Socialite's Gamble

by Michelle Conder

  He just had time to see the pink-haired woman roll her eyes heavenward before disappearing into the crowd. Frustrated that he hadn’t had time to deal with her impertinence properly, he glared at the stewardess in front of him. ‘This had better be good.’

  As soon as the out-of-breath stewardess had placed her manicured hand against her chest in a move redolent of Scarlett O’Hara, her posture giving the impression that she’d like nothing better than to plaster herself all over the front of the man Cara had nicknamed ‘the cretin jerk,’ she knew it was her cue to disappear. No doubt it was her phone number that she wanted to give him. Or maybe she was about to drag him off to the nearest broom cupboard and put those pearly whites to good use. Cara didn’t care, but she hoped he picked up a nasty disease in the process.

  Rude, horrible, loathsome man!

  Fuelled by angry frustration and nervous energy at the disappearing time, Cara did what she did best—she retreated from the situation and merged with the noise and bustle of those around her as she hobbled towards the terminal exit with as much dignity as she could muster, thankful that she would never have to see that man’s arrogant face again.

  The airport was teeming with people and outside it was raining so hard she was sure it was a monsoon. How was it possible to be raining in LA and Vegas? Wasn’t California supposed to be always sunny? And Sin City was in the middle of the desert. It should be hot, she thought as she stepped through the automatic glass doors and into an icy cold wind that sawed the breath from her lungs. Holy moly, but tonight could freeze the ice off a penguin.

  Rubbing her hands over her arms and trying to stop her knees from knocking together with cold she quickly scanned the long line of bedraggled commuters—also underdressed to withstand the arctic blast, and the non-existent taxis that should have been lining the kerb. Why was it that taxi cabs seemed to disappear in every country unused to inclement weather? She’d do anything for the reliability of the black cabs back home right now because she couldn’t be late. She just couldn’t.

  Quelling another bout of panic she gritted her teeth and marched back inside, searching for the hire-car desks.

  She stopped when she saw them. It seemed a couple of hundred other commuters had already had the same idea. Frustrated she headed back outside and saw the line surge forward as three taxis pulled alongside the kerb and just as swiftly departed with relieved customers inside.

  A shiny silver limousine purred up to the sidewalk, water drops clinging to its polished windows and paintwork like tiny pearls and the crowd gazed at it longingly. Oh, what she’d give to have thought ahead and organised one of those. She watched the young driver alight from the car and scan the crowd. Glancing around, she waited to see who had won the lottery and then back at the chauffeur when no one came forward. He had a sign and Cara shifted a little to the right so she could read it.

  Mr Kelly, it read in bold print.

  ‘Mr Kelly? Oh, Mr Kellllly?’ The stewardess’s high-pitched voice filled Cara’s head and she narrowed her gaze. Surely not. Could Mr Kelly be the cretin jerk from inside? And why did his name sound so familiar?

  Not that she was truly interested. He was probably just an overinflated film star and the outrageous idea of taking off in his plush Mercedes jumped from outer space and straight into her mind. His warm, plush Mercedes.

  Of course she wouldn’t do it, but boy, she’d like to. It would serve him right for his scathing put-down of her before.

  Cara looked back through the terminal, half expecting him to swagger towards her with the ‘me Jane you Tarzan’ stewardess. Really, he didn’t deserve that car. Another gust of wind whipped an ice cap off the Arctic Circle and settled it over Vegas.

  Even her bones shivered this time.

  A nearby child sneezed and started whimpering.

  ‘It’s not supposed to rain in Vegas,’ a middle-aged woman with two young children huddled under her arms groused good-naturedly.

  ‘It’s not supposed to be cold, either,’ Cara said.

  ‘Oh, my, you’re Cara Chatsfield, aren’t you?’

  ‘Guilty.’ Cara smiled, expecting that the woman would either turn away now in disgust, or bubble over with excitement at having met her.

  ‘Oh, you poor thing,’ she gushed. ‘I’m sorry to say I read about that awful scandal last year and I just want you to know that you were right to sack that manager of yours.’

  It had been her agent that she’d sacked but Cara was so shocked by the woman’s passionate support she was almost stupefied. ‘Well, thank you.’

  ‘I think it’s awful how people take advantage of others. And you copping all the flak for that video because you’re a woman. I noticed that man in it with you wasn’t mentioned and he wasn’t wearing much more than you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m ranting.’ The woman blushed and fussed over one of the children’s hair.

  ‘No, please.’ Cara smiled. ‘Rant away.’

  The woman grinned back. ‘I wish that limousine was waiting for me. Who do you suppose it’s here for? A prince?’

  Cara arched a brow. ‘Hardly.’

  She looked around. Maybe the cretin jerk really had visited that broom cupboard.

  She smiled at the woman as the idea of stealing Mr Kellllly’s limo returned. ‘Maybe it is waiting for us.’

  ‘I wish,’ the woman said with a sigh.

  When one of the younger of the children started sneezing Cara straightened her spine and strolled towards the young limousine driver. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ she said airily. ‘I spotted an old friend.’

  ‘Ma’am?’

  ‘You are waiting for me, aren’t you?’

  ‘Ah, no, ma’am. I’m waiting for a Mr Kelly.’

  Cara tilted her head and gave him a smile she’d been told made grown men forget their own names. ‘It was supposed to be Ms Kelly, but never mind. No harm done.’

  ‘And you’re … Ms Kelly?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ Cara smiled patiently. ‘I’m travelling incognito. I have to do that after, well, you know … the video clip last year.’

  The young driver blushed as Cara had expected he would and looked flustered. ‘Oh, I don’t—’

  She waved her hand dismissively. ‘Please, I’d rather not talk about it. Now, I hope you don’t mind but I promised to give my friends a lift. It’s too cold for them to wait for a taxi.’

  ‘No, no.’ He scampered to open the passenger door for her. ‘Not at all, Miss Chats—I mean, Ms Kelly.’

  Feeling just the teensiest bit guilty and determined to ignore it, Cara beckoned to the woman and her children. ‘It seems the limo was waiting for me after all. Would you like a lift?’

  ‘Oh, wow. Really?’

  ‘Of course, but … we should hurry.’

  The guilty feeling persisted for quite a way to the hotel and probably if she could relive that moment she might act differently, but it was too late now and her awed passengers had been so relieved and grateful it had been worth it.

  Thankfully she’d never have to see Mr Kelly again, but maybe she’d try and find out where he was staying and send him an anonymous bottle of champagne to thank him for the ride.

  She stifled an impish grin at the thought. He was really going to be livid when he realised that his car had been commandeered by someone else. In a way, she almost wished she was able to see his face.

  She hoped it turned purple.

  CHAPTER TWO

  AIDAN SAW A flash of pink hair and one long slim leg before the limousine pulled away from the kerb, its tail-lights blinking in the gloomy night.

  Amazing. The woman he had thought a cheap tourist at best could afford a limousine. Or perhaps she’d had a rich lover waiting outside.

  With legs like hers it was probably the more likely scenario. Long and golden brown. He had no doubt they’d be smooth to the touch and his hand would have no trouble sliding all the way up to those tiny shorts. He imagined her breathless little gasp as he sl
id one finger inside the leg of those shorts and teased— What the …?

  He pulled himself up short as he realised he was turning himself on.

  Rubbing at the space between his eyes he shook his head. He must be going mad to fantasise about a woman like that.

  A woman who wore clothes that revealed more than they hid. Well, okay, her purple blouse had been loose and only hinted at the small, high breasts beneath, but it had been designed to make a man think about exactly what they would look like underneath. And those shoes? If they hadn’t been created with sex in mind, he didn’t know what was.

  Oh, she had been advertising, all right, and although his body had perked up with interest at her wares he’d had no intention of taking the bait. He was in Vegas for one night and one purpose and it had nothing to do with bedding a woman.

  He buttoned his jacket against the cold and glanced around for his limousine. His HR manager had assured him that it would be waiting at the kerb as soon as he exited the main terminal and he was a man who knew how to do his job.

  Noticing a white sign on the damp pavement he walked closer and saw that it had his name printed on it.

  His gaze narrowed. Why would a piece of cardboard with—Son of a … She’d stolen his limousine!

  Aidan stared at the section of road the large car had long disappeared down and knew his mouth was hanging open.

  He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through his emails to get to the one that would hold the information about which car company his HR manager had used. Unfortunately he already had over one hundred new emails and he didn’t have the patience to find it.

  Gritting his teeth and silently imagining every way he could slowly dismember the lanky pink-haired waif he would hunt down as soon as he’d completed his business in Vegas, he raised his eyes to the darkening sky.

  There were too many grey clouds for him to locate the moon but he was sure if he could it would be full. Usually, he wasn’t a superstitious person but how else to explain a day that had started out great and gone downhill at a rate of knots. First his PA had quit, claiming he was too hard a taskmaster. Then his trip to Sydney airport had been plagued by an impromptu demonstration against the live export of animals—a worthy cause he might have contributed coin to had they not held him up for so long—only to arrive at the airport to find his plane had mechanical issues and had been grounded. The only available flight out of Sydney for Vegas had one seat available.

  And it hadn’t been first class.

  Not that he was a snob. Far from it. He’d grown up in a low- to middle-class home and didn’t start travelling first class until he had turned his father’s business around in his early twenties.

  No, it wasn’t coach per se that had bothered him but being squashed into a seat his tall frame didn’t easily accommodate and trying to work during what should have been a sixteen-hour flight while others slept or watched movies. Then there had been the small child who kept poking its fingers through the back of the seat and dislodging his paperwork on the tiny tray they called a table.

  He sighed wearily. His currently dishevelled state wasn’t exactly the way he had planned to greet his nemesis, Martin Ellery, but okay, he’d make it work. A part of him had been considering some sort of revenge against this man for fourteen years and it had become all-consuming twelve months ago when his father had passed away.

  Tonight it would happen, and no matter how many obstacles got in his way Aidan wouldn’t countenance failure. Had, in fact, never failed at anything in his life. And he couldn’t fail at this because he had promised his father on his deathbed that he would get back at the man who had ruined his life. And a promise was a promise. Something meant to be honoured.

  Unfortunately the Chatsfield casino house rules were very specific on this night that would pit some of the best and wealthiest gamblers against one another. If you missed the start of play you couldn’t join the game.

  He checked his watch and his agitation grew.

  Just when he was contemplating the possibility of hiring a helicopter a cavalcade of taxis came into view and the line of weary commuters cheered.

  A crumpled but chic businesswoman paused before getting into the first cab. She looked at him.

  Aidan had seen that look on women’s faces plenty of times before and he’d already noticed this one eyeing him off for the past five minutes.

  ‘Would you like to share?’ she asked.

  The offer was for more than a taxicab and they both knew it. But he could allay her of that expectation on the way into town.

  ‘Sure.’

  Thirty-nine minutes later Aidan was clean-shaven, dressed in a black suit and black dress shirt—no tie because he hated them—and paused in the doorway to the Chatsfield Hotel’s prestigious Mahogany Room.

  It was opulent, but he already knew that. Large crystal chandeliers sparkled off polished mahogany wood panelling and a curved bar with fancy velvet stools lined the far wall. The room was already half full and scented with the faint traces of Cuban cigar smoke and the sweet scent of too many perfumes mixed together. It wasn’t his usual world, but looking at him now—carelessly poised for action—no one would guess he was about to destroy another man’s livelihood.

  Ice clinked in a glass and Aidan surveyed the elegant crowd. A few of the men he would play against were already seated at the main table. Martin Ellery wasn’t one of them. Aidan glanced around the room. Where was the slimy bastard anyway?

  And then he saw him and his heart skipped a beat.

  Because he wasn’t alone. He was standing to the side of the bar with none other than the pink-haired waif who had stolen his limousine!

  Aidan’s eyes swept over her. She looked surprisingly classy in a fitted black dress that skimmed her light curves to midthigh. She had on stockings—or would they be those high-topped ones that clung to her thighs and didn’t require a garter belt—what were they called? Stay-ups?—and another pair of skyscraper heels. It took his brain about point four seconds to jump to him seated on a king-size bed with her standing before him in just those stockings and heels.

  Damn.

  To his mind there was only one reason a woman was in the high-rollers’ room of a casino. She was either looking to pick up a rich man, or she already had. That might be a gross generalisation he was sure the women’s libbers would want to slice him in half for but he didn’t care.

  He had been a wealthy man for long enough to know the score. And this woman—this car thief—was on the make, any moron could see that.

  He recalled the uppity curse she had delivered at the airport as sweetly as if she had been blessing his firstborn child. He nearly smiled. Then Ellery leaned closer to her.

  Had Ellery already laid claim to her?

  It wouldn’t surprise him. His last wife hadn’t been dead eighteen months but even before she’d died it had been rumoured he’d moved on. Loyalty was not a word Martin Ellery knew the meaning of, or cared about.

  His and Ellery’s paths hadn’t crossed for about that long and Aidan doubted they’d have much to say to each other tonight. Ellery would know better than to try. He knew Aidan loathed him.

  And for some reason he loathed the way the older man kept stroking the back of his car thief’s hand in a brief caress that told any other male watching that she was unavailable.

  A sick feeling rose up in his stomach. No doubt if she was with Ellery he’d brought her to the game for good luck. Unfortunately it would take more than a statuesque model type to bring him luck tonight.

  His car thief stepped back and gave Ellery a flirtatious smile and Aidan was once again caught off guard by a powerful bolt of sexual awareness so hot it burned through his bloodstream. Watching her closely, he couldn’t figure out what exactly it was about her that drew him so intensely and he was mildly irritated by his reaction. Yes, she had a certain feline grace about her. A certain leggy beauty, but the girl had run off with his hire car and only a woman with no morals, or an over-exaggera
ted sense of entitlement, would do something like that.

  Neither type appealed to him.

  ‘Can I get you a drink, sir?’

  Aidan turned his head as a waitress stopped beside him.

  ‘No. I’m here to play poker.’ He noticed that Ellery had moved to the main table and the pink-haired car thief with the kissable mouth was now alone.

  He wondered what she’d do when she spotted him.

  Fortunately he didn’t have to wait long to find out. As if sensing his perusal she glanced up and around. He counted to six before her gaze collided with his. Keeping his expression intentionally bland he watched her eyes widen like Bambi facing down a pack of hungry mountain lions.

  Oh, God!

  He’d followed her.

  Cara couldn’t believe it. And he’d gotten into the Mahogany Room which was invitation-only. Her heart raced at the sight of him. Did he know what she had done? That she had borrowed his car? But of course he must. Why else would he be here?

  Everyone else in the room seemed to fade away as he continued to stare at her and Cara was aware of nothing beyond the beating of her own heart. And his eyes.

  Standing just inside the doorway he was at once invisible and totally conspicuous. His aura alone dominated the busy room. Which shouldn’t have been possible in a place full of the rich and famous. Still, he did and she wasn’t the only woman who had noticed him. She could tell by the low murmur of appreciation by the women on her right that he was being favourably sized up as a potential catch.

  And Cara had to get rid of him. Quickly, before the big game started and before he caused a scene that would get back to Christos.

  Deciding that the best course of action was the direct one, she tried to still the jittery feeling in her legs and walked towards him.

  The room felt like it had just tripled in length and she fervently hoped that he didn’t know that she had been the one who had taken his car.

  Would the hire-car company have told him already?

  Blast her impulsive decision to colour her hair so brightly. For once she’d be happy to be her normal boring self because a girl with muddy-brown hair would have been so much harder to locate.