The Spanish Millionaire's Runaway Bride. SUSAN MEIER
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cards you need to make the hands, so that you lose all your money.”
“Oh.” She thought about that a second. “I should shake it up? Not play the same way all the time.”
“Exactly. But on another trip.” Now that they were friends, or at least friendly, they could talk about her wedding in the car. “Right now, we need to get you home.”
She looked over at him. “We have to leave this very second? What’s a few more hands going to hurt? I just want to try out what you told me.”
He’d expected a bit of a protest. Maybe an argument. But getting her to think about her fiancé must have caused it to sink in that she had to take responsibility for what she’d done. She hadn’t even blinked when he mentioned leaving.
He caught her gaze and saw a muddle of emotions in her blue eyes. Sincerity? Regret? Or maybe fear? She wasn’t exactly returning to a celebration.
A twinge of guilt rippled through him for pushing her. The least he could do was teach her some strategies.
“Okay. A few hands.”
“And you’ll show me what to do?”
“Sure.”
He didn’t know how it happened, but a couple of hands turned into forty minutes of playing, which put them behind the eight ball. Though she’d seemed to have had a good time and was definitely a quick study, the fun had to end now.
“Okay. That’s it now. Time to go.”
She hit the button to cash out and got the little slip that told her she had thirty-eight dollars coming.
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Thirty-eight dollars.” She caught his gaze. “Hardly seems worth it.”
“Most people who gamble enjoy the game.”
“Really? Because I’ve seen video poker games that are handheld. Our cook, Martha, has a ton of them. It’s how she fritters away time waiting for doctor appointments or bread to rise.”
He shrugged. “People enjoy the game.”
“Yes, but she doesn’t spend money playing. She owns her handheld machines and can enjoy anytime she wants.”
He sighed.
“If it’s all about playing a game, enjoying a game, why not just buy the game? Why involve betting?”
“Are you trying to ruin Vegas for me?”
She laughed. “No. I mean, come on. If playing the game is the attraction and not gambling, why not just use a handheld poker game?”
This time his sigh was eloquent. “Do not ruin Vegas for me.”
“I’m not ruining it. I’m just pointing out that your argument doesn’t hold water.”
“You’re a stickler for logic.” And obviously so was her fiancé. Anybody who’d have a ten-point plan to fix their canceled wedding had to be logical. Was that how they’d ended up together? Two people who were so much the same it seemed inevitable that they get married?
“I am a stickler for logic. So sway me. Why do you really come to casinos?”
He looked into her eyes again and saw the quiet remnants of pain, even though she was very good at pretending she was fine. If talking about himself made her comfortable, calm enough that she’d be compliant through their trip, then so be it.
He shrugged. “I come to Vegas for the people, the crowds, the noise, the excitement.” He couldn’t stop a smile. “You never know who you’re going to meet here. You can sit beside a sheikh at a blackjack table and end up a guest at a palace. Or meet the daughter of a rock star and end up backstage at a concert.”
“Interesting.”
She glanced around. The way her eyes shifted, he could tell she was seeing the place from a new perspective. If only for a few seconds, her sadness lifted.
“It’s about people for you.”
“Yes.” It was one thing to help her get comfortable, quite another to let this conversation derail his plans. He’d be happy to discuss anything she wanted, just not now. He pointed to the exit. “But we’ll talk about it on the way to the airport or on the plane.”
She slid off her chair. “I have to pack.”
“You have five minutes! I’m serious. Five. I’ll get the car.”
She nodded.
He started walking away but turned back. “And, honestly, I have no idea why you’d want these clothes. If I were you, I’d leave them.”
She laughed.
A strange sensation invaded his chest. Even in those big glasses, she was incredibly beautiful. Add adorably logical and laughing—
He yanked himself back from the feeling that almost clicked into place. Attraction. He wasn’t worried that he’d fall for her. His heart had been sufficiently hardened by Cicely. So the pullback was quick, easy, painless. Especially given that Morgan had also publicly dumped some poor guy.
He headed out to the valet. When the kid returned with his rental car, he gave him a good tip for being speedy. He slid behind the steering wheel and locked his gaze on the door. The first five minutes had already passed, so when a second five minutes ticked off the clock he got nervous. The third five minutes had him slapping the steering wheel. She’d ditched him.
He shoved open his door, apologized to the valet for needing a few more minutes and raced into the lobby, hoping to see her checking out at the registration desk. But the place was quiet.
The concierge slipped away from his station and ambled up to him. “Your friend left.”
He spun to face the short, bald man. “What?”
“She checked out, rolled her suitcase through the casino—not the front door—and slipped out of one of the back exits.” He cleared his throat. “I probably shouldn’t have watched her, but it’s kind of hard not to see a beautiful woman rolling an ugly black suitcase through the casino.”
Riccardo pressed his fingertips into his forehead. He’d been duped. And in the most obvious, simple way. She’d used up all their time, gotten him to trust her and just walked away.
He was an idiot.
No. He had trusted her.
Hadn’t he told himself he should never again trust a pretty girl?
* * *
Morgan entered her new room at the hotel right beside Midnight Sins. She felt just a teeny bit bad for deceiving the handsome Spanish guy. Not just because her dad had made him a pawn in a game that didn’t have to be a game—she only wanted her twelve days to think about what to say, and how to handle him when she went home—but also because he was interesting. And fun. In a weird way, it was nice having someone so curious about her, even if it he was only asking her questions to figure out how to get her on the plane with him.
She took a shower, fixed her hair and slid into a slinky black dress she’d bought at one of the many shops in Midnight Sins. She wasn’t here to have fun, but she didn’t intend to sit in her room and mope, either. She’d spent her entire life semisheltered. She’d had a path at university. She’d had a path with Charles. And her dad had had too big of a hand in creating those paths. For the next twelve days, she did not want a path. She just wanted to live. Breathe. And eventually figure out an explanation for running that would appease the man who’d spent his life first fighting in wars and then preventing them.
Right now, living meant getting a salad, maybe having a gin and tonic and going to a show.
She grabbed her small beaded evening bag and left her room. Though she’d never been to Vegas before, she’d happily