The Spanish Millionaire's Runaway Bride

Except she’d better not call him Marco Polo again. Marco Polo wasn’t even Spanish.

The group dispersed. Morgan took a seat at the last slot machine. She pulled her comp card out of her jeans pocket, inserted it into the poker machine and started playing.

Riccardo rose, tossed a few bills on the bar table and ambled over to her. He sat on the seat of the empty machine beside hers. “So... Our flight leaves in an hour and a half. I know it’s a short ride to the airport, but we do have to go through security.”

“Your flight leaves in an hour and a half.”

“Our flight. You’re coming with me. You’re too nice of a woman to leave your groom upset and wondering what the hell happened.”

“I seriously doubt Charles is upset. We’d had a disagreement the night before. He thought he’d talked me out of being angry. But I’d never been angry. I was hurt. Which means, once again, he didn’t hear what I was saying. Only what he wanted to hear. When I get home, he’ll have a ten-point plan for how we can fix things. And he doesn’t even really know what’s wrong. I have twelve days until I have to be back and I’m taking them.”

He wanted to argue, but saw her point. Something had caused her to run from her own wedding. But it sounded like Charles didn’t care to talk it through. All he wanted was to fix things. That wasn’t very romantic. Or sensitive. Or even nice.

He hated having to drag her back to that, but all he had was her version of things. He knew what it was like to be the brokenhearted groom, totally confused—

And, once again, he was thinking about his own situation, which was entirely different and completely irrelevant. If he was going to take Morgan Monroe home, perhaps he would have to get her to talk about whatever it was that had hurt her and caused her to bolt, and stop thinking about Cicely. Then Morgan would feel better about returning to Lake Justice, and Mitch wouldn’t come home from his honeymoon to find his biggest client gone—and becoming their competition.

He leaned his elbow on the poker machine and studied her. When he’d first seen her, she’d seemed out of place. But really, in her jeans and T-shirt, with her long hair casual, she looked like the average slot player on a Monday afternoon.

He nodded at her machine. “You like poker?”

She peeked over at him, her blue eyes a pretty contrast to the tortoiseshell glasses. “To be honest, I’m just learning to play.”

“That would explain why you threw away the chance for a straight flush.”

“Odds are I’m not going to get it.”

He bobbed his head in a sort of agreement. “Yeah, but when the machine gives you four cards in a row in the same suit and you have two open ends, your odds go up.”

“Odds are odds.”

“What are you? An accountant?”

She glanced over at him. “Yes.”

He remembered the little stock seminar and felt like an idiot for not realizing that. He knew she was educated but he’d never thought a society girl would pick such a practical major. Her dad only talked about her charities. He’d made her sound like a sort of helpless Southern belle though they lived in upstate New York.

“You’re like a CPA?”

“I am a CPA.”

Her machine gurgled the music of a lost game and she hit a few buttons to make her bets and start the next game. Cards appeared on the screen. She threw away two twos.

His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

“Two twos don’t pay out.”

“No. But three of a kind does. So does two pair. Starting off with two twos you have a good chance of getting another two or another pair and both of those hands pay.”

“Chump change.”

He laughed. “What?”

“I want to win. I don’t just want to keep playing.”

That was a weird strategy if ever he’d heard one. And he’d certainly heard his share in Monaco. “Who taught you that?”

“The guy who was sitting beside me on Sunday night.”

“He was a professional gambler?”

“No. He manages a couple fast-food restaurants.”

“And you thought this made him a genius poker player?”

She tossed her hands in the air. “Hell if I know.”

He scooted over to get closer to her. He’d take this opportunity to become her friend and eventually she’d spill the story. He could sympathize and in a few minutes they’d be in his rental, heading for the airport.

“Okay, look.” He pointed at the ranking of hands. “See this list here? This is what pays out and how many points.”

“I know that.”

“If you have a pattern that you use all the time, the machine will become accustomed to it and use that against you.”

Her pale blue eyes narrowed.

“If you only go for what seems like a sure thing, it will set you up so that you keep getting those opportunities, then never give you the cards you need to make the hands, so that you lose all your money.”

“Oh.” She thought about that a second. “I should shake it up? Not play the same way all the time.”

“Exactly. But on another trip.” Now that they were friends, or at least friendly, they could talk about her wedding in the car. “Right now, we need to get you home.”

She looked over at him. “We have to leave this very second? What’s a few more hands going to hurt? I just want to try out what you told me.”

He’d expected a bit of a protest. Maybe an argument. But getting her to think about her fiancé must have caused it to sink in that she had to take responsibility for what she’d done. She hadn’t even blinked when he mentioned leaving.

He caught her gaze and saw a muddle of emotions in her blue eyes. Sincerity? Regret? Or maybe fear? She wasn’t exactly returning to a celebration.

A twinge of guilt rippled through him for pushing her. The least he could do was teach her some strategies.

“Okay. A few hands.”

“And you’ll show me what to do?”

“Sure.”

He didn’t know how it happened, but a couple of hands turned into forty minutes of playing, which put them behind the eight ball. Though she’d seemed to have had a good time and was definitely a quick study, the fun had to end now.

“Okay. That’s it now. Time to go.”

She hit the button to cash out and got the little slip that told her she had thirty-eight dollars coming.

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Thirty-eight dollars.” She caught his gaze. “Hardly seems worth it.”

“Most people who gamble enjoy the game.”

“Really? Because I’ve seen video poker games that are handheld. Our cook, Martha, has a ton of them. It’s how she fritters away time waiting for doctor appointments or bread to rise.”

He shrugged. “People enjoy the game.”

“Yes, but she doesn’t spend money playing. She owns her handheld machines and can enjoy anytime she wants.”

He sighed.

“If it’s all about playing a game, enjoying a game, why not just buy the game? Why involve betting?”

“Are you trying to ruin Vegas for me?”

She laughed. “No. I mean, come on. If playing the game is the attraction and not gambling, why not just use a handheld poker game?”

This time his sigh was eloquent. “Do not ruin Vegas for me.”

“I’m not ruining it. I’m just pointing out that your argument doesn’t hold water.”

“You’re a stickler for logic.” And obviously so was her fiancé. Anybody who’d have a ten-point plan to fix their canceled wedding had to be logical. Was that how they’d ended up together? Two people who were so much the same it seemed inevitable that they get married?

“I am a stickler for logic. So sway me. Why do you really come to casinos?”

He looked into her eyes again and saw the quiet remnants of pain, even though she was very good at pretending she was fine. If talking about himself made her comfortable, calm enough that she’d be compliant through their trip, then so be it.

He shrugged. “I come to Vegas for the people, the crowds, the noise, the excitement.” He couldn’t stop a smile. “You never know who you’re going to meet here. You can sit beside a sheikh at a blackjack table and end up a guest at a palace. Or meet the daughter of a rock star and end up backstage at a concert.”

“Interesting.”

She glanced around. The way her eyes shifted, he could tell she was seeing the place from a new perspective. If only for a few seconds, her sadness lifted.

“It’s about people for you.”

“Yes.” It was one thing to help her get comfortable, quite another to let this conversation derail his plans. He’d be happy to discuss anything she wanted, just not now. He pointed to the exit. “But we’ll talk about it on the way to the airport or on the plane.”

She slid off her chair. “I have to pack.”

“You have five minutes! I’m serious. Five. I’ll get the car.”

She nodded.

He started walking away but turned back. “And, honestly, I have no idea why you’d want these clothes. If I were you, I’d leave them.”

She laughed.

A strange sensation invaded his chest. Even in those big glasses, she was incredibly beautiful. Add adorably logical and laughing—

He yanked himself back from the feeling that almost clicked into place. Attraction. He wasn’t worried that he’d fall for her. His heart had been sufficiently hardened by Cicely. So the pullback was quick, easy, painless. Especially given that Morgan had also publicly dumped some poor guy.

He headed out to the valet. When the kid returned with his rental car, he gave him a good tip for being speedy. He slid behind the steering wheel and locked his gaze on the door. The first five minutes had already passed, so when a second five minutes ticked off the clock he got nervous. The third five minutes had him slapping the steering wheel. She’d ditched him.

He shoved open his door, apologized to the valet for needing a few more minutes and raced into the lobby, hoping to see her checking out at the registration desk. But the place was quiet.

The concierge slipped away from his station and ambled up to him. “Your friend left.”

He spun to face the short, bald man. “What?”

“She checked out, rolled her suitcase through the casino—not the front door—and slipped out of one of the back exits.” He cleared his throat. “I probably shouldn’t have watched her, but it’s kind of hard not to see a beautiful woman rolling an ugly black suitcase through the casino.”

Riccardo pressed his fingertips into his forehead. He’d been duped. And in the most obvious, simple way. She’d used up all their time, gotten him to trust her and just walked away.

He was an idiot.

No. He had trusted her.

Hadn’t he told himself he should never again trust a pretty girl?

* * *

Morgan entered her new room at the hotel right beside Midnight Sins. She felt just a teeny bit bad for deceiving the handsome Spanish guy. Not just because her dad had made him a pawn in a game that didn’t have to be a game—she only wanted her twelve days to think about what to say, and how to handle him when she went home—but also because he was interesting. And fun. In a weird way, it was nice having someone so curious about her, even if it he was only asking her questions to figure out how to get her on the plane with him.

She took a shower, fixed her hair and slid into a slinky black dress she’d bought at one of the many shops in Midnight Sins. She wasn’t here to have fun, but she didn’t intend to sit in her room and mope, either. She’d spent her entire life semisheltered. She’d had a path at university. She’d had a path with Charles. And her dad had had too big of a hand in creating those paths. For the next twelve days, she did not want a path. She just wanted to live. Breathe. And eventually figure out an explanation for running that would appease the man who’d spent his life first fighting in wars and then preventing them.

Right now, living meant getting a salad, maybe having a gin and tonic and going to a show.

She grabbed her small beaded evening bag and left her room. Though she’d never been to Vegas before, she’d happily discovered that once she checked in to a hotel, she didn’t need to leave for anything. She could sleep there, gamble there, eat there, buy a bathing suit in a shop and sunbathe at the hotel pool. She would be right under Handsome Spanish Guy’s nose and he would never find her because he’d have to check hundreds of hotels. And then he’d have to find someone willing to tell him she was a guest.

The odds were absolutely in her favor.

Happy, she took the regular elevator to the first floor then a designated elevator to the rooftop restaurant, where she had a reservation.

The maître d’ greeted her effusively and led her to the private table in the corner. With its walls of windows, the restaurant provided a view of Las Vegas that astounded her. She sat, smiled at the maître d’ and took her menu. A minute later she gave her drink order to a friendly waiter and he left her alone to decide what she wanted to eat. She should have at least glanced at her food choices, but the view from forty stories up was too captivating. Lights and color twinkled silently below. Beyond the city, the desert was so dark she swore the world ended at the city limits.

The blackness in the window was interrupted by a strip of white. Something shiny winked. She saw the reflection of a hand.

She spun around and there was Handsome Spanish Guy. The man who wanted to take her home.

“Who are you anyway?”

“Riccardo Ochoa.” He pointed at the seat across from her. “May I join you?”

She tossed her hands in despair. “No! What part of ‘I’m trying to get some peace and quiet’ do you not understand?”

“Well, most of it—since I come to Vegas to meet people and have fun.”

“I came here to rest my brain. I know I have to go home and face all of this but I just want a breather.”

He sighed, pulled out the chair opposite her and sat. “You are not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

“Why do you care?” She sighed. “Look. Whatever my dad is paying you, I’ll double it.”

“He’s not paying me. He’s a client of my cousin’s firm.” He made a quick signal to summon the waiter and ordered a Scotch.

When the waiter left, she said, “And my dad threatened to walk if you didn’t bring me home.”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I hate to disappoint you but if you’re counting on taking me home to keep him as a client you’re going to lose him.”

“Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I’ve never failed on a mission. Never. When I promised to return you to Lake Justice, you were as good as home.”

She shook her head. “So arrogant.”

He laughed but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “Sweetheart, I’m Spanish. We invented arrogant.”

“It must have really hurt your pride that I lost you.” She frowned. “How did you find me so quickly?”

His Scotch came with the drink she had ordered. He took a long swallow. “Your credit card.”

“My credit card?”

“Your dad got you that card when you were at university, right?”

“Yes, but I took it over. I pay the bill.”

“He still has the number and his name is on the account. Yesterday, he realized he could log in online. Now, every time you use it, he sees where you are.”

She slapped her evening bag on the white linen tablecloth. “Damn it.” She’d been so stressed out, she’d completely forgotten that.

“You’re not getting away from me.” He smiled. “Unless you have another card.”

“I don’t.” She sighed. “Well, I do, but my dad’s staff got me that one, too.” She drank her gin and tonic in one long gulp, thinking through her options, which, right at this moment, stunk.

“Sort of a little too attached to Daddy, maybe?”

She rose. “That’s actually the point.”

No matter what hotel she checked in to, her dad would know her location from the charge record. No matter where she flew, same deal. She could rent a car, but that would be on a card, too, and even if she drove a hundred miles away, every time she stopped for gas her dad would know where she was.

She started toward the restaurant door.

Riccardo jumped up. “Really? We’re going to play this game?”

He pulled a few bills from his pocket and tossed them on the table. When he caught up to her at the elevator, he said, “There’s nowhere for you to go. You’re trapped.”

Oh, she knew that better than anybody else.

She cast him a sideways glance. As long as her dad knew where she was, there would be someone coming after her. If this guy failed, her father would just send somebody else.

She’d already fooled Riccardo Ochoa once. She liked her odds with fooling him again. And she had a plan. She and her mom had spent many a week in Chicago shopping. She could think things through there just as well as in Vegas. She’d never get Riccardo to fly her to Chicago. But after a bit of time together, she might be able to convince him to drive her there. And she had just the way to do it.

“Do you have a rental?”

“Yes. But I’ll be getting rid of it at the airport.”

She turned, facing him. His gaze rippled from her bare shoulders, past the shimmery sequins of the bodice of her dress to the hem where her skirt stopped midthigh.

The quick look was as intimate as a caress. A light flickered in his dark eyes. She would bet if this guy was interested in her romantically, there wouldn’t be a dull moment. Their summer vacation wouldn’t be a trip to Europe to meet with clients. He’d take her somewhere hot and steamy—

She stepped back, away from him. The last thing she wanted was a man attracted to her when she hadn’t properly dealt with Charles. But she also needed this guy. She had to keep their relationship platonic.

“I don’t want to fly. I don’t want to be in Lake Justice any sooner than I have to be. Drive me—” She felt a prick of conscience, but desperation overwhelmed it. She was twenty-five. Twenty-five. And her dad was theoretically kidnapping her. This was her only move. “Instead of forcing me to fly, and I’ll have a few days to think things through, while my dad calms down.” She caught the gaze of his very suspicious black eyes and smiled prettily, innocently. “I just want a couple of days of peace and quiet. A car ride will give me that as well as give you something to tell my dad about why it’s taking you so long to get me back.”

Those dark eyes studied her. “You won’t run?”

“No.”

“You won’t sneak out of a hotel room in the middle of the night?”

“You’ll have the only keys to the car.”

He still deliberated.

She stood quietly, but confidently. She didn’t intend to sneak out, steal the car, or ditch him. True, she wanted him to take her to Chicago to extend their trip for an additional few days, but she’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

“Okay.”

“Good. Just let me get my bags.”

He laughed heartily. “Right. This time I’m coming with you.”

CHAPTER THREE

THEY STEPPED OVER the threshold of her hotel room and Morgan immediately ducked into the bathroom. Riccardo ambled into the small room, but not far. He wasn’t letting her get much more than an arm’s distance away from him until they were at her daddy’s vineyard.

His conscience grumbled a protest. When he’d accepted this assignment, he’d done it out of desperation, to protect everything he and Mitch had built. He hadn’t thought much about the situation beyond the fact that Morgan had dumped her fiancé and she needed to come home and explain herself. Then she’d told him a bit about her fiancé and he’d felt sorry for her.

Then she’d duped him and now he was super suspicious of her.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about her ex’s ten-point plan and the sadness he’d heard in her voice. If he were to guess, he’d say she genuinely believed her fiancé hadn’t loved her.

She stepped out of the bathroom wearing jeans, a tank top and the gray canvas tennis shoes. The curls had been combed out of her long blond hair and she’d pulled it into a ponytail. Her glasses were gone and he suspected she’d put in contacts. She looked innocently beautiful. So beautiful that he could probably disabuse her of the notion that her fiancé hadn’t loved her. There wasn’t a man on the planet who wouldn’t fall for that face.

“You may not like my clothing choices but they are going to come in handy driving across the country.”

He couldn’t argue that. Or the fact that she was beginning to look really cute in jeans. Not quite hot. More like sweet and cuddly.

Thank goodness. Sweet he could resist. Hot? The way she’d looked in that form-fitting black dress? That was his wheelhouse. Instinct had almost taken over and he’d wanted to touch her, to smooth his hands along the lovely curve of her waist. But he hadn’t because he was smart. And now she was dressed like a good girl, not the kind of woman a man played with. She was perfectly safe.

So was he.

In the hall outside her room, he took the handle of the cheap black suitcase that she’d probably bought at the worst shop she could find in the airport on her way here.

“I’ll get this.”

She smiled sweetly. “Thanks.”

He wanted to trust that she really was this compliant, that the promise of several days on the road to calm her nerves had satisfied her. But his pride still stung from the way she’d ditched him at Midnight Sins.

They rode down the elevator and she used her credit card to check out. Then she motioned for him to follow her to an ATM. She withdrew cash three times, getting as much money as she could before the bank shut her off.

“Planning your escape?”

“No. Paying for my own food and hotel.”

“You could use the credit card for that. Your dad’s going to know where you are. Might as well just roll with it.”

She said nothing, simply walked out the front door, her head high, as if it took great effort to preserve her pride, and his damn conscience nudged him again.

He scrambled after her. “It’s not like I’m kidnapping you.”

“If you were, I could at least call the police. As it is, with my dad behind your taking me away, you’re more like a jailer.”

“I’m not a jailer.”

“Sure you are. You’re keeping me from going where I want to go.”

They strode the short distance back to Midnight Sins and he tossed his car keys to the valet, who rolled his eyes as he raced away to get Riccardo’s rental.

“I don’t know what he has to complain about. He gets a tip every time he takes or brings back my car.”

She laughed.

His spirits rose a little. If she could laugh, then he shouldn’t feel too bad. Because she was right. With the way all this was going down, he was her jailer. Or her guard. Which meant she probably felt like a prisoner.

The valet returned and handed the keys to Riccardo, who gave him a tip way beyond what he deserved.

He stowed Morgan’s suitcase in the trunk before getting behind the wheel. “I just realized that I don’t have anything to wear for five days on the road,” he said. “I’d planned on flying to Vegas and back to Lake Justice in the same day.”

“I’m sure we’ll pass a discount store along the way.”

“Discount store?” He glanced over at her as he started the car. He didn’t like being judgmental, but he was just about positive she’d never seen the inside of a big-box store.

But, of course, she wasn’t going to shop there, she was sending him there.

Because she had a low opinion of him?

Probably.

He shouldn’t care. No matter what she thought, she wasn’t a prisoner. And he was more like the accountability police than a jailer. He was taking her back to deal with the fallout from her canceled wedding so that cleaning up the mess didn’t default to her dad or her undoubtedly shell-shocked fiancé. He was doing a good thing, and on some level, she had to agree or she wouldn’t be on the seat beside his.

He pulled the gearshift into Drive and eased off the hotel property into the traffic of the Vegas strip. In the time that had passed since his arrival, they’d transitioned from afternoon to evening. Hotel fountains now spewed water through glorious colored lights. Neon signs began to glow.