This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Danielle Bourdon
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
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Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781477830055
ISBN-10: 1477830057
Cover design by Jason Blackburn
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014922410
To my sons Ayden and Tristan:
Thank you for all your patience.
Mom loves you.
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 FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
When Madalina Maitland stepped into the Luxor Hotel and Casino, she never dreamed she’d be leaving on the lam with a stranger. She was there to vacation. To soak up the summer sun. To gamble a little of the minor inheritance that had fallen into her lap like pennies from heaven. Five hundred bucks wouldn’t brand her a whale in Sin City, but it was more cash than she’d had on hand in a while. After finding a great deal on a flight from Southern California—ninety-eight dollars round trip—she’d tucked the remainder of the thirteen-hundred-dollar inheritance into the bank for emergencies and incidentals. Her late grandfather, bless his soul, had insisted she use part of the money for a well-deserved getaway. As if he had somehow guessed from their last (and final) conversation that the mundane responsibilities of everyday life were finally taking a toll. In response to his wishes—and a desperate need to reconnect with life—she was here, ready to take Las Vegas by storm.
Grinning from ear to ear, excitement swelling like an incoming tide, she paused just inside the tinted glass doors to take a deep breath and absorb the ambiance. Two towering statues flanked by a wall of exotic hieroglyphics loomed over the expansive foyer, creating a square-shaped entryway into the casino proper. Potted palms rimmed separate fountains, the water lit from beneath by cleverly placed lights. With a little imagination, one might believe one had stepped back in time, transported to ancient Egypt, with all its rich history and aesthetic charm. In the distance the mesmerizing ching-ching-ching of slot machines and the jubilant cries of someone who must have hit a jackpot sent shivers of anticipation straight down her spine.
Oh yeah. That’ll be me, she thought. Madalina Maitland, you’re gonna win big.
She realized the odds of hitting the Mother of All Jackpots was about as likely as her sprouting a second head, but she was trying out some New Age thing she’d read about in a book titled Positive Thinking: The Power of Optimism.
If all she had to do was think about winning, she could do that. Thinking was free, and underrated as far as she was concerned. Madalina, usually known as a pessimist and a skeptic to her friends and family, decided to make this a “new beginning” all around.
The first lesson she learned in her shiny new adventure was that stilettos and polished floors didn’t mix. Neither did standing in front of the doors when so many people were pushing in and out, intent on adventures of their own.
A man blustered past, muttering under his breath about tourists blocking the road.
“I’m sorry. Excuse me,” Madalina said. In an effort to get out of his way, she took a few quick steps forward. That was when she started to slip. To correct her balance, she pinwheeled an arm, nailing the muttering man in the shoulder with her purse. The heavy luggage she was dragging by the handle didn’t help matters any.
Catching her by the elbow, the stranger guided her upright. His hand felt strong, sure, steady. Madalina glanced up—way up—into her savior’s face. He was the kind of man she only saw in movies. The kind she didn’t think existed in the real world. Six-four, built broad across the shoulders and lean in the hips, her savior was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. He wore his hair two inches past his nape and sported a thick layer of whiskers on a jaw that looked chiseled from stone. His eyes were somewhere between blue and green, with little flecks that reminded Madalina of fool’s gold. When he smiled, it was the smile of an enigmatic man tolerating a silly girl for standing where she shouldn’t have been.
“Thanks,” she said, tugging her elbow from his hand. She had her balance back and didn’t need his aid any longer. Brushing aside a stray lock of hair, she scooted the strap of her purse into her forearm to prevent it from becoming a weapon again. Even with four-inch heels adding height to her five-eight frame, she had to tilt her chin to maintain eye contact.
“Next time,” he said, “stand off to the side so you don’t get yourself hurt.”
Even his voice was godlike. Deep, scratchy, resonant. No matter how handsome he may or may not have been, she drew herself up with indignation, preparing to tell him that she would stand anywhere, anytime, for however long she liked.
He walked away, ripping the wind from her sails before she could get a word out.
Men.
The Grouch was nice to look at while he walked away, at least. And she looked, because she’d promised herself to have a little fun on this trip and give up—for the time being—on her quest to find Mr. Right. She could definitely appreciate what attributes the Grouch had to offer. He wore jeans that fit just right—not too tight, not too baggy—and a gray ribbed shirt under a navy blazer. A pair of snakeskin boots completed the outfit that enhanced everything masculine about him. It put a grin back on her mouth and relit the fire of anticipation.
There were probably hundreds just like him in this city. She had hit a veritable gold mine of hotness.
Think positive.
Another thing she learned about Vegas in a hurry was that everything ran like a well-oiled machine. The clerk at the check-in desk processed the paperwork in less than ten minutes, gave her directions to her room, and even offered to have a bellboy bring up the suitcase. To save the bellboy the embarrassment of toting around pastel-pink luggage, she declined the offer and continued to drag the bag at her heels.
Enchanted with the steep-sloped design of the interior walls that came together at the peak of the pyramid, she occasionally peered over the banister on the way to her room—a dizzying view to be sure. She had the idea that the floor should be slanted like the outside walls of the pyramid. Not s
o. The concourse was straight and flat, which made the design that much more interesting.
She discovered the interior of her modest room to be sleek and upscale, with one king-size bed, a dresser and desk, and a small two-person table near the window. The Egyptian theme was present in the carved headboard, purple and gold wallpaper border, and an Eye of Horus painting. Madalina plopped her suitcase on a stand and set her purse on the dresser. Ready to hit some slots and have a few drinks, she rifled through her luggage for something suitable to wear.
A short fifteen minutes later, she was on her way back down to the casino. To spare herself another embarrassing skid, she’d changed into stylish black boots to the knee and a dark-gray pencil skirt with a modest hem. A slinky peach shirt with tiny straps over the shoulders fit snug across the bust, but not snug enough to make her blush. She had always thought peach offset her hair—a color her mother always referred to as “mink”—very well. At twenty-four years of age, she had plenty of energy and about fifteen extra pounds to lose. She’d decided long ago she wouldn’t ever be one of those greyhound girls with countable vertebrae and ribs that all but showed through the skin. Oh well.
She strutted her stuff once she strolled into the casino proper, intrigued by the gaming tables and rows upon rows of slot machines. The incessant sound of spinning reels and nonstop conversation competed with the occasional bleat of a machine when someone hit a jackpot. Madalina homed in on the carnival-like atmosphere, ready to live it up on her first visit to Vegas.
She spent a moment lamenting the absence of her best friend—and co-owner of their little clothing boutique in Los Angeles—who had gotten sick the day before they were supposed to fly out. Gambling, flirting, and drinking would have been ten times the fun with Lianne at her side. Madalina had decided not to waste the nonrefundable ticket and had come anyway. Desperate for a vacation, even a brief one, she’d jumped at the chance for a change of scenery.
A group of college boys with beers in their hands and New York ball caps skewed sideways on their heads shot Madalina a collective, drunken smile as she passed by. She winked and moved on. Frat boys were not on Madalina’s to-do list. She wanted someone along the lines of the Grouch with whom to wile away her time. Someone nicer, less prone to biting remarks, who had a similar physique. That would be perfect. If she was going to go all in, she might as well wish for the typically unattainable.
Hunting down the Double Diamond machines Lianne had sworn would pay off (if she kept at it long enough), Madalina instead spotted a busy roulette table at the end of the row. Red velvet rope separated the slots from the gaming tables, and on impulse, she marched that way. Sidling in between two occupied seats, Madalina fished a fifty from the purse hanging over her shoulder.
Red or black, one-time shot, this was her spin.
She set the fifty on black. Don’t second-guess it. Go with your gut. Be optimistic.
The dealer placed the ball into the groove of the spinning roulette wheel and gave it a flick. He gestured to the fifty. “Change?” he asked.
“I want to play it all,” Madalina replied.
The dealer clipped a nod and left the fifty on black.
Flushed with a strange kind of excitement, Madalina followed the rotation of the ball with her eyes. A moment later, the dealer called, “No more bets!” The other players at the table seemed to wait with the same breathless anticipation Madalina felt.
The white ball pinged down into the numbered slots, bouncing from one to the next to the next. Just when she thought it was red, the ball bounced once more and landed securely on 22, black.
Madalina cheered for her win. That had taken all of five minutes. Fifty dollars in five minutes was excellent money, more than she made in the same amount of time at the struggling boutique in LA.
“You going to let it ride?” the gentleman in the seat to her right asked.
Madalina glanced at him. He was a gruff-looking sort, with salt-and-pepper whiskers that matched his salt-and-pepper hair. Tattoos peeked from the edges of his white shirt, and she glimpsed what she thought were chains on his biker boots. “I don’t know,” she admitted as the dealer paid out the winning bets. She needed to make a decision. Quick.
Let it ride, or take the fifty and . . . go put it into a slot machine?
“What would you do?” she asked.
The weathered face split into a smile. A set of slightly crooked teeth appeared. “I’d let it ride, missy. That’s what I’d do.”
Madalina looked back at the board.
“Here. I’m about done.” The man stood up and offered her his seat.
“Thanks.” She accepted the kind token and set her purse in her lap, feet resting on a lower rung. Riding the burst of adrenaline from the win, she decided to let the bet stand.
A hundred bucks would buy you those new shoes you’ve had your eyes on. As if you need another pair. Madalina shut down her inner monologue. She could argue herself into the grave over what to do with the money, and she had come here to win. More than that, she’d come here to have a good time.
“Good luck, little lady.” The man winked and left the table with his winnings.
“Thank you!” Madalina waved her manicured fingers to the gentleman and turned her attention to the board. The dealer had paid everyone else off, and now people were making new bets. A tap on the shoulder distracted Madalina just as she was about to check out her fellow gamblers.
“Drink?” a waitress asked.
“Bellin—” Madalina caught herself. She adored Bellinis; they were “her” drink, the one she chose every time she went out with Lianne. Tonight she wanted something a little more potent. “How about a Gypsy Girl.” Kicking off her gambling foray with tequila and gin seemed appropriate. Once the waitress was gone, Madalina followed the progress of the next spin, mesmerized by the experience as a whole: the thrill, the electric feel in the air, the hum of anticipation from her fellow gamblers. When the ball dropped on black, Madalina whooped quietly, flashed a smile around the table—and paused on the Grouch. Sometime between her drink order and the ball drop, he had taken a seat at the end of the table. He stared blatantly at her, one side of his lips curled into a sarcastic grin.
“Oh, great,” she muttered to herself.
“There are other places to play,” he said in his raspy, come-hither voice.
“But I’m winning here.” Madalina blushed at being overheard, not because his voice conjured illicit ideas. “You could always find some other roulette table.”
“I’m feeling lucky at this one.”
Madalina had the strangest sensation that he wasn’t talking about gambling. Maybe it was the seductive lilt in his voice that brought to mind hot nights and satin sheets and racing heartbeats.
Refusing to be baited, she whispered, “I hope you eat crow.”
“Pardon me—what was that?”
“I said, good luck, go, go, go.” Madalina flashed the Grouch a scintillating smile. He had unusually good hearing, the bastard. Why couldn’t another, nicer guy have taken that seat? The night was young, she reminded herself.
Think positive.
Exchanging part of her winnings for chips, Madalina tucked the rest of the money in her purse except for a tip she left on the waitress’s tray. One long drink later, Madalina swallowed a cough at the sting and drew in a breath. The taste of victory burned all the way down. Her eyes watered.
Swearing she heard muffled laughter from the Grouch’s end of the table, she took another drink out of sheer stubborn pride and set the glass on a square napkin next to her chips. She was ready to bet again, this time on numbers.
“Here, put two on double zeros for me,” the Grouch said, extending his arm in her direction. He held two chips between long, strong fingers. The nails looked well cared for and clean. A businessman’s hands.
Madalina finally noted the ten-dollar denomination of
his chips. He had a whole stack sitting in front of him on the table. Tempted to tell him to ask the dealer instead, she snatched the chips out of his hand, a tingle racing up her fingers when her skin brushed his, and reached over to put his bet on the double zeros. He just had to bet on the numbers all the way at the other end of the table, far out of his reach.
“Next time, it’ll cost you,” she quipped.
“How much?”
“That remains to be seen.”
“On what?”
“How much you win or lose.”
“Ah. An entrepreneur. Let’s hope my luck holds.”
Madalina met his eyes. Just for a moment. They shared a charismatic stare-down until she realized she needed to place a bet or miss the next spin. Gathering her own chips—one-dollar denominations rather than ten—she picked out three experimental numbers: 12, 19, 27. All red. She figured that she’d won on black two times in a row, so the next spin had higher odds of being red. Right? She hoped so. While other gamblers placed their bets, she had another long drink. The Grouch was still watching her—she just knew it, although she couldn’t see that much detail in periphery. It just felt like someone was boring a stare into the side of her head.
When the ball dropped on 2, black, Madalina’s shoulders slumped. At least she hadn’t bet another fifty on red, though if she’d let her original bet ride, she would have been up four hundred dollars by now. She didn’t gain much satisfaction from the fact that the Grouch had lost, too.
Trading her empty drink for a new one when the waitress came by, Madalina picked a fresh set of numbers and sat back to wait for the spin. Out of the corner of her eye, Madalina saw the Grouch rise from his seat. A small pang of regret surfaced at the thought of him leaving the table, which surprised her. The next thing she knew, the masculine scent of cologne permeated her space, followed by the heat of his body when he leaned into her shoulder. A jolt rocketed through her at the contact, unexpected but not unpleasant. He stretched a long arm past her to set two chips once more on the double zeros. In that moment, with the contact spreading along the entire left side of her back, Madalina shivered in her seat. She reached for her drink, desperate to distract herself from the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen. He’d removed his blazer at some point, leaving him in the gray shirt.
Escaping Vegas (The Inheritance Book 1) Page 1