The One-Night Wife. Sandra Marton

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СКАЧАТЬ voice cold, her heart thumping with terror, “you’ll regret it.”

      Alain had nodded and held out his hand. She’d ignored it, gently urged Missy to her feet and walked them both into a new life. Warm baths, clean clothes, nourishing food, a room all her own and a wonderful residential school for Missy.

      And he had kept his word. He’d taught her everything he knew until she knew the odds of winning with any combination of cards in any game of poker, blackjack or chemin de fer.

      He hadn’t touched her, either.

      Until recently.

      Until he’d started looking at her through eyes that glittered, that lingered on her body like an unwelcome caress and made the hair rise on the back of her neck. Until he’d taken to pressing moist kisses into the palm of her hand and, worse still, calling her from her room in his chateau or her cabin on his yacht whenever he had visitors, showing her off to men whose eyes glittered as his did, who stroked their fingers over her cheekbones, her shoulders.

      Which was why she’d agreed to take Sean O’Connell to the cleaners.

      It was the best possible deal. Alain would get what he wanted. So would she. By the night’s end, she’d have enough money to leave Alain and take care of Missy without his help. To run, if she had to—though surely she wouldn’t have to run from Alain.

      He’d let her go.

      Of course he would.

      Savannah raised the champagne flute to her lips. It was empty. Just as well. She never drank when she played. Tonight, though, she’d asked for the Cristal at the bar, felt the need of its effervescence in her blood.

      Not anymore.

      She put her empty glass on a table and smoothed down the shockingly short skirt of the red silk slip dress Alain had selected. It wasn’t her style, but then the life she was living wasn’t her style, either.

      Savannah took a deep breath and emptied her mind of everything but the game. She shook back her long golden hair and stepped out of the shadows.

      Ready or not, Sean O’Connell, here I come.

      CHAPTER TWO

      GOLDILOCKS was finally going to make her move.

      Sean could sense it. Something in the way she lifted her glass to her mouth, in the way she suddenly seemed to draw herself up, gave her away. He wanted to applaud.

      About time, babe, he felt like saying. What took you so long?

      Of course, he didn’t. Why give the game away now? He’d have bet a thousand bucks she had no idea he’d been watching her, no idea he was even aware of her.

      He was.

      He’d noticed her as soon as he’d entered the casino. Or not entered it, which, he supposed, was a better way of putting it. He’d learned, long ago, that it was better to take his time, scope a place out, get the feel of things instead of walking right into a situation. So he’d been taking his time, standing in the arched entry between the foyer and the high-stakes gaming room, sipping Jack Daniel’s on the rocks as he watched.

      Watched the tables. The players. The dealers. In a casino as in life, it paid to watch and wait.

      That was when he’d noticed the blonde.

      She was tall, with a great body and legs that went on forever. Her face might have inspired Botticelli and just the sight of that lion’s mane of sun-streaked, silky-looking hair made him want to run his fingers through it.

      Sean sipped his bourbon.

      Oh, yeah. He’d noticed her, all right.

      She was checking things out, too. At least, that was what he’d thought. After a while, he realized he had it wrong.

      What she was checking out was him.

      She was careful about it. Nothing clumsy or overt. She’d chosen her spot well. The lighting in the little alcove where she stood was dim, probably in deliberate contrast to the bright lights in the gaming area.

      But Sean had long ago learned that the devil was in the details. The success of his game depended on it. He saw everything, and saw it without making people aware he was looking. One seemingly casual glance and he could figure out how Lady Luck was treating players just by taking in the expressions on their faces, or even the way they handled their cards.

      Besides, a man would have to be blind not to have seen the blonde. She was spectacular.

      And she was gearing up for something. Something that involved him. The only question was, what?

      He’d thought about walking up to her, looking into those green eyes and saying, Hello, sugar. Why are you watching me?

      It wasn’t an opening line to use on a woman if she was about to come on to you, but instinct told him the blonde didn’t have girl-meets-boy on her mind. No use pretending that wasn’t unusual, Sean thought without a trace of ego. He was as lucky with women as he was with cards. That was just the way it was.

      So, what was happening? Goldilocks was getting ready for something and it was making her nervous. He’d seen her hand tremble once or twice when she raised her champagne glass to her lips.

      Curiosity had almost gotten the better of him when she began to move.

      Sean narrowed his eyes as she stepped from the alcove and started toward him. Yes, the face was beautiful. Definitely Botticelli. But the body reminded him of a classical Greek sculpture. High, firm breasts. Slender waist. Those legs.

      And a walk that made the most of all her assets.

      Spine straight. Shoulders back. Arms swinging as she strutted toward him, crossing one long leg over the other so that she moved more like a tigress than a woman. It was a model’s walk. He’d dated a German supermodel last year; Ursula had done The Walk for him in his living room, wearing nothing but a sultry pout and a lace teddy.

      Goldilocks wasn’t wearing a smile and her dress covered more than a teddy, though not much more. It was a scrap of crimson silk. He liked the way it clung to her breasts and hips. She had great hips, curved for the fit of a man’s hands…

      Hell.

      He was getting hard just watching her.

      Sean downed the last of his bourbon, told himself to concentrate on cold showers and on solving the puzzle of why the blonde had been observing him with such caution.

      She was only a few feet away now. She hesitated. Then she lifted her chin, tossed back her hair, took a deep breath and smiled.

      He felt the wattage straight down to his toes.

      “Hi.”

      The tip of her tongue crept out, slicked across her bottom lip. Sean almost groaned but he managed a smile of his own.

      “Hi yourself,” he said. “I’d ask where you’ve been all my life, but you’d probably slug me for using such a trite line.”

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