them. That way you won’t get bored.”

      Darcy stared at the twins, then shrugged, feeling the tightness in his shoulders. The tension had been building over the past few months, along with his sense of dissatisfaction. Lately, Darcy had felt confined by the aimlessness of his life. But he didn’t know what he wanted instead. He picked up his cards, fanning the hand. “At the moment, everything bores me.”

      “Ah, poor misunderstood rich boy,” Nicholas said, mock sympathy dripping