Gail Barrett - His 7-Day Fiancée

Thoroughly rattled, she turned back to her machine and printed out her credits with trembling hands. Had she imagined that scent? Was that even possible? Her mentally ill mother had hallucinated before she’d—

No. She was not losing her mind.

Maybe it was a flashback, a delayed reaction to stress. The past few years had worn her down completely—Wayne’s abuse, the constant fear for her daughter’s safety, the painful divorce and move. No wonder she was suffering now.

And she would conquer this fear. She would.

Her heart still racing, she inhaled to calm her nerves. Then she walked deliberately toward the back of the casino, refusing to let herself rush. There was nothing to be afraid of. Nothing.

She paused at the end of the aisle, unsure which way to go. Taking a guess, she turned right.

The scent of aftershave hit her again.

Her stomach balled tight. Her heart sped into her throat. She picked up the pace, walking faster now, even though she knew there was nothing wrong. She was safe, safe.

She hurried past a group of noisy gamblers. A bell dinged, and someone cheered. Knowing she was acting foolish but unable to stifle the fear, she walked as fast as she could on the spindly heels. Run, run, run bludgeoned her nerves.

She reached the end of the aisle, turned again, then reached some swinging doors. Oh, no. She’d gone the wrong way. The blackjack tables had to be across the pit.

She stopped, started to turn, but Wayne’s scent swarmed her again. A hard, narrow object bit into her back, and she froze.

“That’s right,” the man said. “Stay quiet, and you won’t get hurt.”

Her knees buckled. A dull roar invaded her skull. The obscene smell of aftershave permeated the air.

“Walk over to the doors. Slow now.” He rammed the gun deeper into her back, and she stepped forward, trying to battle through the hysteria and think. It wasn’t Wayne. He had the wrong voice. But then what on earth did he want?

“Stop,” he demanded when she reached the double doors. “Now give me the ring. And no fast moves.”

“R…ring?” He wanted her jewelry? But she didn’t wear any. She wheezed in the too-thick air. “But—”

“Now.” His voice turned harsher. He prodded her again with the gun.

“But I don’t…”

The double doors swung open. A waitress stepped out, balancing a tray.

Now or never.

She lunged, slammed into the waitress. The woman shrieked, staggered back and dropped the tray.

Amanda didn’t hesitate. She ran.

The soft buzz of his private telephone line cut through the silence—muted, deceptively quiet, like the rattle of a Mojave Desert Sidewinder preparing to strike. Luke Montgomery stared out his penthouse window at the Las Vegas skyline shimmering against the dark velvet sky. He’d left instructions not to be disturbed. A call now could only mean one thing.

Trouble. Just what he didn’t need.

He exhaled, knowing he couldn’t postpone the inevitable, and padded across the carpet to his desk. He punched the button to answer the phone. “Yeah.”

“Mr. Montgomery. Frank Ruiz in security. I’m sorry to bother you, but there was an armed robbery attempt in the gaming pit. I thought you’d want to know.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Luke disconnected the phone and frowned. An armed robbery attempt. Interesting timing with the investment consortium scheduled to vote in just two weeks. A coincidence or something more?

Thoughtful, he pulled his suit jacket from the chair where he’d tossed it, slipped it on as he strode to the door. Coincidence or not, he couldn’t afford the bad publicity. Candace Rothchild’s murder had caused enough problems.

Not that being suspected of murder had hurt his business. He exited his penthouse, the edge of his mouth ticked up in a cynical smile. Crowds flocked to his casino, whipped up by lurid rumors in the tabloids, hoping to glimpse the man who’d supposedly clubbed the heiress to death.

But his consortium investors weren’t nearly as intrigued. The murder—combined with the downturn in the economy—had made them nervous. Too nervous. More problems now would cause them to bolt.

And no way could he let that happen.

His gaze hardening, he crossed to his private elevator, then leaned back against the mahogany panels as it started down. He had everything riding on this project. He’d spent twenty years meticulously constructing his empire, amassing money, power.

Twenty years plotting revenge.

The elevator doors slid open, and he headed toward the security office, ignoring the employees scurrying out of his way. Nothing could jeopardize this project. Nothing. If this robbery attempt was legit, he’d hush it up, keep it out of the papers until the deal went through. And if it wasn’t…

He mentally shrugged. Whoever had planned this escapade had made a mistake, a big one. No one played Luke Montgomery for a fool.

A lesson the Rothchilds should have learned long ago.

He entered the office, met the eyes of the guard on duty behind the desk. The balding man leaped to his feet. “Mr. Montgomery.” He tugged at the tie dangling from his beefy neck.

Luke nodded, got straight to the point. “What’s going on?”

“A woman said she was held up at gunpoint near the slot machines. I’ve pulled up the surveillance tapes. She’s in the next room.”

“Let’s see the tapes.” He rounded the desk as Ruiz lowered himself into his chair and keyed the bank of monitors to the proper time.

The screens flickered, and suddenly a woman strolled into view from a dozen angles. Her full hips swiveled with a seductive swing. Her high breasts shifted and swayed.

Luke’s gaze cut to her face, and his heart made a sudden swerve. Well, hell. It was the blonde he’d admired earlier in the lobby.

He studied her now with frank appreciation. She was on the tall side, slender, but the tight dress revealed her ample curves. She had long, shiny hair, sweetly rounded hips, the kind of killer legs that could fuel his fantasies for years.

He slanted his head. She wasn’t the usual overblown Vegas type, despite the skimpy dress. She seemed more natural, unstudied—a rarity in Sin City, a place where illusions ruled.

She stumbled on the milehigh heels, regained her balance and glanced around. The cameras caught her darting gaze, and his gut went still.

She looked furtive. Guilty.

Bad move, babe. Better to look nervous after the guy with the gun shows up.

As if on cue, a man appeared on scene. The newcomer kept his head bent low, his face carefully hidden from the camera’s view. His long, stringy hair swung past his jaw, hiding his features even more.

Luke’s gaze narrowed on the man’s pleated blue shirt and black bow tie—the uniform his dealers wore. “Is he one of ours?”

“We don’t know yet. We’re checking the records now.”

He rubbed his stubble-roughened jaw, watched the episode play out. The galley doors swung open. Awaitress steppedout, carrying a tray. The blonde crashed into her, then bolted off, while the man ran the other way.

He raised a brow. The blonde thought fast on her feet, he’d give her that much. “Who is she?”

The guard consulted his notes. “Amanda Patterson. Said she arrived in Las Vegas last week. She’s staying with her sister, Kendall Patterson, a dancer in your teno’clock show.”

Luke thought back to the brunette he’d seen with her in the lobby. A dealer and a dancer. An inside job, then? Probably a scam to sue the casino.

The spurt of disappointment took him by surprise. He knew better than to expect the blonde to be innocent. This was Vegas. Everyone was on the make. Even the prettiest face masked a conniving heart.

The guard switched to another screen, and Luke watched the man exit the casino, still hiding his face. He checked the time on the tape. Twenty minutes ago. No point looking for him now.

“Let me know what the employee search brings up. Contact legal, call the police. Get Martinez over here if you can.” He and Martinez want to have to findwent way back to their childhood in Naked City, the slums beyond the Strip. He could count on him to keep the story hushed until the Phoenix deal went through.

He turned, headed down the hall to interview the blonde. Chances were that this was an inside job, but he couldn’t rule out the Rothchilds. Harold Rothchild was buried in debt, his empire on the verge of collapse. Luke’s project would seal his doom.

Which was exactly what Luke planned.

Of course, if the Phoenix project failed, he would suffer instead. He set his jaw. Good thing he didn’t intend to fail.

He pushed open the office door, spotted the blonde standing by the desk. She turned toward him as he entered the room.

His gaze met hers. A sudden awareness shivered between them, and he hesitated in midstride.

She was even more attractive close up. Her eyes were a deep, startling blue, as vibrant as the desert sky. She had pale, creamy skin, a smattering of freckles on her feminine nose. Her lips looked soft and lush.

She was pretty, damned pretty—stunning if he factored in those world-class legs.

But this close he could also sense an aura of vulnerability about her. She stood with her shoulders hunched, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Dark circles shadowed her eyes.

The sudden urge to protect her caught him off guard.

He frowned, shook himself out of his daze. This woman didn’t need his protection. For all he knew, she was here to swindle him. “Amanda Patterson?”

“Yes.” Her low, smoky voice slid through him, doing strange things to his insides.

He crossed the room. “I’m Luke Montgomery.”

“Yes, I know, I…” A blush crept up her cheeks. “My sister pointed you out earlier.”

He’d bet. He reached out his hand. She hesitated, then gripped his palm. The smooth, silky feel of her skin arrowed through him, deleting his thoughts. He was held immobile by those amazing blue eyes. His heart beat hard in his chest.

After several long moments, he realized he was still holding her hand. He scowled, pried his fingers loose, annoyed by the effort it took. What the hell was that about? Hehadn’t been that affected by awoman in years.

And this one could be trying to deceive him.

“Have a seat.” Anxious to put some distance between them, he retreated to the desk, then leaned back against it and folded his arms.

She perched on the leather chair in front of the desk and crossed her legs. His gaze fell to her lean, bare thighs, traced the elegant curve of her calves. Realizing his thoughts were derailing again, he lifted his eyes.

“So what happened?” His tone was more brusque than he’d intended, and she blinked.

She sat up straighter, flexed her wrist as if it ached. Her chest rose as she drew in a breath. “I was going to the blackjack tables to find my sister, but I got lost. I’ve never been here before. I started to turn around but then a…a man came up behind me.”

Her voice trembled convincingly, but he was determined to stay objective. “He was armed?”

“I think so. He jabbed something into my back. I thought…it felt like a gun.”

“Then what?”

“He said…he wanted my jewelry, my ring.”

His gaze cut to her unadorned ears, to the cleavage bared by the plunging dress, and his mind flashed back to the tapes. He hadn’t noticed any jewelry before the attack. A slipup there.

“So you handed it over?” he asked, knowing damned well she hadn’t.