The Kincaids Collection

THE KINCAIDS: SOUTHERN SEDUCTION

March 2013

THE KINCAIDS: NEW MONEY

April 2013

THE KINCAIDS: PRIVATE MERGERS

May 2013

The
Kincaids
Private Mergers
New money. New passions. Old secrets.
Two passionate reads from bestselling authors
Tessa Radley and Day Leclaire
One Dance
with the Sheikh
Tessa Radley
A Very
Private Merger
Day Leclaire

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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One Dance with the Sheikh

About the Author

TESSA RADLEY loves travelling, reading and watching the world around her. As a teen Tessa wanted to be an intrepid foreign correspondent. But after completing a bachelor of arts degree and marrying her sweetheart, she became fascinated by law and ended up studying further and practising as a lawyer in a city firm. A six-month break spent travelling through Australia with her family reawakened the yen to write. And life as a writer suits her perfectly—travelling and reading count as research and as for analysing the world … well, she can think ‘what if?’ all day long. When she’s not reading, travelling or thinking about writing, she’s spending time with her husband, her two sons or her zany and wonderful friends. You can contact Tessa through her website, www.tessaradley.com.

Dear Reader,

One Dance with the Sheikh will be on the shelves in May, yet I’m writing this letter to you as Christmas fast approaches. Decorations are up in the malls and Christmas trees decked with coloured lights are appearing in homes. It’s the season for friends and family.

Dynastic series like The Kincaids are always special. They’re about bonds. Family. Friendship. Love. Often sad and bad things happen—in this case a father has been murdered. There are misunderstandings and betrayals—turbulent and troubled times—yet couples still manage to fall in love, the family grows closer and the generations will continue.

There are good times. There are tough times. Just like in real life.

I’ve just finished re-reading a Christmas story written by my friend Sandra Hyatt, in whose memory this story is dedicated, where she said, ‘Whatever your religious persuasion, it never hurts to stop and count your blessings and the gifts in your life.’

That’s what I’m determined to do this Christmas—and not only this Christmas … I’m going to spend all of this year counting my blessings and the gifts in my life.

So, even though Christmas will be long past by the time you pick up One Dance with the Sheikh, I do hope you will join me in thinking about the blessings and gifts in your life—sometimes amidst turbulent and troubled times. And I’ll be right there with you.

Please visit my website at www.tessaradley.com or friend me on Facebook.

With love,

Tessa Radley

In Loving Memory of Sandra Hyatt

Wise woman, Best Friend and Awesome writer!

One

Who was she?

Dark red hair hung down her back, and as she shifted, the color changed like tongues of fire. Her tall, slender body was encased in a shimmering silvery grey gown that clung to her like moonlight on a dark night.

Rakin Whitcomb Abdellah had arrived at the giant white gazebo in the garden in front of the house where the guests were gathered in time to see the bride and groom link hands in front of the celebrant. It had surprised him that it had taken the usually responsible Eli only a matter of weeks to set aside the caution of a lifetime and to fall head over heels in love with his bride. But what had astonished Rakin more was the fact that Eli was marrying a Kincaid at all—since, less than a month ago, Kara’s own sister had jilted Eli. Yet, once his gaze settled on the wedding group, it was the maid of honor with her glorious hair and eye-catching beauty who captured Rakin’s attention as she moved forward to take the bouquet of red roses from the bride.

This could only be Laurel Kincaid, the woman who’d jilted his best friend Eli less than a month before their wedding day.

The woman who Eli had suggested could be the solution to all Rakin’s problems.

A child, no more than three or four years old, strutted forward bearing a fat cushion. Rakin squinted and made out the two rings perched on top. Laurel stepped forward and held out a hand to guide him, but he tugged away, clearly reluctant to stand beside two flower girls. Instead he barreled his way between Eli and his bride Kara Kincaid, eliciting both chuckles and sighs as he stole hearts.

The maid of honor was scanning the guests.

Above the bouquet of red roses, her eyes were green. The brightest emerald Rakin had ever seen. Unexpectedly, her gaze landed on him. Time stopped. The murmurs around him, the sound of Kara saying her vows, the heady fragrance of the Southern blooms all faded from Rakin’s consciousness. There was only … her.

Then she glanced away.

And the tension that had gripped him slowly eased.

Eli had warned him that his ex-fiancée was a beauty, yet Rakin hadn’t been prepared for his body’s reaction to her as their eyes had locked. Lust. Becoming romantically entangled with her was not an option. For starters, she was a Charleston Kincaid—not some nymphet with pleasure on her mind. And, if he took Eli’s advice, the proposal he intended to put to her had everything to do with business, and nothing to do with pleasure.

Despite the gorgeous green-eyed, auburn-haired wrapping, Laurel Kincaid had Do Not Touch written all over her.

Yet even so, Rakin could scarcely wait for the ceremony to end, for the moment when he congratulated the newlyweds—and Eli introduced him to the maid of honor. Then he would decide whether she would fit in with his plans.

The rich scent of jasmine and gardenia announced that summer had arrived in the South.

Her sister’s wedding was being held at the Kincaid family home, a two-and-a-half story elaborately embellished federal mansion where Laurel had grown up. The imposing facade flanked by decorative balconies, each with a pagoda roof, had always been home to Laurel and her siblings.

But at the moment she was less concerned with the details of the wedding venue than the identity of one tall dark and handsome stranger. Laurel had a pretty good idea of the identities of all the guests at her sister’s wedding; after all, Kara had originally run all the guests’ names past her when this was supposed to have been her own wedding.

And the stranger with the dark, exotic good looks hadn’t been on it.

So where did Kara know him from? And why had her sister never mentioned him before?

If she didn’t quit shooting surreptitious glances at the man her sisters would have her married off to him in an instant. And she wasn’t interested in him; she simply wanted to know who he was.

Laurel averted her gaze and watched as Eli took Kara’s hands in his, the gold of their newly donned wedding rings glinting in the late afternoon sun. Unexpectedly her throat tightened.

Oh, no. She wasn’t going to cry!

She’d never been the type to gush tears at weddings…. She always smiled and said the right thing at the right time. So why was she suddenly feeling like this? This wedding was a joyous occasion, not a time to shed tears.

And heaven knew what interpretation people would put on it if she did start to cry. She scanned the enormous number of guests all dressed up and smiling. Laurel could think of at least one or two who would put the worst possible slant on it. Then the damage would be done, and rumors would be rife around the city that she was heartbroken about Kara marrying Eli—after she had broken off her own engagement to him.

Laurel was utterly delighted for them both. She was relieved she wasn’t marrying Eli.

But no one would believe that if she started to weep.

Get a grip.

Her eyes fell onto her mother.

Now there was reason to cry. Elizabeth Kincaid was a legendary Southern beauty. Everyone said she’d have been crowned Miss South Carolina, if she’d ever entered—but soft-spoken, eternally elegant Elizabeth had too much class to enter beauty pageants. Instead, after her family had fallen on hard times, she’d married Reginald Kincaid and become one of the most accomplished hostesses in Charleston and brought cachet to the nouveau riche Kincaid name.

She was smiling as she watched Kara and Eli tie the knot.

Yet the mother of the bride almost hadn’t made it to the wedding. She’d been arrested for killing her husband. The police had believed they’d had enough evidence to make a case. In the past months, in the very darkest moments, Laurel had worried that her mother might actually be convicted of her father’s murder.

But her mother had been cleared.

And now suspicion for her father’s death rested on the brooding half brother Laurel and her siblings had learned about at her father’s funeral. Laurel would never forget that day—or the shock that her father had been living a secret double life for decades.

Now Jack Sinclair sat beside his mother, Angela Sinclair. Her father’s mistress—and life-long love.

On Angela’s other side sat her other son. The Sinclairs had been invited here today because Elizabeth Kincaid believed in always doing the Right Thing—even when it cost her dearly. The contrast between the half brothers was stark. Alan had none of Jack’s dark moodiness. Blond and light, he was like the sun bursting through his half brother’s dark thunder cloud.

Laurel decided she was becoming fanciful.

“You may kiss the bride,” the celebrant was saying.

Eli bent forward, a head taller than his bride, and Laurel found herself looking away to give the couple a moment of privacy. Of course, she looked straight into a pair of dark eyes.

The generously proportioned bedrooms that Laurel, Kara and Lily had once occupied on the second floor of the historic federal mansion had been transformed into an impromptu bridal dressing-room wing for the wedding day. Pausing just inside the doorway of Kara’s childhood room, Laurel took in the leftover feminine paraphernalia scattered around the room.

Open shoe boxes spilled tissue paper over the carpet. A posy abandoned by one of the flower girls lay on the bed. The fine lace veil that Kara had worn for the ceremony was already carefully draped over a chair back. On the dresser, between cut-glass perfume bottles, were four sparkling tulip glasses, and a bottle of champagne chilled in an ice bucket beside the dresser. A good way to calm the bride’s nerves while she freshened up, Laurel decided.

Amidst the mayhem, Kara stood in front of a cheval mirror examining the hem of her wedding dress critically. “I haven’t torn a hole in the hem, have I, Laurel?”

Moving forward, Laurel squinted at the delicately scalloped edge that Kara was holding up. “Not that I can see.”

“Thank heavens.” Relief filled her younger sister’s voice as she let the beautiful white fabric drop. “I thought I might have put a heel through it when I came back down the aisle.”

“Relax. It’s all fine.” Laurel scanned her sister’s face. Kara’s skin glowed, needing no added artifice. The shimmer of eye shadow accentuated her green eyes, but her lips had lost the gloss they’d worn before the ceremony. Laurel’s mouth quirked up. “You make a beautiful bride, Mrs. Houghton—even without touching up the gloss that your groom kissed off.”

It was true. Kara’s radiance had given her the kind of beauty that came from inner happiness. Taking care not to crush the delicate wedding dress, Laurel gave her sister a tentative hug. But Kara had no such scruples and flung her arms around Laurel.

“Thank you, oh, thank you, for jilting Eli!”

Laurel looked into eyes almost the same green as her own, eyes they’d inherited from their mother. “Believe me, if I’d married your groom it would have been the biggest mistake of both our lives.”

It had been one thing to drift into an engagement with Eli, but once the time to plan the wedding had arrived, Laurel had been distressed to discover her heart wasn’t in it.

Instead of daydreaming about wedded bliss, she’d found herself dwelling on how static her life had become.

How predictable.

How boring.

And what it would take to get a life. To her discomfort, writing out lists of wedding guests who’d accepted their invitations to the big day had not even featured.

That was when Laurel had created the How to Get a Life List.

Jilt Eli. Item No. 1 on the List, as she’d started thinking of it, had looked so stark, so cruel when she’d stared at the two words topping the otherwise blank piece of paper, that she hadn’t known if she was capable of breaking off her engagement to Eli.

His feelings would be hurt. Her family would be devastated. But writing it down had brought such a sense of catharsis that Laurel had known she’d had no other choice.

She and Eli were simply not meant to be.

To spare his feelings, she’d told him she couldn’t marry him until the upheaval in her life—her father’s murder, the shocking discovery of his other family and the anguish of her mother’s arrest—had settled down. But the overwhelming relief in Eli’s eyes brought home the knowledge that she wasn’t the only one who wanted out.

Almost a month had passed since she’d jilted Eli. Today her ex-fiancé was celebrating the happiness he’d found—with her sister. Eli had gotten himself a life.

However, until putting on Item No. 2—red-lipstick—this morning during the final preparations, she had done nothing more about tackling the rest of the List. Breaking the strictures of a lifetime was proving to be daunting. Despite the List which she carried in her purse as a constant prod to action.

That had to change, she had to start living. Really living.

Like that electric moment during the ceremony when she’d met a pair of dark eyes and she’d been jolted by a surge of energy. That had been living.

Extricating herself from her sister’s arms, Laurel lifted the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket and filled two of the flutes, then passed one to Kara.

She raised her glass in a toast. “Be happy.”

“Oh, I am. Today is the happiest day of my life.”

Her sister sparkled like a fairytale princess.

Laurel couldn’t stop a stab of envy. She took a quick gulp of champagne before setting it down.

“Eli and I had always been such good friends, and I think we both hoped that would be enough—I know I did. But it wasn’t. We lacked that special connection that you two have.” They hadn’t even shared the kind of physical attraction that had blasted through her after one lingering look from a stranger.

“It’s love. Real love. He’s my soul mate. I’m incredibly fortunate.” Kara had gone all dreamy-eyed. Then her gaze sharpened. “How funny that you’re the one Eli spent the most time with while we were growing up—”

“That’s because we were the same age—in the same year at school and invited to the same social functions,” Laurel pointed out.

“—But you’ve never met his other close friend.”

“Rakin Abdellah?” Laurel had heard plenty about the grandson of a Middle-Eastern prince with whom Eli had become close friends at Harvard. “Such a pity he didn’t make it to the wedding.”

“He’s here!” Kara put her glass down beside Laurel’s, then slid onto the stool in front of the dresser. She picked up a wide-toothed comb. “Eli introduced us when he came up to congratulate us after the ceremony.”

Laurel hesitated in the act of taking the comb from her sister. Was it possible….?

“Where was I?”

“It must’ve been when Flynn swatted the flower girls with the ring cushion and you went after him before he caused more chaos.”

Waving the comb in the air, Laurel spread her hands. “How typical! I always miss the man. Every time Eli caught up with him when Rakin visited on business, I had something else going on. Maybe we’re just never destined to meet.” But she couldn’t stop wondering whether the tall, lean man responsible for that shock of awareness during the ceremony could possibly be Eli’s best friend.

“What was he wearing?” she asked Kara urgently.

“Who?”

“Rakin!” Laurel shook her head at her sister. “The man you were telling me about.”

“I don’t know—the only man whose clothes I’m focused on today is Eli.”

Laurel laughed at her sister’s goofy expression. Dismissing the hunk, she started to smooth Kara’s hair where the veil had been fastened earlier. “Speaking of Eli, you’d better re-apply your lipstick,” she told her sister.

Kara slanted her a wicked look via the mirror. “What’s the point? It will only get kissed off again.” Then her gaze narrowed. “Laurel, you’re wearing red lipstick!”

Laurel shot her younger sister an indulgent look. “If you’ve only just noticed it can’t be such a big deal.”

“You’ve decided to go ahead with your plan to stop playing it safe!” Kara had stilled. “I know you told me you were going to spread your wings and work on being a bit more uninhibited, but I hadn’t seen any more signs of it since I warned you to take care—and not to go too crazy.”

“Can you see me, Miss Responsibility, going crazy?” asked Laurel with a light laugh.

“Okay, I shouldn’t have told you to be careful—I’ve been wishing I never said anything. You should have some fun. What about getting Eli to introduce you to Rakin?”

“Don’t you dare!” To stop her too observant sister from interfering, Laurel said, “Did you notice how protective Cutter’s been of Mom today?”

“I think everyone did. He didn’t leave her side.”

“I think Cutter will be good for her—he seems to genuinely love her.” Laurel patted the final wayward strands in place and stood back to admire Kara’s hair. To make sure it held, she added the lightest spritz of hair spray. “And he risked a storm of scandal by coming forward to tell the police that Mom had spent the night of Dad’s murder with him. That’s what got her out on bail.”

“I offered to plan a small wedding for Mom—elegant and discreet. But Mom was dead against it. She doesn’t think they can get married until a decent time of mourning Dad has passed—”

“That’s ridiculous.” Just the idea that her mother was letting what people thought rule her life caused Laurel to see red. “Mom must do what makes her happy.”

“I agree Mom deserves a little happiness after discovering the sordid details of Dad’s secret life, and if marrying Cutter gives her that, I’ll be his biggest fan.” Kara swiveled around on the stool and examined Laurel. “And I didn’t notice your lip color because I was too busy getting married.” She clearly wasn’t about to let Laurel off the hook. “But now I’ve noticed. I’m interested—I want to know what you’re planning to do next.”

Laurel could feel herself coloring. She wasn’t even sure what she was going to do next herself. Confessing to the existence of the List, and worse, to imagining living out some mind-boggling fantasies—even to her sister—was way too much to bear.

“It’s hardly world changing,” she said off-handedly, thinking about her frivolous desire to eat ice cream in bed.

But that still left more….

Item No. 5, Gamble all night.

Item No. 6, Travel to exotic lands.

Okay, maybe they were a little world changing….

Tilting her head to one side, Kara said, “Hmm, you’ve never worn red lipstick—you always say it’s too obvious—so that’s already a pretty big change.”

Red lips clashed with her auburn hair. It was trashy. And trashy was a sin. Leaning past Kara to avoid her sister’s gaze, Laurel pretended to inspect her lips in the dresser mirror. There were no smudges—nor likely to be, unless she found someone to kiss.

Which brought her back to How to Get a Life.

Item No. 3 on the list was Flirt with a stranger. Her cheeks grew hot. Unlike most Southern women Laurel was a rookie in the art of flirting. Since entering her teens, she’d only had to look at a male to have him cross the room to meet her. Sometimes she’d hated the kind of attention her features brought. To deal with it, she’d cultivated a polite manner with no hint of flirtatiousness. The facade had served her equally well in her dealings as public relations director of the Kincaid Group. So why on earth was she adding an item like Flirt with a stranger?

Maybe she should’ve made that Kiss a stranger. The renegade thought startled her.

“You’re blushing. Is it a man? Is that the reason for the red lips?” Kara’s voice broke into Laurel’s musings. “Is that the reason you won’t let me ask Eli to introduce you to Rakin?”

“No man,” Laurel denied, wishing that her complexion didn’t color quite so dramatically. “The red lips are for me alone.”

For one mad moment she was tempted to tell Kara all about the List. Then she cringed and the impulse passed.

Telling Kara would be insane. And Kara would start fretting again about Laurel exposing herself to danger—and the last thing Laurel wanted was to cause her sister to worry on her wedding day.

She drained the last of the champagne, then set her glass back down on the dresser. She caught another glimpse of her lips in the mirror above the dresser.

What would it be like to kiss the gorgeous dark-haired man from the church?

The shocking visual of crushed red lips sent a frisson of heat coursing through her.

Laurel came to her senses. What if he turned out to be Eli’s friend? How trashy would that be? She’d always been the good eldest sister … the one to do as she was told. To study hard for excellent grades. To obey her curfew. She’d always set an example for her sisters to follow. No mini skirts. No ear studs and torn jeans. No shameless behavior with boys. No wild flings.

No trashy makeup …

She turned away from the mirror, intending to say something light and funny to her sister.

Only to find Kara had risen to her feet and was still watching her.

“I have to admit red suits you, Laurel. Makes you look like a movie star. Glamorous. Sexy. You always wear beiges and creams. I take back all my cautions, you should break out more often.”

Laurel’s heart lightened as she followed her sister to the door. “Careful! I might take that as permission to do something reckless.”

Kara halted in the doorway, looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Why not? Start today. No time like the present.”

Now? Tonight? Laurel’s hands turned cold and clammy as Kara vanished out of sight with a whisper of French fabric.

It was one thing to talk about loosening up a little; it was another thing altogether to actually do it and let go. The sense of being poised on the edge of a precipice swept Laurel.

Should she take that first step into the unknown and walk on the wild side? Or should she stay in her safe world and risk never feeling quite satisfied?

The answer came quickly, so quickly it took her aback. She was tired of missing out. She wanted to feel more of that pulsing energy that she’d experienced earlier. That flutter of rebellion brought a surge of illicit pleasure.

Laurel drew a deep breath and felt her lungs fill, and resolve spread through her. Kara was right—there was no time like the present. She headed for the door.

Tonight, she’d flirt with a stranger.

Two

In the elegant, embellished salon downstairs, a twelve-piece jazz ensemble was playing blues, a smoky, elegant sound. Perfect for what had to be one of the high-society weddings of the year.

Laurel hummed and did a little dance step in Kara’s wake and almost skipped into Alan Sinclair, who’d materialized in front of them, holding two glasses brimming with pale, bubbling gold wine. By some miracle he managed to keep the glasses upright, while Laurel apologized effusively.

“Major catastrophe averted,” he joked.

All three of them laughed.

“These were intended for you, beautiful ladies.” Alan held out the brimming glasses, his hazel eyes alight with good humor.

“Only a sip for me. I’m going to need my wits about me—I need to make sure I get all the guests’ names right,” said Kara with a gracious smile.

Laurel took the remaining glass. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t get a chance earlier to give you my very best wishes,” Alan told Kara. “Eli is a lucky man.”

“Why, thank you, Alan.” Kara beamed at him. “I certainly hope you meet the woman of your dreams soon—maybe even tonight.”

Alan laughed. “I can live in hope. But maybe we should wait a while—give you time for a honeymoon—before handing you another wedding to plan.”

“I’d be thrilled to do another wedding. And, for once, that’s not the businesswoman in me talking. I’m so happy, I’m ready to marry everyone off.”

“He’s a nice man,” Laurel observed as they walked away, holding their glasses.

“Thoughtful, too,” Kara agreed. “He’ll make some lucky woman a good husband.”

They’d reached the bridal table by now, and Eli leapt up to welcome his bride, his eyes warm and devoted as he seated her.

Feeling a bit like a third wheel, Laurel slipped into the vacant seat beside her mother and set her glass down on the white damask linen sprinkled with pink and crimson rose petals. A waiter appeared to fill it up.

“Where’s Cutter?” Laurel asked her mother, aware that she was sitting in his seat. The whole world had paired up—even her mother.

Everyone except her.

A wave of loneliness swept her; then she shook it off. All the more reason to follow the List and find a stranger to flirt with—and where better than a wedding?

“He spotted Harold Parsons and Mr. Larrimore and went over to greet them.” Elizabeth fluttered a hand in the direction of the bar. Following where her mother indicated, Laurel could see the white-haired lawyer talking to the head of Larrimore Industries, which had recently begun doing business with The Kincaid Group, making up a little of the losses TKG had suffered when several customers defected to Carolina Shipping. Why, only this week her brother Matthew, TKG’s director of new business, had heard rumblings that Jack Sinclair was trying to outbid them on an important shipping contract through backdoor channels.

Speak of the devil.

Jack Sinclair had pulled out a chair to seat himself at a table right on the edge of the dance floor. How boldly arrogant. He was behaving like he owned the Kincaid mansion. Laurel supposed inheriting forty-five percent of the stock in The Kincaid Group was responsible for some of that arrogance. She hadn’t managed to get a handle on Jack yet. Dark, unsmiling and perpetually brooding, he made her a little uneasy. He’d certainly caused TKG enough headaches in the past few months to last a lifetime.

Then Laurel caught a sight of the smooth blond hair of his mother, Angela, seated beyond him. Something his mother said caused a ferocious scowl to mar Jack’s features. Laurel shivered at the sight of his displeasure.

Why had her father’s firstborn son bothered to come to the wedding, if he intended to sit there and glare? Was he only here today to fool the paparazzi into thinking he was an accepted part of the Kincaid family? Or were her siblings correct? Did Jack fear that by staying away he’d heighten the suspicion already surrounding him? Laurel didn’t want to consider the possibility that her father had been shot in the head by his firstborn son…. It was too horrible.

She refused to allow Jack’s presence to ruin the celebratory mood tonight. The pall that had hung over the family for months had finally lifted. Laurel intended to enjoy the occasion … and make sure her mom did, too.

Laurel caught Elizabeth’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I can’t tell you how glad I am not only that you’re here at the wedding but that you’ve been cleared of all those ridiculous charges. It’s the best wedding gift Kara and Eli could ever have received.”

“Today hasn’t been easy,” her mother confessed. “All the speculation. I’m sure there are people here this evening who still believe I killed your father. And everyone is so curious about Cutter—it’s difficult for him, too.”

Yet, in the way that was so typical of Southern society matriarchs, none of her mother’s discomfort showed. Elizabeth’s face was serene, her short, auburn hair with the elegant grey highlights was immaculate, the strain of the past four turbulent months carefully masked. Only the reserve in her green eyes hinted at the anguish she’d been through.

“You deserve some happiness.” Laurel echoed Kara’s words from earlier. Letting go of her mother’s hand she reached for the glass Alan had given her. “And if Cutter makes you happy you shouldn’t let what others think spoil that. Let’s drink to happier tomorrows.”

Elizabeth took a tiny sip, and then set her own glass down. “I do wish the police would hurry up and finalize the investigation. Not knowing who killed your father …” Her voice trailed away.

Her brothers RJ and Matt had some strong opinions about who might have killed her father. But now wasn’t the right time to share them with her mother.

“I’ll call Detective McDonough tomorrow to arrange a meeting for later in the week to find out if there has been any progress,” promised Laurel. She shot the brooding interloper at the edge of the dance floor a surreptitious look. With luck, the police might finally have gathered enough evidence to toss Jack Sinclair in jail where her brothers said he belonged.

If her brothers were right, then Jack had been extremely devious—he’d made sure he had an airtight alibi, with several of his own employees vouching he’d been working late the night her father had died. Laurel didn’t want to believe her half brother was capable of that kind of treachery. But as RJ had pointed out, Jack was a very wealthy man—made even richer by the forty-five percent stake he inherited in The Kincaid Group on her father’s death. That kind of money could buy any alibi—particularly when the people supplying it already depended on him to earn their living. Laurel made a mental note to get an update from Nikki Thomas, the corporate security specialist the family had hired to investigate Jack Sinclair’s efforts to sabotage The Kincaid Group. Laurel couldn’t bear to see her mother so down, and Nikki might also have some thoughts about how to speed up the investigation—even though Laurel had once or twice suspected Nikki to be a little more emotionally invested in the ruthless man she was investigating than was wise.

Immersed in her thoughts, the touch on her arm startled her, and her head jerked around.

Eli stood there, wearing a broad grin. “Laurel, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Glancing at the dark figure beside her former fiancé, Laurel found herself confronted by the handsome man she’d exchanged that sizzling eye-meet with during the wedding ceremony.

“Laurel, this is Rakin Whitcomb Abdellah.” Eli presented him with a flourish. “Rakin, meet Laurel Kincaid, my brand new sister-in-law.”

Honest to goodness, she was going to kill Kara!

Already she could feel a flush stealing up her throat.

“I’ve heard so much about you.” Rakin held out his hand.

“Funny, that’s exactly what I was about to say.” Laurel set down her glass and took his hand. Her lashes swept down as she became conscious of the strength of the fingers against hers. “I’m surprised we’ve never encountered each other before.”

“In’shallah.” Letting go of her fingers, he spread his own hands wide. “What more can I say? The time was not right.”

Her gaze lifted and sharpened. “You believe in fate?”

“But of course. Everything happens for a reason. Today is the right time for us to meet.”

Charmed, she started to smile. It looked like Eli’s friend might be the perfect candidate for a flirtation with a stranger. “It is?”

“Yes.” His black-velvet gaze was intent … and Laurel felt the primal power of the man.

To break the spell, she switched her attention to Eli and murmured, “You should be worried we might trade secrets—between us we probably know everything about you.”

Eli chuckled. “I’m terrified.”

“You’re anything but terrified.” Laurel glanced at Rakin, and found his dark eyes were bright with laughter

The band swung into the first bars of the first dance.

“Now there’s something I am terrified about messing up. That’s the bridal waltz,” said Eli. “Let me go claim my bride.”

Laurel couldn’t help laughing as he hurried back to her sister. Conscious of Rakin’s very male presence at her side as Eli led Kara out onto the floor, Laurel fell silent and concentrated on watching the dance—not an easy task with Rakin still looming over her.

A spotlight landed on the newlyweds. The guests sighed as they moved into the dance in perfect time, Kara’s white dress fanning out to fill the ring the spotlight had created. They glided to the melody, and a few beats later, Laurel’s sister Lily and her husband, Daniel, joined in, RJ and Brooke were next on the floor.

Laurel could see Alan smiling as he sat beside his mother at the table on the edge of the dance floor. Jack had disappeared. Laurel wished he could’ve practiced the same civility as the Kincaid family—at Elizabeth’s request—were taking great care to show Angela and her sons tonight.

“Would you like to dance?”

Rakin’s deep tone caused her to forget all about Jack’s rudeness.

Silently she gave him her hand. The warm strength of his fingers closing around hers caused the return of that renegade fantasy of crushed, kissed lips, and Laurel abruptly lowered her eyelashes before he might read any of her dizzy imaginings. “Why, thank you, I’d like that.”

He led her onto the dance floor and took her into his arms. The sudden intimacy came as a shock. The music swirled around them.

To break the seductive mood, Laurel said, “You met Eli at Harvard?”

“Yes, we shared some classes and sometimes went hiking together—we both like the outdoors.”

“Yes. You were on the rowing team together, too, weren’t you? I seem to remember hearing Eli talk about pre-dawn practices on the river.”

He smiled. “Strange interest for someone from a desert country, hmm?”

“A little.” She examined him. “Tell me about Diyafa.”

“Ah, Eli has told you about my country?”

“Just the name. Diyafa.” It rolled off her tongue. “It sounds so deliciously exotic.”

“It is. The desert nights are warm and dry and the heavens above possess the brightest stars I have ever seen.”

The whisper of his voice stoked her imagination. “How magical. I hate to confess this—but I’ve never been out of the United States.”

“Never?”

She shook her head. “Never. I always intended to travel.”

Item No. 6 on the List involved traveling to some far-flung exotic destination. She’d had a fleeting vision of herself standing in the center of St. Mark’s Square in Venice or in front of the Sphinx in Egypt. Somewhere as different from Charleston as she could get.

She pulled a face. “Now I just have to turn that dream into reality. I even got myself a passport.” Which she’d been carrying around in her purse, together with the List—and the letter from her father she’d received on that emotionally charged day when her father’s will was read.

“Diyafa is a good place to visit.”

Did he think she was trying to coax an invitation from him? Discomfort flooded her. “Oh, I couldn’t take advantage of our acquaintance.”

“Why not?”

Her lashes fluttered down. “We hardly know one another.”

“I’m sure we can remedy that.” He sounded amused.

Laurel’s lashes lifted. Heavens, was she actually flirting with the man?

Then she examined her reaction.

So what?

Flirt with a stranger. It was on her list, and she was unlikely to ever encounter Rakin again. He might be Eli’s other best friend, but before today she’d only ever heard about him. It would be at least another ten years before they met again; after all he was a busy man. Worth the risk?

Or was she going to chicken out? No. The time to act had arrived. Pursing her mouth into a moue, she gave what she hoped looked like a mysterious smile. “Maybe I will visit … one day.”

An arrested expression settled in his eyes.

“You can let me know when you do.” There was an intimate note in his voice.

He was flirting too!

Rakin was clearly a master at the art of flirtation. For once she was tempted to let herself go. To revel in the full power of her womanhood. This was a man she was facing, a real man with a wealth of experience with women.

“To be honest I’m more likely to visit Las Vegas—” she began with a teasing laugh.

“You like to gamble?”

Had his voice dropped? Laurel’s heart beat a little faster. “I’ve never gambled seriously in my life. Certainly not in a casino.”

Her mother didn’t approve of gambling. A roguish uncle, the black sheep of the Winthrop family, had lost a fortune at poker, contributing to the dire straits the family found itself in before her mother’s marriage into the Kincaid fortune. Gambling was seriously discouraged among the Kincaid children. No doubt that was why Gamble all night had made it onto the List….

“We’ll have to change that—raise the stakes.”

Yes, he was definitely flirting. If the intimate note in his voice hadn’t made it clear, the gleam in his eyes confirmed it. Laurel gave herself up to the heady rush. “I wouldn’t want to become addicted.”

“That can only happen if the stakes are higher than you can afford.”

“I’ll remember that.” She peeked at him through her lashes. “If I ever find myself in Vegas.”

The song came to an end. She was hot and thirsty, yet Laurel found she didn’t want the exchange to end. It was exhilarating. Fun. Yet risky. More than she’d ever banked on when she’d scrawled Flirt with a stranger on her list. The weight of Rakin’s hand resting on her waist, the touch of his fingers against hers, the way his body had brushed against hers to the rhythm of the music was stealing over her senses.

“It’s warm in here,” she said, finally letting go of his hand and fanning her face. “I need a drink.”

“There’s a cool breeze outside,” Rakin responded readily, his hand sliding from where it rested at her waist to beneath her elbow. As they skirted the dance floor he picked up two brimming tulip glasses from a passing waiter with his free hand, before leading her to the open doors.

Laurel hesitated on the threshold. Outside, the balcony appeared to be deserted.

Her heart leapt as his hand touched the sensitive skin under her elbow. Rakin’s voice was deep and smooth as he said, “Come. It will be quiet and cool.”

And she couldn’t help wondering if she’d let herself in for more than she could handle as she stepped out into the Southern night.

There was a slight breeze and the balmy night air was redolent with the sweet scent of magnolia and jasmine.

Rakin led Laurel to the shadows at the end of balcony where the sultry throb of the jazz band was fainter. Under the glow cast by a wall sconce, he handed one of the long-stemmed glasses to Laurel, then leant back against the wide balustrade. She tipped the glass up to take a slow sip, and her gaze tangled with his over the rim.

Something—lust?—locked fast in the base of his stomach.

With her tall, slender figure wrapped in a column of moonlight silk, her magnolia skin, sparkling eyes and the crowning glory of her dark red hair, Laurel Kincaid was a very beautiful woman. Any man would be aroused by having the full wattage of her attention switched on to him. And, to his chagrin, Rakin discovered he was no exception.

But he was interested in far more than the surge of attraction between them. Holding her gaze, he drank from his glass, savoring the dry bubbles against his tongue. Despite the millions he’d added to the Al-Abdellah fortune, his grandfather was threatening to toss him out of the family business if he didn’t marry soon. So far, Rakin had resisted—love was not on his agenda. But the battle of wills being fought between himself and Prince Ahmeer Al-Abdellah had now erupted into open war. Marriage to the right woman might be the lesser of two evils. Eli’s not-so-joking suggestion that Laurel might be the perfect bride to get Rakin’s grandfather off his back was worth serious consideration.

And love would not be a factor …

One look at Laurel and his wily grandfather would ask no further questions. What man in his right mind would pass up the chance to wed such a stunning creature? Her connection to the Charleston Kincaids only served to make the deal even sweeter. But first Rakin would have to sell the idea to Laurel—she was a Kincaid, there was no earthly reason for her to agree to help him out.

Except business …

“So you’d like to gamble in Vegas?” he asked, swirling the gold liquid in his flute.

“Maybe.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. Was she teasing him? He couldn’t read her expression. “You’ve really never been?”

“Only once—as a young child. But I don’t remember it, so it doesn’t count.”

“Such a lack is easy enough to remedy—but you shouldn’t go alone.”

“I only discovered recently that I wanted to go at all. A few months ago I could’ve invited Lily or Kara along with me. But it’s too late for that—they’re both married now. You may not have heard, Lily and Daniel decided to solemnize their union in a very private service just a couple of days ago—Lily didn’t want to overshadow Kara’s wedding. They intend to have a bigger elaborate family affair in October after the baby is born.”

She spoke in a matter-of-fact voice, yet Rakin thought he detected a hint of loneliness in her voice. He was no stranger to loneliness. An only child, he envied Laurel the bond she shared with her sisters and brothers. The closeness among the Kincaids was evident in every look, every laugh.

The closest he’d come to that kind of relationship was the friendship he shared with Eli—but neither of them talked much about family … or emotions. Sport, money and business were their main lines of communication. “Marriage won’t change the fact that they will always be your sisters.”

Laurel moved away from the light, to the end of the balcony. She raised her glass and sipped while she stared out into the night. At last she spoke, “I know that. But now they have priorities of their own. Both of them have husbands … and Lily is going to be a mother. The sisterhood will never be the same again.” Her voice held an echo of sadness. Then he caught the glint of startling white in the shadows as she turned her head and smiled. “Enough of that. I have plenty of friends with whom I can visit Vegas.”

Rakin didn’t doubt that for a moment. She was vivacious and breathtakingly beautiful. She’d have friends buzzing around her like bees at a honey pot.

“How did you come to be friends with Eli?” he asked.

It had puzzled him when Eli had first spoken about Laurel Kincaid back at Harvard. Initially, Rakin had thought the two must share more than friendship. With his upbringing in the traditional society of Diyafa followed by all-boys schooling, envisaging a close friendship between a man and a woman had been foreign. But Eli had made it clear he and Laurel were nothing more than friends—very close friends. When the news had come that they were engaged, Rakin had not been surprised. At some point any friendship between a man and woman would have to cross into the sexual realm. Women and men were not created to be simply friends.

Laurel’s jilting of Eli, and Eli’s ready acceptance of it—and his wry joke that Rakin should marry her—had astonished Rakin. So, too, had the fact that Eli’s heart had not even been the slightest bit battered after Laurel’s desertion.

“Growing up, we were the same age—it seemed natural that we hung out together. Now, years later, with both of us still single and such good friends, we were invited everywhere together. I guess we were linked in everyone else’s minds as a couple long before the idea ever occurred to either of us.” She shrugged, and light glimmered on the pale slope of shoulders left bare by her silver-gray dress. “The next step was marriage. But clearly we’re better at being friends than lovers. There was no spark.”

And that would explain Eli’s philosophical acceptance of the breakup. Rakin put his glass down and took a step closer to Laurel; then he murmured, “You wanted spark?”

“Doesn’t every woman?”

Something leapt between them. Before Rakin could consider his actions, he lifted a hand and brushed a strand of the dark fire from her cheek. Her dewy skin was softer than any he’d ever touched—and it left him hungry to stroke again. Abruptly, he dropped his hand before he could give into the moment’s madness. “Everyone seeks that elusive flame—few are lucky enough to find it.”

“You mean love?”

“I don’t believe in love—I’m talking about what you called spark. A tangible force that connects two people in perfect harmony only a few times in a lifetime.”

She tipped her head back and drained the last of her champagne. The elegant column of her neck gleamed in the lamplight. “Spark sounds … interesting. I used to think I wanted love more than anything else in the world.”

“You don’t think so anymore?”

“Nope.” She giggled. “That should be ‘No,’ clearly and politely enunciated, of course.”

Rakin found himself grinning at that absurdity. The revelation that she wasn’t looking for some romantic notion of love eased his conscience. Business … and maybe some sparks … might be enough to persuade her to go along with his plan.

“Pardon my giggling.” Laurel moved back into the pool of light beneath the wall sconce. “There hasn’t been much to laugh about lately so this feels very good.”

“It must be the joy of a wedding.”

She raised her empty glass. “I suspect it may have something to do with the champagne, too.”

The forthright observation startled Rakin. Had he at last found a woman capable of distinguishing between realism and romance? Quite possibly. She was, after all, a Kincaid, a businesswoman. It was starting to look like he’d struck twenty-four-karat gold. “Can I get you another?”

“Not yet. I’ve had enough. I think I might be a little tipsy. I’m trying to remember how many glasses of champagne I’ve had. Three maybe.” She laughed again. “That’s a first.”

Straightening from where he leant, Rakin took the glass from her and set it down on the balustrade behind them. “You’ve never been tipsy?”

She shook her head and her hair swirled about her face. “Never! My mother would be mortified, she would not approve.”

At the mention of her mother, Rakin said, “I was sorry to hear about your mother’s arrest—it must have been a difficult time for the whole family.”

“It hasn’t been easy.” All humor drained from her face and Rakin found himself missing the pleasure of it. “The police are still no closer to finding a suspect. But thankfully Mom has been cleared.” Laurel shivered, and he knew it wasn’t with cold. “I keep replaying that last day through my mind. I was at the offices until late in the afternoon. I even made Dad a cup of coffee before I left. He glanced up when I set it down, I joked that it was hot and strong just as he liked it. He laughed—Dad didn’t often laugh—and thanked me, then he went back to the documents he was reading. That’s the last image I have of him. Daddy didn’t even see me wave goodbye as I exited his office.”

She broke off, and Rakin knew she was fighting back tears.

“But I keep thinking I should’ve have had some kind premonition—noticed something,” she said huskily. “I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Several of the staff were still there when I left—Brooke, RJ’s assistant at the time, was the last to leave.”

The memory was clearly upsetting Laurel. Rakin could make out the gooseflesh rippling across the fine, smooth skin of her arms.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she walked back to the end of the balustrade. “I can’t believe I never noticed anything.”

“You weren’t expecting anything to happen.”

She fell silent. Finally she turned her head and a band of moonlight fell across her face giving her skin the sheen of silvered silk. “Out of all of us, Brooke blames herself most. In her statement to the police she mentioned while she was finishing up the filing backlog, Mom brought dinner to Dad that night. The police arrested Mom—she was the last person to see him alive and, until recently, she had no alibi. What makes Brooke feel even worse is the fact that she didn’t even think to mention that earlier in the afternoon it was pouring rain and she had her arms full of blueprints when she ran for the office to avoid being drenched. A man in a hat and raincoat held the door open for her. No one has any idea who he was. Security didn’t record his entry—they thought he was with Brooke. And, of course, she has no idea who he could’ve been. Detective McDonough thinks it’s possible he hid in the building until after everyone—including Mom—left.”

“And there’s still no clue about who it was?”

Laurel shook her head, causing her hair to ripple over her shoulders. “Video security footage from an adjacent lot puts Jack Sinclair’s vintage Aston Martin in the parking lot from late afternoon until around the time my father was shot—but he swears he was at his own office. Yet he never reported his car missing—or stolen.”

The odd note in her voice made Rakin probe further, “But you think Sinclair might have murdered your father?”

“I keep hoping not. Dad obviously loved Angela—he wanted to marry her, but his parents wouldn’t countenance it. Jack’s clearly bitter about the situation. Fact is, he may be the firstborn son, but he’s not a legitimate Kincaid. Dad tried to make it up to him—and to Angela. Yet despite the inheritance and power Dad gave him, he’s behaving like he has a major grudge against the family—which makes it hard to view Jack in any kind of positive way.”

“And you like to see the best in people?”

“I try.” The eyes that met his held the kind of honesty he’d given up hoping to find. “But I don’t always get it right. Let’s talk about something else—I promised myself I wouldn’t let Jack Sinclair ruin tonight. It’s a celebration.”

“I want to talk about you.” With a sense of satisfaction, Rakin watched her do a double take. “Eli said you possess the kindest heart of anyone he knows.”

It had crossed Rakin’s mind in the past few minutes to throw himself at her mercy and ask her to help him out of a tight spot with his grandfather, but it went against the grain. Rakin never asked for favors. His pride would not allow it. All his decisions were based on considerations of mutual benefit—and hard profit.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “That makes me sound boring.”

“Kindness isn’t boring.”

“Well, it’s not very exciting either.”

Rakin’s eyebrows jerked up at that. “You want to be considered exciting?”

“I want a life.” It burst from her. She looked taken aback at her own ferocity. “Goodness, that sounded much more melodramatic than I intended.”

Maybe Laurel Kincaid didn’t express her own wants often enough, mused Rakin. Taking two steps toward her, he asked carefully, “How do you intend to achieve the life you want?”

Her gaze shifted out to the night. For a long moment he thought she wasn’t going to answer.

Then she turned her head, and her eyes glistened in the dappled shadows. “I’m going to do all the things I’ve never done. Things no one would expect of Laurel Kincaid, director of public relations of TKG, friend of the Library, patron of the Art Gallery—first person to join a committee for the next good cause.”

Rakin couldn’t suppress a smile at the self-deprecatory comment. “Like gamble in Vegas?”

“Exactly like gambling in Vegas.” She lifted her chin a touch defensively. “It may not be meaningful, but it will be one brick broken out of the boundaries that are imprisoning me.”

What was it about this woman that caused his heart to lighten and amusement to fill him? Leading him to feel as if he’d shed the burden accumulated over years?

Then it came to him. Under that ladylike exterior, Laurel Kincaid was a rebel. A real, genteel Southern rebel. Rakin had a feeling that she was about to throw off the constraints of a lifetime. The fates help them all. “You want to experience risk and adventure?”

“Oh, yes!”

Staring into her sparkling eyes, Rakin discovered he wanted to get to know this intriguing woman better.

Much better.

He desired her. More importantly, he liked her. It would be so easy to explain his predicament to her—he suspected she would listen. He could already visualize her head tilting to one side, her eyes fixed on his as he told her about his grandfather’s threats to disenfranchise him from the company he’d worked so hard to expand. His predicament would arouse her sympathy—how could it not, given the parallels to Jack Sinclair’s efforts to destroy The Kincaid Group?

Would her kind heart allow her to agree to a marriage of convenience?

Rakin suspected she just might even consider it. Eli had been right: Laurel would make him the perfect wife.

But he needed time to persuade her. Before he could check the impulse he found himself saying, “So come away with me to Vegas.”

Three

“Come away with you to Las Vegas? Are you serious?”

Astonishment caused Laurel’s mouth to drop open. So much for the certainty that her instilled equilibrium was unshakeable. Rakin’s invitation had floored her. And, what’s more, the rogue knew he’d surprised her—his eyes were twinkling.

“Absolutely serious.” He’d closed the gap between them, and his broad shoulders blocked her view of the house. “You could have try your luck at the slot machines.”

“I intend to do more than try my luck at the machines,” she informed him. “My plan is to gamble all night—in the casino.”

“That’s a serious rebellion.” His eyes crinkled as his grin broadened. “And I’m sure I can accommodate such a plan.”

“Are you laughing at me?” she asked suspiciously, flicking her hair back over her shoulder.

“Why should I laugh at you?”

Because he considered her too staid, too much of a Goody Two-shoes to take him up on his offer? She took in his stance. His weight was perfectly balanced on both feet. In the shadows, his white shirtfront was a startling contrast to his dark, hawkish features. The rash urge to surprise him rose before she could check it. Why shouldn’t she take him up on his invitation to go gamble in Vegas?

Laurel drew a deep breath and said in a rush, “My mother was a Winthrop.”

She paused expectantly.

When Rakin didn’t react, she said, “I forget. To people not from the South, the name is meaningless. But in South Carolina the Winthrops have always been a force to be reckoned with.” She gave him a quick smile. “Sounds terribly snobbish, I know. But in Charleston they’re an old, well-established family who fell on hard times. A result of bad business decisions—although the decline had started way back. My Winthrop great-great uncle was infamous for his ability to gamble huge sums on property and poker—he lost at both.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She shrugged. “It got worse. By the 1970s the family fortune had been exhausted, but the Winthrops were still determined to hang on to a lifestyle they could no longer afford. That meant a new injection of cash to maintain their social standing—cash that came from the Kincaid shipping and—ironically—real estate profits.” Laurel gave him a wry smile. “The Kincaids must’ve been better at gambling on property—or, at least, more astute. As luck would have it, at the same time that the Winthrop family fortune was in decline, my Kincaid grandfather was trying to scale the old money bastions of Charleston, which—despite his rapidly growing nouveau riche wealth—had proved impenetrable up till that point. So he pressured my father into marrying my mother.”

He stepped closer. “You sound cynical.”

“Cynicism is not a usual characteristic of mine, believe it or not.” Laurel shifted back until she could feel the hard balustrade against her hip through the delicate fabric of her dress. “But I don’t think the way the older Winthrops or Kincaids behaved was particularly admirable—they brokered a marriage between my parents for their own gain.”

“It is how things used to be done in powerful families.” Rakin shrugged. “But your parents would have to bear part of the responsibility for agreeing to the arrangement.”

“My mother fell in love with Reginald Kincaid.” Laurel gave him sad smile. “He was handsome, witty—what woman can resist a man with a sense of humor?—and he had the means to restore the family fortune. A veritable knight in shining armor. She never stood a chance.” She let out a shuddering breath. “Why am I telling you this? We’re here to celebrate Kara’s wedding, not cry over the past.”

“Don’t let your parents’ choices in the past color your future,” he said softly. “Come to Vegas—I’ll take you gambling if that’s what you want. Or we could just enjoy ourselves for a weekend.”

Two … maybe three … days. What harm could come from a few days of pure pleasure? There was something quite wildly wicked in doing a deed that had always been frowned upon in her family—her great uncle had a lot to answer for.

“You make it sound very tempting.”

“But?”

So he’d detected her hesitation. “I don’t know….”

“You are getting cold feet.”

He was one hundred percent correct. Despite the warmth of the balmy evening, she was most definitely getting cold feet. She drew in a deep breath, conscious of the pungent scent of jasmine on the night air. The sweet familiarity of the fragrance made the conversation she was having with Rakin seem even more surreal. “I shouldn’t even be considering such a crazy invitation.”

“Of course you should. It’s what you want to do.”

Right again.

Could he see inside her head?

Instantly all the reasons why she shouldn’t go rolled through her mind. Who would follow up with Detective McDonough? With Nikki Thomas? Who would look after her mother? Her sisters? For a moment she considered that her mother had Cutter now, her sisters were both married. It would be liberating to break free of everything for a couple of days.

Enjoy herself. Have some fun. Abandon the responsibilities that were weighing her down.

Get a life.

Was it already too late? Had she forgotten how to live? Laurel glanced up at the man who was offering her the biggest temptation of her life. His lips were still curved into a smile, the lower one full and passionate. Her gaze lingered there. Kiss a stranger. So much riskier than flirting. But oh so tempting …

She looked quickly away.

The sound of light footsteps on the balcony freed her from making a decision. Susannah, Matt’s fiancée, was bearing down on them. Giving Rakin a curious glance, she said, “Laurel, your presence is required. Kara’s about to throw her bouquet.”

Laurel’s shoulders sagged with relief. Tossing Rakin a small smile, she said, “I must go—duty summons.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

He didn’t need to say that he would expect an answer; that was implicit in his intent regard. Her smile turned sultry. Flirtatious, even. She was finally getting the hang of it. “I’ll hold you to that.”

A swarm of women had taken to the dance floor. Young and old—it appeared that every unmarried woman in Charleston wanted to catch the bouquet tonight.

Laurel’s heart sank as she took in the spectacle. She came to a dead halt. “There are already enough desperate wannabe brides here, you don’t need me to make up numbers.”

“Kara specifically said she wanted you here,” Susannah said sotto voce, shepherding Laurel forward.

As they reached the outskirts of the dance floor, Elizabeth joined them. “Hurry, Laurel. Kara’s been waiting for you.”

Laurel glanced from Susannah to her mother, and her tipsiness evaporated. “Do I detect a conspiracy?”

“Oh, no.” Though both Susannah and her mother denied it, their eyes were stretched too wide.

Reluctantly, Laurel let her mother drag her into the center of the group.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of a tall, dark man in a beautifully tailored tuxedo. Rakin. Her head jerked about. He was standing beside her brother Matt—and she spotted RJ, and Daniel, Lily’s husband, too. As she watched Alan Sinclair joined them. All of them were grinning. But it was Rakin’s dark gaze that brought tremors of excitement to Laurel’s stomach.

I’ll be waiting. The memory of his whispered words caused the excitement to rise another notch.

What answer was she going to give him?

“Laurel!”

At the sound of her mother’s voice, her head whipped around guiltily.

“You need to go forward more—to the front. Kara is about to throw her bouquet.”

Laurel balked. But the crowd around her had no such inhibitions. As Eli gallantly held out an arm to help Kara step elegantly onto the band’s stage, Laurel was jostled forward.

From her vantage point on the stage, Kara scanned the crowd. Her gaze found Laurel, and her eyes lit up. Then she turned around.

Oh, no.

As Kara tossed the bouquet of red roses backward over her head, Laurel quickly ducked. Then she spun around to see who the lucky recipient had been of the bouquet obviously intended for her.

Elizabeth stood behind her clutching an armful of roses and wearing a bewildered expression.

“Well, congratulations, Mom, it looks like you’re set to be the next bride.” Taking pity on her mortified mother, Laurel placed a hand under her elbow and led her from the floor.

“Laurel, what are people going to think? Your father has only been dead for four months. Now I’m standing on a dance floor, a wedding bouquet in my arms. This is catastrophic.”

Her mother needed a Get a Life list of her own, Laurel decided. She’d spent far too many years of doing the Right Thing. “Mom, stop worrying about what other people think. It’s your life…. Live it. Let Kara arrange your wedding, invite your real friends to dance at it—and make Cutter a happy man. Marry him. Be happy.”

“Be happy?” Elizabeth repeated. The lines around her mouth lessened and her eyes brightened. “You’re so right, darling. I will be happy. Thank you.”

Laurel swallowed the lump in her throat. Was it really that easy?

Then Lily was there, too. “Great catch, Mom!”

“Oh, go on.” Elizabeth’s cheeks wore flags of scarlet. Yet she looked more vibrant than she had in years.

Kara arrived in a rustle of fine bridal fabric. She frowned at Laurel, who smiled back angelically.

“It was a mistake.” Elizabeth shrugged apologetically to her middle daughter. “I know you intended for Laurel to catch it.”

Laurel’s smile broadened at the confirmation of the conspiracy she’d already suspected. Triumph at the success of her covert rebellion overtook her.

“Laurel needs a groom before she can have a wedding, so throwing her the bouquet was probably a little premature,” Lily pointed out to Laurel’s increasing amusement. But her relief was short-lived as Lily started scanning the men crowded around the dance floor. “Let me see. There must be someone we can introduce Laurel to. One of RJ’s friends—or maybe Daniel knows someone suitable.”

Again, her family was organizing her life.

“Hey—”

Kara overrode the objection Laurel was about to make. “Eli already introduced her to Rakin.”

Laurel shifted uncomfortably as both her mother and Lily focused on her. “Rakin?”

“He’s standing there—at the edge of the dance floor with RJ and Matt right now,” offered Kara.

“Don’t point.” Laurel could have happily wrung her interfering sisters’ necks as all eyes swung in his direction. With a touch of desperation, she begged, “And please don’t stare.”

“Why?” Lily was the first to turn back. “Are you interested in him?”

She flushed. “Not exactly. But nor do I want you causing the poor man any embarrassment. He’s too nice for that.”

“Nice? He’s gorgeous!” Kara didn’t mince words.

“Hey, that’s the guy you were talking to so cozily on the terrace,” Susannah chipped in.

“Ooh, you were on the terrace with him?” This time Brooke hounded her. “You’ve been holding out on us.”

“I’ve only just met him!”

“But it sounds like you’ve gotten close pretty quickly.” Lily raised an eyebrow.

Under the force of her family’s combined interrogation, Laurel gave in. “Okay, he’s invited me to go to Vegas.”

“To Vegas?” It was a chorus.

“Hush, not so loud!”

“You’re going, right?” That was Kara again.

“I don’t know….”

“But you must.”

“Or are you too busy at work?” asked Lily.

“Laurel can’t use work as an excuse,” piped Kara. “I know for a fact that her honeymoon was booked for the two weeks after her wedding, and I know she left those weeks open—even after the wedding was called off. There’s nothing that can’t be cleared from her calendar.”

“I needed a break. It’s been a busy few months.” Laurel avoided Lily’s keen eyes. She’d planned to take some time after the wedding to assess what she wanted from life. Now it looked like she was going to spend some of that time with Rakin. A dart of anticipation shafted through her. It would be fun. But what about her mother? “I promised Mom I would call Detective McDonough and arrange a meeting with him later in the wee—”

“I can do that, darling,” her mother said quickly. “Don’t let that stop you.”

“No, I’ll do it,” said Brooke.

Laurel exchanged a long look with her future sister-in-law and saw the plea in her eyes. If it made Brooke feel like she was helping, that would be worth it. “That’s a good idea, Brooke. Nikki Thomas might be able to help—you may want to give her a call, too.”

Susannah put a hand on Laurel’s arm and bowed her head close to say softly, “I know you’ve been carrying a lot of the stress of the past few months, more than we probably realize. I remember it was you who called to let Matt know Elizabeth had been taken into custody.”

“All of us have been under strain,” Laurel responded in a low voice, so that her mother didn’t hear. “I know that Matt has been incredibly worried about—generating new business to stanch the losses Jack Sinclair caused.”

Susannah shrugged. “There are rumors of fresh defections all the time. But they can only be dealt with one at a time. Nothing you can do right now. You’ve done your bit. I know that like RJ, you’ve kept in close touch with the police and kept us all informed of developments. You need a break.”

Then her mother was beside her. “I heard the end of that—and I agree with Susannah. Take some time off. It’s your life…. Live it.” Elizabeth directed a private smile to Laurel. “You deserve some fun.”

“Ah, Mom.” In gratitude of her mother’s unexpected understanding, Laurel flung her arms around the older woman. Coming from the always correct Elizabeth, the words meant a great deal. “Thank you!”

At the back of her mind had been the thought that her mother would need her. With her other daughters now married, Laurel was the obvious choice to cosset her after her traumatic arrest for Reginald’s murder. But her sisters—and Susannah and Brooke—had relieved her of the responsibility. The final—and most weighty—mental block had been removed. There was no reason for Laurel to decline Rakin’s invitation.

“Now you have no excuse,” Kara said with satisfaction—and Laurel didn’t even try to stop the laughter that overflowed as her sister’s words echoed her own thoughts.

Instead she said, “I should be mad at you. But how can I be? It’s your wedding day—and you’re matchmaking as many of us as you can.”

Kara looked mystified at that. “What do you mean?”

“You can take all the credit—since you talked Eli into introducing Rakin to me.”

But Kara was shaking her head. “Honestly, it wasn’t me.”

Her sister’s reply left Laurel lost for words.

Laurel came toward him, her step light and buoyant, causing the silver-gray fabric of her dress to swirl around her long legs. Her lips were curved up and her face alight with what Rakin could only describe as happiness. It gave her an inner glow, and accentuated her beauty … and his heart missed a beat.

“Excuse me.” Without a backward look to the group he’d been conversing with about the state of the shipping industry, he went to meet her. “Would you like to dance?”

She nodded.

A hand clapped his shoulder; then Matt’s voice broke in. “Rakin, we’ll catch up again, I’d like to find out more about some of those Diyafan market players.”

For once, money and business were not at the forefront of Rakin’s mind. He said something to Matt that must have satisfied the other man, but he didn’t take his eyes off Laurel.

He sensed he was walking a thin line.

Pleasure was threatening to overwhelm business. It would do him well to take care and not to confuse his priorities. Then he came to his senses. He was Rakin Whitcomb Abdellah. He controlled a billion-dollar business empire. His grandfather ruled Diyafa. He’d never been the kind of man to let his heart rule his head. Never.

Laurel Kincaid was business. He would not forget that.

“Let’s dance,” he said gruffly, and swept the most beautiful woman he’d ever met into his arms.

The rhythm of the jazz was rich and deep, smoldering with the passions of the South.

Laurel’s body brushed against his, and involuntarily Rakin’s arms tightened. She was so soft and lush and incredibly feminine. A man could forget his resolve.

She stiffened, and he instantly eased his hold.

Business, he reminded himself.

“What’s Flynn doing on the dance floor?”

She’d come to a standstill, and Rakin followed her gaze. He might’ve been considering letting pleasure overwhelm him, but Laurel clearly had her feet firmly on the ground. The ring bearer from the wedding ceremony was weaving his way determinedly through the dancing guests. It hadn’t been his close hold that had caused her to stiffen, Rakin realized with relief. It was the child. Wearing a pair of sky-blue summer pajamas with his dark hair slicked down, Rakin suspected the kid was supposed to be tucked up in bed.

“Hey!” Laurel slipped out of his arms in a whisper of silver satin, and caught the youngster’s hand.

The boy’s face lit up. “Aunt Laurel, you didn’t catch the flowers Aunt Kara threw at you.”

“You were watching?”

“When’s Aunt Kara going to cut the cake? She said I could have some.”

“This handsome rapscallion is Matt’s son, my nephew, Flynn.” Laurel told Rakin. Then she turned her attention back to the little boy. “I don’t think they’ll be cutting the cake for a while. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

He nodded, his blue eyes round with innocence. “Pamela told me a bedtime story.”

“Mom’s housekeeper,” Laurel explained to Rakin. To Flynn, she said, “You should be asleep.”

“I was excited … and I want some cake.”

“So you escaped.” Laurel grinned at him conspiratorially. “I tell you what, you can have one dance with us, then I’ll take you back to bed. I promise I’ll save you a ginormous piece of cake and give it to you in the morning. Deal?”

Flynn looked uncertain.

“Take it,” Rakin advised. “You won’t get a better offer tonight.”

He held out a hand at a height Flynn could reach. Flynn’s eyes lit up as he recognized the game. “High five,” he crowed and slapped Rakin’s hand.

“Deal,” said Rakin.

Rakin watched with amusement as Flynn started to gyrate his limbs alongside them. He had the lack of inhibitions of the very young and threw his heart into every move. But, by the time the melody had faded, he looked exhausted.

A short, silver-haired woman hurried up to claim him.

“He gave me the slip,” she told Laurel, after passing a lightning-swift glance over Rakin. “I’ll put him back to bed.”

As Flynn gave them a wave over his shoulder, the music struck up again. Rakin moved forward and gathered Laurel back into his arms. She didn’t protest.

“Pamela, I take it?”

Laurel nodded. “Sorry, I should’ve introduced you, but I imagined she wanted to get Flynn off to bed before Susannah starts to worry about him.”

The rapid once-over the housekeeper had given him had told Rakin that she was clearly an established part of the Kincaid family. It wasn’t only Flynn and Susannah she was looking out for—there’d been a warning in that glance: Be honorable, or have me to deal with. Rakin smiled to himself. Pamela had nothing to fear….

Against his shoulder, Laurel murmured, “It’s wonderful to see Flynn looking so much better, even though he’s still thin.”

Spinning her deftly around to avoid colliding with a couple who had come to a standstill in the midst of dancers, Rakin said, “He’s been ill?”

“Very. For the past two months Matt and Susannah have had to be careful about allowing him out—to limit his exposure to germs. But he’s had the green flag—he’s well on his way to full recovery. Tonight is the biggest crowd he’s been in since he got ill.”

“No wonder he’s excited. He’s a great kid.”

“I think so.” Laurel laughed up at him. “We all do.”

Her green eyes sparkled like precious gems. Emeralds. A sultan’s prize. Rakin dismissed the fanciful notion. “Your nephew was right—you didn’t catch the bridal bouquet.”

He’d been amused how she’d lithely leapt out of the way of the bunch of flowers the bride had tossed at her. If he had any doubt about the veracity of her claim earlier that she wasn’t looking for love, he certainly believed it now. She couldn’t have chosen a more public place to make her lack of interest in romantic commitment clear. Laurel might as well have taken out an ad in the society pages to proclaim she wasn’t interested in marriage.

“No, I didn’t catch it.”

Despite her polite smile, and the carefully enunciated “No,” the dangerous glint he detected in her eyes told another story. The laugh started low in his belly. He did his best to contain it—to no avail. Her glint turned to a glare. Biting back his mirth, before they became the focus of attention of those other than her two sisters-in-law, who were trying to look as though they were not following their dance, he said, “I thought every maid of honor dreamed of being the next bride.”

“Not me. I want—”

“Excitement … adventure.”

That wrested a reluctant laugh from her. “You whipped the words right out of my mouth.”

Rakin forgot all about her watching relatives. His gaze dropped down to her lips.

Why hadn’t he noticed how perfectly they were shaped? The flowing curve of the top lip was a work of art, while the plump bottom one promised pure sin.

Instantly the mood changed, vibrating with suppressed tension. Her annoyance, his teasing, their laughter, all vanished. Rakin was no longer conscious of anyone in the room—except the woman in his arms.

Her lips parted, and she drew a quick breath.

“I’ll do it,” she told him in a rush. “I’ll come with you to Vegas.”

He hadn’t expected a reply so soon.

He’d been summoning his powers of persuasion. Now there was no need. Tension Rakin hadn’t even known existed eased. Had he really believed she would refuse? The way his muscles relaxed suggested he hadn’t been as certain of Laurel as he would’ve liked.

His gaze lifted—and clashed with eyes alive with excitement.

“This is only the start of the adventure,” he promised her.

Triumph filled him. Laurel Kincaid was going to make the perfect trophy wife….

Four

Laurel’s expression grew increasingly bemused as the limousine that had collected them from McCarran International Airport cruised along Las Vegas’s famous Strip.

“There’s no where else in the world like Vegas,” Rakin told Laurel, watching as she tried to assimilate the staggering visual impact of the city.

“It’s like a Hollywood set.” She twisted around to look out of a small window. “I don’t remember any of this from back when I was here as a child.”

“Then I shall have to show you everything.”

“I can’t wait.” Even under the tawdry neon lights of the limousine interior her eyes shone with excitement.

By the time the white limousine nosed into the forecourt of the luxury hotel he’d booked for them, Rakin half-regretted not reserving a suite in one of the more over-the-top resorts.

“There are more outrageous hotels.” Rakin stood at the door as she emerged from the limousine. “But I thought you might appreciate somewhere more peaceful when a retreat from the madness becomes necessary.”

Laurel clambered out to stand beside him. Dressed in a pair of white linen trousers and a taupe shell top she looked cool and comfortable. Pulling her sunglasses down from where they rested on the top of her head to shade her eyes, she said, “I can’t imagine that ‘peace’ is a word one often associates with Vegas.”

“Believe it or not, there are peaceful places to be found not far from here.”

“Like where?”

“Eli and I came here a couple of times during vacations while we were at Harvard. The desert is vast and undisturbed. Beautiful. Sometimes we’d hike through Red Rock Canyon.”

There was a long pause as she examined him.

“You were homesick,” she said after a moment, a peculiar note in her voice. “You missed Diyafa … and your family.”

Rakin didn’t reply. But he was relieved he couldn’t see her expression behind the dark, opaque veil of the sunglasses. He suspected it would be too kind for comfort. Pity was the very last thing he wanted from this woman he was determined to marry.

He certainly wasn’t going to explain the complicated relationship he shared with his family. The overwhelming expectations of his grandfather that had started when he was barely out the cradle and set him forever at odds with his cousins. His father’s fits of anger, which had caused his mother to weep in-consolably. His own growing resentment against his father that had increased after he’d been sent to boarding school in England. And the lingering guilt for abandoning his mother to deal with his father which had not been eased by the bravely stoic letters written in her perfect, flowing handwriting.

By his thirteenth birthday his parents had been dead—and by the time he and Eli had first hiked Red Rock Canyon they’d been buried for a decade.

So Laurel was wrong. The pilgrimages he and Eli had made to Vegas had nothing to do with missing Diyafa—or his family.

No need for her to know there were no nostalgic, happy memories for him to hanker after—or at least, not until he successfully talked her into marrying him to nullify Prince Ahmeer’s latest round of threats. For now, he’d promised his Southern rebel fun and adventure—and he intended to ensure she experienced plenty of both.

Cupping her elbow, he ushered her in the porter’s wake into the quiet, discreet luxury of the hotel lobby. A hostess rushed forward and offered them each a glass of champagne. Before Rakin could refuse, Laurel shook her head.

She flashed him a rueful glance. “I want a clear head—I’m not missing a moment of this.”

Her humor caused his mood to lighten. “I like you tipsy,” he said softly.

A flush swept along her cheekbones. “It’s not gentlemanly of you to remind me.”

Coming from his lady-turned-rebel, the statement caused him to chuckle. “I thought you were tired of social constraints?”

“Not so tired that I’ll get tipsy again any time soon.”

They’d reached the reservations desk. Laurel leaned forward to answer a question from the reservations clerk and Rakin was instantly all too aware of the taut, lean lines of her body. Her bare arms rested on the polished counter and she spread her hands drawing his attention to the rings that decorated her graceful fingers.

Her ring finger was bare. His gaze lingered on the band of pale skin that evidenced her broken engagement to Eli.

A light, summery scent floated to him. Rakin inhaled deeply. Could one get tipsy on perfume? he wondered, then shook off the absurd notion.

This was about business.

Not about Laurel’s perfume. Not about the pleasure that her company brought. Hard to believe he’d only met her yesterday. It had been tough to convince her to come away today. Once she’d accepted his invitation, she’d immediately tried to buy time. She’d suggested the following weekend. Rakin couldn’t risk her changing her mind. He’d pushed until she’d capitulated. He’d won. She’d agreed to two days. He had two days in which to convince her to marry him—and secure his position in Gifts of Gold, the company of which he’d been appointed CEO.

Two days …

He feared it wouldn’t be enough. He’d have to tempt her to play longer.

Once they’d completed the brief check-in formalities for the penthouse suite he’d reserved, Rakin wasted no time setting his plan of attack into action. Bending his head, he murmured, “I thought we might go exploring.”

Laurel had taken her sunglasses off, and without the shielding screen her green eyes sparkled up at him. “Sounds great—I can’t wait.”

Some of her joyous enthusiasm appeared to be rubbing off on him because Rakin couldn’t stop himself from smiling back at her. “Then there’s no time to waste.”

Laurel very soon discovered that Las Vegas did indeed have spectacular sights.

In fact, her mind was quite boggled by the end of the first hour. The interior of the Luxor hotel was concealed in an immense black glass pyramid guarded by a giant crouching sphinx. But inside, instead of the treasures of ancient Egypt, Laurel was amazed to find the reconstructed bow of the giant Titanic complete with a lifeboat. As she and Rakin wandered through the installations, Laurel was moved by the stories of the last hours of the crew and passengers on the ship’s tragic maiden voyage.

The Liberace Museum, by contrast, with its collection of resplendent, unashamed kitsch, made her giggle. The glittering mirror-tiled piano and the rhinestone-covered grand were wonderfully over the top. On catching sight of Rakin’s appalled expression as he inspected the famed red, white and blue hot-pants suit, a mischievous impulse overtook her.

She eyed the black jeans and dazzling white T-shirt he wore, then leaned close to whisper, “I think your wardrobe should include one of those outfits.”

“It would cause quite a stir in Diyafa if I ever wore such a garment. A national disaster, in fact. There are still some conservative elements who would never recover from the sight of Prince Ahmeer Al-Abdellah’s grandson sporting hot pants.” Across the narrow space separating them, their eyes met, and for one charged moment a connection pulsed between them…. Then it passed and hilarity broke.

“Enough of museums,” said Rakin, reaching for her hand when they’d sufficiently regained their composure. “I think we need a little more action.”

A shock of surprise rushed through her as his hand closed around hers. The clasp was warm and firm. Rakin showed no sign that the gesture had affected him to the same extent—he was striding purposefully forward, seemingly unaware that they were holding hands like a pair of lovers.

She was making too much of it.

Rakin was treating her with the kind of warm friendship she craved. So why spoil it by imagining intimacies that didn’t exist? She should take the gesture at face value and go with the flow. No need to overanalyze the camaraderie that was developing between them. That, too, was part of breaking free.

Easier said than done.

Laurel couldn’t dampen her awareness of their linked hands, and she finally slid her hand out of his and came to a stop when a familiar skyline materialized ahead.

“New York?” The Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building were interspersed with other landmark buildings. This was his idea of more action? But she had to admit the replica skyscrapers were impressive. “Oh, wow, there’s the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“The buildings are about a third of actual life size,” Rakin informed her. “But it’s not the sight of the buildings that will give you the adrenaline rush I promised.”

“New York–New York? A rollercoaster?” she gasped moments later.

“Why not?” He shot her a taunting look. “Scared?”

Even if she had been, his all-too-male I-dare-you expression would have forced her to bite her lip. She’d told him that she craved adventure, so there was no way she was going to back down now.

She stuck up her chin. “Of course not. I love rides.”

Love was a slight exaggeration. She hadn’t been on a ride in years. A quick calculation left Laurel astonished by exactly how long it had been since she’d last experienced such a ride. Where had the years gone? And, more to the point, where had her sense of fun gone? When had she let herself become so staid … so boring? When had she forgotten that there was a world out there beyond the confines of her family and the demands of public relations for The Kincaid Group?

“At least I did love them once upon a time,” she added a little more dubiously, hoping that her youthful infatuation with roller coasters would return by the time they reached the start.

“The track twists between the skyscrapers—” Rakin jerked a thumb in the direction of the buildings “—rising to two hundred feet between the buildings.”

“Thanks! That’s very comforting to know.”

“It reaches speeds of over sixty-five miles per hour—and there’s a place where the train drops a hundred and forty-four feet.”

The last snippet of information gave her pause. “Are you deliberately trying to frighten me?”

“I’d never do such a thing.” But the twitch of his lips gave him away.

Humor rushed through her like champagne bubbles rising. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

“Any adventure needs a good case of butterflies to start it off—dread heightens anticipation.”

That sealed it. “You are trying to scare me—wicked man!”

She advanced on him, brandishing her purse.

Rakin grabbed her wrists before she could take a swing at him, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “Are you having fun?”

She stilled. Lowering her purse, she glanced quickly around. How quickly she’d forgotten to behave with the dignity that befitted the eldest Kincaid daughter. Embarrassment swept over her; then she banished it. Who amongst the hordes knew her? And who would even care? Freedom followed in a dizzying burst.

With wonder she said, “Yes, I’m having a fantastic time.”

She skipped into line beside Rakin.

“The trains look like yellow New York taxicabs—complete with hoods and headlights.” She thought they looked delightful, and not at all frightening.

“We’re in luck, we’re going to get front seats,” said Rakin, as an attendant ushered them forward.

Once seated in the front row with the restraints securely fastened, Laurel’s enthusiasm waned at the unobstructed view of the red track ahead. Luck? Maybe not. As the train started forward her heart rose into her throat. “Rakin, what recklessness possessed me to do this?”

“You’re going to love it.” Rakin’s eyes gleamed with humor.

But Laurel was no longer so sure. Ahead of them the track climbed to the height of Everest. The train chugged up, and with each foot they progressed the butterflies that Rakin had stirred up broke free of their chrysalis in Laurel’s stomach and started to flutter madly.

They crested the top of the rise.

Laurel caught a glimpse of the Las Vegas skyline laid out in front of them. In the distance, hills undulated in a long curve.

The train gathered momentum.

“Oh, my heavens!”

Rakin’s hand closed around hers. Before she could catch her breath, they were hurtling down. Then they were rising…. The next plunge downward left Laurel’s stomach somewhere in the sky above them. Air left her lungs in a silent scream. She could hear Rakin laughing beside her.

Ahead, high above, she glimpsed a complete loop of red track.

“Noooo …” she moaned.

She gripped Rakin’s hand until her fingers hurt.

The train swooped into the upward curve of the loop. Tension, tight and terrifying, clawed at her body. Laurel could hear screams behind her. For a disconcerting instant the world turned over, hovered, blue sky flashing below them in a spinning blur; then everything righted itself. They sped down into a series of tight heart-hammering curves that pressed her thigh up against Rakin’s.

A wild euphoria exploded inside her.

The Statue of Liberty flashed past, and Laurel found herself laughing. Moments later the train shot into womb-like darkness.

Rakin murmured something beside her, but the sound of her heart hammering in her head drowned it out. Her hand was still gripping his, and Laurel realized her nails must be digging into his palm. Hot, awkward embarrassment flooded her.

“Sorry,” she muttered, letting go.

“It didn’t worry me.”

“I appreciated the loan,” she said lightly, and Rakin chuckled in response.

Gradually her eyes adjusted until she was able to make out lights and shapes of an underground station. Noise surrounded her—the attendant’s cheery greeting as he freed her from the safety restraint, the clatter of trains on the track.

When they emerged from the front seats Laurel’s legs felt like Jell-O. But sheer exhilaration propelled her forward.

“You were right, I loved it!”

Laurel didn’t care that she sounded breathless as she spun around to grin giddily at Rakin through the cloud of hair that had whipped around her face during the thrill ride. Right now she felt high on joy—prepared to take on the world. Anything he wanted to throw at her, she was game for. The surge of strength—the feeling that she could do whatever she wanted—was supremely empowering. Getting a life …

Yet Rakin wasn’t even breathing hard. And, what’s more, not even one dark hair had strayed out of place. A wicked urge to see him look a little rumpled stole through her.

“Again,” she challenged. “I want to do it again.”

It was evening, and the observation deck on the fiftieth floor of Paris Las Vegas’s Eiffel Tower was deserted.

Rakin felt Laurel go still beneath the hand he’d placed across her back to usher her from the glass elevator.

“How beautiful,” she breathed, and gestured to the warm, dusky light that turned the observation deck to burnished bronze. “It’s like being in a capsule of gold.”

He watched indulgently as she picked her way along the observation deck, her high heels tapping against the steel, to take in the dramatic view of the city stretching to the purpling mountains in the distance.

Laurel came to a stop and the fiery glow of the sinking rays lit the hair piled on top of her head, throwing the elegant black strapless dress she wore into sharp relief. Against the backdrop of the sunset she looked like a goddess waiting to be summoned back from earth.

“It has been the most extraordinary day,” she said breaking the spell that held him entranced. “Recklessness drove me to accept your invitation.”

His gaze fixed on her, he said, “Recklessness?”

“I gave in to the temptation to break the Winthrop ban on gambling.” She spread her arms wide to embrace the view. “But I didn’t expect this. I’ve no idea how you’ll intend to keep the action—and the surprises—rolling tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry, there’s plenty more to see,” Rakin told her, and closed the gap between them. “Dolphins. Sharks. Lions. We haven’t even started on the animal encounters.”

The sideways glance she gave him held a very human glint of mischief. “Or we could try the thrill rides at the Stratosphere Tower.”

Rakin groaned. “I’ve created a monster. Three rides on New York-New York, not to mention braving the Speed roller coaster at NASCAR Cafe this afternoon—and you still crave more?”

“I never realized what I was missing out on—I should’ve put Ride a roller coaster on my list.”

“You made a list of things to do in Vegas?” Had he left anything out?

But before he could ask, Laurel colored and averted her gaze. A gust of wind blew a tendril of hair that had escaped across her cheek, and she brushed it back. “It’s not exactly about Vegas.”

“But you have a list?” he pressed.

Laurel gave a small nod.

Her reticence intrigued him. “So what’s on it?”

“I can’t remember,” she mumbled and her flush turned a deep shade of crimson.

Laurel Kincaid was a terrible liar.

“Now you’ve woken my curiosity.”

She muttered something. Then she pointed. “Look, isn’t that pretty?”

Rakin allowed himself to be distracted. Far below, the Strip was starting to light up as Las Vegas prepared for the coming night like a showgirl dressing for an after-dark performance.

“Oh, and look there!”

Rakin’s followed her finger. Three rings of fountains had leapt out from the lake in front of the Bellagio, the high plumes illuminated by bright light.

A glance at Laurel revealed that she was transfixed.

“We’ll see the fountains from closer up during dinner.” He’d booked a table at Picasso specifically so Laurel could enjoy the display.

“From up here it gives another perspective. This tower looks like every picture I’ve seen of the real Eiffel Tower. It’s amazing.”

Rakin hadn’t moved his attention from her face. Her changing expressions revealed every emotion she experienced. Wonder. Excitement.

For one wild moment he considered what her features would look like taut with desire, her dark-red hair spread loose across his pillow….

He shut his eyes to block out the tantalizing vision.

“So have you ever visited Paris or Venice? I’d love to visit both.”

To his relief her voice interrupted his torrid imaginings. “Not Venice,” he said, his voice hoarser than normal. “But I’ve been to Paris often—my mother loved Paris. She attended the école Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts on the Left Bank across from the Louvre.”

“She’s an artist?”

Rakin nodded. “She was—she died.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to reopen—”

The remorse on Laurel’s face made him say quickly, “Don’t worry. Talking about her doesn’t upset me. She’s been gone a long time. Most people avoid mentioning her—it makes them uncomfortable.” It ran contrary to his own need to talk about his mother, to remember her as she’d been. Talented. Mercurial. Loving. “My father died, too.”

“You must miss them both.”

The memories of his father were much more ambivalent. But there was no need for Laurel to discover the undercurrents that lurked beneath the mask he carefully preserved. So he focused on the facts. “My parents met in Paris.”

“How romantic.”

It was the conclusion he’d expected—no, led—her to draw. His mother had also thought it romantic. His father had called it fate. Neither romance nor fate had been enough in the end.

The night they’d met, Laurel had asked him whether he believed in fate …

It was Rakin’s turn to turn away. The sunset blazed along the skyline.

“It was spring time.” The words forced themselves past the tightness in his throat.

“Even more romantic.”

Without looking at Laurel, he continued to weave the tale that had become a legend of tabloid lies. “My parents returned to Diyafa for a lavish wedding, and I was born less than a year later.” That had been the end of the romance and the beginning of his mother’s harsh reality. As his father had the male heir he wanted, the sheik no longer needed to woo his wife. Duty, rather than desire, had kept his parents together until their deaths.

Rakin found he had a startlingly intense need to see Laurel’s face. Forcing a smile, he swiveled on his heel. Her eyes held a soft, dreamy look. “I’d love to visit Paris in the spring.”

“And walk along the Seine.” Rakin knew all the clichés.

“How wonderful to fall in love in a city that celebrates lovers.”

“That too.” His parents’ story had great spin, Rakin decided savagely. The lie still lived.

She tipped her head to one side and the last rays of the sun glinted off the diamond earrings that dangled against her neck. “And I’d like to visit Diyafa, too.”

It was the cue he needed.

But instead of telling her about his grandfather’s plan to oust him, Rakin glanced at his watch. “Our table booking is not far off. I’ll tell you more about the country of my birth over dinner—and afterwards we’ll do what everyone does in Vegas—gamble.”

As he’d anticipated, the dreaminess evaporated, then she said, “The higher the stakes, the better. Don’t forget I have every intention of gambling the night away.”

The stakes were rising for him, too. So why had he not taken the opportunity that she’d offered? Why hadn’t he told her what he needed? A wife to neutralize his grandfather’s threats? A part of him recognized that he was being drawn into the fantasy he’d created for a woman he found himself liking more and more with every hour that passed.

A whole day had already passed. Too soon they would be leaving Vegas and the opportunity to negotiate her cooperation would be forever lost. He could no longer delay.

It was time to return to reality.

And get himself a wife.

Picasso at the Bellagio was one of Rakin’s favorite restaurants.

“Bellagio is a village on the shores of Lake Como,” Rakin told Laurel after their plates from the main course had been cleared away, and dessert menus left for them to leisurely peruse. He’d secured a table overlooking a balcony and the lake beyond so that Laurel would have a good view of the fountains dancing to the music.

“George Clooney has a villa at Lake Como, doesn’t he?” Laurel’s smile had an impish quality as she turned from the fountains back to him. “I’d better add that to the exotic places I want to visit.”

“You’re that keen to meet Clooney?” Rakin wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be annoyed by her mischievous interest in the movie star—especially since before his grandfather’s latest threats he’d been as eager as Clooney to avoid marriage and babies. And despite conceding to marriage, babies were forever off the agenda—not that his grandfather needed to know that.

She gave him an artless glance. “Isn’t every woman?”

This time he did laugh. “You’re a tease!”

The artlessness evaporated. Only to be replaced with a sincerity that he found infinitely more disturbing. “Not really,” she confided, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “Only with you. I’ve never flirted in my life—yet with you it’s easy.”

Her candor was disarming. And the husky note in her voice thrummed through him, playing all his nerve endings to devastating effect. He didn’t dare allow his eyes to stray lower in case her action had caused the provocative neckline to reveal even more tantalizing glimpses of skin. Instead, Rakin unfolded his napkin, placed it on his lap and said lightly, “I thought all Southern women were born flirts.”

“Not me.” She glanced down at the dessert menu in front of her.

He could’ve argued that she was learning fast. Yet Rakin suspected that she had little idea of the effect she was having on him. He was more interested in her than he’d been in any woman for a long, long time. At first, his interest had been piqued by Eli’s comment that she’d make the perfect wife for the predicament he found himself in. Then he’d found himself really liking her. And now—

Well, now, his interest was growing in leaps and bounds.

Impossibly long lashes fluttered up as she glanced up from the menu. “I’ve been attempting to flirt with you because … I feel safe.”

The naked honesty of her statement shook him. All attempts at maintaining the lighthearted banter deserted him.

“Aren’t you going to order dessert?”

To his surprise, Rakin realized he’d set his menu down on the table. But he couldn’t stop thinking about what Laurel had said.

“You find it easy to flirt with me?”

“It must be because you’re Eli’s friend.” This time the smile she gave him was sweet rather than flirtatious. “I know you’re trustworthy.”

The brief flash of annoyance he felt surprised him. “Because Eli said so?”

“Well, he never actually said I could trust you. But he wouldn’t be friends with you if he didn’t trust you implicitly—Eli’s not the kind of man to waste time on liars and frauds.”

“So you accept Eli’s endorsement—rather than your own instincts?”

Laurel hesitated.

“No, don’t think too much.” Placing his elbows on the edge of the table, he steepled his hands and gazed at her over the top. “I want an instinctual response—not one vetted for kindness.”

“I do trust you.”

The expression in her eyes told him she’d astonished herself. Keeping his attention fixed on her, he demanded, “Why?”

“I don’t know.” She said it slowly, her gaze flickering away, then back to him as though drawn by some power she could not resist.

“It surprises you.” He made it a statement.

“Yes.” Again, she hesitated. Then she said in a rush. “I’ve never made friends easily—my family has always been enough.”

“And Eli.”

“And Eli,” she agreed. “But that was different.”

The sharp blade of envy that pierced Rakin was unexpected, and he thrust it away before the feeling could fester and turn to poisonous jealousy. “In what way?”

“We were the same age. He lived nearby while we were growing up.”

“You were being kind.”

“Maybe. At first. But the friendship was between equals—I got every bit as much out of it as Eli did. Remember, I didn’t have other close friends.”

He nodded his head. “I can understand that.”

“I suppose the reason I trust you is because I feel comfortable with you. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much.”

Pulling a face, he said, “I must be a clown.”

“No! You are anything but a clown.”

He’d been joking, trying to make her smile again. But her rapid rise to his defense made him realize that Laurel was concerned she might have offended him. Too kind for her own good. She could have no idea that his emotions had been forged in a crucible guaranteed to produce solid steel. If she had, no doubt she would not be nearly as comfortable in his company.

Nor would she be contemplating visiting Diyafa. Her comment about adding Lake Como to the places she wanted to visit probably meant her list included the destinations to which she wanted to travel. Las Vegas might only have been the start of it. He’d work on convincing her that Diyafa should be next on her list.

“It is true,” she was saying earnestly before he could question her about what other places were on her list. “I can’t remember when last I felt as lighthearted and carefree as I have today.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

Under the weight of his gaze, he watched the faint wash of color warm her cheeks.

Laurel dropped her gaze to the menu. “You know, I’ve no idea what to choose.”

Rakin’s mouth curved into a smile. “I’m going to have ice cream.”

“Ice cream?”

“Something cool in this weather. But you can’t go wrong with anything on the menu.”

“My meal was fabulous.”

“Every dish on the menu is inspired by places where Picasso lived in Spain and the South of France.”

His comment prompted Laurel to gaze at a Picasso painting on the nearest wall. “What did your mother paint?”

“She created huge abstract canvases. Mostly inspired by the desert landscape.” His father had hated them. The sheikh had wanted his wife to paint realistic portrayals of the Diyafan Desert. His mother had preferred broad sweeps of color that invited the viewer to put their own interpretation on the landscape.

“Do you paint, too?”

Rakin shook his head. “I studied business—although I will confess that I majored in classical studies in my undergraduate degree so I’m not a complete philistine.” A smile tugged at his mouth.

“Philistine?” She smiled back at him. “I never thought that for a moment. Why classical studies?”

The curve of her lips promised him untold delights. Rakin forced himself to glance up. “You can’t grow up in a place like Diyafa and not be aware of ancient history—but I also loved the old legends. Greek, Roman, Egyptian—Diyafa has some wonderful legends, too.”

“Which is your favorite legend?”

There was only one answer he could give. “In present company, I’d have to say the story of Daphne and Apollo.”

Laurel wrinkled her nose at him. “Why? Didn’t she get turned into a tree?”

“A laurel tree.”

Her eyes brightened with laughter. “You’re making that up.”

Rakin shook his head. “Apollo used the leaves to weave himself a wreath—and that’s how a laurel wreath became a symbol of victory.”

“Not much of a victory since the woman he loved had been turned into a tree.”

“And even hollower, when you consider that she felt nothing for him—she was fleeing his pursuit.”

“Poor Apollo.” She glanced at him through her lashes.

Heat blasted through him. And Rakin resisted the impulse to tell him that if she was any more skilled a flirt, every man in the world would be in mortal danger.

“Have you decided what you want to order?” he asked instead.

“Chocolate—rich chocolate. I’ll go with the restaurant’s recommendation. And then I want to gamble.”

Rakin couldn’t help grinning at her reckless, single-minded determination.

“I haven’t forgotten—we’ll gamble all night long.”

The hush that hung over the casino was broken from time to time by the clatter of chips and the muted exchange of voices as bets were placed. Silent waitresses glided past with trays of complimentary drinks. By invitation only, this was the domain of the rich, the famous … and the dedicated gamblers. And Laurel was growing to dread the sound of the chips being raked across the green baize.

Around the roulette table where she and Rakin had settled, several stacks of chips were growing to skyscraper heights. But, along with the thin man sitting opposite them and nursing a whisky with increasingly desperate eyes as his pile dwindled, Laurel was losing.

And her stomach had started to churn with disquiet. She’d lost at least five thousand dollars of Rakin’s money in the first ten minutes, and a fair bit of her own after she’d absolutely refused to accept more chips from him. What damage would a whole night’s gambling do to Rakin’s fortune—and her own? “I’m starting to think Grandfather was right,” she told Rakin in a low aside.

“Your Winthrop grandfather?”

Laurel nodded. “He considered gambling a curse.”

“One you hoped to break tonight?”

“Hmm.” She considered that. Had she believed that by winning on the tables she’d be proving that she could break the old taboo? Had she wanted to overturn—even by a small win—the curse of impoverishment that gambling, along with bad investments, had caused the Winthrops to suffer in the past? She wasn’t sure. “I don’t think my reasons were quite so inspired. I was probably more determined to try something that my family disapproved of—totally the wrong reason to do anything.”

Rakin chuckled, attracting a glare from the gambler losing across the table.

Leaning closer to him, she whispered, “But I’ve already lost far more than I intended of the chips you gave me—and what I added.” Laurel gestured to what remained of the stack beside her. “I’m seeing no evidence of any return.”

“Spoken like a cool-headed businesswoman.”

She slid him a searching glance. “I appear to share that trait with you, too—you haven’t even placed one bet yet.”

“I don’t gamble.”

“For religious reasons?”

“It’s bad business. I don’t like the odds—I prefer to put down money when I am confident of a healthy return.”

“Now who’s the cool-headed businessman?”

They exchanged smiles.

The croupier called for bets. Laurel hesitated, then shook her head.

Rakin touched her arm. “We’re disturbing the players. Time for us to move on, I think.”

At Rakin’s whisper, Laurel slid off the stool she’d been perched on, and picked up her purse with some relief. “So much for my grand plan to gamble all night.”

“You may discover your second wind after you’ve had a breather.”

“I doubt it.” She flicked him a wan smile. “What I have discovered is how fast one can lose money on the tables. I never understood how easy it is.” And it had given her some sympathy for the black-sheep Winthrop.

Once out of the stilted silence of the exclusive casino, the bustling, busy vibe of Vegas was back with vengeance. Slot machines chimed all around them, their colorful displays flashing brightly. The sick sensation in Laurel’s stomach started to subside.

They found an alcove in the lounge, and Laurel sank onto a plush seat. Rakin gave an order to a cocktail waitress, then joined her on the wide cushion.

“I think my grandfather would’ve approved of you.”

“The same grandfather who brokered your mother’s marriage to your father?”

Laurel nodded. “The very same.”

“And why do you think he would have approved of me?”

“According to my mother, he did his very best to repair the Winthrop family fortune in any way he could before he hit on the idea of the marriage to a Kincaid. It was an absolute rule in my grandfather’s house that none of his children were allowed to gamble. Mom said that he was furious when his eldest brother lost Captain’s Watch after betting on the horses.”

“Captain’s Watch?”

“The Winthrop family beach house.” It had been in the family since the eighteen hundreds. “Grandfather Winthrop paid Dad a visit shortly after Mom and Dad were married—and Dad agreed to do his best to buy it back. I believe it wasn’t easy, and it cost him a small fortune. But it was worth every cent.” Laurel could visualize the view from the wide windows of the beach house out to the sea. When her father’s will was read, Laurel discovered that her father had known exactly how much she loved the beach house: he’d left it to her in his will. “We spent endless summer vacations there. It’s one of my favorite places.”

“Then you must share it with me one day.”

Before Laurel could respond, the waitress returned with a glass of champagne and a frosted cola on a silver tray.

Laurel eyed the glass, then slid Rakin an amused glance. “You’re not intending to get me tipsy, are you?”

Rakin looked a little uncomfortable, and she instantly regretted teasing him.

“No, no,” he denied as he signed for the drinks. “I wanted to remind you that despite your losses on the roulette table, today is all about fun—it’s meant to be a time for new experiences. I wouldn’t deliberately set out to get you drunk.”

Laurel touched his arm.

“Sorry, that was a joke. It was in very bad taste. Of course I don’t believe you’re trying to get me tipsy. Why would you?”

Laurel’s perception was chillingly acute, Rakin decided. He’d hoped a couple of glasses of champagne would make her more malleable.

She leaned forward, and the movement caused light to shimmer across the bare skin above the strapless black gown. It took willpower not to let his eyes linger on the smooth flesh, the kind of willpower he’d been practicing all night.

“Thank you so much for taking the time to come with me to Vegas,” she was saying, and he was conscious of the feather-light caress of her fingers against his jacket. “I am having fun.”

Ignoring the urge to stroke that pearlescent skin, Rakin reminded himself fiercely that this wasn’t a date—it was a business meeting. And it was past time he put his proposal to her. “Las Vegas has met your expectations?”

She lifted her hand, and took a small sip of the bubbling wine, then set the glass down. She smiled warmly at him. “It’s been much better! And that makes me appreciate your company all the more. I do realize you’re a busy man—and you’re getting nothing out of this.”

He hesitated.

The pause stretched too long, and her smile froze.

“Actually there is something I want to ask of you,” he murmured.

Wariness dulled the sparkle in her emerald eyes. “You want something from me.”

Rakin hesitated, searching for the right words.

“Is it sex?”

He blinked. Sex? Had he betrayed himself moments ago?

“Is that why you invited me to Vegas? Was that all that today was about?” she accused scooting away along the seat. “Softening me up to get me into bed?”

He couldn’t deny that he’d been purposely softening her up. Hell, he’d wanted her to be receptive. But not for … sex.

“I thought you were different.”

Laurel was already on her feet, gathering up her purse. In a moment she was going to walk away and leave him sitting here like a fool. And the opportunity would be gone.

“Not sex,” he said quickly.

But she didn’t halt.

“Laurel … don’t go!” He reached forward and caught her hand. Her fingers were stiff with outrage. Before she could yank her fingers free and storm away, he said, “Sex is not what I’m after. Sit down. Listen to my proposition—it has advantages for your family.”

Her fingers stopped wriggling. “A business proposition?”

“Yes.” Rakin knew it was now or never. “I want you to marry me.”

“What?”

Laurel couldn’t believe she’d heard Rakin right.

Shocked, she sank back onto the padded cushions in the recesses of the alcove and stared at the stark figure in the formal suit, his shirt pristine white and collar crisp and crease-free. A beautifully knotted narrow tie completed the picture.

He didn’t look insane.

He looked dark, intense … and utterly gorgeous. Her heart skipped a beat. Scanning his face she took in the taut cheekbones, the lack of humor in his eyes. There were no signs of the fun companion who’d entertained her all day long.

“You’re serious.”

“Completely.” Challenge glinted in that enigmatic gaze as he let her fingers go.

Giving a light, incredulous laugh, she spread her hands. “I can’t marry a man I hardly know.”

He tilted his head back against the high, padded back of the booth, and the gaze that locked with hers held raw intensity. “Laurel, there’s nothing to fear. I am a businessman—utterly respectable and a little boring.”

She didn’t fear him. But to take a risk and marry a man she barely knew … the grandson of a Middle Eastern prince? Laurel wasn’t so sure about the wisdom. “You’re not boring,” she said at last.

The warmth that seeped into the dark eyes caused a funny stir deep in her chest.

“Does that mean you will agree to marry me?” he asked softly.

Tipping her head to one side, Laurel tried to ignore the way her heart had rolled over and considered him. “You don’t even mention love.”

“So you want love? A proposal wrapped up in sweet words? Should I kneel on one knee before you?”

She shook her head slowly. “If I still dreamed of that kind of love I would’ve snatched the bouquet that Kara tossed at me.”

Rakin gave her a slow, appreciative smile. “You’re a realist. We haven’t known each other long at all … and although I would like to think we’ve discovered much in common, I wouldn’t insult your intelligence by talking of love so soon.”

“Thank you—I think.”

She was still trying to make sense of his bombshell proposal. He’d said that her family would benefit from the proposition. But what was in it for him? Her mind leapt from one scenario to the next. But none of them made any sense.

“You’ve asked me to marry you, but I still have no idea why.”

The smile still lurked in his eyes. “You’re a very beautiful woman, you must know that.”

She could sense that he was prevaricating, even as she countered, “Beauty doesn’t guarantee that a marriage will succeed—you only need to look at my mother’s marriage to know that. You implied you were putting a business proposition to me—I didn’t expect a marriage proposal.”

“My marriage proposal is a business proposition.”

Laurel started to laugh.

He sat forward, and his knee pressed against hers. “Believe me, it’s not as crazy as it sounds. My grandfather has been threatening to change his will and disinherit me for years for not forming an alliance with the various women he has picked out for me—each time I have ignored his threats, because he is an irascible old man with plenty of life still left in him. He will cheat death for a while yet. But recently the threats have intensified. He no longer merely threatens to disinherit me on his death—now he has vowed he will force the board to vote me out as CEO. And, not satisfied with that, he will also transfer the controlling stocks he holds in the Abdellah business empire to my cousin. All this will be done if I am not married by my thirty-sixth birthday. It is no longer a matter of waiting until he dies to find out whether he has made good on his threats—he intends to disenfranchise me within the next year.”

Rakin’s face was a study in frustration.

“I have no intention of being robbed of the company. I have spent many hours of my life working to expand the Gifts of Gold division until it has become a first-class supplier of soft furnishings and luxury linens.”

She knew from listening to Eli rave about his friend that every word Rakin spoke was true. He’d built up a network of clients across the finest hotel chains and resorts in the world, including Eli’s.

“So I need a wife.”

At that, Laurel couldn’t help being conscious of the solid weight of his leg resting against hers. Even through his trousers and the sheer stockings that she wore, she could feel the warmth of his flesh. But she didn’t shift away. “Will your grandfather really go through with such a pointless threat? Surely it would harm the family as much as you?”

“It’s not pointless to him. He’s a proud man—and he’s accustomed to having things his way. Right now he doesn’t care about profits. He wants me to marry, and this is the way he intends to bend me to his will.”

“Who will run the company if he wrests control from you?”

“Ah, my grandfather already has that sorted out. The cousin to whom he is transferring the controlling stocks on my thirty-sixth birthday will be ushered in as the new CEO of Gifts of Gold. None of the board would dare act against my grandfather’s orders.”

“This cousin is married?”

“He is engaged—to a woman my grandfather handpicked for him.” Rakin’s lip curled up.

Understanding dawned. “You and your cousin don’t see eye to eye?”

The sharp incline of his head confirmed her suspicion. “Zafar hates me. He would destroy me if he could, and I would die before I allowed Zafar to take this from me … so I will be married first.”

“Wouldn’t it be more advantageous for you also to marry a woman your grandfather had chosen for you?”

Rakin’s eyebrows drew together, giving him a formidable air. “That would give him too much power over me.” The frown relaxed. “Besides, even if he scoured the whole earth, my grandfather could find no better candidate than you.”

Laurel could feel her cheeks heating. “That is shameless flattery!”

“Not at all. You are beautiful and presentable. You are well connected … and incredibly gracious.” Leaning farther forward he captured one of her hands. “And, to make sure you are equally happy, I will also make sure that our marriage will lead to benefits for The Kincaid Group.”

Laurel jerked upright at his touch. “What kind of benefits?”

He had her.

Rakin was certain of it. She was going to agree to marry him—exactly as he’d hoped. He let her hand go and sat back. Not far away he could hear the chiming of a slot machine announcing a winner, the whoops of celebration that followed.

He focused on the woman beside him, the woman he was determined to have as his wife. “There are many exporters and importers in Diyafa—they rely on shipping containers to transport their products around the world. I will see to it that they are introduced to your family’s business. I will do everything I can to expand the profile of The Kincaid Group within my circle.”

“You wouldn’t expect me to give up my role in the company?”

Laurel was even starting to speak as though their marriage was a fait accompli. Satisfaction spread through Rakin. “Our marriage would be temporary—such a drastic sacrifice would not be required.”

“How temporary?”

Rakin shrugged, impatient with her insistence. “Once we are married, my grandfather will sign the stocks over to me, I will have control of the company … and you will be free to leave—to return to Charleston, and your family, for good.”

She shifted to the edge of the seat, and the rogue tendril of hair fell forward. She brushed it back impatiently, and the pendant lights illuminating the alcove turned her diamond drop earrings to a cascade of sparkles. “But you would expect me to live in Diyafa, right?”

He nodded and crossed one leg over the other, keeping his pose deliberately casual, taking care not to spook her. A few minutes more … that was all it was going to take. “Otherwise my grandfather would not accept that our marriage was legitimate—and I cannot afford him to doubt the veracity of our union. But there would be compensations for living in Diyafa for part of the year. I travel a lot—and I’d expect you to be by my side. I make regular business trips to the United States, so you would see plenty of your family. You could continue doing public relations work for your family’s business. I would never stop you. The technology in Diyafa is groundbreaking; you could work there with everything at your fingertips. I travel to many countries, too. Think about it, you would be able to work through that list of yours.”

“What do you know about my List?” Laurel was staring at him, green eyes wide with shock.

He tried to keep the smugness out of his smile. It hadn’t taken him long to fathom what was on her list. “It’s obvious that you have a list of places you want to travel to. I know Vegas is on there for certain, you mentioned adding Lake Como—and you may even have considered Diyafa.”

Rakin got the feeling she was debating something.

He certainly couldn’t afford for her to have second thoughts now.

“Laurel, I will take you everywhere you wish to travel. We would visit the Taj Mahal, I would take you to the Tower of London. You could sip French champagne beside the Seine in the spring time. You will never regret the adventures you will experience.”

The doubt vanished and her expression filled with yearning. “That’s not fair. You’re chipping away at my weakest point.”

Of course, he knew that. For someone who had confessed to never having traveled much and always wanted to, he was offering the dream of a lifetime.

“It’s not a weakness to have a dream.”

There was an expression in her eyes that he did not recognize. “You’re offering to fulfill my dream?”

He didn’t need her romanticizing him. He was, after all, not the love of her life that his mother had thought his father to be. He wanted no misunderstandings. He was, after all, only a man. “It’s not one-sided. Don’t forget that I will get what I need, too.”

“So this will be a win-win deal?”

She understood! He couldn’t have chosen better if he’d spent the whole year searching for the perfect wife.

“Exactly,” he purred. The dazzling smile Rakin directed at her was filled with triumph. “Why not accept my proposition?”

Proposition.

The word dragged Laurel back to what Rakin was offering: a business deal … not the dream of a lifetime.

Restlessness flooded her, and she leapt to her feet. “I think I’ve found my second wind. Let’s see if I can break that Winthrop curse.”

Rakin rose more slowly and blocked her escape. “You want to gamble more? Now?”

She shot him a look that could never be described as flirtatious. He was the cause of this … this turbulence that was turning her inside out. “You’re asking me to take the gamble of a lifetime by marrying you—what difference is a few minutes going to make?”

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Take all the time you need.” The look he gave her was full of masculine confusion as he stepped away so that she could pass. “But it’s hardly for a lifetime. It’s not a permanent arrangement.”

But Laurel didn’t move past him. “I want a sign.”

“A sign?” The confusion evaporated, leaving frustration clouding his eyes. “What kind of sign?”

“That marrying you is the right thing to do.”

“And what would you consider a good sign?”

Laurel thought about it for a moment. “Winning back the money I lost on the roulette tables—losing it was very bad luck.”

“But your family never wins.” Rakin looked fit to burst.

A wave of amusement swept Laurel along as she headed for the gambling area. Now perhaps he felt as off-balance as she did. Over her shoulder, she tossed, “I’m going to stick to the slot machines this time. So chances are if I do win it would be an excellent omen.”

Rakin made a peculiar sound.

Laurel turned, in time to see him produce a coin from his pocket.

“Heads or tails?” he demanded.

The absurdity of it struck her as she came to a stop. “You’re asking me to make what might be one of the biggest decisions of my life on the flip of a coin?”

“You’re about to risk it on a machine that pays pittances on pairs of cherries. I prefer these odds,” he said grimly.

“I prefer the cherries.”

He didn’t even smile.

“You’ve got no intention of saying ‘yes’ to my proposal, have you?”

Laurel didn’t answer at once. To be honest, she was confused—Rakin had turned her world upside down with his proposal. It was far more disorientating than the roller coasters they’d shared earlier. Or the flashing lights and loud chimes of the nearby slot machines.

Part of her wanted to leap in and say yes.

No doubt about it, marriage to Rakin would be an adventure. A chance to experience things she wouldn’t otherwise. It certainly made good business sense. The Kincaid Group couldn’t afford to turn away opportunities for new business—particularly not with Jack Sinclair still causing all kinds of mayhem.

But the more cautious side of her, the old carefully and conservatively raised Laurel Kincaid, warned that she didn’t know Rakin terribly well, that this was an extremely risky proposition, one she should avoid at all costs.

All reason evaporated when he strode up to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I should’ve asked you to marry me back on the balcony last night—I’m starting to think you might have been more likely to say yes back during the wedding.”

His touch against her bare skin was … disturbing. Laurel struggled to think. At last she shook her head slowly. “You were a stranger then, I know you so much better now.”

She realized it was true.

In the cocoon formed by his arms, for her benefit as much as his, she ticked off on her fingers what she’d learned. “One, you’re fun to be with—I’ve never laughed so much in my life as I did today. Two, you’re kind—you held my hand when you thought I might be scared that first time on the roller coaster. Three, you love the world around us—I discovered that at the top of the Eiffel Tower. Four, you’re good with children—”

“You can’t possibly know that!”

His hands dropped away from her shoulders, and her flesh felt cool where, an instant before, his fingers had rested.

“I do,” she insisted. “You patiently humored Flynn at the wedding.”

“Then marry me!”

His eyes drilled down into hers.

“Only if I win.”

She swung away. From her purse she extracted a roll of coins. Tearing the wrapper with the casino logo from the coins, she fed them into the first slot machine she came to and hit the play button.

The patterns spun crazily.

When they came to rest, nothing lined up.

Not even a pair of cherries.

The same thing happened on the next play.

Laurel’s heart felt hollow. It was ridiculous to feel so flat, like a loser, simply because she couldn’t even hit the cherries.

Get a life….

She hadn’t felt this flatness earlier. She and Rakin had connected; they’d enjoyed each other’s company. The day had been filled with joy. Her intuition told her they’d make a great temporary team—The Kincaid Group would benefit and so would Gifts of Gold.

It wouldn’t be crazy to marry him—she liked him.

And the man didn’t even gamble.

She stared at the rows lined with pictures and numbers. What was she doing? Rakin was right: she didn’t need some arbitrary sign. This was a solid business decision. It made perfect, logical sense to accept his proposal.

She didn’t need to prove that she could win.

Laurel knew she was going to say yes.

She hit the play button for the last time, and turned to give him the answer he was waiting for.

The cacophony of bells and electronic chimes rising in a hysterical crescendo caused her to whip around to stare at the slot machine.

In disbelief she read the flashing letters instructing her to call an attendant.

“The lights are flashing,” she said, as numbness invaded her. “I’ve won.”

Rakin was laughing.

“I’ve won,” she said again.

But Rakin wasn’t looking at the crazy, psychedelic fireworks above the slot machine. He was coming toward her his arms outstretched. “Looks like you’ve broken the Winthrop curse. You’ve hit the jackpot.”

Her eyes lifted to the amount in white lights at the top: $22,222. It wasn’t a fortune, but it more than covered her earlier losses. And it was definitely a jackpot. “Two must be my lucky number.”

Then she was being swept off her feet into Rakin’s arms. He spun her around as colors flashed crazily around her. By the time he set her down, the numbness was starting to recede as feeling returned … and with it, euphoria.

She grinned up at him. “I feel …” How best to describe it? “… lucky.”

“We’ll be lucky together.” Rakin’s gaze blazed into hers. “We will be married tomorrow.”

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