Gail Barrett - His 7-Day Fiancée

Then her eyes settled on a plaster relief of Janus, and the tight ball knotting her belly began to slide loose. Janus, the Roman god of doorways and gates, endings and beginnings—the perfect symbol for her new life.

And for the first time in ages a sliver of optimism surged inside her, a longburied glimmer of hope. She really was going to be all right here. She’d find a new job. Her daughter would thrive. She’d finally find the peace she deserved.

She smiled then, inhaling the soothing scent of moisture from the splashing fountains, the heavenly aroma of roses and gladioli brimming from urns. Still smiling, she turned to join her sister. The tang of a man’s aftershave teased her nose.

Wayne’s aftershave.

Her heart tripped. She stumbled, anxiety drumming through her. She glanced around, frantic to find the source of the scent, but a crowd formed around her, blocking her view.

Calm. Stay calm, she urged herself sternly. Wayne wasn’t here. This had nothing to do with him.

She hauled in air, struggled to swallow around the tension gripping her throat, determined not to overreact. She stepped to the side, tried to work her way through the noisy throng to find where her sister had gone. But the people shifted and trapped her in.

“Get out of my way,” a man in a white shirt shouted beside her, and his rough, raised voice agitated her nerves.

“The hell I will,” another man answered.

Amanda glanced up, caught the first man’s glowering face and took another step back. They were too close. Too close. Trying to beat back the onrush of panic, she cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”

They ignored her. Her anxiety building, she prodded the nearest man with her elbow, intent on getting past. But another whiff of aftershave curled through her senses, and her heart made a frenzied throb.

Stop it, she lectured herself. She had no reason to be afraid. This man had nothing to do with Wayne.

And these people were not going to hurt her. She had to get over the irrational fear, this wrenching need to escape.

She pivoted, wobbled on her too-high heels, determined to get free of this mess. But then a fistfight broke out. Someone shoved. The white-shirted man pushed back, sending the beefy man into her side. Thrown off balance, she gasped, dropped her purse, and nearly fell. The contents of her handbag spilled over the floor.

Great.

Her hands trembling, urgency making her head light, she knelt, scooped up her cell phone and keys. The man in the white shirt squatted beside her. “Sorry,” he muttered, his voice gruff. His aftershave assailed her, setting off a spurt of panic, unleashing a bone-deep reaction she couldn’t control.

“Just leave it. Please. It doesn’t matter,” she pleaded, needing him to move far away. But he snatched up her wallet and tissues with his thick, stubby fingers, and stuffed them into her bag. Desperate now, unable to meet his eyes, she grabbed her purse, clutched it to her chest and rose.

“Break it up!” someone shouted as she turned and stumbled away from the arguing men. She searched through the crowd for her sister, found her waiting a few yards away.

“There you are,” her sister said.“ What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Her voice came out high and rushed, and she sucked in a calming breath. “I just got bumped and my purse spilled.”

“I told you not to bring that bag.”

“I know.” She reopened the drawstring top, pawed through the jumbled contents, double-checked that her wallet was there. Relief flooded through her, and she blew out her pent-up breath.

“Well, try to keep up this time,” Kendall said, and shook her head.

Feeling foolish, berating her loss of control, she trailed her sister across the room. So she’d smelled Wayne’s aftershave. Big deal. He’d worn a popular brand. She’d let her imagination run away from her.

And she had to stop it. She couldn’t keep letting him do this to her. Every time she thought of him, he won.

But as they crossed the enormous lobby—past the restless lions, past the Roman arches leading to intriguing gardens and baths—that feeling of trepidation crept through her again, as if eyes were boring into her back. She straightened her shoulders, determined not to assume that submissive hunch, and tried to shrug the sensation off. But it only intensified, crawling up her spine, her neck, growing stronger with every step.

Her temper flared. This was ridiculous. She didn’t deserve this constant fear. She had to put an end to the lunacy now.

“Wait a minute,” she said to Kendall. Defiant, she stopped, whipped around.

And met the dark, searing eyes of a man.

But not the one who’d bumped her. This man stood apart from the rest, his feet planted wide, his hands braced low on his hips, like an ancient conqueror surveying his realm.

His thick black hair gleamed in the lights. Heavy beard stubble shadowed his jaw. He had black, slashing brows, taut, masculine cheeks and a mouth so sensual it made her breath catch. A black suit gloved his tall frame.

He was handsome, riveting—shockingly so. But more than his dark looks commanded attention. He had a stillness about him, a feral intensity that exuded intelligence, authority, power.

Her heart thumped, made a funny zigzag in her chest. The word predator flashed through her mind.

The edge of his mouth kicked up at her blatant inspection. His eyes smoldered even more. Then his own gaze dropped, making a long, slow slide over the length of her, trailing a firestorm of heat in its wake.

Her knees trembled. A zap of awareness sizzled her blood. And a completely different type of tension arose in her nerves.

Her face burning, she whirled back toward her sister.

“Whoa, when I said hot men, I didn’t mean that hot,” Kendall said.

“What?” Breathless, mortified that she’d responded so outrageously, she grabbed her sister’s arm and hauled her away.

“You know who that was, don’t you? That was Luke Montgomery. The Luke Montgomery. Oh, for goodness sakes,” Kendall said when she shot her a blank look.

“Don’t you know anything? He’s the billionaire who owns this place.”

“You’re kidding.” She’d been ogling a billionaire? How ridiculous could she get?

“No, I’m not kidding. And I can’t believe you haven’t heard of him. He’s been in the news for weeks. You know, because of that woman who was murdered, that casino heiress, Candace Rothchild?”

“No.” Amanda slowed to navigate the steps into the gaming pit. She’d been too worried about her own precarious situation to follow the news.

Her sister paused at the bottom of the stairs and huffed out her breath. “You’re hopeless. It’s a good thing you’re in my hands now. I’ll get you caught up on tabloid gossip and have you living in sin in no time.”

“Great.” A wry smile nudged the corner of her mouth. “Just what I need. My own personal guide to corruption.”

Kendall grinned back. “Hey, don’t knock it.”

“I’m not.” Her sister might not lead a conventional life, but she did know how to have fun. And at least she hadn’t screwed everything up like Amanda had.

Determined to forget all that, she glanced around at the flashing lights and jangling machines, the kaleidoscope of colors and noise. “All right, what’s first?”

“Slots. Once you win a little, gain some confidence, we’ll graduate to blackjack.”

Amanda sighed. She was pathetic. Even her sister knew she couldn’t just plunge in and enjoy herself. She had to be coaxed in slowly, teased into having fun.

Her sister took her arm, led her down the aisle to a couple of empty stools. “Here. These machines are loose. They pay out more often.”

“How do you know that?”

Kendall propped one slim hip on the stool, squirmed to keep her own short dress from creeping up. “They do it on purpose. They figure if you win here, they can lure you back to the tables and steal your shirt. Now sit down and listen up.”

Amanda slid onto the next stool over. She placed her purse on her lap, her amusement growing as her sister gave her a crash course on gambling with slots.

Not that her sister’s expertise surprised her. Growing up, Kendall had been everything Amanda was not—confident, popular, outgoing. She’d been the star of every party, the diva on every stage. And she hadn’t been afraid to pursue her goals. The day after high school ended she’d hopped on the first bus to Vegas and landed her dream job dancing in a show.

Whereas the far-too-cautious, ever-responsible Amanda had become a teacher and married Wayne.

“Got it?” Kendall asked.

Amanda pulled her thoughts from the past. “I think so.” She tugged a twenty dollar bill from her wallet and fed it into the machine, saw the credits appear.

“Here goes.” She inhaled, selected the maximum number of coins, and pushed the button to spin the machine. Bars whirred, then stopped. More credits appeared, and she widened her eyes. “Hey, I won.”

“I knew you would.” Kendall’s smile was smug. “I told you your luck was going to change tonight.”

“Maybe so.” Buoyed by that small success, she pushed the button again. Three lemons. Getting the hang of it now, she threw herself into the game. Cherries combined with sevens. Lemons were followed by bars. Bells dinged. Colored lights flashed. Credits accumulated, then disappeared. Beside her, Kendall cheered, groaned and clapped at her own progress. And a half hour and a free margarita later, Amanda felt like a seasoned pro.

“Ready for the blackjack table?” Kendall called over the noise.

Amanda glanced up. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute. I’ve just got a few pulls left.”

“Okay. It’s in the back.” Kendall drained her drink, hopped off her stool and then jiggled her legs to straighten her dress. “Don’t forget to take your ticket. We’ll cash out before we leave.”

Amanda waved her off and returned her attention to her machine. In the periphery of her vision, she saw Kendall collect her ticket and leave.

She pulled the lever. Lemon-bar-seven. Drats. She pushed the button again and won. She grinned, pleased with her take so far. Not too shabby for her first attempt at gambling. She was ahead by fifteen bucks.

And she had to hand it to her sister. It was fun to do somethingmindlessforonce,toforgetherproblemsand relax. Kendall had been right to insist that they come.

She gave the button a final press, then waited for the tumbler to stop. “Come on, jackpot,” she murmured. A seven stuck. Then another. She held her breath, her hopes rising, her eyes glued on the machine.

The scent of Wayne’s aftershave drifted past.

Her heart went still. Every cell in her body tensed.

The machine stopped. She stared at it blindly, her palms suddenly sweating, her pulse pounding so hard she could barely hear.

Wayne wasn’t here. He couldn’t be here.

Then why was this happening to her?

She gripped her purse like a lifeline, fought the urge to glance over her shoulder and check. She couldn’t keep doing this. She couldn’t keep panicking and falling apart. Dear God, it had to stop.

But the need to look back grew even stronger—the instinct to protect herself, take cover. Survive. Unable to stand it, she leaped from the stool and whipped around.

No one was there.

She didn’t move.

Lights flashed on another machine. A woman squealed and laughed down the aisle. Amanda hitched out her breath, ran her gaze up and down the rows, but there was no sign of the man who’d bumped her, no signof Wayne.