The One-Night Wife

by Sandra Marton

  But she hadn't wanted to give O'Connell time to think, either. She'd thought of an easy solution. All she had to do was ask him to go with her. Step out on the terrace for some air. There, in the warm, sea-scented darkness, she could haVe smiled up at him from under her lashes. Tossed back her head when she laughed. Men liked looking at her when she did that. She won because of her skill at poker when she played for Alain, but that didn't mean she'd never noticed the hot male eyes that took in her every motion.

  And yet, she hadn't done it. Something about the idea of being alone in the night with him again had made her feel... What? Uncomfortable? Uneasy? Maybe it was because she didn't like knowing she was cheating him, even though he deserved it. Maybe it was because she wanted to win as much on ability as she could.

  Maybe it was because the thought of being alone in the dark with Sean made her pulse quicken. Things could hap­pen between a man and a woman on a warm tropical night. He might reach for her. Draw her into his arms. Take her mouth in a slow, drugging kiss.

  It was hard enough, playing at seduction, promising something she had no intention of delivering. She'd fled to the ladies' lounge, let cold water run over her wrists, then called Alain on her cell phone to tell him how well things were going.

  And jinxed herself.

  She'd sensed a change in Sean as soon as he led her back to the table. The Texan had started to say something but Sean's sharp voice silenced him.

  "Let's not waste time," he'd said. "Just play the game."

  A couple of minutes later, she'd known it was all over.

  Her adversary was playing with a single-minded intensity that was frightening, and exhibiting a level of skill and dar­ing that made it clear he was out for blood.

  He showed no mercy. A desire for something more than winning was fueling him.

  Each time he looked at her, she saw rage in his eyes.

  Smart players knew when to call it quits. Under normal circumstances she'd have bowed out but nothing about this night was normal. She had to win. So she'd kept playing. She won a couple of small pots, but she lost big each time it came down to only O'Connell and her until the others were simply spectators at what had become a blood sport.

  Eventually, she'd stared disaster in the face. She was out of money. Every dollar Alain had given her was gone. No options left except going back to Alain and admitting fail­ure. Then that terrible moment, Sean looking at her and in an impassive voice offering her a final, desperate chance...

  "Get in the car."

  Savannah looked up, startled. Somehow, they were out of the casino. A low-slung black sports car stood purring at the curb. A valet held the passenger door open.

  The full reality of what awaited her was a dagger of ice straight to the heart. She was going to bed with a stranger. With a man who'd taken to looking at her as if she were something that had crawled out of a sewer.

  Her steps faltered. "Wait a minute."

  "Are you going to welsh on the bet, McRae?"

  He'd called her by her name, but she'd never given it to him. God, oh God, oh God!

  "Get in the car. If you walk away, I'll make sure there's not a casino in the world that will let you in the door."

  She stared at him. His face was a mask of contained rage. Why? What did he know? Better still, what choice did she have? She could go with him or go to Alain.

  Either way, she was lost.

  Numb, Savannah did as he'd commanded. The valet shut the door. Sean got behind the wheel. "Fasten your seat belt."

  She almost laughed. Who gave a damn what happened to her now? If the car went off a cliff and into the sea, what would it matter?

  He muttered something, leaned over and reached for the ends of the belt. His hand brushed across her breasts. To her horror, she felt them lift, felt her nipples harden. He knew it, too. He stopped what he was doing and looked into her eyes and then, with slow insolence, at her breasts. He smiled when their eyes met again but this time, the smile didn't chill her to the bone.

  It made her think.

  Whatever O'Connell knew or thought he knew, he had no right to sit in judgment on her. He was a cheat and a thief. She wasn't either one.

  As for losing... Yes. She had. But Alain wasn't an ani­mal. She'd explain things to him. He wouldn't make good on his threats about Missy. No. He wouldn't do that to her. They'd sit down together, come up with a better plan to defeat Sean O'Connell.

  In the meantime, she wouldn't let O'Connell see her fear. She'd do what she had to do, the way she used to on the New Orleans streets long ago.

  She'd learned to block out the real world with a better world inside her head. Think of a million other things so she didn't have to think about her empty belly or her sister's soft weeping or the brush of a rat's tail as it ran across her legs while she and Missy slept huddled together in a door­way.

  All those hard-earned skills would save her tonight. Sean O'Connell would claim his prize. He'd do what men did to women in bed. And she—she wouldn't be there. Not really. She'd be inside her own thoughts where there was no fear, no panic, no pain. He'd won her body, but she'd never let him take her soul.

  Sean's hotel was on the southern coast of Emeraude, far from the casinos artd the glitter that drew the rich and fa­mous of the world.

  The hotel was a former plantation house restored to glory by the whim and wealth of a deposed European prince. One look at the elegant suites, the quiet beaches arid coves, and Sean had known he'd never stay anywhere else when he was on this island. The place was a half-hour drive from the busy casinos and that had always seemed a fine thing. It gave him time to unwind as he headed home.

  Tonight, he was sorry for the delay.

  Damn it, he was angry. Angry? He choked back a laugh as he took his Porsche through the hairpin curves that wound along the coast. Hell, no. He wasn't angry. He was enraged. It had been all he could do to play out the game. To keep from reaching across the table, dragging Savannah from her chair, shaking her until her teeth rattled...

  Kissing her until she begged him to stop.

  He wouldn't have stopped. No way. She'd been set out as bait, and bait was expendable.

  What kind of woman would use herself to break a man's bank account? What kind of woman would be Alain Beau­mont's mistress? Sleep in his bed, turn her naked body into his arms, let him run his slimy hands over her soft flesh?

  Sean gritted his teeth.

  A woman who'd bet one night with a stranger against the stakes in a card game.

  Headlights appeared in the darkness. The road was nar­row, narrower still along this last stretch that led to his hotel.

  Normally, he'd slow his speed, pull the car over toward the scrub palmetto and wild beach grasses that lined the verge. Not tonight. Instead, he stepped down harder on the gas. The horn of the oncoming vehicle blasted as Sean roared by. He mouthed an oath and drove faster.

  Who gave a damn about safety tonight?

  Not him. Jesus, not him! He'd been taken in by a woman with hair of gold and eyes of jade, a woman whose soft, pink mouth he'd imagined savoring the minute he'd first seen her. Her kiss had shaken him as no other woman's ever had.

  And she was a pawn owned by a piece of scum like

  Beaumont.

  But he'd come out the winner. He'd taken Beaumont's money once again. Now he'd take his woman as well. He'd use her every way a man could, until those big eyes glittered with tears of shame, until that sweet-looking mouth was swollen and her thighs trembled because he'd spread them so many times.

  No way she'd be thinking about her pig of a lover by then.

  The tires clawed for control as he made a sharp turn into the hotel's circular drive. The parking valet trotted up and opened Sean's door as he shut off the engine. The boy smiled and greeted him but Sean wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. He brushed by the kid and flung open Savan­nah's door before the doorman could get there.

  "Get out."

  The soft glow of the interior lights illuminated
her face. She was as pale as death except for two red streaks along her cheeks. The valet threw him a surprised look. Sean didn't give a damn. All that mattered was getting his pound of flesh.

  "Out," he said again, and bent toward her. She pulled back, her face becoming even whiter as he reached toward her seat belt. She wasn't stupid, he thought grimly. She'd learned the limits of his patience and she didn't want him to touch her again.

  Had the instant of awareness when he'd brushed his hand over her breast been part of the game, or had she actually responded to his touch? Sean narrowed his eyes. It had been an act, the same as everything else. Savannah McRae was Alain Beaumont's toy.

  Tonight, she would be his.

  He tossed the valet a bill, clasped Savannah's arm and hurried her up the wide marble steps to the lobby. Only one clerk was at the reception desk at this time of night. He smiled politely when he saw Sean but his eyebrows rose at the sight of Savannah. Women in too-short red dresses, wearing heels that made the most of their up-to-their-ears legs, weren't the standard here.

  "Mr. O'Connell," the clerk said politely, his composure regained. "Good evening, sir."

  "Edward." Sean looked at the man. "I'd ask you to have room service send up some champagne, but we won't need it. Will we, sugar?'' He shot Savannah a smile he knew was all teeth. "Why waste a bottle of good wine when it's not necessary?''

  Savannah paled. The clerk turned crimson. Good, Sean thought savagely. Two birds with one stone.

  He tugged her toward the elevator. Once inside, he put his key in the lock that would take them up to the penthouse. She tried to pull away but he had a grip of steel.

  "What's the matter, sugar? Not in the mood? I can't be­lieve that. Not after the big come-on earlier." ' She didn't answer. Damn it, why not? He wanted her to say something. To plead with him to forget their bet, or at least to ask him to treat her with courtesy.

  The elevator doors opened; he hurried her straight through the sitting room and into a bedroom overlooking the sea.

  Sean kicked the door closed and turned the lock. And that—the sound of the bolt clicking home—finally changed the expression on Savannah's beautiful face.

  What he saw there was fear.

  For a heartbeat, the fury inside him subsided. He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms, tell her he wouldn't hurt her, that he'd be gentle, make slow love to her until she was sobbing with pleasure...

  "Unlock the door."

  The words, almost whispered, brought him back to sanity. He'd almost forgotten how good she was at acting.

  "Relax, sugar. I'm just seeing to it we aren't disturbed."

  "We made a bet. I'm prepared to go through with it but—"

  "But?" he said, cocking his head as if he really gave a damn what she said next.

  "But..." She swallowed, caught her lip between her teeth. "But I won't—I won't do anything—anything—"

  "Kinky?" He grinned, shrugged off his jacket and tossed it aside. "Oh, I think you will, Just-Savannah. In fact, I'm willing to bet on it."

  He watched her breasts rise and fall as she took a deep breath, then exhaled. Color was returning to her face. If he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn she was willing her­self to be strong, but that was crazy.

  A woman who slept with Alain Beaumont would sleep with anybody, even a man who won her at a poker table.

  "You'd lose that bet, O'Connell."

  Sean shrugged his shoulders. "No problem, babe. You give me whatever you give your lover and we'll call it even."

  "My lover?"

  Oh, she was good! That look, the total innocence in her eyes, even the surprise in her voice... She was better than good. She was great.

  Would she be that great in bed? Yes. Oh, yes, she would be. Sean could almost taste her mouth. Her nipples would be honey on his tongue, her belly would have the scent of vanilla when he kissed it. Her golden thighs would carry the clean, erotic scent of a woman aroused as he parted them to reveal the hidden essence of her.

  God, he was hard as stone.

  "Yeah," he said gruffly as he started toward her. "Your lover. Beaumont. Remember him?''

  "I didn't—he isn't—"

  Sean reached her. He looped one hand around her throat. She flinched but stood her ground. He could feel the ham­mer of her pulse beneath his fingers. Slowly, he ran his hand over her, lightly cupping her breast, then curving it over her hip.

  "Stop lying. You didn't learn to play cards on a riverboat. Alain Beaumont taught you."

  "I don't know what you're talking ab—"

  She gasped as he put both arms around her and drew her up against him. He knew she could feel his erection. Hell, he'd never been this hard in his life.

  "What else did Beaumont teach you, sugar?" The idea of lying flashed through her mind. Sean could almost see her thought process.

  "Come on," he growled. "Be honest just once tonight.

  Admit he's your lover, that he put you up to this, that you were supposed to take me down and walk away laughing."

  She didn't answer. Sean cursed, pulled her to her toes and crushed her mouth beneath his. She gave a sob that pierced his heart before he remembered this was all a game. She was playing a part. Nothing more, nothing less.

  "Admit it," he said roughly. "Beaumont put you on to me."

  Tears glittered in her eyes. "You stole from him."

  "I what?"

  "Stole. Cheated him out of a million dollars. In a card game on his yacht."

  "That's one terrific story, sugar."

  "It's the truth!"

  "Let me get this straight. I stole a million bucks from your lover and you decided to steal it back to get even?"

  "I wasn't trying to steal your money. I was winning it in a poker game."

  "You were winning only because you kept me so busy looking at you that I couldn't think straight."

  "That's not true! I'm a good poker player."

  "Right. You're so good that you lost your lover's stake and ended with nothing to put on the table but yourself." Sean took a step back. "And now it's time to deliver."

  "Sean. Mr. O'Connell..." Savannah heard the sudden desperation in her voice. No. She'd promised she wouldn't let him see her fear or hear her beg... but Lord, how could she do this? Give herself to a man who despised her? Let him touch her, explore her, take the last of her innocence, the only innocence she'd been able to hang on to in her life?

  He was leaning against the dresser, arms folded over his chest, feet crossed at the ankles, watching her with no ex­pression at all on his face. He was a thief, yes, but he wasn't unkind. Another man might have laughed and dismissed her when she'd told him that lie about why she wanted to play against him.

  He hadn't. He'd listened.

  Maybe he'd listen now.

  "Mr. O'Connell." Savannah moistened her lips. "There's— there's been a misunderstanding. I—I wasn't thinking straight when I agreed to—"

  "Strip."

  She blanched. "Please. If you'd just hear me out—"

  ' 'Are you going to pay me the money that you lost to me tonight?"

  "I can't. But—but—"

  But what? She owed him a small fortune. She didn't have the money to pay it. She never would. And Alain would never give it to her, either. It was bad enough she'd return to him in defeat. She couldn't return and ask him for money, too.

  "Either pay me the money or start getting undressed. Take your time about it. I want to enjoy the show."

  Sean waited, hardly breathing. What would she do next? Run for her life, probably. Make a dash for the door, fumble with the lock and, damn it, he'd let her get away. He wanted her, yes. Why lie to himself? He wanted her badly, but not this way.

  He couldn't go through with this. Even if she was willing, he'd—he'd—

  The slow movement of her arms as she reached behind her stopped his thinking. His heart hammered as she slid down the zipper of the sexy red dress. One strap drooped against her shoulder, then the other. Her head was down
but she must have felt his eyes on her because she lifted her chin and looked at him. What he saw on her face almost killed him. Here I am, she was saying. Do what you will Take what you want. It doesn't matter. I won't feel anything you do to me. But she would. He'd make her feel. He'd make her know it was his hands on her, not Beaumont, that she was in his bed, not anyone else's.

  Eyes still on his, she began to ease off one of those in­credible shoes. Sean cleared his throat.

  "Leave them on," he said hoarsely. "Take off the dress and leave the rest."

  She took a deep breath and the red silk slithered to the carpet. She was wearing a black lace bra that cupped her breasts as lovingly as a man's hands, a black lace thong that covered that part of her that was all female, thigh-high, sheer-as-a-whisper black stockings and those shoes.

  She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen and, for tonight, she belonged to him. He'd make her forget ev­erything else.

  He walked toward her slowly. The tears trembling on her lashes might have gotten to him if he hadn't reminded him­self that they were about as real as the rest of her act.

  "Beaumont is a lucky man," he said. She didn't answer. Sean trailed a finger down her throat, skimmed the curve of her breasts. "You're a feast for the eyes, Savannah. Do you taste as good as you look?"

  She was shaking. Hell, he thought coldly, she was in­credibly good at this. He clasped her face, lifted it to him, intending to brand her with his kiss. Instead, he found him­self brushing his lips over hers, gently, softly, groaning at the sweetness of her mouth.

  Everything he'd been thinking fled his mind. He drew her close and kissed her, again and again, until she made a sound deep in her throat. Her hands came up, touched his chest, slid up to his shoulders. She was weeping silently now, her tears leaving glittering streaks down her silken cheeks.

  It was the tears that did it.

  The ice around Sean's heart melted. Savannah was afraid of him. How could this be an act? She was terrified, but she didn't have anything to fear. He wouldn't hurt her. He'd be gentle, stroke her with slow hands, kiss her until she clung to him with desire.

  "Savannah," he whispered. "Don't cry. I won't hurt you. Let me show you. Let me."