The Marriage Takeover

by Lee Wilkinson

‘I thought you might like to see it. But if you don’t care for the idea…?’

  ‘Oh, I do!’ There was no mistaking her eagerness. ‘I’m really looking forward to it…’

  And she wasn’t disappointed. The scenery was everything Lang had said it would be, and, setting aside all her previous doubts and fears, she enjoyed every moment of the dramatic and varied terrain.

  Driving through the valley, with its well-tarmacked road running between wide stretches of sandy scrub and flanked by the distant and spectacular mountain ranges, proved to be breathtaking.

  They reached Furnace Creek at midday and stopped for what turned out to be an excellent meal, before resuming their journey.

  Since he’d suggested that she use his first name, there had been a complete change in his attitude. Any suggestion of boss and employee had gone and he was treating her simply as a pleasant companion.

  Some of her earlier wariness had vanished, put to flight by his casual friendliness. She thought, almost with a sense of wonder, that it might have been relatively easy to relax and enjoy his company, if she hadn’t been so aware of, and so bothered by, his powerful masculinity.

  While they clocked up the miles and the afternoon wore on, in answer to her interested questions, Lang told her about some of his earlier travels.

  As a young man he’d visited most of the States, it appeared, but, having a liking for desert county, Nevada, Arizona and New Mexico had remained amongst his favourites.

  Dusk had begun to fall before they stopped for a quick bite at Minnie’s Diner, a roadside café more notable for its truckers-sized portions than any attempt at elegance.

  Cassandra was surprised that a man like Lang Dalton would choose to eat at what was in effect a transport café.

  He picked it up immediately. ‘Perhaps, like Nina, you’d prefer to stop somewhere more up-market?’

  ‘No, it’s all part of the fun,’ she assured him cheerfully, taking a seat at a plastic-topped table. ‘And if it’s anything like England the food in this kind of place is usually good, as well as cheap.’

  ‘When did you discover that?’

  ‘While I was a student. My room-mate and I, and one or two others in our year, had an occasional meal at Joe’s. A plate of shepherds’s pie made a change from baked beans on toast, and helped to keep body and soul together.’

  ‘You were short of money?’

  ‘Perpetually,’ she said drily.

  ‘Didn’t your parents help?’

  ‘No. I didn’t ask them to.’

  An expression in his dark blue eyes she was unable to read, his voice deceptively casual, he remarked, ‘With your kind of beauty it should have been easy to find yourself a well-off boyfriend.’

  The words were like a kick in the solar plexus.

  All the colour draining from her face, her stomach tying itself in a knot of remembered fear and pain, she fought for breath.

  Noting her sudden pallor, made more pronounced by the harsh glare of the overhead lights, he queried solicitously, ‘Something wrong?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘You look very pale.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Avoiding his eyes, she studied a finger-marked menu propped against a ketchup bottle. ‘What do you suggest?’

  He answered levelly, ‘It depends how hungry you are.’

  ‘Not very.’ Her appetite had just deserted her.

  ‘Then perhaps a bagel with ham or cheese or, if you want something a shade more exciting, a BLT on your choice of bread.’

  A tired-looking, middle-aged waitress wearing a pink nylon overall and down-at-heel mules was already hovering, her eyes fixed on Lang. ‘The pastrami’s good,’ she offered.

  He nodded. ‘Then make mine pastrami on rye.’

  Pulling herself together, determinedly pushing away the traumas of the past, Cassandra decided, ‘I think I will plump for a little excitement. I’ll try a BLT on sourdough.’

  When the waitress had flip-flopped away, Lang asked, a gleam in his eye, ‘Does your decision to “plump for a little excitement” extend to other things?’

  Instantly wary, she said stiffly, ‘That depends on what you mean by other things.’

  He smiled, mocking her caution. ‘A mild flutter in the casino, for instance?’

  ‘I don’t think I’m cut out to be a gambler,’ she told him.

  ‘Well, you can’t visit a place like Vegas without giving it a whirl. If you don’t fancy the big-time stuff there are slot machines everywhere. Casinos have them, Laundromats have them, even instant wedding chapels have them…’

  He talked idly about Las Vegas until their food arrived: a pile of thinly sliced smoked beef on rye bread, and a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich she had to use both hands to pick up.

  By the time they’d eaten, and drunk good strong coffee from thick mugs, darkness was pressing against the steamy windows.

  ‘We’d better get going,’ Lang observed, and, leaving an extremely liberal tip, escorted her out to the waiting car.

  For Cassandra, the rest of the drive captured the essence of all the road movies she’d ever seen. With no scenery to look at, Lang stepped on the gas, and, insects splattering against the windscreen, they drove through the hot night like a tornado.

  As they stormed east, the highway wound on, black and practically deserted, and Cassandra began to appreciate the vastness of the country they were travelling through.

  Eventually she must have dozed, because she surfaced to find Lang touching her shoulder. ‘Wake up,’ he said softly. ‘You mustn’t miss this.’

  ‘Miss what?’ She stifled a yawn.

  ‘Your first sight of Las Vegas.’

  From their elevated position, she could see that below, and ahead of them, rising from the black desert floor like some night-time mirage, was a colourful, shimmering, many-faceted pool of light. Its glow set the sky on fire.

  ‘That’s magical,’ she breathed.

  ‘This particular sight never fails to move me,’ he admitted.

  She agreed. ‘I can see why.’ And thought what an enigma this man was. Beneath his surface hardness, he had depth and sensitivity, a real feeling for beauty.

  They drove into town and along the Strip. On every side, neon signs flashed—diamond horseshoes, silver garters, gold nuggets, pink champagne pouring endlessly into slippers, multi-coloured cascades of stardust—a deluge of brilliant and garish light, as each place tried to out-dazzle the competition.

  Then, jammed between the Red Rooster pizza-parlour and a wildly futuristic hotel, bizarre and totally incongruous, was an instant wedding chapel. Its white, neon cross was surrounded by glowing artificial lilies and flashing lights.

  Through its open door could be glimpsed a couple, the man in a rhinestone jacket, the woman wearing a red dress covered in glittering sequins and flowers in her hair, waiting on a bench.

  Leaving the theatrical flamboyance of the Strip behind them, they came at last to the Golden Phoenix, a huge, handsome, white-marble building, with a colonnaded portico.

  Standing well back from the street, its wide, paved forecourt allowing access to an underground car park, it looked to be quiet and select, in a class of its own.

  ‘Is it simply a hotel?’ Cassandra queried as they drew up in front of the steps.

  Lang jumped out and came round to help her out. ‘It’s a hotel and casino combined.’

  Looking up at the golden phoenix that graced the entrance, she remarked, ‘I like the name.’

  He grinned. ‘The people who come here regularly just refer to it as Dalton’s.’

  ‘So you own it?’

  Escorting her inside, Lang replied drily, ‘Dalton Enterprises does.’

  Which amounted to the same thing.

  The foyer was palatial, with a huge marble fountain, hanging gardens and crystal chandeliers.

  ‘Evening, Stephens…’ Lang tossed the car keys to a dapper, middle-aged man behind the reception desk and, a hand at Cassandra’s waist, le
d her towards a private elevator. ‘Will you see that our luggage is taken up to my suite immediately, and the car put away?’

  ‘Certainly, Mr Dalton.’

  As the doors slid to behind them, her voice betraying her sudden agitation, she blurted out, ‘You’re expecting me to share your suite?’

  His face perfectly straight, he queried, ‘Does that worry you?’

  Something in his manner convinced her he was teasing. Determined not to fall for it, she asked with what coolness she could muster, ‘Should it?’

  ‘Only if you sleepwalk,’ he answered succinctly.

  As she might have expected his marble-floored penthouse suite was both elegant and spacious, with Kashmir rugs and long windows curtained in fine muslin and heavy, gold velvet drapes.

  From the foyer, a door led into an attractively furnished central sitting-room with a striking pale blue and gold decor. On either side there was a luxurious, ivory-carpeted bedroom and en-suite bathroom, one in delicate shades of pink and oyster, the other decorated in straw and off-white.

  Lang indicated the latter. ‘That’s the room I usually use, but feel free to choose.’ His smile was openly mocking. ‘I believe both doors lock.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly, ‘I’ll be quite happy with the other one.’

  As she finished speaking, a bellboy appeared with their small amount of luggage, and left clutching a generous tip.

  Picking up her bag, she said, ‘I’d like to take a quick shower and change, if that’s all right?’

  ‘Of course. Say fifteen minutes?’

  Though she was a couple of minutes early, Lang was waiting for her in the sitting-room, his thick blond hair smoothly brushed, his jaw freshly shaven.

  He looked both suave and handsome, the hard-edged, potentially ruthless element overlaid with a veneer of polished sophistication.

  After one glance at his immaculate evening clothes, Cassandra knew herself to be underdressed. ‘I’m afraid this is all I have with me,’ she explained apologetically.

  His unsparing glance took in the simple black cocktail dress, the silk-clad legs and high-heeled sandals, the complete lack of jewellery.

  Flatly, he said, ‘As far as I’m concerned you look fine, but if it bothers you there are plenty of excellent boutiques in the shopping mall…’

  As she half shook her head, he suggested, ‘Then shall we go down?’

  A minute later they were back in the sumptuous main foyer. Opening a door on the left, marked ‘Private’, Lang ushered Cassandra into a large and well-furnished sitting-room.

  Obviously they’d been expected. On a low table was an oval silver tray with three glasses and a bottle of vintage champagne in an ice bucket.

  A fair-haired man of medium height, wearing evening clothes, rose from an armchair which faced an array of monitors. He was in his early thirties, about the same age as Lang, she judged, thin-faced and pleasant-looking, with a wide, friendly smile.

  ‘Lang, great to see you!’

  When the two men, obviously old friends, had shaken hands, Lang put an arm around Cassandra’s waist and said, ‘Honey, I’d like you to meet Robert Laski. He manages the Golden Phoenix for me… Rob, this is Cassandra Vallance.’

  Disconcerted by the possessive arm and the ‘honey’, she stammered, ‘H-how do you do?’

  Taking her hand, Rob said warmly, ‘It’s very nice to meet you. I hope you won’t mind if I call you Cassandra?’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘Won’t you sit down?’

  Trying to regain her composure, she took a seat on a comfortable settee, while Rob moved to open the champagne.

  ‘How are things going?’ Lang queried, remaining standing.

  ‘Fine,’ Rob answered, ‘apart from one slight problem…’ Pausing to fill three champagne flutes, he handed one to Cassandra—his glance resting for an instant on the glittering diamond cluster on her engagement finger—and another to Lang, before raising his own glass in a silent toast.

  When they had all drunk a little of the sparkling wine, he continued, ‘Earlier tonight a Mr Hoke Donelly—not one of our regular clientele—booked in, saying he’d like a flutter.

  ‘He was quiet and well-dressed, so they let him go through to the casino. His game was poker, and for a while he was on a winning streak. Then his luck turned and he started to lose steadily. Instead of stopping, he began to plunge more heavily…’

  Lang sighed. ‘The old, old story.’

  ‘He’d lost almost five thousand dollars before his chips ran out… When he asked to play on credit they sent him to me.

  ‘Donelly’s young and green and should never have been gambling at all. When I questioned him he admitted he’d been using money he and his fiancée had saved to get married. It seems the girl’s pregnant, and tonight was a desperate one-off bid to get rich quickly.

  ‘They were negotiating a loan to buy a house of their own, rather than have to live with her parents, who strongly disapprove of the match, but a few days ago he lost his job…’

  Sipping her champagne, Cassandra could only feel heartily sorry for the hapless pair.

  ‘He confessed that coming to Vegas was his idea, and the girl had been reluctant. That’s why he was so anxious to keep on playing until he’d at least recouped his losses.’

  With a grimace, Rob added, ‘As things stand, the young idiot hasn’t enough left to even pay for his room, let alone get back to Denver.’

  ‘Where is he now?’ Lang sounded angry.

  ‘I asked him to wait in the office until you got here. I take it you won’t allow him credit?’

  ‘Certainly not. He’ll only dig himself in deeper…’

  While forced to agree that Lang was probably right, Cassandra felt cold, chilled by his ruthlessness.

  ‘Give him a room for the night and his money back, and tell him, in future, not to be such a damn fool.’

  When Rob had disappeared to do his bidding, Cassandra said with undisguised relief, ‘That was extremely generous of you. I thought at first you were angry.’

  ‘I am angry.’ He refilled her glass, and added, ‘They should never have allowed him to play in the first place. It’s just the sort of thing I try to guard against.

  ‘The only clientele I want are the rich and experienced who play for kicks, and who, if they lose, can well afford it. Donelly’s kind of gambling is a mug’s game, as he’s no doubt realized. His luck was out and—’

  ‘Personally I think his luck was in,’ Cassandra stated firmly.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘If he’d lost his money in any other casino, I can’t believe they would have been so…charitable.’

  Lang shook his head. ‘Don’t put me down as soft, or altruistic. I just don’t want that kind of thing on my conscience.’

  ‘It wouldn’t worry a lot of people.’

  Curtly he said, ‘Perhaps my conscience already carries a big enough burden.’

  As she was wondering what he meant by that, the door opened and Rob came back. ‘I rather think Donelly’s learnt his lesson. He was almost abjectly grateful, and if you’ve got a minute he’d like to thank you in person.’

  ‘You have his home address?’

  ‘It’s in the register.’

  Lang turned to Cassandra. ‘If you’ll excuse me for a while? Rob will show you round the casino and provide you with some chips so you can try your hand at the tables.’

  Steadily she said, ‘I’d love to have a look round, but I really can’t afford to gamble.’

  ‘A few hundred dollars on the house won’t break the bank,’ Lang assured her cheerfully. Taking her hand, he smiled down at her. ‘I’ll rejoin you shortly.’

  Before she could even guess his intention he used the hand he was holding to draw her to him. Bending his head, he touched his lips to hers, rocking her world, leaving her flustered and breathless, her pulses racing.

  He had kissed her as though he had a right, and, taken by surprise, she ma
de no protest. When Rob turned towards the door, she followed him on legs that felt like warm jelly.

  As he escorted her across the foyer, needing to find something to say, to regain her equilibrium, she harked back to the young gambler. ‘Does that kind of thing happen often?’

  ‘You mean Donelly? No, not often. And when it does Lang invariably steps in. Though he’s no soft touch, he cares about people.

  ‘He has interests in Denver, and when he’s checked that Donelly’s story is true it’s quite on the cards that he’ll not only give him a job but loan him the money to buy a house…’

  Cassandra sighed. Lang Dalton was a complete mystery. Though she no longer believed he was hard and ruthless, she was miles from understanding either him or his motives.

  Why on earth had he kissed her? Was he planning to try and seduce her?

  No, surely not. For one thing he was still mourning his wife. For another, why try to seduce one of his own staff, and another man’s fiancée? If he wanted a woman, in a place like Las Vegas he would have no difficulty finding one.

  Or any other place for that matter, given his looks and charisma. Not to mention his money.

  But if he was hoping to take her to bed, despite his magnetism, which in a strange kind of way she couldn’t help but respond to, she would have no difficulty in keeping him at bay.

  Apart from the fact that she would never let Alan down, she knew herself protected by the remembered fear and trauma that even the man she loved had so far been unable to overcome…

  ‘Here we are.’ Rob’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘This is where the rich and famous come to get their kicks…’ He opened a door and ushered her into a huge circular room.

  The air-conditioned casino was windowless, lit by golden phoenix wall-lamps and crystal chandeliers. Its ivory and gold decor was both elegant and luxurious. There were several rooms leading off, where, Rob told her, private games of poker and such like were held.

  ‘And that’s the stage for the big-name entertainers.’ He indicated a raised dais in the centre where, seated at a white baby grand, a woman in a clinging silver dress was quietly playing and singing the blues.