his palm, the taut bud of her nipple sizzling beneath that delicious abrasion.
She was floating in a world of pure sensation, the soft, warm waters of the Caribbean lapping around her part of the magic of his caresses. But suddenly her foot touched the sandy bottom, her toes grazing against a jagged edge of broken coral, and the sharp sting brought her abruptly to her senses.
Shocked by her own wantonness, she pulled back out of his arms, suddenly aware that he had eased the strap of her swimsuit down over her shoulder, almost exposing the naked curve of her breast. ‘Wh… What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded fiercely, fumbling to pull the awkward wet Lycra back up again.
‘You don’t know?’ His sardonic laughter taunted her as he shook his head in mocking disbelief. ‘I’d heard you were a mite frostbitten, but I’m sure you must have been kissed at least a couple of times before.’
She had struck out at him before she had formed the conscious thought in her brain, but he was much too quick for her, catching her wrists as she fought against him, simply amused by her fury.
‘Temper…!’ he chided, holding her off with ease. ‘You’re really blowing your image this morning.’
Natasha snatched her hands away from him, splashing back into the water. It was impossible to retreat with any semblance of dignity, half-wading half-swimming up to the beach, but she just wanted to get away as quickly as possible—away from those mocking, mesmerising eyes, away from that taunting smile. As soon as she reached the shallows she stood up, striding across the soft sand towards the tree-shaded path, snatching up her book and her towel as she passed.
‘No more bets now, please, ladies and gentlemen.’ Natasha cast a cool glance along the table to check that all the players were ready, and then set the roulette wheel spinning, dropping in the silver ball with a deft hand so that it whirled and danced in the bowl, clattering in and out of the dish until at last it settled. ‘Fifteen, black,’ she announced, swinging out her rake to pull in the losing chips and deftly counting out to the winners.
‘Trying a change of scenery tonight?’ a familiar, faintly mocking voice murmured close behind her.
A hot little prickle of awareness ran down her spine, but she disdainfully refused to even turn her head. ‘I frequently run a roulette table,’ she countered in voice of icy dignity.
‘Ah, well—perhaps I’ll have better luck if I change my game,’ Hugh responded with that air of amiable good humour that was beginning to seriously annoy her, strolling round to take a stool that had just been vacated right opposite her position.
Natasha kept her professional smile pinned firmly in place—she wasn’t going to let Hugh Garratt see that she was the slightest bit bothered whether or not he joined her table. But she couldn’t quite prevent her eyes from slanting in his direction—snatching them swiftly away again as his glance caught hers. And he smiled that idiotic smile that would fool absolutely no one that he was as stupid as he was trying to make people believe he was.
‘No more bets now, please.’ She was glad of the familiar routines of the game to anchor her concentration. ‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen—no more bets now.’
Hugh had put his chips on red—and it came up black. Natasha refused to allow herself to glance across the table as she raked in his chips. He was up to something—she was quite sure of it. Only a sucker would play even-money bets on a table with a double zero. But quite what he was up to she hadn’t yet worked out.
He stayed at the table for about half an hour, and lost maybe a couple of thousand dollars, betting with a reckless good humour that had all the table laughing with him. That drew others to see what all the jollification was about, making the table the centre of attraction of the whole room.
‘This time it’s got to be the red!’ he insisted, taking another large swig from the whisky tumbler he was waving around ostentatiously—though Natasha had noticed that, for all he appeared to be drinking from it, the level seemed to be remaining pretty much the same. ‘It can’t come up black five times in a row!’
Darlene was back, anchoring herself firmly to his side and fluttering her false eyelashes up at him. ‘Well, if you’re betting on the red, my money’s on the black,’ she giggled. ‘Don’t you mind losing all that money?’
‘Ah, you have to hold on and wait for your luck to change,’ he asserted cheerfully. ‘It’s got to happen—any minute now.’
‘Well, I won’t hold my breath.’
‘Heartless wench.’ He slipped his arm around her waist, smiling that wicked smile. ‘Stick around and watch for the fireworks.’
‘Last bets now, please,’ Natasha rapped out, startled by the cutting edge in her own voice. ‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,’ she added more smoothly, flashing her cool smile. ‘Last bets, please.’
Lester had wandered over to see what was causing all the excitement, and watched approvingly as Hugh carelessly tossed a pile of chips onto the red diamond.
It wasn’t even a truly evens bet since along with the American wheel Lester had introduced the American rule—if the spin came up on the zero of double zero, the player lost the whole stake—instead of the English system of returning half. Natasha had argued vociferously against its introduction—it had seemed to her that the house advantage on the roulette table was already quite sufficient. But, as Lester had pointedly reminded her, most of the time the punters didn’t even seem to notice.
Hugh certainly didn’t seem to care. Apparently half drunk, he was laughing rather too loudly, his arm draped casually around Darlene’s shoulders as if he needed her to prop him up. ‘Come on, Lady Luck,’ he pleaded, playing out the role of the reckless gambler from some cheap B movie. ‘Spare me just one of your sweet smiles tonight.’
Natasha did her very best to ignore him. If he was the sort who was attracted to Darlene’s amply displayed charms, she wasn’t remotely interested in him.
Not that she would have been interested anyway. So far as she was concerned, any man who came in through the doors of the casino carried a warning sign that spelled TROUBLE in giant red letters. No sensible woman would want to get involved with a gambler—even one that was winning.
But then across the table those wicked shark-grey eyes caught hers—and the glitter in them owed absolutely nothing to alcohol. Her heart gave a sudden thud. She was right—he was faking.
Was she the only person around the table who was aware of the charade? It seemed so—everyone else was laughing, enjoying the foolery. But why was he doing it? Last night she had wondered if he was working with a partner, drawing all the attention to himself while someone else worked a scam at one of the other tables. But her careful checking of all the surveillance videos had revealed nothing. So what was his game…?
He had held her gaze for much longer than she had intended, and she felt herself growing strangely warm, the memory of the way he had kissed her creeping into her mind, the way that strong, sensitive hand had caressed her breast… She drew in a long, deep breath, struggling to steady the beating of her own heart, and returned him the sort of cool, level look which would put most men very firmly in their place.
‘Last bets now, please, ladies and gentlemen.’ Damn—she had already said that.
Hugh lost yet again, and to Natasha’s relief Lord Neville came over and demanded his attention, dragging
