Nice Day For A White Wedding

by Le Carre, Georgia

  Nice Day For A White Wedding

  Georgia Le Carre

  Contents

  1. Cindy

  2. Alex

  3. Cindy

  4. Alex

  5. Cindy

  6. Cindy

  7. Cindy

  8. Cindy

  9. Alex

  10. Alex

  11. Cindy

  12. Cindy

  13. Cindy

  14. Cindy

  15. Cindy

  16. Cindy

  17. Cindy

  18. Cindy

  19. Cindy

  20. Cindy

  21. Cindy

  22. Cindy

  23. Alex

  24. Alex

  25. Cindy

  26. Cindy

  27. Cindy

  28. Alex

  29. Alex

  30. Cindy

  31. Alex

  32. Cindy

  33. Cindy

  34. Alex

  35. Alex

  36. Cindy

  37. Cindy

  38. Alex

  39. Cindy

  40. Alex

  41. Cindy

  42. Cindy

  43. Cindy

  Epilogue

  Coming Next - Sample Chapter

  With This Ring

  About the Author

  Also by Georgia Le Carre

  Caryl Milton

  Elizabeth Burns

  Nichola Rhead

  Kirstine Moran

  Brittany Urbaniak

  Tracy Gray

  Cariad

  Nice Day For A White Wedding

  Copyright © 2019 by Georgia Le Carre

  The right of Georgia Le Carre to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyright, designs and patent act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding.

  ISBN: 978-1-910575-94-9

  Cindy

  A light tap on my office door makes me look up from my computer screen. I check the time. It’s only ten o’clock. Surely, we don’t have trouble already! As the manager of The Macau, a small London casino, I have seen my fair share of trouble over the years; drunks, bad losers, cheaters, fights, drugs – you name it, I’ve dealt with it.

  But at this time of night? No one has lost big yet and people are at the happy stages of drunk rather than the fighting stages.

  The knock might not mean trouble, but something tells me it does.

  “Come in,” I call.

  The door opens and Stewart, the casino’s head of security, steps in. He grins at me as he comes over to my desk. So there isn’t a fight then. He wouldn’t be grinning like that if all hell had broken loose.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “You might want to put the cameras on,” he says. “We’ve got a live one.”

  That’s Stewart’s way of telling me we have someone winning big. Now don’t get me wrong, we have big winners now and again, but this is someone who is having enough luck to raise Security’s suspicions. Ninety-nine percent of the time it is someone who has found a way to cheat.

  I open my top desk drawer, and pull out a remote control and fire up the bank of monitors on the wall to my right.

  “There,” Stewart says. “On the craps table.”

  He moves to the bank of monitors and points to a man. The man has his back to the camera, but even sitting down, I can tell he’s big. He’s both very tall and very well built. If he gets ugly, he might need all four of my security staff. He doesn’t look rough though. He’s wearing a black suit and I can see it’s an expensive one, so that’s something at least.

  “You’ve checked the dice,” I ask.

  “Yup. And changed the staff.”

  I press another button on the remote control and the bank of monitors showing all of the public areas of the casino becomes one screen showing only the craps table from different angles. Whatever the man is up to, he’s attracted quite a crowd of fans around him. It’s often the case when someone is on a winning streak. Our clientele can’t help enjoying seeing us taken to the cleaners. It’s payback for all the times we take them there.

  The man pushes a large stack of chips forward and nods to the croupier. Sasha looks into the camera before she pushes the dice with her stick towards Alex. I know she’s wondering if we’re watching from the office. Don’t worry Sasha, we’re watching.

  Alex throws the dice.

  They land and the crowd around the table raise their arms excitedly, high five and cheer. They stop short of slapping the big man on the back. By their reactions, it is clear he has won big. Again. A voluptuous woman in a long black dress moves in for her own slice of the action and slinks onto the seat next to him. He does not turn to look at her.

  “How many is that?” I ask Stewart.

  “I counted six in a row before I came up here,” he says.

  So that’s at least seven wins. Probably eight or nine by the time Stewart got here and I got the monitor on. Sasha pushes a stack of chips towards the man and I have a quick tally of how many chips he has. There could be a little over two hundred thousand pounds in front of him. It’s a lot of money, but it’s far from a cause for panic. Some of our high rollers start with more than that. And of course, he could lose it all on the next roll, but somehow I doubt it.

  I turn to look at Stewart. “But he has only won at most, two hundred K?”

  “I know,” he nods, “and I wouldn’t even have come up here if not for the fact that one of the change guys was going off on his break and gave me the head’s up to keep an eye on him. Apparently, he only started with a couple of thousand.”

  This makes me raise an eyebrow. The man’s suit, his quiet confidence and the way he’s throwing big money bets on the table tells me he’s got plenty of money to lose. And guys in a casino with plenty of money don’t start with two thousand pounds worth of chips. Guys like him start with five or ten thousand pounds.

  Unless they know they can’t lose.

  I watch closely as the man lays on another bet. This time he pushes his full pile of chips forward and nods to Sasha. A few others follow his lead and push chips into the same box. I ignore those people. They’re small fry, pushing on a few hundred. They’re not involved in whatever scam the man is running. They’re just taking advantage of what they now feel is a sure bet.

  I curse as the man wins again. He isn’t taking a huge amount of winnings and we can easily foot this kind of loss, but it annoys me because I can’t for the life of me work out what he’s doing. I can spot a card counter at a hundred paces. I’ve seen countless devices that cause havoc on the slot machines, but the craps table is the hardest one to cheat on.

  I know of only two ways to rig the odds at a craps table. Either have the box person involved in your scam and have them use weighted dice, or attach magnets beneath the table that affect the dice. I know neither of those are happening here. Sasha has worked here almost as long as I have. She was one of my first hires and not only is she loyal, but she’s also adept at spotting and reporting scams. And magnets would have sent an alarm signal to my office the second the man entered the casino, so even assuming he had managed to get them in place, I’d have known about them.

  “What do you think?” Stewart asks me.

  “I think our friend there has found a new way to rig the game, but I’m screwed if I can work out what the hell it is,” I say, shaking my head. “Come on. I think it’s time he met the manager.”

  I grab my keys off my desk and Stewart
and I leave my office. I lock the door and we head down the corridor. I have no idea how I can prove the man is cheating, but maybe up close and personal I’ll spot something. Even if I can’t prove it, this situation still needs dealing with.

  If a person is winning too much I tend to discreetly convince them to try another game, or move to a table with lower stakes. That way if they are genuinely on a lucky roll, there is a chance their luck will run out. Naturally if they are cheating they are shown the door and banned for life.

  Stewart and I step out of the elevator and walk along the short corridor to the casino floor. I pause for a second before we go through the door. I run my hands through my straight blonde hair to make sure my hair is in place, then I smooth down my slim-fitted black skirt.

  “You’re going out there to ban a cheater, not go on a date, Cindy,” Stewart mocks.

  I laugh, knowing he’ll never understand what I’m doing. Looking poised and in control is a part of my thing. I have to always look calm and unflappable, and messy hair and a creased skirt just don’t give that impression.

  I push my way through the doors and I am instantly assaulted by noise and activity. Although it is still early, The Macau is already busy. There are people everywhere and all the slot machines are taken up. Their whirling reels and bursts of music as they spin fill the air. Even the more obscure table games are full to capacity. Waiters and waitresses move around the floor with drinks trays. Stewart and I quickly make our way towards the craps table. A cheer comes from the direction we are heading. It sounds like mystery man has done it again.

  Subtlety is going to be the key here.

  I begin to make my way through the thick crowd gathered around the table.

  “Excuse me. Excuse me,” I hear myself saying over and over again.

  Most people move aside easily at my request, but some, not realizing I work here and thinking I just want the best viewpoint for the game, give me dirty looks. I finally clear the throng and come out beside Sasha and opposite the mystery man which was my exact aim.

  Mystery man has his head down, looking at his chips. I take a second to study him while he is unaware of my regard. He looks even bigger in person, and has a full head of shiny black hair. From what I can see of his forehead, I would guess he is in his early thirties. I was definitely right about him being from money. He has that casual confidence that only seems to come from having insane amounts of money.

  Which begs the question of why anyone that loaded would risk getting caught cheating a casino out of what is essentially small change.

  He must have felt my eyes on him because he looks up and straight at me.

  Dangerous!

  That is the first thought that flies into my head. The air of danger is all around him. From the unyielding jaw line, to the chiseled cheek bones, to the scar above his left eyebrow. There is a hint of a tattoo creeping out of the collar of his shirt and meeting the raven-black hair … and those stormy gray-blue eyes … they send shivers through my body.

  I find myself staring into them, losing myself in them. There is a depth there that pulls me in, a sensual, sexual charm that sends fire racing through me and makes my clit throb. I subconsciously push my thighs together and it sends a little shockwave through my pussy. It takes everything I have not to gasp out loud at the sensation.

  For the next few seconds I can’t think straight. Neither can I break the spell of his mysterious eyes. I just stand there like a brainless goldfish gaping at his presence.

  Dark and stormy. That’s what he is. Dark and stormy and downright dangerous. He curls one corner of his sensuous lips up in a mocking smile.

  Being mocked can tear you out of any sexual limbo. It does the job for me. I clear my throat, suddenly hyper aware of where I am, of the crowd around me. No more than two or three seconds have passed since dark and stormy looked up at me, but it feels like he’s held my gaze for hours and I feel myself blushing slightly.

  I force my eyes from his and his grin widens. Somehow, he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. Hell, he probably has this effect on women everywhere.

  “Good evening,” he says to me.

  His voice is low and gravelly, the perfect voice for his looks. The accent is Russian. For some weird, inexplicable reason, I imagine him close to me, whispering in my ear. I can almost feel his breath tickling my neck, his six o’clock stubble scratching my skin in a most delicious way.

  For the love of God, get a grip, Cindy.

  The casino is regularly frequented by members of the Russian Mafia, and this man certainly fits the bill to be one of them. I’ve never known them to cause trouble in the casino. They come here to have a good time and relax, but I am always on my guard around them. Dark and stormy is going to be no exception to that.

  I flash him a totally professional smile as I get ready to give him my prepared spiel, but his next words stun me into silence.

  “I was wondering when you were going to show up … Cindy.”

  Alex

  Her eyes widen with surprise when I say her name. I hold her momentarily unnerved gaze steadily. I want her to drink me in, to get a feel for who she’s dealing with. The expressions that cross her face make her transparent. I can hear almost the wheels turning in her head as her brain tries to figure out how a man like me would know her name. I watch her lips curve into a cool business-like smile. Ah, she believes she’s solved the problem; she’s the manager of the casino. I’ve heard her name mentioned … somewhere.

  She’s wrong, of course.

  In fact, I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to carefully engineer this situation to catch her attention. To get her down here. And now here she is. So beautifully predictable.

  Look at her.

  So confident. So smooth. So in control. Not a hair out of place, nude make-up, manly suit designed to hide even the smallest womanly curve, and uber-sensible shoes. She’s almost a parody of a successful businesswoman.

  I drop my gaze to her mouth.

  Look at the professional smile plastered on it. I imagine myself getting up and going to stand in front of her. In my mind’s eye, I reach out and shove my hand up her skirt. She struggles at first, but it’s just a token gesture. She wants it as much as I do. I work her clit until she can’t hold that condescending smile any longer. Her face changes, contorts with pleasure as I play sweet music on her clit. I hear her panting, hear her screaming my name as I push her over the edge. I imagine those full lips gasping my name incoherently after I make her come five times in a row. Her long blonde hair is all loose and hanging in sweaty straggles around her face. And I can almost feel her sticky juices on my fingers.

  My cock stirs with interest.

  She makes a small movement with her head and the strands of gold in her hair catch the light and sparkle, dazzling me. For a second she doesn’t look like a mere woman, but an honest to goodness Goddess! My brain freezes and my gut tightens.

  What the fuck was that?

  It’s my turn to be surprised. I try to keep my face expressionless, but I don’t like the effect Cindy Forrester just had on me. She made me lose my mind for a moment there. This has to be business, nothing more. I need to get my head back into the game. She’s no goddess. She’s just a woman. A beautiful woman.

  But it’s not like I haven’t been around beautiful women before. All my life stunningly fabulous creatures have swarmed around me. Money is a great aphrodisiac. It made them as relentless as the flies on those luckless beasts roaming the plains of Africa. No matter how hard they tried they’ve never distracted me before. Not once. I take them. I play with them. I give them expensive trinkets. Then I walk away from them.

  She will be no different. I smile slowly at her.

  Her cheeks become pink. She’s blushing because she knows I’ve been undressing her. That I’ve already ripped away that ugly suit and starched shirt, seen the beauty underneath, and sucked on her large breasts.

  She lives alone. Career women who live alone have dirty thoughts and
mostly only their vibrators for company. Those poor nipples must be screaming for a real man’s touch, a hard mouth that knows what to do.

  Her hazel, almond shaped eyes flash as she catches herself staring back at me. She remembers where she is. She pulls herself back under control, at least outwardly, but she can’t hide her pink cheeks, or the slightly glassy look of lust in her eyes as she looks at me. It’s time to throw her a curveball and see how she really rocks under pressure.

  I give her a half-smile, one that makes her clear her throat.

  Holding her gaze, I push my stacks of chips forward. All of them. The game is on. She ignores the dice and keeps her eyes on mine. I never take my gaze away from hers, but I know I have won the bet when the crowd around me goes wild. They took a bet on me and won money.

  The excitement around me is crazy and hands are trying to gain my attention, but for me the fun is over. Now it’s time to talk business with Cindy, and we’re not going to have this conversation over a craps table in the middle of a crowd.

  I reach out and scoop up my chips, leaving give or take about a hundred thousand pounds worth behind. I stand and drop my chips into my pockets.

  “Umm, Sir?” Sasha says, nodding at the leftover chips.

  “It looks like it’s a lucky night for both of us,” I say with a wink. Then I walk away, leaving them all with open mouths.