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The One-Night Wife
Sandra Marton
The bride-to-be…Penniless Savannah knows that to help her sick little sister she has to win big at the casino.The groom…But Sean O'Connell always plays to win…The indecent proposal…Virgin Savannah is no match for Sean and soon she's lost everything! Sean offers her one last gamble: he'll settle her debts if she becomes his wife…for just one night!


THE O’CONNELLS


by Sandra Marton
In order to marry,
they’ve got to gamble on love!
Welcome to the world of the wealthy Las Vegas family the O’Connells. Take Keir, Sean, Cullen, Fallon, Megan and Briana in your hearts, as they begin that most important of life’s journeys—a search for deep, passionate, all-enduring love.
Coming soon in Harlequin Presents™
THE SICILIAN MARRIAGE
Briana O’Connell thinks she prefers being single. Gianni Firelli is certainly not the man she dreams of. Gianni is gorgeous, but he’s also autocratic and demanding. Then Bree learns that she has become guardian of a six-month-old baby. Raising a child seems daunting enough, but when Bree discovers she holds joint guardianship with Gianni Firelli—she’s devastated! Bree and Gianni will have to enter into a marriage of convenience.
Award-winning author SANDRA MARTON wrote her first novel while still in school. Her doting parents told her she’d be a writer someday and Sandra believed them. In high school and college, she wrote dark poetry nobody but her boyfriend understood. As a wife and mother, she devoted the little free time she had to writing murky short stories. Not even her boyfriend-turned-husband understood those. At last Sandra decided she wanted to write about real people. That didn’t actually happen, because the heroes she created—and still creates—are larger than life, but both she and her readers around the world love them exactly that way. When she isn’t at her computer, Sandra loves to bird-watch, walk in the woods and the desert, and travel. She can be as happy people-watching from a sidewalk café in Paris as she can be animal-watching in the forest behind her home in northeastern Connecticut. Her love for both worlds, the urban and the natural, is often reflected in her books.
You can write to Sandra Marton at P.O. Box 295, Storrs, Connecticut, U.S.A. (please enclose a self-addressed envelope and postage for reply) or visit her Web site at www.sandramarton.com.

The One-Night Wife
Sandra Marton





CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER ONE
HE CAME INTO THE CASINO just before midnight, when the action was getting heavier.
Savannah had been watching for him, keeping her eyes on the arched entry that led from the white marble foyer to the high-stakes gaming room. She’d been afraid she might miss him.
What a foolish thought.
O’Connell was impossible to miss. He was, to put it bluntly, gorgeous.
“How will I recognize him?” she’d asked Alain.
He told her that O’Connell was tall, dark-haired and good-looking.
“There’s an aura of money to him,” he’d added. “You know what I mean, chérie. Sophistication.” Smiling, he’d patted her cheek. “Trust me, Savannah. You’ll know him right away.”
But when she’d arrived an hour ago and stepped through the massive doors that led into the casino, she’d felt her heart sink.
Alain’s description was meaningless. It fit half the men in the room.
The casino was situated on an island of pink sand and private estates in the Bahamas. Its membership was restricted to the wealthiest players in Europe, Asia and the Americas. All the men who frequented its tables were rich and urbane, and lots of them were handsome.
Savannah lifted her champagne flute to her lips and drank. Handsome didn’t come close to describing Sean O’Connell.
How many men could raise the temperature just by standing still? This one could. She could almost feel the air begin to sizzle.
His arrival caused a stir. Covert glances directed at him from the men. Assessing ones from the women. Maybe not everybody would pick up signals that subtle, but catching nuances was Savannah’s stock in trade.
Her success at card tables depended on it.
Tonight, so did the course of her life.
No. She didn’t want to think about that. Years ago, when she was still fleecing tourists in New Orleans, she’d learned that the only way to win was to think of nothing but the cards. Empty her mind of everything but the spiel, the sucker and the speed of her hands.
Concentrate on the knowledge that she was the best.
The philosophy still worked. She’d gone from dealing three-card monte on street corners to playing baccarat and poker in elegant surroundings, but her approach to winning had not changed.
Concentrate. That was the key. Stay calm and be focused.
Tonight, that state of mind was taking longer to achieve.
Her hand trembled as she lifted her champagne flute to her mouth. The movement was nothing but a tic, a tremor of her little finger, but even that was too much. She wouldn’t drink once she sat down at the poker table but if that tic should appear when she picked up her cards, O’Connell would notice. Like her, he’d have trained himself to read an opponent’s body language.
His skills were legendary.
If you were a gambler, he was the man to beat.
If you were a woman, he was the man to bed.
Every woman in the room knew it. Too bad, Savannah thought, and a little smile curved her mouth. Too bad, because on this hot Caribbean night, Sean O’Connell would belong only to her.
Again, she raised her glass. Her hand was steady this time. She took a little swallow of the chilled Cristal, just enough to cool her lips and throat, and went on watching him. There was little danger he’d see her: she’d chosen her spot carefully. From this alcove, she could observe without being observed.
She wanted the chance to look him over before she made her move.
Evidently, he was doing the same thing before choosing a table. He hadn’t stirred; he was still standing in the arch between the foyer and the main room. It was, she thought with grudging admiration, a clever entrance. He’d stirred interest without doing a thing.
All those assessing glances from men stupidly eager to be his next victim. All those feline smiles from women eager for the same thing, though in a very different way.
Savannah the Gambler understood the men. When a player had a reputation like O’Connell’s, you wanted to sit across the table from him and test yourself. Even if you lost, you could always drop word of the time you’d played him into casual conversation. Oh, you could say, did I ever tell you about the time Sean O’Connell beat me with a pair of deuces even though I had jacks and sevens?
That would get you attention.
But Savannah the Woman didn’t understand those feminine smiles at all. She’d heard about O’Connell’s reputation. How he went from one conquest to another. How he lost interest and walked away, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him. Why set yourself up for that? Emotions were dangerous. They were impractical. Still, she had to admit that Sean O’Connell was eye candy.
He was six foot one, maybe two. He wore a black dinner jacket open over a black silk T-shirt and black trousers that emphasized his lean, muscular body. Dark-haired, as Alain had said. The color of midnight was more accurate.
Alain hadn’t mentioned his eyes.
What color were they? Blue, she thought. She was too far away to be sure and, for an instant that passed as swiftly as a heartbeat, she let herself wonder what would happen if she crossed the marble floor, stopped right in front of him, looked into those eyes to see if they were the light blue of a tropical sea or the deeper blue of the mid-Pacific.
Savannah frowned and permitted herself another tiny sip of champagne.
She had a task to accomplish. The color of O’Connell’s eyes didn’t matter. What counted was what she knew of him, and how she would use that knowledge tonight.
He was considered one of the best gamblers in the world. Cool, unemotional, intelligent. He was also a man who couldn’t resist a challenge, whether it was a card game or a beautiful woman.
That was why she was here tonight. Alain had sent her to lure O’Connell into a trap.
She’d never deliberately used her looks to entice a man into wanting to win her more than he wanted to win the game, to so bedazzle him that he’d forget the permutations and combinations, the immutable odds of the hand he held so that he’d lose.
It wasn’t cheating. Not really. It was just a variation of the skill she’d developed back when she’d dealt three-card monte. Keep the sucker so fascinated by your patter and your fast-moving hands that he never noticed you’d palmed the queen and slipped in another king.
Tonight was different.
Tonight, she wanted the mark watching her, not her hands or the cards. If the cards came the right way, she would win. If they didn’t and she had to resort to showing a little more cleavage, so be it.
She’d do what she had to do.
The goal was to win. Win, completely. To defeat Sean O’Connell. Humiliate him with people watching. After she did that, she’d be free.
Free, Savannah thought, and felt her heart lift.
She could do it. She had to do it.
And she wanted to get started. All this waiting and watching was making her edgy. Do something, she thought. Come on, O’Connell. Pick your table and let’s start the dance.
Well, she could always make the first move…No. Bad idea. He had to make it. She had to wait until he was ready.
He was still standing in the entryway. A waiter brought him a drink in a crystal glass. Bourbon, probably. Tennessee whiskey. It was all he drank, when he drank at all. Alain had given her that information, too. Her target was as American as she was, though he looked as if he’d been born into this sophisticated international setting.
He lifted the glass. Sipped at it as she had sipped at the champagne. He looked relaxed. Nerves? No. Not him. He was nerveless, or so they said, but surely his pulse was climbing as he came alive to the sights and sounds around him.
No one approached him. Alain had told her to expect that. They’d give him his space.
“People know not to push him,” Alain had said. “He likes to think of himself as a lone wolf.”
Wrong. O’Connell wasn’t a wolf at all. He was a panther, dark and dangerous. Very dangerous, Savannah thought, and a frisson of excitement skipped through her blood.
She’d never seduced a panther until tonight. Even thinking about all that would entail, the danger of it, gave her a rush. It would be dangerous; even Alain had admitted that.
“But you can do it, chérie,” he’d told her. “Have I ever misled you?”
He hadn’t, not since the day they’d met. Lately, though, his attitude toward her had changed. He looked at her differently, touched her hand differently…
No. She wouldn’t think about that now. She had a task to perform and she’d do it.
She would play poker with Sean O’Connell and make the game a dance of seduction instead of a game of luck, skill and bluff. She’d see to it he lost every dollar he had. That he lost it publicly, so that his humiliation would be complete.
“I want Sean O’Connell to lose as he never imagined,” Alain had said in a whisper that chilled her to the bone. “To lose everything, not just his money but his composure. His pride. His arrogance. You are to leave him with only the clothes on his back.” He’d smiled then, a twist of the mouth that had made her throat constrict. “And I’ll give you a bonus, darling. You can keep whatever you win. Won’t that be nice?”
Yes. Oh, yes, it would, because once she had that money…Once she had it, she’d be free.
Until a little while ago, she hadn’t let herself dwell on that for fear Alain would somehow read her mind. Now, it was all she could think about. She’d let Alain believe she was doing this for him, but she was doing it for herself.
Herself and Missy.
When this night ended, she’d have the money she needed to get away and to take care of her sister. They’d be free of Alain, of what she’d finally realized he was…Of what she feared he might want of her next.
If it took Sean O’Connell’s humiliation, downfall and destruction to accomplish, so be it. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, concern herself about it. Why would she? O’Connell was a stranger.
He was also a thief.
He’d stolen a million dollars from Alain in a nonstop, three-day game of poker on Alain’s yacht in the Mediterranean one year ago. She hadn’t been there—it had been the first of the month and she’d been at the clinic in Geneva, visiting Missy—but Alain had filled her in on the details. How the game had started like any other, how he’d only realized O’Connell had cheated after the yacht docked at Cannes and O’Connell was gone.
Alain had spent an entire year plotting to get even.
The money wasn’t the issue. What was a million dollars when you’d been born to billions? It was the principle of the thing, Alain said.
Savannah understood.
There were only three kinds of gamblers. The smart ones, the stupid ones and the cheats. The smart ones made the game exciting. Winning against someone as skilled as you was a dizzying high. The stupid ones could be fun, at first, but after a while there was no kick in taking their money.
The cheats were different. They were scum who made a mockery of talent. Cheat, get found out, and you got locked out of the casinos. Or got your hands broken, if you’d played with the wrong people.
Nobody called in the law.
Alain wanted to do something different. O’Connell had wounded him, but in a private setting. He would return the favor, but as publicly as possible. He’d finally come up with a scheme though he hadn’t told her anything about his plan or the incident leading up to it until last week, right after she’d visited her sister.
He’d slipped his arm around her shoulders, told her what had happened a year ago and what he wanted her to do. When she’d objected, he’d smiled that smile she’d never really noticed until a few months ago, the one that made her skin prickle.
“How’s Missy?” he’d said softly. “Is she truly happy in that place, chérie? Is she making progress? Perhaps it’s time for me to consider making some changes.”
What had those words meant? Taken at face value they were benign, but something in his tone, his smile, his eyes gave a very different message. Savannah had stared at him, trying to figure out how to respond. After a few seconds, he’d laughed and pressed a kiss to her temple.
“It’ll be fun for you, chérie. The coming-out party for your twenty-first birthday, so to speak.”
What he meant was, she’d take O’Connell by surprise. She had yet to play in a casino; thus far, Alain had only let her sit in on private games.
She’d come to him at sixteen, straight off the streets of New Orleans where she’d kept herself and Missy alive scamming the tourists at games like three-card monte. She was good but her winnings were meager. You could only play for so long before the cops moved you on.
Alain had appeared one evening on the edge of the little crowd collected around her. He’d watched while she took some jerks who’d left their brains in their hotel rooms along with their baggage.
During a lull, he’d stepped in close.
“You’re good, chérie,” he’d said with a little smile. He sounded French, but with a hint of New Orleans patois.
Savannah had looked him straight in the eye.
“The best,” she’d said with the assurance of the streets.
Alain had smiled again and reached for her cards.
“Hey,” she said, “leave those alone. They’re mine.”
He ignored her, moved the cards around, then stopped and looked at her. “Where’s the queen?”
Savannah rolled her eyes and pointed. Alain grinned and moved the cards again. This time, his hands were a blur.
“Where is she now, chérie?”
Savannah gave him a piteous look and pointed again. Alain turned the card over.
No queen.
“Watch again,” he said.
She watched again. And again. Five minutes later, she shook her head in amazement.
“How do you do that?”
He tossed down the cards and jerked his head toward the big black limo that had suddenly appeared at the curb.
“Come with me and I’ll show you. You’re good, chérie, but I’ll teach you to use your mind as well as your hands. We can make a fortune together.”
“Looks like you already got a fortune, mister.”
That made Alain laugh. “I do, but there’s always more. Besides, you intrigue me. You’re dirty. Smelly.”
“Hey!”
“But it’s true, cheérie. You look like an urchin and you sound like one, too, but there’s a je ne sais quoi to you that intrigues me. You’re a challenge. You’ll be Eliza to my Professor Higgins.”
“I don’t know any Eliza or Professor Higgins,” Savannah replied sourly.
“All you need to know is that I can change your life.”
Did he take her for a fool? Four years in foster homes, one on the streets, and Savannah knew better than to get into a car with a stranger.
She also knew better than to let something good get away.
She’d looked at the limo, at the man, at his suit that undoubtedly cost more than she could hope to make in another five years of hustling. Then she looked at Missy, sitting placidly beside her on the pavement, humming a tune only she could hear.
Alain looked at Missy, too, as if he’d only just noticed her.
“Who is that?”
“My sister,” Savannah replied, chin elevated, eyes glinting with defiance.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s autistic.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning she can’t talk.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
It seemed a fine distinction no social worker had ever made.
“I don’t know,” Savannah admitted. “She just doesn’t.”
“There are doctors who can help her. I can help her. It’s up to you.”
Savannah had stared at him. Then she’d thought about the long, thin knife taped to the underside of her arm.
“You try anything funny,” she’d said, her 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.”
She laughed. And blushed. Another nice touch. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen a woman blush, but her smile still glittered.
“Not at all. Actually, I was wondering how to tell you I was here alone, and that I’ve been alone for too long.”
Her voice was soft. A liquid purr. It reminded him of honey and warm Southern nights. He moved closer.
“Isn’t it fortunate that I finally got here?” he said softly. “What’s your name, sugar?”
“Savannah.”
“Ah.”
“Ah?”
“The name suits you. You have moonlight and magnolias in that sexy drawl. You’re a Georgia girl.”
Another rush of pink to her cheeks. Interesting, that she’d blush and still be so direct in coming on to him.
“Savannah what?”
She touched her tongue to her lips again. Did she know what that was doing to him? The tip of that pink tongue sweeping moistly across her rosebud mouth? He thought she did but when he looked into her eyes, he wasn’t so sure. They were a clear green, but there seemed to be a darkness hidden in their depths.
“Just Savannah.” She closed the little distance that remained between them. He could smell her scent, a seductively innocent blend of vanilla and woman. “No last names tonight. Is that okay?”
“It’s fine.” Sean cleared his throat. “I’m a sucker for a good mystery, Just-Savannah.”
“Just…?” Her eyebrows rose. Then she smiled. “I like that. ‘Just-Savannah.’”
“Good. That gives us two things in common. Honesty and anonymity. That’s a fascinating combination, don’t you think?”
“Yes. I do. What shall I call you?”
“Sean.”
Something flickered in those incredible eyes. Relief? No. It couldn’t have been that. Why would a simple exchange of names inspire relief?
“Just-Sean,” she said, smiling.
“Just-Sean, and Just-Savannah. Two people without last names who meet and set out to discover what the rest of the night holds in store.”
“I like that.” She reached out and laid her hand lightly against his chest. “What game will you play tonight, Sean?”
He felt his body clench like a fist. “It depends on who I’m playing it with,” he said hoarsely. “What did you have in mind?”
She laughed. Her teeth were small, even, very white against the golden tan of her skin.
“I’m not sure.” Her eyes met his, then dropped away. “I’m new at this.”
It was a great line, designed to set a man’s hormones pumping. All of it was designed for that: the face, the body, the scrap of red silk and the sexy, let’s-get-it-on banter…and yet, the only part of it he bought into was her being new at this. Somehow, that rang with truth.
The lady wasn’t a pro.
Like moths to the proverbial flame, high-priced working girls were drawn to places where big money and big players congregated, but no matter how elegantly dressed and groomed they were, Sean could spot them at a hundred paces. Besides, a call girl would never get past the door of a private casino like L’Emeraude.
No, Savannah wasn’t a pro. She had the looks and the lines, but her delivery was off. It was like listening to an actress who was still learning her part. And there were those moments he’d seen her hand tremble…as the one she’d put against his chest was doing now.
She was working at turning him on and she was succeeding, but she wasn’t lying. She was, he was sure, a novice at this game. As flattering as it was to think she’d turned into a lust-crazed creature at the sight of him, he didn’t buy it. There was the way she’d been watching him. Besides, he was too much of a realist to believe in bolts of lightning that struck with no warning.
Something else was going on here. He didn’t know what, but he was damned well going to find out.
“Sean?”
He focused his gaze on the blonde’s upturned face. The smile was still there but the pretty flush in her cheeks was back. Was she flustered? Embarrassed? Or was it part of the act?
“Sean. Have I been too…I mean, I’m sorry if—”
“Savannah.” He smiled and covered her hand with his. Her skin was icy. Instinctively, he closed his fingers around hers. “A beautiful woman should never apologize for anything.” Sean raised her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Let’s make a pact.”
“A pact?”
“You won’t say you’re sorry again, and I’ll buy you a glass of champagne. Okay?”
She took a long time before she answered. Then, just when he’d decided she was going to turn him down, she nodded.
“That would be lovely.”
“Good.” Sean’s hand tightened on hers. “You have any thoughts on how to seal our agreement?”
Another rush of color swept into her face. “What do you mean?”
“It’s simple. We have a contract.” Sean lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Now we need some way to guarantee it.” He looked at her slightly parted lips, then into her eyes. “You know. Sign in blood. Swear before witnesses. Cross your heart and hope to die.” He flashed a quick smile. “Something to make it official.”
He watched her face, saw the exact second she decided she’d had enough. Or maybe she’d decided to change tack. Try as he might, he couldn’t tell which.
“You’re making fun of me,” she said.
“No, I’m not.”
“You are. You think this is funny, and you’re teasing me.”
“Teasing. Not making fun. There’s a world of difference.”
“Let go of my hand, please.”
“Why? I turn you on. You turn me on. That hasn’t changed. Why walk away from it before we’ve discovered what comes next?”
He didn’t know what he’d expected, though he’d gone out of his way to provoke a reaction. Would she blush some more? Lean into him and lift that luscious mouth to his? The combination of brashness and modesty was charming, even exciting, but it only made him more suspicious.
Whatever he might have anticipated, it wasn’t the way she suddenly stood straighter, or the way her chin lifted.
“You’re right,” she said. “Why walk away now?”
Sean nodded. “That’s better.” It wasn’t. She sounded as if she’d decided to go to the dentist after all. What in hell was happening? Acting on impulse, he reached out, put his hand under her chin and tilted her face up. “As for that contract,” he said softly, “I know exactly how to seal the deal.”
All of her was trembling now, not just the hand pressed to his chest. For a woman who’d tried to convince him of how eager she was to jump his bones, the lady was strangely nervous.
Sean smiled into her eyes, deliberately dropped his gaze to her mouth.
“No,” she said quickly, the word a breathless whisper. “Please, don’t—”
He hadn’t intended to go through with it. The idea was to see how she’d react to the prospect of a kiss but when he saw her lips part, her eyes turn into the fresh green of a meadow after a spring rain, a shudder ran through his body. He wanted to kiss her. Kiss her, take her in his arms, carry her out of the noise and the light to a place where they’d be alone, where he could kiss her again and again until she trembled, yes, but trembled with need for him.
Sean stepped back, his pulse hammering, every muscle in his body tight as steel.
“Don’t toast a deal with a bottle of champagne?” he said with forced lightness. “Now, that’s definitely something no woman’s ever asked of me before.”
“Champ…” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. He tried not to imagine it was his lip those perfect teeth were worrying. “Oh. I didn’t…I mean, that would be nice.”
“Besides, how could I let you go until I know why you stood in that alcove watching me for so long?”
Her face whitened. “I was not watching you.”
“Telling fibs isn’t nice, sugar. Sure you were. And now you’re as nervous as a cat in a dog pound. Don’t get me wrong, sweetheart. I like getting beautiful women flustered—but I like to know the reason for it. Somehow, I don’t think your nerves have all that much to do with my masculine charms.”
She looked up at him, conflicting emotions warring in her eyes. For a heartbeat, Sean felt as if she were on the verge of telling him something that would set him on a white charger like a knight ready to do battle with a dragon.
But she only smiled and angled her chin so she was gazing up at him through thick, honey-brown lashes.
“You’re right about my watching you,” she said softly, “but wrong in thinking it had nothing to do with your masculine charms.” She smiled again, just enough to give those words the light touch they deserved. “I hoped you wouldn’t notice.”
“There’s not a man in the room wouldn’t notice you, if you were looking at him.”
She laughed. It was a flirty, delicious sound. “That’s very sweet.”
“It’s the truth.”
Her hand was on his chest again, her fingers toying lightly with the lapel of his jacket. Her lips were slightly parted; she tilted her head back and now he could see the swift beat of her pulse in the hollow of her throat.
Sean almost groaned. He’d played games like this before but he’d never felt as if every muscle in his body was on full alert until now.
“I think it’s time we got to know each other better, Just-Savannah.”
“That sounds nice. What do you have in mind?”
Taking her to bed. That was what he had in mind, but he wasn’t going to do that until he knew exactly what was going on here.
“The champagne I promised you, for starters.” He linked his fingers through hers. “And some privacy.”
“I’d like that.”
Warning bells rang in his head. The words were right. So was the come-and-get-me smile, but the look in her eyes was wrong.
Maybe it was time to up the ante.
He turned her hand palm-up and lifted it to his mouth. He felt her stiffen as he pressed his lips to her flesh, felt her start to jerk her hand from his.
“Easy, sugar. I haven’t taken a bite out of a woman in years. Not unless she wanted me to.”
“I know. I just—I told you, this is all—”
“—new. Yeah, so you said.” Sean’s smile was deliberately lazy. “Unless, of course, there’s more to the story than you’re letting on.”
“What more could there be, Mr. O’Connell? You’re a very attractive man. I’m sure I’m not the first woman to show an interest in you.”
The warning bells were going crazy. Mr. O’Connell? How could she know his name? He was Just-Sean. She was Just-Savannah. Definitely, there was more on her agenda. Should he call her on it? Should he play along?
He looked deep into the green eyes fixed to his. Hell. He was a gambler, wasn’t he? What did he have to lose?
“Now, sugar,” he said softly, “what kind of gentleman would I be if I answered that question?”
A slow, easy smile curved his mouth.
Seeing it, Savannah almost sagged with relief. For one awful minute, she’d been afraid she’d given everything away. She’d come awfully close, saying the wrong things, letting her nerves show, but then she’d turned the situation around by using her mistakes to convince Sean O’Connell she’d never come on to a man before.
That, at least, was the truth.
She couldn’t afford any more screw-ups.
She’d thought this would be easy, but it wasn’t. Using a deck of cards to scam a dumb mark on a dingy street corner was not the same as using your body, your smile, your words to scam an intelligent man in an elegant casino.
Besides, O’Connell was more than intelligent. He was street-smart. She hadn’t expected that. He kept looking at her as if she were a candy bar he wanted to unwrap, but always with a wariness that made her uneasy.
Not that it changed anything.
She was in too far to stop. Either she went forward or she failed. And failure wasn’t an option.
He was still smiling, but was there something in his eyes that shouldn’t be there? Time to come up with a clever move that would shut down his brain.
A squeeze of her fingers in his might do it. A sexy smile. A flick of her tongue across her bottom lip. He’d reacted to that before.
Yes. It was working. His eyes were darkening, focusing on her mouth.
“If you told me about those other women,” she said huskily, “you’d be the kind of man I’d run from. I don’t want you thinking about anyone but me tonight.”
“There’s no way I could,” he said softly. Another light brush of his lips against her palm and then he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Have you seen the terrace, Just-Savannah?”
“No.” Her voice sounded thready. She cleared her throat. “No,” she repeated, and smiled up at him, almost weak with relief. Things were back on track. “No, I haven’t. I’ve never been here before.”
“Then you’re in for a treat.” He began walking slowly through the casino. Because of the way he’d captured her hand, she was pressed close to his side, aware of the warm length of his body, aware of the muscles in his thigh as it shifted against hers. “Let’s have a drink on the terrace and I’ll show you the most beautiful sight in these islands.” He glanced at her, angled his head down to hers and put his lips to her ear. “I take that back, sugar. The second most beautiful sight in these islands.”
The warmth of his breath, the promise in his words sent a tingle of anticipation through her. For a moment, Savannah let herself imagine what it would be like if the story she’d spun were true. If she’d come here to gamble, noticed this tall, incredibly good-looking stranger, taken her courage in her hands and gone up to him with seduction, real seduction, in mind.
But she hadn’t. She was here for a purpose.
Was O’Connell really as good a poker player as people claimed? Alain said he was.
Maybe. But she was better.
Tonight, that was all that mattered.

CHAPTER THREE
SEAN PAUSED just before they reached the terrace and signaled for a waiter, who hurried to his side.
“Sir?”
Sean drew Savannah a little closer. “What were you drinking, sugar? Cristal?”
She smiled. “Good guess.”
“A bottle of Cristal Brut,” Sean told the waiter. “Nineteen ninety. Will that be all right, Savannah?”
“It’ll be lovely.”
The waiter acknowledged the order with a discreet bow, and Sean opened the double glass doors that led onto the terrace.
“Here you are, sweetheart. The most beautiful night sky of the season, for the most beautiful woman in the Bahamas.”
He put his hand lightly in the small of her back as they walked to the edge of the terrace. Her dress plunged in a deep vee to the base of her spine and her bare skin was as warm and silky as the tropical breeze drifting in from the sea.
“Oh,” she said in a delicate whisper. “Oh, yes. It’s perfect!”
“Perfect,” he murmured, his eyes not on the softly illuminated pink sand beach or the star-shot black sky, but on her.
“It’s so quiet.”
“Yeah.” A breeze lifted a strand of her golden hair and blew it across her lips. He caught it in his fingers and tucked it behind her ear, letting his touch linger. “Quiet, dark and private.”
Did she stiffen under his caress? No, it was his imagination. He was sure of it when she looked at him, her lips upturned in a Mona Lisa smile.
“Quiet, dark and private,” she said softly. “I like that.”
He felt his body stir. “Me, too,” he whispered, and bent his head to hers.
Her mouth was sweet and soft. One taste, and he knew it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the hunger building inside him. Sean swept his fingers into Savannah’s hair and lifted her face to his.
He sensed this could be dangerous. She wanted something from him and he still didn’t know what it was, but kissing her was irresistible. Even as he let himself sink into the kiss, he told himself it was okay, that playing along was the only way to find out what she was up to.
It was a great plan…except, he had miscalculated. He couldn’t think, couldn’t find out anything when deepening the kiss almost drove him to his knees.
God, her mouth! Soft. Honeyed. Hot. And the feel of her hair, sliding like silk over his fingers. The sigh of her breath as it mingled with his.
Sean forgot everything but the woman pressed against him.
“Savannah,” he murmured, sliding his hands down her throat, her shoulders, lifting her to him, drawing her tightly into his arms.
She made a little sound. A whisper of surrender. Her lips softened. Parted. She was trembling, as if the world were shifting under her feet just as it was under his, and he gathered her against his body until her softness cradled the swift urgency of his erection.
She stirred in his arms, moved against him, and the blood pounded through his veins. Groaning, he moved his hand over her thigh, swept it under that sexy excuse of a skirt…
Just that quickly, she went crazy. Gasped against his mouth. Writhed in his arms. Twisted against him.
Sean thought she’d gone over the edge with desire. Thought it, right until she sank her teeth into his bottom lip.
“Goddammit,” he yelped, and thrust her from him.
Stunned, tasting his own blood, he grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his lip. The snowy-white linen square came away smeared with crimson. He stared at Savannah, his testosterone-fogged brain struggling for sanity. Her eyes were wide and glittering, her face drained of color, and he realized, with dawning amazement, that she hadn’t moaned in surrender but in desperation.
She hadn’t been struggling to get closer but to get away.
“Oh God,” she whispered. She took a step toward him, hands raised in supplication. “I’m sorry.”
“What the hell kind of game are you playing, lady?”
“No game. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—to—”
Her hair was wild, the golden strands tumbling over her breasts. Her mouth was pink and swollen from his. Even now, knowing she was crazy, he couldn’t help thinking how beautiful she was—and how crazy he’d be, if he spent a minute more in her company.
“Sean. I really am terribly sorry.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” He held the handkerchief to his lip again. The wound was starting to throb. “It’s been interesting,” he said, brushing past her. “I just hope the next guy you zero in on has better luck.”
“Sean!” Her voice rose as she called after him. “Please. If you’d just give me a minute…”
He kept walking, but he was tempted. The bite hadn’t been passion but what? Anger? Fear? He didn’t know and told himself he didn’t care. He wasn’t a social worker. Whatever this woman’s problem was, he wasn’t the solution.
But she’d felt so soft. So vulnerable. When he’d first kissed her, she’d responded. It wasn’t until he’d put his hand under her skirt that she’d panicked, if that was what she’d done, and that didn’t make a whole lot of sense, not when she’d been damned near asking him to screw her for the past hour.
“Mr. O’Connell! Please!”
He stopped and swung around. She was running toward him. Mr. O’Connell, huh? Sean narrowed his eyes. Two times now, she’d called him that. Pretty surprising, since they hadn’t introduced themselves with last names.
So much for walking away.
Why had she pretended not to know who he was? Why act as if she wanted to sleep with him when she’d gone from soft sweetness to what sure as hell seemed to be terror at the touch of his hand?
She stopped a few feet away.
“Please,” she said again, her voice a shaky whisper. “I didn’t meant to—to—” She swallowed dryly. “Your lip is still bleeding.”
“Yeah?” He forced a thin smile. “What a surprise.”
She closed the distance between them, that elegant feline walk gone so that she wobbled a little on her sky-high, do-me-baby heels.
“Let me fix it.”
“Thanks, but you’ve done enough already.”
She wasn’t listening. Instead, she was burrowing inside her ridiculously small evening purse. What’d she expect to find? he thought grimly. A bottle of antiseptic and a cotton swab?
“Here. Just duck your head a little.”
A froth of white lace. That was what she pulled from the purse. Sean glowered at her. She stared back. He could see her confidence returning, the glitter of defiance starting to replace the fear in her eyes.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Mr. O’Connell.”
A muscle jerked in his jaw. “That’s what they all say.”
That brought a twitch to her lips. Sean told himself he was an idiot, and did as she’d asked.
Gently, she patted the handkerchief against the wound she’d inflicted, concentrating as if she were performing open-heart surgery. The pink tip of her tongue flicked out and danced along the seam of her mouth, and Sean felt his traitorous body snap to attention.
“There,” she said briskly. “That should do—”
He hissed with pain as she pulled the hankie away. A bit of lace had clung to the congealing blood; yanking it free had started a tiny scarlet trickle oozing.
Savannah raised stricken eyes to his.
He’d gotten it right the first time. Her eyes really were as green as a spring meadow. And her mouth was pink. Like cotton candy. Maybe that wasn’t very poetic, but he’d always loved the taste of cotton candy.
“I’m sorry,” she said on a note of despair. “I know I keep saying that but—”
“You have to moisten it.” His voice rumbled and he cleared his throat. “The handkerchief. If it’s damp, it won’t stick to the cut.”
“Oh.” She looked around. “You’re right. Just give me a minute to find the ladies’—”
“Wet it with your tongue,” he said. Hell. Now he sounded as if he’d run his words through a bed of gravel. Her eyes rose to his again. “The hankie. You know. Just—just use your mouth to make it wet.”
Her face turned the same color as her dress. Time stretched between them, taut as a wire.
“Sean,” she said quietly, “I didn’t—When you kissed me, I didn’t expect—I didn’t know—”
“Know what?” he said roughly, moving closer. He reached out, cupped her face.
“Sir?”
Sean swung around. The waiter stood a few feet away.
“Your champagne, sir. Shall I…?”
“Just—” Sean cleared his throat. “Just put it on that table. No, don’t open it. I’ll do it myself.”
Saved by the proverbial bell, he thought as the waiter did as he’d asked. Kissing this woman again made about as much sense as raising the ante with a pair of threes in your hand.
He waited until they were alone again, taking the time to get himself back under control. Then he looked at Savannah.
“Champagne,” he said briskly.
“For what?” She’d pulled herself together, too. Her voice was strong, her color normal.
“It’s just what we need. For the cut on my lip.”
“Oh. Oh, of course. Will you—”
“Sure.”
Sean did the honors, twisting the wire muzzle from the neck of the bottle, then popping the cork. The wine sparkled with bubbles as he poured some on the hankie she held out.
“It’ll probably sting,” she said, and before he could reply, she moved in and dabbed the cut with the cold, wine-soaked lace.
An understatement, Savannah thought, as Sean O’Connell rocked back on his heels.
“Sorry,” she said politely. The hell she was, she thought.
She’d made a damned fool of herself. Worse, she’d probably blown her chance at setting him up for the kill, but it was his fault.
Why did he have to ruin things by kissing her? If he hadn’t, everything would still be fine. She hadn’t meant for him to kiss her; she was supposed to be the one setting the boundaries for this little escapade, not him.
“Hey! Take it easy with that stuff.”
“Sorry,” she said again, and went right on cleaning the cut with as little delicacy as she could manage.
Some seductress she was. The mark made a move she hadn’t anticipated, gave her one simple kiss, and…
Except, it hadn’t been a simple kiss. It had been as complex as the night sky. She’d trembled under it. The texture of his mouth. The whisper of his breath. The silken glide of his tongue against hers.
And then—then, it had all changed. His hand on her thigh. The quick bloom of heat between her legs. The pressure of his hard, aroused male flesh, the message implicit in its power.
All at once, the terrace had become the yacht. She’d remembered the way Alain’s friends had taken to looking at her and the way Alain talked to them right in front of her, his voice pitched so low she couldn’t hear his words.
She didn’t have to.
She had only to see their hot eyes, see the little smiles they exchanged, feel the way a beefy hand would brush against her breast, her thigh, always accidentally…
“Are you trying to fillet my lip or leave it steak tartare?”
Savannah blinked. O’Connell, arms folded over his chest, was eyeing her narrowly, his face expressionless.
“I, uh, I just wanted to make sure I disinfected the cut properly.” She dropped her hand to her side, peered at his lip as if she knew what she was doing and flashed what she hoped was a brilliant smile. “It looks fine.”
“Does it,” he said coldly.
Oh, this wasn’t any good! She’d had him right where she wanted him, and now she’d lost him. He was furious and she couldn’t blame him.
Well, that would have to change if she was going to get anywhere tonight.
“Yes,” she said, with a little smile. “I’m happy to tell you, you won’t need stitches. No rabies shots, either.”
He didn’t smile back. All right. One more try.
“I suppose I owe you an apology,” she said, looking at him from under her lashes.
Sean almost laughed. The cute smile. The tease. And, when those failed, the demure look coupled with an apology. All designed to tap into his masculine instincts. He was supposed to say “no, it’s okay,” because that was what a gentleman would do.
Unfortunately for Just-Savannah, he was no gentleman.
“No.”
“No?”
“I don’t want an apology.”
She almost sighed with relief. He waited a beat.
“I want an explanation.”
She blinked. Clearly, she hadn’t expected that. Now she was mentally scrambling for a response.
“An explanation,” she parroted. “And—and you’re entitled to one. I, uh, I think it’s just that you—you caught me by surprise.”
“You’ve been coming on to me all evening.”
“Well—well, I told you, you’re an attractive—”
She gasped as he caught hold of her wrists.
“And yet, the first move I make, you react as if I dragged you into an alley.”
“That’s not—”
“Game’s over, sweetheart.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Nobody plays me for a fool.” Sean held her tighter, applying just enough pressure to let her know he was taking charge. “I want answers.”
“To what? Honestly, Mr. O’Connell…”
“Let’s start with the ‘Mr. O’Connell’ routine. I was Just-Sean. You were Just-Savannah. How come it turns out you know my last name?”
Savannah swallowed past the lump in her throat. His face was like a thundercloud; his hands were locked around hers like manacles. Missy, she thought, oh, Missy, I’m so sorry.
“I told you,” she said in a low voice. “I saw you and I found you very—”
“Forget that crap.” His mouth thinned; he tugged on her wrists and she had no choice but to stumble forward until they were only a breath apart. “I knew something was up, but you were determined to keep trying the same con so I decided to go along. You’ve been scamming me, sugar, and I’ve had enough. You tell me what’s going on or I’ll drag you to the manager’s office and see to it you’re barred from ever entering this place again.”
“You can’t do that! I have as much right to be here as you do.”
“Maybe you’re a working girl.”
“A working…” She began to tremble. “That’s a lie.”
“Is it? Once I describe your behavior, who’s going to argue with me?”
“You can’t do that!”
His grin was all teeth. “Try me.”
Savannah opened her mouth, then shut it. For all she knew, he could do anything. He was known here. She wasn’t. Everything was coming apart. She’d have to go back to Alain and tell him she’d failed, that his year of planning had led to nothing.
“Well? I’m waiting for that explanation. And I’ll tell you right now, sugar, it damned well better be good.”
Desperate, she searched for anything that might get her out of this mess. What could she possibly say that would change things? O’Connell was right. He wasn’t about to believe she was interested in him, not after she’d almost bitten his face off when he touched her.
She wouldn’t react that way if he did it again.
The realization shocked her. It was true, though. Now that she knew what to expect, if it happened again—which it wouldn’t—but if it did, if she ever felt all that heat, saw the hunger in his eyes, she might just—she might just—
“Okay, that’s it.”
Sean started walking toward the door, dragging her with him. Think, she told herself desperately, think, think!
“All right,” she gasped. “I’ll tell you the truth.”
He swung toward her, towering over her in the moonlight. He said nothing. Clearly, the next move was hers. Savannah took a steadying breath and played for time to work out a story. Something he would buy so she wouldn’t have to return to Alain in failure and see that cool smile, hear him say, Ah, chérie, that’s too bad. I hate to think of your dear little sister in one of those state institutions.
She took a steadying breath. “I owe you an apology, Mr. O’Connell.”
“You already said that.”
“Not for biting you. For—what did you call it? For scamming you.”
It was a start. At least she’d caught his attention.
“I didn’t mean to. Not exactly. I just—”
“You didn’t mean to. Not exactly.” Sean raised an eyebrow. “That’s your explanation?”
“No! There’s more.”
“Damned right, there’s more. Why don’t you start by telling me why you pretended not to know who I was?”
How much of the truth could she tell, without giving everything away?
“I’m waiting.”
“Yes. I know.” She looked down at their hands, still joined, then up at his face. “It’s true. I did know who you were. Well, I knew your name but then, everyone knows your name.”
She fell silent. Sean let go of her wrists and tucked his hands into his pockets. He’d long ago learned the art of keeping quiet. Do it right and the other person felt compelled to babble.
“Everyone knows you’re the world’s best poker player.”
He wasn’t, though he was close to it. Still, he said nothing. She didn’t, either, but he knew his silence was getting to her. She was chewing lightly on her lip. If she wasn’t careful, she’d leave a little wound to match his.
A wound he could easily soothe with a flick of his tongue. Damn, where had that thought come from?
“And all this is leading where?” he said gruffly.
“To—to the reason I came over and spoke to you.”
“Sugar,” he said, smiling tightly, “you didn’t speak to me, you hit on me. Understand, I’ve no objection to a beautiful woman showing her interest.” His smile faded. “I just don’t like being played for a sucker.”
“I didn’t—”
“Yeah, you did. Or you would have, if you could have gotten away with it.” He pulled his hand from his pocket and checked his watch. “I have other things to do tonight. You have two minutes to answer my questions—or we can take that walk to the office.”
Savannah knotted her fingers together. She was going to do the very thing Alain had warned her against, but what other choice did she have?
“I play poker, too, Sean.”
“How nice.” His teeth showed in a chilly smile. “We’re back to first names.”
“Did you hear what I—”
“You said you play poker. What’s that got to do with anything?”
She hesitated. What could she safely tell him? Surely not that the man he’d cheated out of a million dollars had sent her, or that she was going to wipe him out because she was as good a player as he’d ever met.
She certainly couldn’t tell him the rest of it, that she’d planned to work him into such a sexual haze that by the time they sat down to play, he’d be so busy drooling over her that he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on his cards.
But she could tell him part of it, fancy things up to appeal to his ego. She’d blown her cover as a femme fatale. Could she pass herself off as an overeager tourist?
“I’m American. Like you.”
“Congratulations,” Sean said dryly. “So what?”
“So, I’m on vacation. You know. Sun, sea, sand. Gambling. I really like to gamble, even though I’m new at it.”
A muscle flickered in his jaw. “Go on.”
“You’re right about my name. I was born in Georgia but I live in Louisiana. That’s where I learned to play cards. On a riverboat. You know, on the Mississippi? A date took me, the first time.” She grinned, hoped it was disarming and that mixing lies and truth proved the ticket to success. “I picked up the game fast. I’m pretty good, if I must say so myself, but I’ve never played against serious competition. Against, say, a man like you.”
Sean lifted an eyebrow. Was this the whole thing? Had she flirted with him just to convince him to take a seat at the same poker table? Anything was possible. Novices approached him all the time. In his own tight little world, he was a celebrity of sorts.
Except, he didn’t buy it.
All this subterfuge, so he could beat her pretty tail off in a game of cards? So she could go home and say she’d played Sean O’Connell?
No way.
“I’d be thrilled if you’d let me sit at a table with you, Sean. I could go home and tell everyone—”
“Anybody can sit at any table. You must know that.”
“Well—well, of course I know that. But I’m not that forward. I know you think I am, after all that’s happened, but the truth is, I wouldn’t have the courage to take a seat at a table you were at unless I cleared it with you first.”
He still didn’t buy it. She wouldn’t have the courage? This woman who’d done everything but jump his bones?
“And that’s it?”
Savannah nodded. “That’s it.”
He moved fast, closed the distance between them before she could even draw a breath. All at once, her back was to the wall and his hands were flattened against it on either side of her.
“You took a big risk, sugar,” he said softly. “Coming on to me as hard as you did without knowing a damned thing about me except that I play cards. You got me going a few minutes ago. If your luck had gone bad, you might have gotten hurt.”
He saw her throat constrict as she swallowed, but her eyes stayed right on his.
“I told you that I knew you were Sean O’Connell. And Sean O’Connell isn’t known for hurting women.”
“No.” His gaze fell to her mouth. He looked up and smiled. “He’s known for liking them, though.”
“Sean. About what I’ve asked…”
“Why did you panic?”
“I didn’t. I—”
Sean put one finger gently over her lips. “Yeah, you did. I kissed you, you kissed me back, and then you got scared.” His finger slid across the fullness of her mouth. “How come? What frightened you?”
“Nothing frightened me.”
She was lying. He could sense it. There was something going on he still didn’t understand and, all at once, he wanted to.
“Savannah.” Sean cupped her face. “What’s the matter? Tell me what it is. Let me help you.”
Her eyes glittered. Was it because of the moonlight, or were those tears?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sean smoothed back her hair. “Just as long as you’re not afraid of me,” he said gruffly, and kissed her.
She let it happen, let herself drown in the heat of his kiss. She told herself it was what she had to do but when he drew back, she had to grasp his shoulders for support.
“Tell me what you want,” he said softly.
Savannah willed her heart to stop racing. Then she took a deep breath and said the only thing she could.
“I told you. I want to play cards. Then I can go home and tell everybody that I played against the great Sean O’Connell.”
“And that’s it? That’s all you need from me?”
His eyes were steady on hers, his body strong under her hands. For one endless moment, she thought of telling him the truth. That she was here to destroy him. That she was in trouble and had no one to turn to for help but herself.
Then she remembered that he was a thief, and she forced a smile to her lips.
“That’s it,” she said lightly. “That’s all I need.”

CHAPTER FOUR
TWO HOURS LATER, Sean was sitting across from Savannah at a poker table in the high-stakes area of the casino and the warning bells in his head were clamoring like bells inside a firehouse.
The game was draw poker. She was still playing. He’d already folded, just as he’d done half a dozen times since they’d started. His fault, he knew. He’d played with lazy disinterest, underestimated the lady’s skill.
And her skill was considerable.
The realization had caught him by surprise. Once it had, he’d played a couple of hands as he should have from the start. She’d folded. He’d won.
That had led to another realization. Goldilocks wasn’t a good loser.
Oh, she said all the right things, the clever patter card-players used to defuse tension. She flashed that megawatt smile across the table straight at him. But her eyes didn’t smile. They were dark with distress. What she’d said about simply wanting to play him wasn’t true.
Just-Savannah needed to win. He decided to let her. There were all kinds of ways to up the ante.
And if she was new to the game, he was Mighty Mouse.
She played with the cool concentration of someone who’d had years to hone her talent. Her instincts were good, her judgment sharp, and by now he’d determined that the cute little things she did when she played, things he’d at first thought were unconscious habits, were deliberate shticks meant to distract him.
A little tug at a curl as it kissed the curve of her cheek. A brush of her tongue across her mouth. A winsome smile accompanied by a look from under the thick sweep of her gold-tipped lashes.
Most effective of all, a sigh that lifted her breasts.
The air-conditioned chill in the casino was cooperating. Each time her breasts rose, the nipples pressed like pearls against the red silk that covered them.
Forget about the odds, she all but purred. Forget about the game. Just think about me. What I have to offer, you’ll never get by winning this silly game of cards.
It was hard not to do exactly that. The man in him wanted what she was selling with every beat of his heart. The gambler in him knew it was all a lie. And there it was again. The smile, just oozing with little-girl amazement that she was actually winning.
Bull.
Savannah wasn’t a novice, she was an expert. Playing without using any of those distractions, she’d beat every man at the table on ability alone.
Every man but him.
She was good, but he was better. And once he knew what in hell was happening, he’d prove it to her.
Meanwhile, the action was fascinating to watch. Not just her moves but the moves of the rest of the players. Two—a German industrialist and a Texas oil billionaire—were good. The others—a prince from some godforsaken principality, a Spanish banker, a has-been American movie star and an Italian who had something to do with designing shoes—weren’t. It didn’t matter. The men were all happy to be losing.
Sean didn’t think Savannah gave a damn. He’d have bet everything he owned that she was putting on this little show solely for him.
Why? No way was it so she could go home and boast about having played against him. That story leaked like a sieve, especially because he could see past the smile, the cleavage, the performance art.
Under all that clever artifice, she was playing with a determination so grim it chilled him straight down to the marrow of his bones.
So he’d decided to lay back. Win a couple of hands, lose a couple. Fold early. Look as if he was as taken in as the others while he tried to figure out what was going on.
Right now, he and she were the only ones playing. The rest had all folded. She sighed. Her cleavage rose. She licked her lips. She twirled a curl of golden hair around her index finger. Then she looked at him and fluttered her lashes.
“I’ll see your five,” she said, “and raise you ten.”
Sean smiled back at her. He didn’t bother looking at his cards. He knew what he had and he was damned sure it beat what she was holding.
“Too rich for my blood,” he said lazily, and dropped his cards on the green baize tabletop.
The German smiled. “The fraulein wins again.”
Savannah gathered in the chips. “Beginner’s luck,” she said demurely, and smiled at him again.
It wasn’t luck, beginner’s or otherwise. The luck of the draw was a big part of winning but from what he’d observed, it had little to do with her success at this table.
The lady was good.
He watched as she picked up her cards, fanned them just enough to check the upper right-hand corners, then put them down again. It was a pro’s trick. When your old man owned one of the biggest hotels and casinos in Vegas, you learned their tricks early.
Not that Sean had spent much time in the casino. State law prohibited minors from being in the gaming areas. More importantly, so did his mother.
One gambler in the family was enough for Mary Elizabeth O’Connell. She’d never complained about her husband’s love of cards, dice, the wheel, whatever a man could lay a wager on, but she also made it clear she didn’t want to see her children develop any such interests.
Still, Sean had been drawn to the life as surely as ocean waves are drawn to the shore.
He began gambling when he was in his teens. By his senior year in high school, he bet on anything and everything. Basketball. Football. Baseball. A friend’s grades. His pals thought he was lucky. Sean knew better. It was more than luck. He had a feel for mathematics, especially for those parts of it that dealt in probability, combinations and permutations. Show him the grade spread for, say, Mrs. Keany’s classes in Trig over the past five years, he could predict how the current grades would play out with startling accuracy.
It was fun.
Then he went away to college, discovered poker and fell in love with it. He loved everything about the game. The cool, smooth feel of a new deck of cards. The numbers that danced in his head as he figured out who was holding what. The kick of playing a hand he knew he couldn’t lose or, conversely, playing a hand no sane man would hold on to and winning anyway because he was good and because, in the final analysis, even the risk of losing could give you an adrenaline rush.
By the time he graduated from Harvard with a degree in business, he had a small fortune stashed in the bank.
Sean handed his degree to Mary Elizabeth, kissed her on both cheeks and said he knew he was disappointing her but he wasn’t going to need that degree for a while.

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