Marriage of Revenge. Sheri WhiteFeather

to hold her emotions together, to remain loyal to a gambler who maxed out their credit cards, drove a car that was beyond his means and insisted on the finest foods and best hotels.

      A pretentious Californian, she thought.

      The trip to Nevada was the husband’s idea. He wanted to hit Reno, Carson City, Las Vegas and Laughlin, sightseeing in between. But his wife had other ideas. Once their vacation was under way, she was going to threaten him with divorce if he didn’t get some help.

      According to Aaron, they loved each other. Deeply, desperately. So her threat was going to work. But not without a struggle. He didn’t want to lose his wife, but he didn’t want to admit that he was a compulsive gambler. That he was ill. That his actions were destroying their lives.

      Talia glanced at Aaron. He’d changed his appearance, too. He’d added threads of gray to his hair, making him seem a bit older than he was. He’d changed the color of his eyes with greenish-gold contacts and dusted his skin with an amber-hued bronzer, softening the deep, dark tone. Like Talia, his features had been altered with carefully applied prosthetics. Although he still carried an ethnic flair, his heritage wasn’t easy to define. To her, he looked like a suntanned American with European roots.

      He toasted her with his cocktail, and Talia wished that his non-Native genetics were real. If his culture hadn’t been an issue, he would have married her all those years ago. Their relationship would have worked.

      After their plane touched down in Reno, Aaron rented a luxury car, which they would use on the remainder of their trip.

      His new name was Andy Torres, and hers was Tina. They lived in Los Angeles, and he was a real estate agent who gambled away most of his commissions, chasing his dream to win big and maintain the lifestyle he craved. She ran a successful Internet business, but his losses were cutting into her hard-earned endeavors and putting them deeper in debt.

      Once they arrived at the Reno hotel, Talia’s nerves kicked in. She was going to spend the next two to three weeks posing as Aaron’s wife, sharing rooms with him at night, waking up each morning with the shower running, watching him emerge with a towel wrapped around his waist.

      This was too close for comfort, she thought. A job she should have refused. But she wanted to find Julia and her mother. She wanted to help them survive, to turn them over to the FBI for safekeeping.

      Julia and Miriam didn’t know a hit man had been contracted to kill them. Originally Julia had been kidnapped as a threat, as a means to force Miriam into paying her interest-bearing debt. Only Miriam hadn’t complied. After Julia was rescued, she and her daughter had run away.

      Then came the hired assassin.

      Aaron handed Talia a key card. “We’re on the fourth floor. Poolside.”

      She merely nodded. The hotel was big and brightly lit, with a maze of slot machines and gaming tables at its disposal.

      Her husband, as she was forcing herself to think of him for the sake of their cover, had an anxious gleam in his eye. He looked like the gambler he was supposed to be.

      But he wasn’t, of course. He was the former lover who’d yanked out her heart, who was reaching for her hand while the busy bellhop tagged their luggage.

      She wanted to tell him to leave her alone, but Tina, the wife she was portraying, wouldn’t cause a scene in public. So she let him hold her hand.

      In the crowded elevator, he lifted it to his lips, brushing it with a barely there kiss.

      Gallant, sexy.

      Her entire body went warm.

      When he smiled, she leaned into his ear and called him a jerk. He kept smiling, as though she’d just whispered something soft and sweet.

      Once they were alone in the room, she ripped her hand from his.

      “Don’t get testy,” he said, looking tall and tanned and much too smug.

      “Then don’t get so affectionate.” She fought the sensual chill he’d given her. “Andy doesn’t need to be all over his wife.”

      “Did I tell you that Tina and Andy have a great sex life?” He sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the bellhop. “After they fight, they make love.”

      “Like we used to?” The solitary bed was a problem, she thought. A major obstacle. “I’ll be giving you a pillow and a blanket, and you’ll be sleeping on the floor, Romeo.”

      “No way, Juliet. I’m going to—”

      A knock sounded at the door, and Aaron quit talking and answered the summons, allowing the bellhop to enter. He tipped the young man generously, playing his Andy Torres part with ease. Andy wouldn’t let anyone at the hotel call him cheap. He wanted the employees to think he was rich.

      After the bellhop left, he turned to Talia. “Change into a pretty dress, and we’ll haunt the casino. And after I win some money, I’ll take you out for a candlelit dinner.”

      “We’re not here to play.”

      “Andy is.”

      She narrowed her eyes. “Andy is going to lose his shirt.”

      “Not tonight. Tonight he feels lucky. Besides, Aaron is a hell of a craps player.”

      “I’m not interested in a candlelit dinner.”

      “Yeah, but Tina is. She needs to be close to Andy. She needs to pretend their lives are normal before she threatens to divorce him.”

      “I’m looking forward to that part. I can’t wait to burst Andy’s bubble.”

      “We can fake a fight tomorrow.” Aaron unzipped Talia’s suitcase and removed a black dress that was stitched in silver, then tossed it to her. “Now be a good girl and get dolled up for your husband. He’s going to put on some nice duds, too.”

      Before he stripped in front of her, she headed for the bathroom to get away from him and slip on her dress, knowing that Andy was going to romance his wife this evening.

      And Talia was going to suffer for it.

      Aaron was a hell of a craps player. Either that or Talia was his lucky charm. Every time it was his turn to roll the dice, he asked her to blow on them. It was cheesy, she thought. But it was working.

      They’d been in the casino for hours, and he was racking up a stack of chips. She didn’t understand the game, not completely. But it was thrilling to watch him win.

      “I told you,” he said, dropping a hundred-dollar chip down the front of her dress, where a scooped neckline revealed a hint of cleavage.

      Stunned, she felt the cool metal object fall between her breasts and settle in her bra. “A husband shouldn’t do that to his wife.”

      “Even if he’s married to Lady Luck?” He pulled her tight against him. Then he kissed her, deep and slow and hot.

      She nearly stumbled, even in the medium-heeled pumps she wore. There they were, standing at the craps table, his tongue coaching hers. Suddenly she couldn’t think straight. She had no idea what Tina was supposed to do. So she let her husband make a sexual spectacle of her, with other male players cheering him on.

      Andy Torres knew exactly what he was doing. Or was it Aaron Trueno? The lines were blurring between real life and the roles they were playing.

      He tasted like the whiskey sour he’d drunk, like the intoxication that spilled through her blood.

      When he let her go, she knew she was in trouble. That he would con his way into her bed.

      But not into her pants, she decided, struggling to come to her senses. “You promised me dinner.”

      “Now? While I’m winning?”

      “Yes.” Anything to get him away from the table, from the seduction that was ringing in her ears.

      “Women.”