Honeymoon for One Read Free Page A

someone bet the same number twice? Surely the odds of winning were greatly decreased? She couldn’t resist stealing a peek at him and almost fell over when she realized he’d been watching her. He winked. Their eyes had met, and he'd winked.
    “No more bets.”
    She stared at the spinning wheel. She was not going to look at him. She wasn’t.
    “Black seventeen.”
    Okay, maybe one more time. He winked again, only this time he smiled, too. A big broad smile that showed gorgeous white teeth. Probably caps. But damn her knees felt wobbly again.
    Not wanting to gawk like an awkward teenager, she smiled and snapped her attention back to the wheel. Time for a little change. One chip—oh, what the heck—two chips on red.
    The sexy arm set a stack of chips on red sixteen but didn’t move his hand away. Unable to resist, she stole a glance his way. His eyes watched her, almost as though he was waiting, but for what? She smiled thinly and turned her attention back to the wheel.
    She had to stop looking at this man. His arm pulled away, and the dealer pushed the ball on the spinning wheel.
    “No more bets.” The whirling wheel slowed, the ball bounced, then stopped. “Red sixteen.”
    Mouth hanging open, her gaze flew to the stranger next to her. “How did you do that?” She hadn’t meant to speak, but the words just tumbled out.
    “I didn’t. You did.”
    “Me?”
    The waitress stepped up to take more orders. Mr. Sexy ordered bourbon on the rocks. Michelle ordered another BBC. The little angel on her shoulder must have gone to sleep because she wasn’t warring with herself anymore. As a matter of fact...
    “Maybe I’ll try something different. What’s that lady over there drinking?” Michelle pointed to the woman at the next roulette table holding a tall blue drink with skewered fruit perched on the rim.
    “A Bahama Mama.”
    “I’ll try that.”
    Michelle wasn’t surprised to see the sexy stranger had returned his attention to the gaming table, but he hadn’t yet placed his next bet. With both hands, he held a short stack of chips, lifting and dropping them back in his hand like an old Slinky.
    In her hand she held four chips. A whopping four dollars. She’d already decided not to play the original ten dollars and only play with her winnings. Now the decision. Black or red? Her mom’s birthday was November sixth. Both numbers black colors. She dropped a chip on black, and noticed Mr. Sexy on her left leaned forward and placed a bet on black twenty-four.
    Sticking with black or red was a coward’s bet. She was here to live and let live. Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward and placed a second chip on black eleven. “This is for you, Mama,” she whispered softly.
    Much to her surprise, Mr. Sexy moved his bet from twenty-four to eleven. Surely he wasn’t following her lead? Oh, Lord, what if he was and she lost? Her chips were only a dollar, but this guy’s stack held the more expensive ones: ten...twenty...oh, God, fifty dollars bet on her little old black eleven. Panic gripped her heart, strangling her breath.
    “No more bets.”
    Her eyes squeezed closed. She didn’t care who noticed. Oh, pretty please .
    The croupier called, “Black eleven.”
    Her eyes sprang open, her jaw dropped, and her heart took off at a fast gallop. “We won?” Without thinking she whirled about and threw her arms around Mr. Sexy, then leaned back, squeaked, “We won!” and flung herself at him again.
    “Yes, we did.” His arms circled her waist, and his deep voice rumbled through her like an earthquake aftershock. “Want to do it again?”
     
     

CHAPTER THREE
     
     
    Ravel’s “Boléro” vibrated in Kirk's head. Every beat bounced off his bourbon-addled brain. Ignoring Ravel’s obnoxious tune still blaring from his cell phone, Kirk buried his ears between two pillows, and cursed both Ravel and the moron at the bar who thought buying tequila shots for the fading crowd in the all-night disco was a good