The One-Night Wife. Sandra MartonЧитать онлайн книгу.
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