Page 64 of Entranced
“Heaven forbid.” He stepped out on the deck, looking—Mel was forced to admit—about as gorgeous as a man could get in his black dinner suit. “Let’s have a look at you.”
“I put it all on,” she said, struggling not to grumble. “Right down to the underwear you set out.”
“You’re such a good sport.” The sarcasm was light and friendly, and made her lips twitch into a reluctant smile. Taking her hand, he turned her in a circle. Yes, he thought, the red evening pants had been an excellent choice. The fitted silver jacket went quite well with them, as did the ruby drops at her ears. “You look wonderful. Try to act like you believe it.”
“I hate wearing heels. And do you know what they did to my hair?”
His lips curved as he flicked a finger over it. It was sleeked back in a sassy, side-parted bob. “Very chic.”
“Easy for you to say. You didn’t have some maniacal woman with a French accent glopping up your head with God knows what, spraying stuff on it, snipping and crimping and whatnot until you wanted to scream.”
“Hard day, huh?”
“That’s not the half of it. I had to get my nails done. You have no idea what that’s like. They come at you with these little scissors and probes and files and smelly bottles, and they talk to you about their boyfriends and ask personal questions about your sex life. And you have to act like you’re just enjoying the hell out of it. I almost had to have a facial.” She shuddered with complete sincerity. “I don’t know what they’d have done to me, but I said I had to get home and fix dinner.”
“A narrow escape.”
“If I really had to go to a beauty parlor once a week for the rest of my life, I think I’d slit my throat.”
“Buck up, Sutherland.”
“Right.” She sighed, feeling better. “Well, it wasn’t hard to start spreading it around how I had this wonderful husband and this great new house and how we’d been trying for years to have a baby. They just lap that kind of stuff up. I went on about how we’d had all these tests and had been trying these fertility drugs, and how long the lists were at adoption agencies. They were very sympathetic.”
“Good job.”
“Better, I got the name of two lawyers and a doctor. The doctor’s supposed to be some miracle gynecologist. One of the lawyers was the manicurist’s cousin, and the other was supposed to have helped the sister-in-law of this lady getting a permanent to adopt two Romanian babies last year.”
“I believe I follow that,” Sebastian said after a moment.
“I figured we should check it out. Tomorrow I’m going to the health club. While they’re pummeling me, I can go through the routine.”
“There’s no law that says you can’t enjoy a sauna and massage while you’re at it.”
She hesitated, and was grateful that the roomy pockets of the evening pants made a home for her hands. “It makes me feel … I know you’re putting a lot of your money into this.”
“I have plenty.” He tipped a finger under her chin. “If I didn’t want to use it this way, I wouldn’t. I remember how Rose looked when you brought her to me, Mel. And I remember Mrs. Frost. We’re in this together.”
“I know.” She curled her fingers around his wrist. “I should be thanking you instead of complaining.”
“But you complain so well.” When she grinned, he kissed her. “Come on, Sutherland. Let’s gamble. I’m feeling lucky.”
***
The Silver Palace was one of Tahoe’s newest and most opulent hotel casinos. White swans glided in the silvery waters of the lobby pool, and man-size urns exploded with exotic flowers. The staff was dressed in spiffy tuxedos with trademark silver ties and cummerbunds.
They passed a number of elegant shops displaying everything from diamonds and furs to T-shirts. Mel figured they’d aligned them close enough to the casino to tempt any winners to put their money back into the hotel.
The casino itself was crowded with sound, the chink-chink of coins pouring out of slots echoing from the high ceilings. There was the hubbub of voices, the clatter of the roulette wheels, the smell of smoke and liquor and perfumes. And, of course, of money.
“Some joint,” Mel commented, taking a gander at the knights and fair ladies painted on the windowlesswalls.
“What’s your game?”
She shrugged. “They’re all sucker’s games. Trying to win against the house is like trying to row upstream with one oar. You might make some progress, but the current’s going to carry you down sooner or later.”
He nipped lightly at her ear. “You’re not here to be practical. We’re on our second honeymoon, remember? Sweetie pie?”
“Yuck,” she said distinctly through a bright, loving smile. “Okay, let’s buy some chips.”
