Carrera's Bride. Diana Palmer

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СКАЧАТЬ she asked in a faint stammer.

      He gave her a worldly appraisal as the elevator carried them up to his office. “First experience with a drunk?” he asked bluntly.

      “Well, not exactly,” she confessed on a long sigh. “I’ve never had an experience like that, at least. I seem to draw drunks the way honey draws flies. I went to a party with Barb and Barney last month. A drunk man insisted on dancing with me, and then he passed out on the floor in front of God and everybody. At Barb’s birthday party, a man who had too much to drink followed me around all night trying to buy me a pack of cigarettes.” She looked up at him with a rueful smile. “I don’t smoke.”

      He chuckled deeply. “It’s your face. You have a sympathetic look. Men can’t resist sympathy.”

      Her green eyes twinkled. “Is that a fact? You don’t look like a man who ever needs any.”

      He shrugged. “I don’t, usually. Here we are.”

      He stood aside to let her exit the elevator.

      She stopped just inside the office and looked around, fascinated. The carpet was shag, champagne colored. The furniture was mahogany. The drapes matched the carpet and the furniture. There were banks of screens showing every room in the casino. There was a bar with padded stools curled around it. There were computers and phones and fax machines. It looked like a spy setup to Delia, who never missed a James Bond film.

      “Wow,” she said softly. “Are you a spy?”

      He chuckled and shook his head. “I’d never make the grade. I don’t like martinis.”

      “Me, either,” she murmured, smiling at him.

      He motioned her toward the huge bathroom. “There’s a robe behind the door. Take off the dress and put on the robe. I’ll get some thread and a needle.”

      She hesitated, her eyes wide and uncertain.

      He pointed to the corner of the room. “There are cameras all over the place. I’d never get away with anything. The boss has eyes in the back of his head.”

      “The boss?” she queried. “Oh. You mean the man who owns the casino, right?”

      He nodded, trying not to smile.

      “You’re a…” She almost said ‘bouncer,’ but this man was far too elegant to be a thug. “You’re a security person?” she amended.

      “Something like that,” he agreed. “Go on. You’ve had all the hard knocks you’re going to get for one night. I’m the last person who’d hurt you.”

      That made her feel guilty. Usually she was a trusting soul—too trusting. But it had been a hard night. “Thanks,” she said.

      She closed the door and slid out of the dress, leaving her in a black slip and hose with her strappy high heels. She put on the robe quickly and wondered at her complete trust in this total stranger. If he was a security guy, he must be the head guy, since he’d told the other guy, Smith, what to do. She felt oddly safe with him, for all his size and rough edges. To work in a casino, a man must have to be tough, though, she reminded herself.

      She went out of the bathroom curled up in the robe that had to be five sizes too big for her. It dragged behind her like the train of a wedding gown.

      Her rescuer was seated on the desk, wearing a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses. Beside him was a sewing kit, and a spool of black thread. He was already threading a needle.

      She wondered if he’d been in the military. She knew men back home who were, and most of them were handy around the house, with cooking and mending as well. She moved forward and smiled, reaching for the needle at the same time he reached for the dress.

      “You sew?” she asked.

      He nodded. “My brother and I both had to learn. We lost our parents early in life.”

      “I’m sorry.” She was. Her father had died before she was born. She’d just lost her mother to stomach cancer. She knew how it felt.

      “Yeah.”

      “I could do that,” she said. “I don’t mind.”

      “Let me. It relaxes me.”

      She gave in with good grace and sat down in a chair while he bent his dark head to the task. His fingers, despite being so big, were amazingly expert with the needle. And his stitches were short, even, and almost invisible. She was impressed.

      She looked around the huge office curiously, and on an impulse, she got to her feet when she spotted a wall hanging.

      She moved toward it curiously. It wasn’t a wall hanging after all, she noted when she reached it. The pattern was familiar. The fabric was some of the newest available, and she had some of it in her cloth stash back home. Her eyes were admiring the huge beautiful quilt against one wall, hung on a rod. It was a symphony of black and white blocks. How incredible to find such a thing in the security office of a casino!

      “Bow tie,” she murmured softly.

      His head jerked up. “What’s that?” he asked.

      She glanced at him with a sheepish smile. “It’s a bow tie pattern, this quilt,” she replied. “A very unique one. I could swear I’ve seen it somewhere before,” she added thoughtfully. “I love the variations, and the stark contrast of the black and white blocks. The stitches are what make it so unique. There are stem stitches and chain stitches…”

      “You quilt.” It was a statement and not a question.

      “Well, yes. I teach quilting classes, back home in Jacobsville, Texas, at the county recreation center during the summer.”

      He hadn’t moved. “What pattern do you like best?”

      “The Dresden Plate,” she said, curious at his interest in what was primarily a feminine pursuit.

      He put her dress down, opened a drawer in the big desk, pulled out a photo album and handed it to her, indicating that she should open it.

      The photographs weren’t of people. They were of quilts, scores of quilts, in everything from a four-patch to the famous Dresden Plate, with variations that were pure genius.

      She sank back down in the chair with the book in her lap. “These are glorious,” she exclaimed.

      He chuckled. “Thanks.”

      Her eyes almost came out of their sockets as she gaped at him. “You made these yourself? You quilt?”

      “I don’t just quilt. I win competitions. National and even international competitions.” He indicated the bow tie pattern on the wall. “That one won first prize last year in a national competition in this country.” He named a famous quilting show on one of the home and garden channels. “I was her guest in February, and that quilt was the one I demonstrated.”

      She laughed, letting out a heavy breath. “This is incredible. I couldn’t go to the competition, but I did see the winning quilts СКАЧАТЬ