Page 21 of Worth the Risk

Irritation flicked to disappointment then back to anger with myself for being disappointed. I was a grown woman draped in diamonds and my best Louboutin heels. Hell if I was going to let that go to waste. My fingers flew over the screen as I tapped out a reply.

Where is he taking me?

The dialogue cloud bubbled and I realised I was holding my breath. I released it impatiently.

Casino de Monte-Carlo.

Cancel the driver. I’ll drive myself.

The cloud rippled again.

Very well. But you won’t always have things your way, Leonora.

For some stupid reason I gave in to the urge to smile, then I closed my eyes and imagined him saying that last line to me, that edgy hunger on his face.

God, I was losing it.

And yet, despite my admonishment to myself, two minutes later, I grabbed my clutch and leather jacket, and headed down to the private garage of my apartment building. I slipped behind the wheel of my silver Porsche Roadster, my heart thumping as I secured the seat belt and gunned the throaty engine.

The Côte d’Azur was always meant to be where I returned to make one definitive point before moving on. It was where I would rise like a phoenix from the ashes of my relationship and walk away whole again.

And are you whole?

My smile dimmed a little as the question shot alarm through me, bruising a little bit as it slammed into my heart. After a minute, I let it drift away unanswered, relieved when I saw signs for Monaco.

In Casino Square, I handed the valet my keys and, settling my jacket over my shoulder, I entered Casino de Monte-Carlo. Membership of the iconic establishment had been a necessity for my business. Almost every client who visited the South of France craved the singular thrill of throwing a die in the famous casino. I knew the staff by name and I greeted a few as I made my way into the main gambling salon.

Wine spritzer in hand, I drifted through the crowd, the excitement I’d been trying to ignore resurging through my blood as I entered the inner sanctum, where staggering amounts of money were won and lost on the gambling tables. This was where Gideon was likely to be.

When a quick look failed to reveal him, my excitement dimmed a little. I attempted to shrug it off, smiling as a waiter approached with a single glass of vintage champagne.

‘Courtesy of monsieur,’ he said with a thick French accent. I accepted but before I could enquire as to exactly who monsieur was, he’d discreetly melted away. When another surreptitious look around the room didn’t produce an insanely sexy Englishman with luscious face and panty-melting body, I approached a blackjack table.

I wasn’t going to look for Gideon. I intended to deny this crazy craving, for ever if I could. On a reckless whim, I played the next hand of blackjack. And the next. When five in a row tripled my thousand euros, I decided to quit while I was ahead.

Or it might have been that alarming tingle between my shoulders blades that suggested I was being watched. Breath catching, I looked around again, but none of the male eyes checking me out were Gideon Mortimer’s. Irritation ratcheted up.

‘Buy you another?’

I glanced to my left and the owner of the American accent. He was pleasant-looking enough, and had my treacherous interest not been rooted in a certain businessman I probably would’ve been flattered.

‘Thank you, but no,’ I replied.

He tried to cover his crestfallen look with a smile. ‘My loss.’

I turned away, suffered through another five minutes before giving in and digging my phone out of my clutch. We hadn’t set a definite time for our meeting, and my fingers trembled lightly as I toyed with the temptation to text Gideon.

But again, that smacked of desperation.

‘Are you sure I can’t tempt you?’ the American coaxed again, nodding at my glass.

I smiled. ‘I’m still halfway through this one. Let’s see how I feel when I’m done, okay?’

His smile broadened. ‘Sounds like a plan.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Andy, by the way.’

‘Leonie,’ I replied, my stomach dipping with chagrin as I placed my hand in his and watched him kiss the back of it.

I didn’t want to encourage him, so I quickly retrieved my hand, took another sip of my champagne and noticed a light buzzing in my head. I hadn’t drunk enough to be tipsy.

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