Читать книгу The Kincaids: Private Mergers: One Dance with the Sheikh - Day Leclaire, Tessa Radley - Страница 11

Laurel’s expression grew increasingly bemused as the limousine that had collected them from McCarran International Airport cruised along Las Vegas’s famous Strip.

“There’s no where else in the world like Vegas,” Rakin told Laurel, watching as she tried to assimilate the staggering visual impact of the city.

“It’s like a Hollywood set.” She twisted around to look out of a small window. “I don’t remember any of this from back when I was here as a child.”

“Then I shall have to show you everything.”

“I can’t wait.” Even under the tawdry neon lights of the limousine interior her eyes shone with excitement.

By the time the white limousine nosed into the forecourt of the luxury hotel he’d booked for them, Rakin half-regretted not reserving a suite in one of the more over-the-top resorts.

“There are more outrageous hotels.” Rakin stood at the door as she emerged from the limousine. “But I thought you might appreciate somewhere more peaceful when a retreat from the madness becomes necessary.”

Laurel clambered out to stand beside him. Dressed in a pair of white linen trousers and a taupe shell top she looked cool and comfortable. Pulling her sunglasses down from where they rested on the top of her head to shade her eyes, she said, “I can’t imagine that ‘peace’ is a word one often associates with Vegas.”

“Believe it or not, there are peaceful places to be found not far from here.”

“Like where?”

“Eli and I came here a couple of times during vacations while we were at Harvard. The desert is vast and undisturbed. Beautiful. Sometimes we’d hike through Red Rock Canyon.”

There was a long pause as she examined him.

“You were homesick,” she said after a moment, a peculiar note in her voice. “You missed Diyafa … and your family.”

Rakin didn’t reply. But he was relieved he couldn’t see her expression behind the dark, opaque veil of the sunglasses. He suspected it would be too kind for comfort. Pity was the very last thing he wanted from this woman he was determined to marry.

He certainly wasn’t going to explain the complicated relationship he shared with his family. The overwhelming expectations of his grandfather that had started when he was barely out the cradle and set him forever at odds with his cousins. His father’s fits of anger, which had caused his mother to weep in-consolably. His own growing resentment against his father that had increased after he’d been sent to boarding school in England. And the lingering guilt for abandoning his mother to deal with his father which had not been eased by the bravely stoic letters written in her perfect, flowing handwriting.

By his thirteenth birthday his parents had been dead—and by the time he and Eli had first hiked Red Rock Canyon they’d been buried for a decade.

So Laurel was wrong. The pilgrimages he and Eli had made to Vegas had nothing to do with missing Diyafa—or his family.

No need for her to know there were no nostalgic, happy memories for him to hanker after—or at least, not until he successfully talked her into marrying him to nullify Prince Ahmeer’s latest round of threats. For now, he’d promised his Southern rebel fun and adventure—and he intended to ensure she experienced plenty of both.

Cupping her elbow, he ushered her in the porter’s wake into the quiet, discreet luxury of the hotel lobby. A hostess rushed forward and offered them each a glass of champagne. Before Rakin could refuse, Laurel shook her head.

She flashed him a rueful glance. “I want a clear head—I’m not missing a moment of this.”

Her humor caused his mood to lighten. “I like you tipsy,” he said softly.

A flush swept along her cheekbones. “It’s not gentlemanly of you to remind me.”

Coming from his lady-turned-rebel, the statement caused him to chuckle. “I thought you were tired of social constraints?”

“Not so tired that I’ll get tipsy again any time soon.”

They’d reached the reservations desk. Laurel leaned forward to answer a question from the reservations clerk and Rakin was instantly all too aware of the taut, lean lines of her body. Her bare arms rested on the polished counter and she spread her hands drawing his attention to the rings that decorated her graceful fingers.

Her ring finger was bare. His gaze lingered on the band of pale skin that evidenced her broken engagement to Eli.

A light, summery scent floated to him. Rakin inhaled deeply. Could one get tipsy on perfume? he wondered, then shook off the absurd notion.

This was about business.

Not about Laurel’s perfume. Not about the pleasure that her company brought. Hard to believe he’d only met her yesterday. It had been tough to convince her to come away today. Once she’d accepted his invitation, she’d immediately tried to buy time. She’d suggested the following weekend. Rakin couldn’t risk her changing her mind. He’d pushed until she’d capitulated. He’d won. She’d agreed to two days. He had two days in which to convince her to marry him—and secure his position in Gifts of Gold, the company of which he’d been appointed CEO.

Two days …

He feared it wouldn’t be enough. He’d have to tempt her to play longer.

Once they’d completed the brief check-in formalities for the penthouse suite he’d reserved, Rakin wasted no time setting his plan of attack into action. Bending his head, he murmured, “I thought we might go exploring.”

Laurel had taken her sunglasses off, and without the shielding screen her green eyes sparkled up at him. “Sounds great—I can’t wait.”

Some of her joyous enthusiasm appeared to be rubbing off on him because Rakin couldn’t stop himself from smiling back at her. “Then there’s no time to waste.”

Laurel very soon discovered that Las Vegas did indeed have spectacular sights.

In fact, her mind was quite boggled by the end of the first hour. The interior of the Luxor hotel was concealed in an immense black glass pyramid guarded by a giant crouching sphinx. But inside, instead of the treasures of ancient Egypt, Laurel was amazed to find the reconstructed bow of the giant Titanic complete with a lifeboat. As she and Rakin wandered through the installations, Laurel was moved by the stories of the last hours of the crew and passengers on the ship’s tragic maiden voyage.

The Liberace Museum, by contrast, with its collection of resplendent, unashamed kitsch, made her giggle. The glittering mirror-tiled piano and the rhinestone-covered grand were wonderfully over the top. On catching sight of Rakin’s appalled expression as he inspected the famed red, white and blue hot-pants suit, a mischievous impulse overtook her.

She eyed the black jeans and dazzling white T-shirt he wore, then leaned close to whisper, “I think your wardrobe should include one of those outfits.”

“It would cause quite a stir in Diyafa if I ever wore such a garment. A national disaster, in fact. There are still some conservative elements who would never recover from the sight of Prince Ahmeer Al-Abdellah’s grandson sporting hot pants.” Across the narrow space separating them, their eyes met, and for one charged moment a connection pulsed between them…. Then it passed and hilarity broke.

“Enough of museums,” said Rakin, reaching for her hand when they’d sufficiently regained their composure. “I think we need a little more action.”

A shock of surprise rushed through her as his hand closed around hers. The clasp was warm and firm. Rakin showed no sign that the gesture had affected him to the same extent—he was striding purposefully forward, seemingly unaware that they were holding hands like a pair of lovers.

She was making too much of it.

Rakin was treating her with the kind of warm friendship she craved. So why spoil it by imagining intimacies that didn’t exist? She should take the gesture at face value and go with the flow. No need to overanalyze the camaraderie that was developing between them. That, too, was part of breaking free.

Easier said than done.

Laurel couldn’t dampen her awareness of their linked hands, and she finally slid her hand out of his and came to a stop when a familiar skyline materialized ahead.

“New York?” The Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building were interspersed with other landmark buildings. This was his idea of more action? But she had to admit the replica skyscrapers were impressive. “Oh, wow, there’s the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“The buildings are about a third of actual life size,” Rakin informed her. “But it’s not the sight of the buildings that will give you the adrenaline rush I promised.”

“New York–New York? A rollercoaster?” she gasped moments later.

“Why not?” He shot her a taunting look. “Scared?”

Even if she had been, his all-too-male I-dare-you expression would have forced her to bite her lip. She’d told him that she craved adventure, so there was no way she was going to back down now.

She stuck up her chin. “Of course not. I love rides.”

Love was a slight exaggeration. She hadn’t been on a ride in years. A quick calculation left Laurel astonished by exactly how long it had been since she’d last experienced such a ride. Where had the years gone? And, more to the point, where had her sense of fun gone? When had she let herself become so staid … so boring? When had she forgotten that there was a world out there beyond the confines of her family and the demands of public relations for The Kincaid Group?

“At least I did love them once upon a time,” she added a little more dubiously, hoping that her youthful infatuation with roller coasters would return by the time they reached the start.

“The track twists between the skyscrapers—” Rakin jerked a thumb in the direction of the buildings “—rising to two hundred feet between the buildings.”

“Thanks! That’s very comforting to know.”

“It reaches speeds of over sixty-five miles per hour—and there’s a place where the train drops a hundred and forty-four feet.”

The last snippet of information gave her pause. “Are you deliberately trying to frighten me?”

“I’d never do such a thing.” But the twitch of his lips gave him away.

Humor rushed through her like champagne bubbles rising. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

“Any adventure needs a good case of butterflies to start it off—dread heightens anticipation.”

That sealed it. “You are trying to scare me—wicked man!”

She advanced on him, brandishing her purse.

Rakin grabbed her wrists before she could take a swing at him, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “Are you having fun?”

She stilled. Lowering her purse, she glanced quickly around. How quickly she’d forgotten to behave with the dignity that befitted the eldest Kincaid daughter. Embarrassment swept over her; then she banished it. Who amongst the hordes knew her? And who would even care? Freedom followed in a dizzying burst.

With wonder she said, “Yes, I’m having a fantastic time.”

She skipped into line beside Rakin.

“The trains look like yellow New York taxicabs—complete with hoods and headlights.” She thought they looked delightful, and not at all frightening.

“We’re in luck, we’re going to get front seats,” said Rakin, as an attendant ushered them forward.

Once seated in the front row with the restraints securely fastened, Laurel’s enthusiasm waned at the unobstructed view of the red track ahead. Luck? Maybe not. As the train started forward her heart rose into her throat. “Rakin, what recklessness possessed me to do this?”

“You’re going to love it.” Rakin’s eyes gleamed with humor.

But Laurel was no longer so sure. Ahead of them the track climbed to the height of Everest. The train chugged up, and with each foot they progressed the butterflies that Rakin had stirred up broke free of their chrysalis in Laurel’s stomach and started to flutter madly.

They crested the top of the rise.

Laurel caught a glimpse of the Las Vegas skyline laid out in front of them. In the distance, hills undulated in a long curve.

The train gathered momentum.

“Oh, my heavens!”

Rakin’s hand closed around hers. Before she could catch her breath, they were hurtling down. Then they were rising…. The next plunge downward left Laurel’s stomach somewhere in the sky above them. Air left her lungs in a silent scream. She could hear Rakin laughing beside her.

Ahead, high above, she glimpsed a complete loop of red track.

“Noooo …” she moaned.

She gripped Rakin’s hand until her fingers hurt.

The train swooped into the upward curve of the loop. Tension, tight and terrifying, clawed at her body. Laurel could hear screams behind her. For a disconcerting instant the world turned over, hovered, blue sky flashing below them in a spinning blur; then everything righted itself. They sped down into a series of tight heart-hammering curves that pressed her thigh up against Rakin’s.

A wild euphoria exploded inside her.

The Statue of Liberty flashed past, and Laurel found herself laughing. Moments later the train shot into womb-like darkness.

Rakin murmured something beside her, but the sound of her heart hammering in her head drowned it out. Her hand was still gripping his, and Laurel realized her nails must be digging into his palm. Hot, awkward embarrassment flooded her.

“Sorry,” she muttered, letting go.

“It didn’t worry me.”

“I appreciated the loan,” she said lightly, and Rakin chuckled in response.

Gradually her eyes adjusted until she was able to make out lights and shapes of an underground station. Noise surrounded her—the attendant’s cheery greeting as he freed her from the safety restraint, the clatter of trains on the track.

When they emerged from the front seats Laurel’s legs felt like Jell-O. But sheer exhilaration propelled her forward.

“You were right, I loved it!”

Laurel didn’t care that she sounded breathless as she spun around to grin giddily at Rakin through the cloud of hair that had whipped around her face during the thrill ride. Right now she felt high on joy—prepared to take on the world. Anything he wanted to throw at her, she was game for. The surge of strength—the feeling that she could do whatever she wanted—was supremely empowering. Getting a life …

Yet Rakin wasn’t even breathing hard. And, what’s more, not even one dark hair had strayed out of place. A wicked urge to see him look a little rumpled stole through her.

“Again,” she challenged. “I want to do it again.”

It was evening, and the observation deck on the fiftieth floor of Paris Las Vegas’s Eiffel Tower was deserted.

Rakin felt Laurel go still beneath the hand he’d placed across her back to usher her from the glass elevator.

“How beautiful,” she breathed, and gestured to the warm, dusky light that turned the observation deck to burnished bronze. “It’s like being in a capsule of gold.”

He watched indulgently as she picked her way along the observation deck, her high heels tapping against the steel, to take in the dramatic view of the city stretching to the purpling mountains in the distance.

Laurel came to a stop and the fiery glow of the sinking rays lit the hair piled on top of her head, throwing the elegant black strapless dress she wore into sharp relief. Against the backdrop of the sunset she looked like a goddess waiting to be summoned back from earth.

“It has been the most extraordinary day,” she said breaking the spell that held him entranced. “Recklessness drove me to accept your invitation.”

His gaze fixed on her, he said, “Recklessness?”

“I gave in to the temptation to break the Winthrop ban on gambling.” She spread her arms wide to embrace the view. “But I didn’t expect this. I’ve no idea how you’ll intend to keep the action—and the surprises—rolling tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry, there’s plenty more to see,” Rakin told her, and closed the gap between them. “Dolphins. Sharks. Lions. We haven’t even started on the animal encounters.”

The sideways glance she gave him held a very human glint of mischief. “Or we could try the thrill rides at the Stratosphere Tower.”

Rakin groaned. “I’ve created a monster. Three rides on New York-New York, not to mention braving the Speed roller coaster at NASCAR Cafe this afternoon—and you still crave more?”

“I never realized what I was missing out on—I should’ve put Ride a roller coaster on my list.”

“You made a list of things to do in Vegas?” Had he left anything out?

But before he could ask, Laurel colored and averted her gaze. A gust of wind blew a tendril of hair that had escaped across her cheek, and she brushed it back. “It’s not exactly about Vegas.”

“But you have a list?” he pressed.

Laurel gave a small nod.

Her reticence intrigued him. “So what’s on it?”

“I can’t remember,” she mumbled and her flush turned a deep shade of crimson.

Laurel Kincaid was a terrible liar.

“Now you’ve woken my curiosity.”

She muttered something. Then she pointed. “Look, isn’t that pretty?”

Rakin allowed himself to be distracted. Far below, the Strip was starting to light up as Las Vegas prepared for the coming night like a showgirl dressing for an after-dark performance.

“Oh, and look there!”

Rakin’s followed her finger. Three rings of fountains had leapt out from the lake in front of the Bellagio, the high plumes illuminated by bright light.

A glance at Laurel revealed that she was transfixed.

“We’ll see the fountains from closer up during dinner.” He’d booked a table at Picasso specifically so Laurel could enjoy the display.

“From up here it gives another perspective. This tower looks like every picture I’ve seen of the real Eiffel Tower. It’s amazing.”

Rakin hadn’t moved his attention from her face. Her changing expressions revealed every emotion she experienced. Wonder. Excitement.

For one wild moment he considered what her features would look like taut with desire, her dark-red hair spread loose across his pillow….

He shut his eyes to block out the tantalizing vision.

“So have you ever visited Paris or Venice? I’d love to visit both.”

To his relief her voice interrupted his torrid imaginings. “Not Venice,” he said, his voice hoarser than normal. “But I’ve been to Paris often—my mother loved Paris. She attended the école Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts on the Left Bank across from the Louvre.”

“She’s an artist?”

Rakin nodded. “She was—she died.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to reopen—”

The remorse on Laurel’s face made him say quickly, “Don’t worry. Talking about her doesn’t upset me. She’s been gone a long time. Most people avoid mentioning her—it makes them uncomfortable.” It ran contrary to his own need to talk about his mother, to remember her as she’d been. Talented. Mercurial. Loving. “My father died, too.”

“You must miss them both.”

The memories of his father were much more ambivalent. But there was no need for Laurel to discover the undercurrents that lurked beneath the mask he carefully preserved. So he focused on the facts. “My parents met in Paris.”

“How romantic.”

It was the conclusion he’d expected—no, led—her to draw. His mother had also thought it romantic. His father had called it fate. Neither romance nor fate had been enough in the end.

The night they’d met, Laurel had asked him whether he believed in fate …

It was Rakin’s turn to turn away. The sunset blazed along the skyline.

“It was spring time.” The words forced themselves past the tightness in his throat.

“Even more romantic.”

Without looking at Laurel, he continued to weave the tale that had become a legend of tabloid lies. “My parents returned to Diyafa for a lavish wedding, and I was born less than a year later.” That had been the end of the romance and the beginning of his mother’s harsh reality. As his father had the male heir he wanted, the sheik no longer needed to woo his wife. Duty, rather than desire, had kept his parents together until their deaths.

Rakin found he had a startlingly intense need to see Laurel’s face. Forcing a smile, he swiveled on his heel. Her eyes held a soft, dreamy look. “I’d love to visit Paris in the spring.”

“And walk along the Seine.” Rakin knew all the clichés.

“How wonderful to fall in love in a city that celebrates lovers.”

“That too.” His parents’ story had great spin, Rakin decided savagely. The lie still lived.

She tipped her head to one side and the last rays of the sun glinted off the diamond earrings that dangled against her neck. “And I’d like to visit Diyafa, too.”

It was the cue he needed.

But instead of telling her about his grandfather’s plan to oust him, Rakin glanced at his watch. “Our table booking is not far off. I’ll tell you more about the country of my birth over dinner—and afterwards we’ll do what everyone does in Vegas—gamble.”

As he’d anticipated, the dreaminess evaporated, then she said, “The higher the stakes, the better. Don’t forget I have every intention of gambling the night away.”

The stakes were rising for him, too. So why had he not taken the opportunity that she’d offered? Why hadn’t he told her what he needed? A wife to neutralize his grandfather’s threats? A part of him recognized that he was being drawn into the fantasy he’d created for a woman he found himself liking more and more with every hour that passed.

A whole day had already passed. Too soon they would be leaving Vegas and the opportunity to negotiate her cooperation would be forever lost. He could no longer delay.

It was time to return to reality.

And get himself a wife.

Picasso at the Bellagio was one of Rakin’s favorite restaurants.

“Bellagio is a village on the shores of Lake Como,” Rakin told Laurel after their plates from the main course had been cleared away, and dessert menus left for them to leisurely peruse. He’d secured a table overlooking a balcony and the lake beyond so that Laurel would have a good view of the fountains dancing to the music.

“George Clooney has a villa at Lake Como, doesn’t he?” Laurel’s smile had an impish quality as she turned from the fountains back to him. “I’d better add that to the exotic places I want to visit.”

“You’re that keen to meet Clooney?” Rakin wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be annoyed by her mischievous interest in the movie star—especially since before his grandfather’s latest threats he’d been as eager as Clooney to avoid marriage and babies. And despite conceding to marriage, babies were forever off the agenda—not that his grandfather needed to know that.

She gave him an artless glance. “Isn’t every woman?”

This time he did laugh. “You’re a tease!”

The artlessness evaporated. Only to be replaced with a sincerity that he found infinitely more disturbing. “Not really,” she confided, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “Only with you. I’ve never flirted in my life—yet with you it’s easy.”

Her candor was disarming. And the husky note in her voice thrummed through him, playing all his nerve endings to devastating effect. He didn’t dare allow his eyes to stray lower in case her action had caused the provocative neckline to reveal even more tantalizing glimpses of skin. Instead, Rakin unfolded his napkin, placed it on his lap and said lightly, “I thought all Southern women were born flirts.”

“Not me.” She glanced down at the dessert menu in front of her.

He could’ve argued that she was learning fast. Yet Rakin suspected that she had little idea of the effect she was having on him. He was more interested in her than he’d been in any woman for a long, long time. At first, his interest had been piqued by Eli’s comment that she’d make the perfect wife for the predicament he found himself in. Then he’d found himself really liking her. And now—

Well, now, his interest was growing in leaps and bounds.

Impossibly long lashes fluttered up as she glanced up from the menu. “I’ve been attempting to flirt with you because … I feel safe.”

The naked honesty of her statement shook him. All attempts at maintaining the lighthearted banter deserted him.

“Aren’t you going to order dessert?”

To his surprise, Rakin realized he’d set his menu down on the table. But he couldn’t stop thinking about what Laurel had said.

“You find it easy to flirt with me?”

“It must be because you’re Eli’s friend.” This time the smile she gave him was sweet rather than flirtatious. “I know you’re trustworthy.”

The brief flash of annoyance he felt surprised him. “Because Eli said so?”

“Well, he never actually said I could trust you. But he wouldn’t be friends with you if he didn’t trust you implicitly—Eli’s not the kind of man to waste time on liars and frauds.”

“So you accept Eli’s endorsement—rather than your own instincts?”

Laurel hesitated.

“No, don’t think too much.” Placing his elbows on the edge of the table, he steepled his hands and gazed at her over the top. “I want an instinctual response—not one vetted for kindness.”

“I do trust you.”

The expression in her eyes told him she’d astonished herself. Keeping his attention fixed on her, he demanded, “Why?”

“I don’t know.” She said it slowly, her gaze flickering away, then back to him as though drawn by some power she could not resist.

“It surprises you.” He made it a statement.

“Yes.” Again, she hesitated. Then she said in a rush. “I’ve never made friends easily—my family has always been enough.”

“And Eli.”

“And Eli,” she agreed. “But that was different.”

The sharp blade of envy that pierced Rakin was unexpected, and he thrust it away before the feeling could fester and turn to poisonous jealousy. “In what way?”

“We were the same age. He lived nearby while we were growing up.”

“You were being kind.”

“Maybe. At first. But the friendship was between equals—I got every bit as much out of it as Eli did. Remember, I didn’t have other close friends.”

He nodded his head. “I can understand that.”

“I suppose the reason I trust you is because I feel comfortable with you. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much.”

Pulling a face, he said, “I must be a clown.”

“No! You are anything but a clown.”

He’d been joking, trying to make her smile again. But her rapid rise to his defense made him realize that Laurel was concerned she might have offended him. Too kind for her own good. She could have no idea that his emotions had been forged in a crucible guaranteed to produce solid steel. If she had, no doubt she would not be nearly as comfortable in his company.

Nor would she be contemplating visiting Diyafa. Her comment about adding Lake Como to the places she wanted to visit probably meant her list included the destinations to which she wanted to travel. Las Vegas might only have been the start of it. He’d work on convincing her that Diyafa should be next on her list.

“It is true,” she was saying earnestly before he could question her about what other places were on her list. “I can’t remember when last I felt as lighthearted and carefree as I have today.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

Under the weight of his gaze, he watched the faint wash of color warm her cheeks.

Laurel dropped her gaze to the menu. “You know, I’ve no idea what to choose.”

Rakin’s mouth curved into a smile. “I’m going to have ice cream.”

“Ice cream?”

“Something cool in this weather. But you can’t go wrong with anything on the menu.”

“My meal was fabulous.”

“Every dish on the menu is inspired by places where Picasso lived in Spain and the South of France.”

His comment prompted Laurel to gaze at a Picasso painting on the nearest wall. “What did your mother paint?”

“She created huge abstract canvases. Mostly inspired by the desert landscape.” His father had hated them. The sheikh had wanted his wife to paint realistic portrayals of the Diyafan Desert. His mother had preferred broad sweeps of color that invited the viewer to put their own interpretation on the landscape.

“Do you paint, too?”

Rakin shook his head. “I studied business—although I will confess that I majored in classical studies in my undergraduate degree so I’m not a complete philistine.” A smile tugged at his mouth.

“Philistine?” She smiled back at him. “I never thought that for a moment. Why classical studies?”

The curve of her lips promised him untold delights. Rakin forced himself to glance up. “You can’t grow up in a place like Diyafa and not be aware of ancient history—but I also loved the old legends. Greek, Roman, Egyptian—Diyafa has some wonderful legends, too.”

“Which is your favorite legend?”

There was only one answer he could give. “In present company, I’d have to say the story of Daphne and Apollo.”

Laurel wrinkled her nose at him. “Why? Didn’t she get turned into a tree?”

“A laurel tree.”

Her eyes brightened with laughter. “You’re making that up.”

Rakin shook his head. “Apollo used the leaves to weave himself a wreath—and that’s how a laurel wreath became a symbol of victory.”

“Not much of a victory since the woman he loved had been turned into a tree.”

“And even hollower, when you consider that she felt nothing for him—she was fleeing his pursuit.”

“Poor Apollo.” She glanced at him through her lashes.

Heat blasted through him. And Rakin resisted the impulse to tell him that if she was any more skilled a flirt, every man in the world would be in mortal danger.

“Have you decided what you want to order?” he asked instead.

“Chocolate—rich chocolate. I’ll go with the restaurant’s recommendation. And then I want to gamble.”

Rakin couldn’t help grinning at her reckless, single-minded determination.

“I haven’t forgotten—we’ll gamble all night long.”

The hush that hung over the casino was broken from time to time by the clatter of chips and the muted exchange of voices as bets were placed. Silent waitresses glided past with trays of complimentary drinks. By invitation only, this was the domain of the rich, the famous … and the dedicated gamblers. And Laurel was growing to dread the sound of the chips being raked across the green baize.

Around the roulette table where she and Rakin had settled, several stacks of chips were growing to skyscraper heights. But, along with the thin man sitting opposite them and nursing a whisky with increasingly desperate eyes as his pile dwindled, Laurel was losing.

And her stomach had started to churn with disquiet. She’d lost at least five thousand dollars of Rakin’s money in the first ten minutes, and a fair bit of her own after she’d absolutely refused to accept more chips from him. What damage would a whole night’s gambling do to Rakin’s fortune—and her own? “I’m starting to think Grandfather was right,” she told Rakin in a low aside.

“Your Winthrop grandfather?”

Laurel nodded. “He considered gambling a curse.”

“One you hoped to break tonight?”

“Hmm.” She considered that. Had she believed that by winning on the tables she’d be proving that she could break the old taboo? Had she wanted to overturn—even by a small win—the curse of impoverishment that gambling, along with bad investments, had caused the Winthrops to suffer in the past? She wasn’t sure. “I don’t think my reasons were quite so inspired. I was probably more determined to try something that my family disapproved of—totally the wrong reason to do anything.”

Rakin chuckled, attracting a glare from the gambler losing across the table.

Leaning closer to him, she whispered, “But I’ve already lost far more than I intended of the chips you gave me—and what I added.” Laurel gestured to what remained of the stack beside her. “I’m seeing no evidence of any return.”

“Spoken like a cool-headed businesswoman.”

She slid him a searching glance. “I appear to share that trait with you, too—you haven’t even placed one bet yet.”

“I don’t gamble.”

“For religious reasons?”

“It’s bad business. I don’t like the odds—I prefer to put down money when I am confident of a healthy return.”

“Now who’s the cool-headed businessman?”

They exchanged smiles.

The croupier called for bets. Laurel hesitated, then shook her head.

Rakin touched her arm. “We’re disturbing the players. Time for us to move on, I think.”

At Rakin’s whisper, Laurel slid off the stool she’d been perched on, and picked up her purse with some relief. “So much for my grand plan to gamble all night.”

“You may discover your second wind after you’ve had a breather.”

“I doubt it.” She flicked him a wan smile. “What I have discovered is how fast one can lose money on the tables. I never understood how easy it is.” And it had given her some sympathy for the black-sheep Winthrop.

Once out of the stilted silence of the exclusive casino, the bustling, busy vibe of Vegas was back with vengeance. Slot machines chimed all around them, their colorful displays flashing brightly. The sick sensation in Laurel’s stomach started to subside.

They found an alcove in the lounge, and Laurel sank onto a plush seat. Rakin gave an order to a cocktail waitress, then joined her on the wide cushion.

“I think my grandfather would’ve approved of you.”

“The same grandfather who brokered your mother’s marriage to your father?”

Laurel nodded. “The very same.”

“And why do you think he would have approved of me?”

“According to my mother, he did his very best to repair the Winthrop family fortune in any way he could before he hit on the idea of the marriage to a Kincaid. It was an absolute rule in my grandfather’s house that none of his children were allowed to gamble. Mom said that he was furious when his eldest brother lost Captain’s Watch after betting on the horses.”

“Captain’s Watch?”

“The Winthrop family beach house.” It had been in the family since the eighteen hundreds. “Grandfather Winthrop paid Dad a visit shortly after Mom and Dad were married—and Dad agreed to do his best to buy it back. I believe it wasn’t easy, and it cost him a small fortune. But it was worth every cent.” Laurel could visualize the view from the wide windows of the beach house out to the sea. When her father’s will was read, Laurel discovered that her father had known exactly how much she loved the beach house: he’d left it to her in his will. “We spent endless summer vacations there. It’s one of my favorite places.”

“Then you must share it with me one day.”

Before Laurel could respond, the waitress returned with a glass of champagne and a frosted cola on a silver tray.

Laurel eyed the glass, then slid Rakin an amused glance. “You’re not intending to get me tipsy, are you?”

Rakin looked a little uncomfortable, and she instantly regretted teasing him.

“No, no,” he denied as he signed for the drinks. “I wanted to remind you that despite your losses on the roulette table, today is all about fun—it’s meant to be a time for new experiences. I wouldn’t deliberately set out to get you drunk.”

Laurel touched his arm.

“Sorry, that was a joke. It was in very bad taste. Of course I don’t believe you’re trying to get me tipsy. Why would you?”

Laurel’s perception was chillingly acute, Rakin decided. He’d hoped a couple of glasses of champagne would make her more malleable.

She leaned forward, and the movement caused light to shimmer across the bare skin above the strapless black gown. It took willpower not to let his eyes linger on the smooth flesh, the kind of willpower he’d been practicing all night.

“Thank you so much for taking the time to come with me to Vegas,” she was saying, and he was conscious of the feather-light caress of her fingers against his jacket. “I am having fun.”

Ignoring the urge to stroke that pearlescent skin, Rakin reminded himself fiercely that this wasn’t a date—it was a business meeting. And it was past time he put his proposal to her. “Las Vegas has met your expectations?”

She lifted her hand, and took a small sip of the bubbling wine, then set the glass down. She smiled warmly at him. “It’s been much better! And that makes me appreciate your company all the more. I do realize you’re a busy man—and you’re getting nothing out of this.”

He hesitated.

The pause stretched too long, and her smile froze.

“Actually there is something I want to ask of you,” he murmured.

Wariness dulled the sparkle in her emerald eyes. “You want something from me.”

Rakin hesitated, searching for the right words.

“Is it sex?”

He blinked. Sex? Had he betrayed himself moments ago?

“Is that why you invited me to Vegas? Was that all that today was about?” she accused scooting away along the seat. “Softening me up to get me into bed?”

He couldn’t deny that he’d been purposely softening her up. Hell, he’d wanted her to be receptive. But not for … sex.

“I thought you were different.”

Laurel was already on her feet, gathering up her purse. In a moment she was going to walk away and leave him sitting here like a fool. And the opportunity would be gone.

“Not sex,” he said quickly.

But she didn’t halt.

“Laurel … don’t go!” He reached forward and caught her hand. Her fingers were stiff with outrage. Before she could yank her fingers free and storm away, he said, “Sex is not what I’m after. Sit down. Listen to my proposition—it has advantages for your family.”

Her fingers stopped wriggling. “A business proposition?”

“Yes.” Rakin knew it was now or never. “I want you to marry me.”

“What?”

Laurel couldn’t believe she’d heard Rakin right.

Shocked, she sank back onto the padded cushions in the recesses of the alcove and stared at the stark figure in the formal suit, his shirt pristine white and collar crisp and crease-free. A beautifully knotted narrow tie completed the picture.

He didn’t look insane.

He looked dark, intense … and utterly gorgeous. Her heart skipped a beat. Scanning his face she took in the taut cheekbones, the lack of humor in his eyes. There were no signs of the fun companion who’d entertained her all day long.

“You’re serious.”

“Completely.” Challenge glinted in that enigmatic gaze as he let her fingers go.

Giving a light, incredulous laugh, she spread her hands. “I can’t marry a man I hardly know.”

He tilted his head back against the high, padded back of the booth, and the gaze that locked with hers held raw intensity. “Laurel, there’s nothing to fear. I am a businessman—utterly respectable and a little boring.”

She didn’t fear him. But to take a risk and marry a man she barely knew … the grandson of a Middle Eastern prince? Laurel wasn’t so sure about the wisdom. “You’re not boring,” she said at last.

The warmth that seeped into the dark eyes caused a funny stir deep in her chest.

“Does that mean you will agree to marry me?” he asked softly.

Tipping her head to one side, Laurel tried to ignore the way her heart had rolled over and considered him. “You don’t even mention love.”

“So you want love? A proposal wrapped up in sweet words? Should I kneel on one knee before you?”

She shook her head slowly. “If I still dreamed of that kind of love I would’ve snatched the bouquet that Kara tossed at me.”

Rakin gave her a slow, appreciative smile. “You’re a realist. We haven’t known each other long at all … and although I would like to think we’ve discovered much in common, I wouldn’t insult your intelligence by talking of love so soon.”

“Thank you—I think.”

She was still trying to make sense of his bombshell proposal. He’d said that her family would benefit from the proposition. But what was in it for him? Her mind leapt from one scenario to the next. But none of them made any sense.

“You’ve asked me to marry you, but I still have no idea why.”

The smile still lurked in his eyes. “You’re a very beautiful woman, you must know that.”

She could sense that he was prevaricating, even as she countered, “Beauty doesn’t guarantee that a marriage will succeed—you only need to look at my mother’s marriage to know that. You implied you were putting a business proposition to me—I didn’t expect a marriage proposal.”

“My marriage proposal is a business proposition.”

Laurel started to laugh.

He sat forward, and his knee pressed against hers. “Believe me, it’s not as crazy as it sounds. My grandfather has been threatening to change his will and disinherit me for years for not forming an alliance with the various women he has picked out for me—each time I have ignored his threats, because he is an irascible old man with plenty of life still left in him. He will cheat death for a while yet. But recently the threats have intensified. He no longer merely threatens to disinherit me on his death—now he has vowed he will force the board to vote me out as CEO. And, not satisfied with that, he will also transfer the controlling stocks he holds in the Abdellah business empire to my cousin. All this will be done if I am not married by my thirty-sixth birthday. It is no longer a matter of waiting until he dies to find out whether he has made good on his threats—he intends to disenfranchise me within the next year.”

Rakin’s face was a study in frustration.

“I have no intention of being robbed of the company. I have spent many hours of my life working to expand the Gifts of Gold division until it has become a first-class supplier of soft furnishings and luxury linens.”

She knew from listening to Eli rave about his friend that every word Rakin spoke was true. He’d built up a network of clients across the finest hotel chains and resorts in the world, including Eli’s.

“So I need a wife.”

At that, Laurel couldn’t help being conscious of the solid weight of his leg resting against hers. Even through his trousers and the sheer stockings that she wore, she could feel the warmth of his flesh. But she didn’t shift away. “Will your grandfather really go through with such a pointless threat? Surely it would harm the family as much as you?”

“It’s not pointless to him. He’s a proud man—and he’s accustomed to having things his way. Right now he doesn’t care about profits. He wants me to marry, and this is the way he intends to bend me to his will.”

“Who will run the company if he wrests control from you?”

“Ah, my grandfather already has that sorted out. The cousin to whom he is transferring the controlling stocks on my thirty-sixth birthday will be ushered in as the new CEO of Gifts of Gold. None of the board would dare act against my grandfather’s orders.”

“This cousin is married?”

“He is engaged—to a woman my grandfather handpicked for him.” Rakin’s lip curled up.

Understanding dawned. “You and your cousin don’t see eye to eye?”

The sharp incline of his head confirmed her suspicion. “Zafar hates me. He would destroy me if he could, and I would die before I allowed Zafar to take this from me … so I will be married first.”

“Wouldn’t it be more advantageous for you also to marry a woman your grandfather had chosen for you?”

Rakin’s eyebrows drew together, giving him a formidable air. “That would give him too much power over me.” The frown relaxed. “Besides, even if he scoured the whole earth, my grandfather could find no better candidate than you.”

Laurel could feel her cheeks heating. “That is shameless flattery!”

“Not at all. You are beautiful and presentable. You are well connected … and incredibly gracious.” Leaning farther forward he captured one of her hands. “And, to make sure you are equally happy, I will also make sure that our marriage will lead to benefits for The Kincaid Group.”

Laurel jerked upright at his touch. “What kind of benefits?”

He had her.

Rakin was certain of it. She was going to agree to marry him—exactly as he’d hoped. He let her hand go and sat back. Not far away he could hear the chiming of a slot machine announcing a winner, the whoops of celebration that followed.

He focused on the woman beside him, the woman he was determined to have as his wife. “There are many exporters and importers in Diyafa—they rely on shipping containers to transport their products around the world. I will see to it that they are introduced to your family’s business. I will do everything I can to expand the profile of The Kincaid Group within my circle.”

“You wouldn’t expect me to give up my role in the company?”

Laurel was even starting to speak as though their marriage was a fait accompli. Satisfaction spread through Rakin. “Our marriage would be temporary—such a drastic sacrifice would not be required.”

“How temporary?”

Rakin shrugged, impatient with her insistence. “Once we are married, my grandfather will sign the stocks over to me, I will have control of the company … and you will be free to leave—to return to Charleston, and your family, for good.”

She shifted to the edge of the seat, and the rogue tendril of hair fell forward. She brushed it back impatiently, and the pendant lights illuminating the alcove turned her diamond drop earrings to a cascade of sparkles. “But you would expect me to live in Diyafa, right?”

He nodded and crossed one leg over the other, keeping his pose deliberately casual, taking care not to spook her. A few minutes more … that was all it was going to take. “Otherwise my grandfather would not accept that our marriage was legitimate—and I cannot afford him to doubt the veracity of our union. But there would be compensations for living in Diyafa for part of the year. I travel a lot—and I’d expect you to be by my side. I make regular business trips to the United States, so you would see plenty of your family. You could continue doing public relations work for your family’s business. I would never stop you. The technology in Diyafa is groundbreaking; you could work there with everything at your fingertips. I travel to many countries, too. Think about it, you would be able to work through that list of yours.”

“What do you know about my List?” Laurel was staring at him, green eyes wide with shock.

He tried to keep the smugness out of his smile. It hadn’t taken him long to fathom what was on her list. “It’s obvious that you have a list of places you want to travel to. I know Vegas is on there for certain, you mentioned adding Lake Como—and you may even have considered Diyafa.”

Rakin got the feeling she was debating something.

He certainly couldn’t afford for her to have second thoughts now.

“Laurel, I will take you everywhere you wish to travel. We would visit the Taj Mahal, I would take you to the Tower of London. You could sip French champagne beside the Seine in the spring time. You will never regret the adventures you will experience.”

The doubt vanished and her expression filled with yearning. “That’s not fair. You’re chipping away at my weakest point.”

Of course, he knew that. For someone who had confessed to never having traveled much and always wanted to, he was offering the dream of a lifetime.

“It’s not a weakness to have a dream.”

There was an expression in her eyes that he did not recognize. “You’re offering to fulfill my dream?”

He didn’t need her romanticizing him. He was, after all, not the love of her life that his mother had thought his father to be. He wanted no misunderstandings. He was, after all, only a man. “It’s not one-sided. Don’t forget that I will get what I need, too.”

“So this will be a win-win deal?”

She understood! He couldn’t have chosen better if he’d spent the whole year searching for the perfect wife.

“Exactly,” he purred. The dazzling smile Rakin directed at her was filled with triumph. “Why not accept my proposition?”

Proposition.

The word dragged Laurel back to what Rakin was offering: a business deal … not the dream of a lifetime.

Restlessness flooded her, and she leapt to her feet. “I think I’ve found my second wind. Let’s see if I can break that Winthrop curse.”

Rakin rose more slowly and blocked her escape. “You want to gamble more? Now?”

She shot him a look that could never be described as flirtatious. He was the cause of this … this turbulence that was turning her inside out. “You’re asking me to take the gamble of a lifetime by marrying you—what difference is a few minutes going to make?”

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Take all the time you need.” The look he gave her was full of masculine confusion as he stepped away so that she could pass. “But it’s hardly for a lifetime. It’s not a permanent arrangement.”

But Laurel didn’t move past him. “I want a sign.”

“A sign?” The confusion evaporated, leaving frustration clouding his eyes. “What kind of sign?”

“That marrying you is the right thing to do.”

“And what would you consider a good sign?”

Laurel thought about it for a moment. “Winning back the money I lost on the roulette tables—losing it was very bad luck.”

“But your family never wins.” Rakin looked fit to burst.

A wave of amusement swept Laurel along as she headed for the gambling area. Now perhaps he felt as off-balance as she did. Over her shoulder, she tossed, “I’m going to stick to the slot machines this time. So chances are if I do win it would be an excellent omen.”

Rakin made a peculiar sound.

Laurel turned, in time to see him produce a coin from his pocket.

“Heads or tails?” he demanded.

The absurdity of it struck her as she came to a stop. “You’re asking me to make what might be one of the biggest decisions of my life on the flip of a coin?”

“You’re about to risk it on a machine that pays pittances on pairs of cherries. I prefer these odds,” he said grimly.

“I prefer the cherries.”

He didn’t even smile.

“You’ve got no intention of saying ‘yes’ to my proposal, have you?”

Laurel didn’t answer at once. To be honest, she was confused—Rakin had turned her world upside down with his proposal. It was far more disorientating than the roller coasters they’d shared earlier. Or the flashing lights and loud chimes of the nearby slot machines.

Part of her wanted to leap in and say yes.

No doubt about it, marriage to Rakin would be an adventure. A chance to experience things she wouldn’t otherwise. It certainly made good business sense. The Kincaid Group couldn’t afford to turn away opportunities for new business—particularly not with Jack Sinclair still causing all kinds of mayhem.

But the more cautious side of her, the old carefully and conservatively raised Laurel Kincaid, warned that she didn’t know Rakin terribly well, that this was an extremely risky proposition, one she should avoid at all costs.

All reason evaporated when he strode up to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I should’ve asked you to marry me back on the balcony last night—I’m starting to think you might have been more likely to say yes back during the wedding.”

His touch against her bare skin was … disturbing. Laurel struggled to think. At last she shook her head slowly. “You were a stranger then, I know you so much better now.”

She realized it was true.

In the cocoon formed by his arms, for her benefit as much as his, she ticked off on her fingers what she’d learned. “One, you’re fun to be with—I’ve never laughed so much in my life as I did today. Two, you’re kind—you held my hand when you thought I might be scared that first time on the roller coaster. Three, you love the world around us—I discovered that at the top of the Eiffel Tower. Four, you’re good with children—”

“You can’t possibly know that!”

His hands dropped away from her shoulders, and her flesh felt cool where, an instant before, his fingers had rested.

“I do,” she insisted. “You patiently humored Flynn at the wedding.”

“Then marry me!”

His eyes drilled down into hers.

“Only if I win.”

She swung away. From her purse she extracted a roll of coins. Tearing the wrapper with the casino logo from the coins, she fed them into the first slot machine she came to and hit the play button.

The patterns spun crazily.

When they came to rest, nothing lined up.

Not even a pair of cherries.

The same thing happened on the next play.

Laurel’s heart felt hollow. It was ridiculous to feel so flat, like a loser, simply because she couldn’t even hit the cherries.

Get a life….

She hadn’t felt this flatness earlier. She and Rakin had connected; they’d enjoyed each other’s company. The day had been filled with joy. Her intuition told her they’d make a great temporary team—The Kincaid Group would benefit and so would Gifts of Gold.

It wouldn’t be crazy to marry him—she liked him.

And the man didn’t even gamble.

She stared at the rows lined with pictures and numbers. What was she doing? Rakin was right: she didn’t need some arbitrary sign. This was a solid business decision. It made perfect, logical sense to accept his proposal.

She didn’t need to prove that she could win.

Laurel knew she was going to say yes.

She hit the play button for the last time, and turned to give him the answer he was waiting for.

The cacophony of bells and electronic chimes rising in a hysterical crescendo caused her to whip around to stare at the slot machine.

In disbelief she read the flashing letters instructing her to call an attendant.

“The lights are flashing,” she said, as numbness invaded her. “I’ve won.”

Rakin was laughing.

“I’ve won,” she said again.

But Rakin wasn’t looking at the crazy, psychedelic fireworks above the slot machine. He was coming toward her his arms outstretched. “Looks like you’ve broken the Winthrop curse. You’ve hit the jackpot.”

Her eyes lifted to the amount in white lights at the top: $22,222. It wasn’t a fortune, but it more than covered her earlier losses. And it was definitely a jackpot. “Two must be my lucky number.”

Then she was being swept off her feet into Rakin’s arms. He spun her around as colors flashed crazily around her. By the time he set her down, the numbness was starting to recede as feeling returned … and with it, euphoria.

She grinned up at him. “I feel …” How best to describe it? “… lucky.”

“We’ll be lucky together.” Rakin’s gaze blazed into hers. “We will be married tomorrow.”