His 7-Day Fiancée

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.

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.