The Marriage Takeover

Feeling in the pocket of his shirt, he produced a folded piece of paper and handed it to her.

Confirming Alan’s haste, his almost painfully neat writing had degenerated into a scrawl.

Cass, darling, sorry to leave without seeing you, but in the circumstances it seemed a shame to disturb you. While we were talking last night, Mr Dalton told me where he planned to take you, so enjoy your weekend, and I’ll catch up with you in Las Vegas Sunday evening.

Love, A.

Looking up, Cassandra asked blankly, ‘Las Vegas?’

‘I thought you might like to see the place,’ Lang said easily. ‘We can drive over to Nevada—you’ll find the journey itself is a pleasure—and stay a couple of nights at the Golden Phoenix… I’ve arranged for your fiancé to be flown straight there from LA…

‘Apart from the fact that Vegas is well worth seeing for its own sake—it was a frontier outpost and railway town before becoming a gambling mecca—it’s surrounded by some magnificent desert scenery.

‘Death Valley lies to the west, and from nearby McCarran International Airport there are flights that offer a bird’s-eye view of the Grand Canyon.’

‘That sounds wonderful,’ she admitted, feeling both excited and relieved. A trip to Las Vegas in a chauffeur-driven car, and staying at a hotel with plenty of people, had to be a great deal easier than remaining here with only Lang Dalton for company.

‘I’m glad you approve.’ So far so good, he thought, and asked softly, ‘Are you anything of a gambler, Cassandra?’

‘No. Are you?’

He smiled thinly. ‘Not in the usual sense. I have been known to play for high stakes, but only when the odds are stacked in my favour.’

Something about his answer made her feel uneasy, but, telling herself that she mustn’t start imagining things again, she asked, ‘When do you plan to start?’

‘As soon as possible. How long will it take you to get ready?’

‘Ten minutes?’

Nodding his approval, he rose to his feet and pulled out her chair.

CHAPTER THREE

AS QUICKLY as she could, Cassandra showered, put on a white, slim-fitting shift dress, and wound her hair into a neat coil. Her overnight bag in her hand, she was descending the terrace steps when a big cream and beige four-wheel drive appeared with Lang at the wheel.

Her heart sank a little. It seemed he intended to drive himself.

Jumping out, he tossed her luggage on to the back seat alongside his own and, a hand beneath her bare elbow, helped her into the air-conditioned vehicle.

‘Ten minutes exactly,’ he congratulated her, adding, his smile crooked, ‘With having your overnight things to pack, I hardly thought you’d make it in time…’

So he hadn’t believed her when she’d denied changing her mind, and he knew quite well that her bag had been already packed.

Damn him! she thought crossly, flustered by both his touch and his ironic words.

‘And you even manage to look cool and collected, and incredibly beautiful.’

Pursing her lips, she said, ‘Thank you, Mr Dalton.’

Laughing at her primness, he urged, ‘Have a heart, Cassandra… For the weekend at least, forget I’m your boss and call me Lang.’

Not on your life! she decided grimly. Calling him by his first name would add a new dimension, a complication she would rather not tangle with.

A moment later he was in the driving seat, and with a throaty roar from the powerful engine they were off, following a private road through extensive, palm-shaded grounds.

He drove without speaking, his lean, long-fingered hands lying lightly on the wheel, a slight smile touching his firm mouth.

The tall, wrought-iron gates in the perimeter wall slid aside at their approach and closed behind them as they turned to follow a tortuous mountain road between spectacular masses of granite boulders and tinder-dry scrub.

But rather than watching the scenery Cassandra’s eyes were irresistibly drawn to her companion’s hard-boned profile—the strong nose, the controlled line of the upper lip in direct contrast to the warm curve of the lower, the droop of an eyelid at the outer corner, the sweep of thick, gold-tipped lashes…

As though aware of her scrutiny, he suddenly turned his head to smile at her. Feeling herself start to flush, she looked hurriedly away.

For a while she stared determinedly out of the window, absently noting a gnarled, twisted cypress and the occasional sword-leaved yucca.

Then, wanting to break the silence, to get on some kind of workable footing that would keep a respectable distance between them, she asked politely, ‘Do you go to Las Vegas often?’

‘From time to time,’ he answered casually.

Remembering his previous remarks, she suggested, ‘But not to gamble?’

He shook his head. ‘Sometimes it’s a matter of business. Other times I go to catch one of the big name acts when they appear at Caesar’s Palace or the Golden Phoenix.’

‘Earlier you spoke as if you enjoyed the journey?’

‘I do. I’ve always got a buzz from just being on the move. Unfortunately my wife didn’t. Nina found any kind of travelling both tiring and boring…

‘Do you enjoy being on the move, Cassandra?’

‘Yes, I do.’ Her voice wistful, she added, ‘I’d like to have done some real travelling, seen a lot more of the world.’

But she’d had neither the opportunity nor the money. Having sent her to a good school, her parents had considered their duty done, and, unwilling to ask them for anything further, she’d struggled to be completely independent.

Lang slanted her a glance. ‘You said you’d been to Paris?’

‘Yes.’

‘When was that?’

Unwilling to talk about it, she answered shortly, ‘A couple of months ago.’

‘With Brent?’

Lifting her chin, she said, ‘Yes.’

‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘Yes.’