His 7-Day Fiancée

And no way could he let that happen.

His gaze hardening, he crossed to his private elevator, then leaned back against the mahogany panels as it started down. He had everything riding on this project. He’d spent twenty years meticulously constructing his empire, amassing money, power.

Twenty years plotting revenge.

The elevator doors slid open, and he headed toward the security office, ignoring the employees scurrying out of his way. Nothing could jeopardize this project. Nothing. If this robbery attempt was legit, he’d hush it up, keep it out of the papers until the deal went through. And if it wasn’t…

He mentally shrugged. Whoever had planned this escapade had made a mistake, a big one. No one played Luke Montgomery for a fool.

A lesson the Rothchilds should have learned long ago.

He entered the office, met the eyes of the guard on duty behind the desk. The balding man leaped to his feet. “Mr. Montgomery.” He tugged at the tie dangling from his beefy neck.

Luke nodded, got straight to the point. “What’s going on?”

“A woman said she was held up at gunpoint near the slot machines. I’ve pulled up the surveillance tapes. She’s in the next room.”

“Let’s see the tapes.” He rounded the desk as Ruiz lowered himself into his chair and keyed the bank of monitors to the proper time.

The screens flickered, and suddenly a woman strolled into view from a dozen angles. Her full hips swiveled with a seductive swing. Her high breasts shifted and swayed.

Luke’s gaze cut to her face, and his heart made a sudden swerve. Well, hell. It was the blonde he’d admired earlier in the lobby.

He studied her now with frank appreciation. She was on the tall side, slender, but the tight dress revealed her ample curves. She had long, shiny hair, sweetly rounded hips, the kind of killer legs that could fuel his fantasies for years.

He slanted his head. She wasn’t the usual overblown Vegas type, despite the skimpy dress. She seemed more natural, unstudied—a rarity in Sin City, a place where illusions ruled.

She stumbled on the milehigh heels, regained her balance and glanced around. The cameras caught her darting gaze, and his gut went still.

She looked furtive. Guilty.

Bad move, babe. Better to look nervous after the guy with the gun shows up.

As if on cue, a man appeared on scene. The newcomer kept his head bent low, his face carefully hidden from the camera’s view. His long, stringy hair swung past his jaw, hiding his features even more.

Luke’s gaze narrowed on the man’s pleated blue shirt and black bow tie—the uniform his dealers wore. “Is he one of ours?”

“We don’t know yet. We’re checking the records now.”

He rubbed his stubble-roughened jaw, watched the episode play out. The galley doors swung open. Awaitress steppedout, carrying a tray. The blonde crashed into her, then bolted off, while the man ran the other way.

He raised a brow. The blonde thought fast on her feet, he’d give her that much. “Who is she?”

The guard consulted his notes. “Amanda Patterson. Said she arrived in Las Vegas last week. She’s staying with her sister, Kendall Patterson, a dancer in your teno’clock show.”

Luke thought back to the brunette he’d seen with her in the lobby. A dealer and a dancer. An inside job, then? Probably a scam to sue the casino.

The spurt of disappointment took him by surprise. He knew better than to expect the blonde to be innocent. This was Vegas. Everyone was on the make. Even the prettiest face masked a conniving heart.

The guard switched to another screen, and Luke watched the man exit the casino, still hiding his face. He checked the time on the tape. Twenty minutes ago. No point looking for him now.

“Let me know what the employee search brings up. Contact legal, call the police. Get Martinez over here if you can.” He and Martinez want to have to findwent way back to their childhood in Naked City, the slums beyond the Strip. He could count on him to keep the story hushed until the Phoenix deal went through.

He turned, headed down the hall to interview the blonde. Chances were that this was an inside job, but he couldn’t rule out the Rothchilds. Harold Rothchild was buried in debt, his empire on the verge of collapse. Luke’s project would seal his doom.

Which was exactly what Luke planned.

Of course, if the Phoenix project failed, he would suffer instead. He set his jaw. Good thing he didn’t intend to fail.

He pushed open the office door, spotted the blonde standing by the desk. She turned toward him as he entered the room.

His gaze met hers. A sudden awareness shivered between them, and he hesitated in midstride.

She was even more attractive close up. Her eyes were a deep, startling blue, as vibrant as the desert sky. She had pale, creamy skin, a smattering of freckles on her feminine nose. Her lips looked soft and lush.

She was pretty, damned pretty—stunning if he factored in those world-class legs.

But this close he could also sense an aura of vulnerability about her. She stood with her shoulders hunched, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Dark circles shadowed her eyes.

The sudden urge to protect her caught him off guard.

He frowned, shook himself out of his daze. This woman didn’t need his protection. For all he knew, she was here to swindle him. “Amanda Patterson?”

“Yes.” Her low, smoky voice slid through him, doing strange things to his insides.

He crossed the room. “I’m Luke Montgomery.”

“Yes, I know, I…” A blush crept up her cheeks. “My sister pointed you out earlier.”

He’d bet. He reached out his hand. She hesitated, then gripped his palm. The smooth, silky feel of her skin arrowed through him, deleting his thoughts. He was held immobile by those amazing blue eyes. His heart beat hard in his chest.

After several long moments, he realized he was still holding her hand. He scowled, pried his fingers loose, annoyed by the effort it took. What the hell was that about? Hehadn’t been that affected by awoman in years.

And this one could be trying to deceive him.

“Have a seat.” Anxious to put some distance between them, he retreated to the desk, then leaned back against it and folded his arms.

She perched on the leather chair in front of the desk and crossed her legs. His gaze fell to her lean, bare thighs, traced the elegant curve of her calves. Realizing his thoughts were derailing again, he lifted his eyes.

“So what happened?” His tone was more brusque than he’d intended, and she blinked.

She sat up straighter, flexed her wrist as if it ached. Her chest rose as she drew in a breath. “I was going to the blackjack tables to find my sister, but I got lost. I’ve never been here before. I started to turn around but then a…a man came up behind me.”

Her voice trembled convincingly, but he was determined to stay objective. “He was armed?”

“I think so. He jabbed something into my back. I thought…it felt like a gun.”

“Then what?”

“He said…he wanted my jewelry, my ring.”

His gaze cut to her unadorned ears, to the cleavage bared by the plunging dress, and his mind flashed back to the tapes. He hadn’t noticed any jewelry before the attack. A slipup there.

“So you handed it over?” he asked, knowing damned well she hadn’t.

But she surprised him by shaking her head. “No, I…I don’t have any jewelry, not anymore.” She lifted one slender shoulder and lowered her eyes. “I sold everything a while back when I needed the money.”

So she was short on cash. Good motive to run a scam.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. No matter how attractive she was, he didn’t have time for this farce. He’d make sure the Rothchilds weren’t involved, keep this damned thing out of the news, then let the police handle the rest.

“So you’re saying a man held you up with a gun you didn’t see, and demanded jewelry that you don’t have.”

A small frown creased her brow. “You don’t believe me? You think I made this up?”

“We have cameras all over the casino. I saw the tapes.” He raised his brows. “You looked nervous even before the man showed up.”

Her smooth lips parted. The color drained from her face. “But that’s because I thought…I thought…” She pressed her fingers to her lips and closed her eyes.

“You thought what? That you’d pretend to be attacked and sue the casino?”

Her eyes flew open, and she gasped. “You think I’d pretend about something like that? Are you joking?” She let out a highpitched laugh. “Oh, God. This figures. I thought…” She shook her head, gathered her bulky purse and rose. “Forget it.”

“The hell I will.” He pushed himself away from the desk and blocked her path. “You thought what?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” She tried to step around him, but he reached out and grabbed her upper arm. She flinched, jerked back. “Let me go.”

He dropped her arm, stunned by the urgency in her voice, the flash of fear in her eyes. She quickly scuttled away.

He studied her, taken aback. She couldn’t be this good of an actress. She was actually afraid of him.

He eased apart his hands, made his expression neutral, his voice nonthreatening so she wouldn’t bolt. “Look, I’m not trying to hurt you. I just need to know what happened.”

“I…” She nodded, sucked in her breath, as if to pull herself together. “I didn’t really…It was just…my exhusband. Wayne Wheeler. I thought he was here.”

He eyed the distance she’d put between them, the wary way she watched him—defensive, alert, like a cornered animal ready to run. And anger stirred in his gut. He had no patience for abusive men. And unless he was wildly off base, this woman had been attacked.

He struggled to keep the emotion from his voice. “Your ex lives around here?”

She shook her head, sending her silky hair sliding over her arms. “He’s in Maryland, in jail. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t even his voice. But I thought, earlier…I was just nervous. I overreacted. I’m sorry.” She rubbed her forehead with a trembling hand, sank back into her chair.

He frowned. He didn’t doubt her story. Her fear looked real…And the facts would be easy to check.

So what should he do about it? Assuming she was telling the truth, this still didn’t eliminate the Rothchilds’involvement. Or her sister’s. It wouldn’t be the first time an unsuspecting family member had been an accomplice to a crime.

Which led him back to his original problem. He paced across the room, pivoted, then returned to lean against the desk. He had to contain this, keep it out of the news. He couldn’t let that consortium implode.

Which meant making sure Amanda Patterson didn’t talk.

But somehow the thought that anyone would hurt this gentle woman made it hard to stay detached.

“I need to go.” Her eyes pleaded with his. “My sister will be wondering where I am. I left her a voice mail that I’d meet her in the lobby.”

“You can leave as soon as you talk to the police.” A knock sounded on the door, and he rose. “That’s probably the detective now. I’ll walk you out to the lobby when you’re done.”

“All right.” Their gazes held. The vulnerable look in her eyes tugged at something inside him, urging him to shelter her, to keep her safe.

He shook it off. Her life, her problems were none of his concern. The only thing he needed to do was convince her not to talk. But she had been attacked in his casino. He could at least alleviate some of her fear. He turned, strode out the door.

Ramón Martinez from the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department was waiting for him in the hall. “Martinez.” Luke shook his hand, briefed him on the situation, and the need to keep it quiet for now. “Could you check on the ex and make sure he’s still in jail?” he added. “The name’s Wheeler. Wayne Wheeler.”

“No problem.” The detective flipped open his cell phone, called in the information. “It’ll take a few minutes to run him through the system. I’ll get a statement from the Patterson woman and get back to you on that.”

“Thanks.” Luke returned to the main office, had his security guard run the tapes again as he waited for the detective to finish up. Now that he’d heard Amanda’s version of events, the anxiety in her eyes made sense.

His gaze lingered on the seductive flare of her hips, those endless legs. It was too bad she wasn’t his type. She was a damned attractive woman. But he only dated celebrities, supermodels, women willing to hang on his arm for an evening in exchange for a fancy meal.

He didn’t have relationships, and he didn’t mix dating with business. And that’s all Amanda Patterson could ever be—a business concern. One he needed to wrap up now.

She emerged from the office a few minutes later. “I heard back about Wheeler,” Martinez said from behind her. “He’s still in jail.”

“Good.” He caught Amanda’s gaze, and that disturbing attraction rocked through him again. His eyes dipped from her face to those killer legs, and he had to struggle to remember his plan. “I’ll walk you out.”

He nodded to the detective, held the door open for Amanda, then accompanied her down the carpeted hall. He liked how her long strides kept pace with his, how her height made it easy to meet her eyes.

“Thanks for checking on Wayne for me,” she said, her voice subdued. “It helps to know he’s far away.” Her eyes held his, and the worry lurking in those vivid eyes bothered him more than he cared to admit.

“No problem. I have a favor to ask, though.” They reached the door to the lobby, and he paused. “I’d like to keep this incident out of the news—at least for a couple of weeks. I’m in the middle of some negotiations right now, and I don’t want the publicity. So if anyone calls you—any reporters, the tabloids—I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk.”

“Okay.”

“The paparazzi can be persistent,” he warned her. “I doubt they’ll get wind of this, but if they do they’ll call, show up at your door, follow you around.”

“But that’s ridiculous.” Her forehead wrinkled. “Why would they care what happened to me?”

“They won’t. But I’m big news these days.”

“I see.” She bit her lip, made that flexing motion with her wrist again.

He frowned. “Did you get hurt back there?”

“What?” She looked at her wrist. “Oh. No, it’s an old injury. It aches sometimes.”

He nodded, tugged his business card from his inside pocket and held it out, determined to make sure she complied. “Here’s my number. Call me if they show up. I’ll top whatever they’re willing to pay.”

She blinked, shot him a look of disbelief. “You’re offering to pay me not to talk?”

“I told you that I don’t want the publicity right now.”

“Well, neither do I.” Stunned outrage tinged her voice. “I have a daughter to protect. I don’t want to be in the news.”

But money had a way of changing minds. And the tabloids’ pockets were deep.“ Take the card, Amanda.” He pressed it into her hand. “Just call me if they contact you.”

She glanced at the card and shook her head. “There’s really no need. I told you that I won’t talk.”

He let out a cynical laugh. “Promises don’t mean much when money’s involved.”

“Well, mine does.”

Her eyes simmered with indignation.

He tilted his head, impressed. Despite her air of fragility, the woman had courage. He liked how she held her ground.

Hell, he liked a lot of things about her. His gaze lowered, traced the sultry swell of her lips, then flicked back to her brilliant blue eyes. And hunger pulsed inside him, the slow, drugging beat of desire.

But this woman had no place in his plans. He stepped away, crushing back the urge to touch her, giving them some much-needed space.

She cleared her throat. “I’d say goodnight, but it hasn’t really been good, has it?”

“No, not good.” Especially with this disturbing attraction between them.

“Farewell, then.” She turned, pushed open the door.

He followed her into the lobby, then stopped, inhaling deeply to clear his mind. His eyes tracked the alluring swivel of her hips as she continued across the marble floor. She joined her sister, and the two women walked to the door.

But suddenly she paused, glanced back. Her eyes met his, and another bolt of electricity zapped his nerves. Then she pivoted on her high heels and went out the door.

For a long moment, he just stood there, the image of those lush lips and long legs scorched in his brain. Then he slowly eased out his breath.

So that was done. She was gone. He had no reason to see her again. His security chief and the police could handle the investigation from here.

He hoped her exhusband left her alone, though. He hated to think of her afraid, cowering before some brute.

And he hoped that he could trust her. Amanda Patterson was a wild card, an unknown, someone beyond his control.

Someone, he had a feeling, it would take a very long time to forget.

Chapter 3

The telephone was ringing again.

Amanda sat motionless on her sister’s patio, her muscles tensing, the teaching application she’d filled out forgotten in her hand.

“Phone, Mommy,” Claire announced from her turtleshaped sandbox in the yard.

“I know.” Amanda tried not to let fear seep into her voice. “But Aunt Kendall’s at rehearsal. We’ll let the answering machine pick it up.” And hope to God it wasn’t another hang-up call.

The answering machine kicked on, and her sister’s perky voice floated through the open sliding glass door. The machine beeped. The abrupt silence of the disconnected line made her stomach churn.

She set down her papers and rubbed her arms—chilled now, despite the heat. It was just another wrong number or a junk phone call. There was nothing sinister about people calling and hanging up. Annoying, yes. Dangerous, no.

Even if the hang-up calls had only begun three days ago, after the casino attack. Even if they now got a dozen such calls a day. Even if whenever she answered the phone, there was only heavy, ominous breathing—nothing more.

It couldn’t be reporters. They would talk to her, ask questions, not just breathe and hang up.

This was something Wayne would do—something he had done to unsettle her nerves. But Wayne was in jail. That detective had checked.

She set her pen on the table and rose, placed a rock over the job application so it wouldn’t flutter away. Regardless of who was calling, she wasn’t going to let this get to her. And she wasn’t going to let Claire sense her fear. She’d moved here to give her daughter a safer, more peaceful life, and she would succeed.

“It’s time to get the mail and have our snack.” She struggled to make her voice cheerful, but Claire still looked at her and frowned. “How about some apple juice and animal crackers today?”

“Okay.” Claire trotted over, and Amanda brushed the sand off her daughter’s bottom and hands, adjusted the sun hat flopping around her sweet face.

“Wait. Brownie.” Claire grabbed the bear she’d propped on the patio chair and hugged it close. Too close. Had Claire picked up on her fear?

She forced a smile to lighten the mood. “Is Brownie going to help us get the mail?” She knew the answer, of course. Claire didn’t go anywhere without her bear. Brownie ate with her, slept with her, played with her. She’d hugged off most of its fur, kissed the color from its once-black eyes. Amanda prayed that bear never got lost, or Claire would be destroyed.

“You two can lead the way,” she added, and followed her along the walkway to the gate. Her sister lived in one of the new developments that had sprung up during the recent building boom. It was a modest, family-oriented neighborhood with two-story stucco homes, a far cry from Wayne’s luxury condo at the Ritz Carlton in DC. And thank goodness for that. Wayne had been all about status, appearances. He didn’t care that there’d been no place for Claire to ride a bike or play.

She unlatched the gate, waited for Claire to toddle through. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how Luke Montgomery lived. She’d read up on him during the past few days, learned that he was a notorious playboy, a megabillionaire developer who owned casinos and resorts throughout the world. That suit he’d worn had probably cost more than her car.

An image of his broad, muscled shoulders, the dark, sexy planes of his face flashed into her mind. She didn’t doubt the playboy part. The man was lethally attractive with his deeply graveled voice and intense eyes. And that moment in the hallway when she’d thought he was going to kiss her…

She shut the gate behind her with a forceful click. Surely she’d imagined his interest in her. Luke Mont-gomery operated completely outside her orbit—which was fine with her. She had all she wanted in life right here. Maybe she didn’t hobnob with billionaires, and maybe she’d once dreamed of a more exciting life, but she had a great sister, a daughter she adored. And soon she’d have a job and her own house, too.

She just needed to lose this constant fear.

“Wait for me,” she warned Claire. She grabbed her daughter’s hand to make sure she didn’t dart off, then walked with her toward the mailbox. The warm sun shimmered off the neighbors’ redtiled roofs. Palm fronds rustled in the breeze. Laughter and the thump of a bouncing basketball came from some teens shooting hoops down the street.

She let Claire open the mailbox and pull out the advertisements and bills. She lunged forward to catch a sheath of junk mail tumbling loose.

“Mine,” Claire cried and clutched the mail.

“I’m just getting the stuff that fell.” She scooped up the ads and stray letters and then closed the box. A plain white envelope in her hand caught her eye.

She paused, turned it over. No name. No address.

A sliver of foreboding snaked up her back.

She shook it off, exasperated by her overreaction. She was getting ridiculous, imagining danger at every turn. It was probably an advertisement. She tore open the back flap, pulled out the contents—a piece of white paper, some photos.

Photos of Claire.

Her heart stopped.

She flipped through the photos. Claire riding her pink tricycle. Claire eating at the kitchen table. Claire sleeping next to Brownie in her bed.

The air turned thick. Her hands shook as she unfolded the note. “Put the diamond in the mailbox or else.”

Her lungs seized up. Sheer panic roared through her veins. She fought to maintain her composure, but every instinct screeched at her to snatch Claire up and flee.

Calm down, she ordered herself fiercely. Don’t let Claire see your fear.

Forcing her feet to move slowly, normally, she followed her daughter back to the house. She looked casually to the neighbor’s windows—no movement there. She opened the gate and let Claire through, then snuck a glance at the street. Empty.

But someone was spying on them, taking photos of Claire.

Her panic intensified, threatening to overwhelm her, but she ruthlessly crushed it down. She ushered Claire calmly into the house and locked the sliding glass door. She lifted Claire to the sink and washed her hands. Still working on autopilot, she took out the juice, helped Claire into her chair, opened the animal crackers and propped up the bear.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Claire asked, her voice tight.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Her falsely cheerful voice sounded too far away. “It’s just a little hot in here. I’m going to close the drapes to keep it cool. I’ll be right back.”

She forced her lips into a brittle smile, closed the blinds on the sliding glass door and strolled sedately into the hall. Then she raced around the house like a maniac, locking the windows, yanking the drapes closed, scrambling up and down the stairs, rushing from room to room to room, throwing the deadbolts on every door.

She returned to the kitchen, sank into a seat across the table from Claire and covered her face with her hands. What on earth was going on here? What diamond? She’d sold her wedding ring as soon as she’d left Wayne.