The One-Night Wife. Sandra Marton

the situation around by using her mistakes to convince Sean O’Connell she’d never come on to a man before.

      That, at least, was the truth.

      She couldn’t afford any more screw-ups.

      She’d thought this would be easy, but it wasn’t. Using a deck of cards to scam a dumb mark on a dingy street corner was not the same as using your body, your smile, your words to scam an intelligent man in an elegant casino.

      Besides, O’Connell was more than intelligent. He was street-smart. She hadn’t expected that. He kept looking at her as if she were a candy bar he wanted to unwrap, but always with a wariness that made her uneasy.

      Not that it changed anything.

      She was in too far to stop. Either she went forward or she failed. And failure wasn’t an option.

      He was still smiling, but was there something in his eyes that shouldn’t be there? Time to come up with a clever move that would shut down his brain.

      A squeeze of her fingers in his might do it. A sexy smile. A flick of her tongue across her bottom lip. He’d reacted to that before.

      Yes. It was working. His eyes were darkening, focusing on her mouth.

      “If you told me about those other women,” she said huskily, “you’d be the kind of man I’d run from. I don’t want you thinking about anyone but me tonight.”

      “There’s no way I could,” he said softly. Another light brush of his lips against her palm and then he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Have you seen the terrace, Just-Savannah?”

      “No.” Her voice sounded thready. She cleared her throat. “No,” she repeated, and smiled up at him, almost weak with relief. Things were back on track. “No, I haven’t. I’ve never been here before.”

      “Then you’re in for a treat.” He began walking slowly through the casino. Because of the way he’d captured her hand, she was pressed close to his side, aware of the warm length of his body, aware of the muscles in his thigh as it shifted against hers. “Let’s have a drink on the terrace and I’ll show you the most beautiful sight in these islands.” He glanced at her, angled his head down to hers and put his lips to her ear. “I take that back, sugar. The second most beautiful sight in these islands.”

      The warmth of his breath, the promise in his words sent a tingle of anticipation through her. For a moment, Savannah let herself imagine what it would be like if the story she’d spun were true. If she’d come here to gamble, noticed this tall, incredibly good-looking stranger, taken her courage in her hands and gone up to him with seduction, real seduction, in mind.

      But she hadn’t. She was here for a purpose.

      Was O’Connell really as good a poker player as people claimed? Alain said he was.

      Maybe. But she was better.

      Tonight, that was all that mattered.

      CHAPTER THREE

      SEAN PAUSED just before they reached the terrace and signaled for a waiter, who hurried to his side.

      “Sir?”

      Sean drew Savannah a little closer. “What were you drinking, sugar? Cristal?”

      She smiled. “Good guess.”

      “A bottle of Cristal Brut,” Sean told the waiter. “Nineteen ninety. Will that be all right, Savannah?”

      “It’ll be lovely.”

      The waiter acknowledged the order with a discreet bow, and Sean opened the double glass doors that led onto the terrace.

      “Here you are, sweetheart. The most beautiful night sky of the season, for the most beautiful woman in the Bahamas.”

      He put his hand lightly in the small of her back as they walked to the edge of the terrace. Her dress plunged in a deep vee to the base of her spine and her bare skin was as warm and silky as the tropical breeze drifting in from the sea.

      “Oh,” she said in a delicate whisper. “Oh, yes. It’s perfect!”

      “Perfect,” he murmured, his eyes not on the softly illuminated pink sand beach or the star-shot black sky, but on her.

      “It’s so quiet.”

      “Yeah.” A breeze lifted a strand of her golden hair and blew it across her lips. He caught it in his fingers and tucked it behind her ear, letting his touch linger. “Quiet, dark and private.”

      Did she stiffen under his caress? No, it was his imagination. He was sure of it when she looked at him, her lips upturned in a Mona Lisa smile.

      “Quiet, dark and private,” she said softly. “I like that.”

      He felt his body stir. “Me, too,” he whispered, and bent his head to hers.

      Her mouth was sweet and soft. One taste, and he knew it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the hunger building inside him. Sean swept his fingers into Savannah’s hair and lifted her face to his.

      He sensed this could be dangerous. She wanted something from him and he still didn’t know what it was, but kissing her was irresistible. Even as he let himself sink into the kiss, he told himself it was okay, that playing along was the only way to find out what she was up to.

      It was a great plan…except, he had miscalculated. He couldn’t think, couldn’t find out anything when deepening the kiss almost drove him to his knees.

      God, her mouth! Soft. Honeyed. Hot. And the feel of her hair, sliding like silk over his fingers. The sigh of her breath as it mingled with his.

      Sean forgot everything but the woman pressed against him.

      “Savannah,” he murmured, sliding his hands down her throat, her shoulders, lifting her to him, drawing her tightly into his arms.

      She made a little sound. A whisper of surrender. Her lips softened. Parted. She was trembling, as if the world were shifting under her feet just as it was under his, and he gathered her against his body until her softness cradled the swift urgency of his erection.

      She stirred in his arms, moved against him, and the blood pounded through his veins. Groaning, he moved his hand over her thigh, swept it under that sexy excuse of a skirt…

      Just that quickly, she went crazy. Gasped against his mouth. Writhed in his arms. Twisted against him.

      Sean thought she’d gone over the edge with desire. Thought it, right until she sank her teeth into his bottom lip.

      “Goddammit,” he yelped, and thrust her from him.

      Stunned, tasting his own blood, he grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his lip. The snowy-white linen square came away smeared with crimson. He stared at Savannah, his testosterone-fogged brain struggling for sanity. Her eyes were wide and glittering, her face drained of color, and he realized, with dawning amazement, that she hadn’t moaned in surrender but in desperation.

      She hadn’t been struggling to get closer but to get away.

      “Oh God,” she whispered. She took a step toward him, hands raised in supplication. “I’m sorry.”

      “What the hell kind of game are you playing, lady?”

      “No game. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—to—”

      Her hair was wild, the golden strands tumbling over her breasts. Her mouth was pink and swollen from his. Even now, knowing she was crazy, he couldn’t help thinking how beautiful she was—and how crazy he’d be, if he spent a minute more in her company.

      “Sean. I really am terribly sorry.”

      “Yeah. Me, too.” He held the handkerchief to his lip again. The wound was starting to throb. “It’s been interesting,” he said, brushing past her. “I just hope the