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“That’s good enough for me.” She looked at the table with interest and carefully placed chips on seven, twenty-two, and twenty-nine. Then she paused, studying the table, half-turning to murmur. “Why are some of the chips sitting directly on top of the numbers, and some placed at the corners?”
“The ones on the corners are ‘corner bets’—the bet covers the four numbers that join at the corner where the chip sits.” He nodded at the black and red squares numbered from one to thirty-six and her blue chip resting squarely in the center of number twenty-two. “Your bet on number twenty-two is called a ‘straight bet’—the ball has to stop on the wheel at twenty-two in order for you to win.”
“Hmmm,” Emily tapped the tip of her forefinger against her chin and considered the table. “Which bet has the best odds?”
“The straight bet—the odds are thirty-five to one.”
“Then I’ll stay with that.” She smiled at him, the elusive dimple at the corner of her mouth appearing and disappearing in a flash. “If I win, I win big.”
“True.” Amused at the risk-taker attitude in Emily when he’d mostly seen her exhibit cool, calm control up until now, Lazhar nodded at Esteban.
The dealer acknowledged him with a barely perceptible nod in return. “Bets down, ladies and gentlemen.” The other players around the table nodded and Esteban spun the wheel in one direction and the small silver ball in the other. The ball left the track, rolling onto the spinning wheel. “No more bets!”
The ball bounced and moved, coming to rest in a black compartment of the wheel.
“Black twenty-nine.” Esteban called out.
Emily clapped her hands with glee. “I won!” She looked up at Lazhar. “I did win, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you definitely won,” he said dryly, exchanging an amused glance with Esteban as the dealer stacked a large pile of chips in front of her.
Emily’s eyes rounded. “I won all that?”
“The odds were thirty-five to one.” He grinned at her. “You wanted to win big, remember?”
“I remember.” She flashed him a wide smile. “This is fun.” She watched the other gamblers at the table as Esteban either deftly swept away their lost chips, or paid out their wins. Each of them instantly returned chips to the table.
“Should I pick the same numbers, or different ones?”
“Your choice. What do you want to do?”
“I think I’ll use the same numbers.” Emily put chips on the numbers she’d chosen for the first round. Then she took three chips from her winnings, stacked them neatly on top of the original pile that Esteban had given her, and moved them aside.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m playing with the money I won and leaving the original chips alone. That way,” Emily explained, “when I lose the chips I’ve won, I’ll know it’s time to stop playing. If I mix the two piles together, I’m afraid I won’t remember what the original investment was.”
Surprised, Lazhar searched her earnest expression.
“What?” A tiny frown pleated her forehead between her brows and he smoothed it away with his fingertip. Faint pink color bloomed on her cheeks and throat.
“I’m impressed,” he said softly, his gaze holding hers as Esteban set the wheel and ball in motion and announced no more bets.
“Why?”
“Because very few people are wise enough to play with the house’s money and not theirs. Especially not when they’re new to gambling—they usually get swept up in the excitement and lose track of the amount of money they’re investing.”
Emily glanced at the stack of blue chips. “How much money am I investing?” she asked, curious.
“Red seven,” Esteban announced.
“This is a hundred-dollar table,” Lazhar said casually.
“A hundred dollars?” Her gaze flicked from him to the table, where Esteban was once again collecting from the losers and paying the winners. He deposited a stack of chips in front of Emily and she looked at Lazhar. “Are you telling me that each of the chips I’m playing with is worth a hundred dollars?”
“Yes.”
“That means I’ve won—” she quickly calculated “—seven thousand dollars?”
“That sounds right.” He chuckled at her stunned expression.
“But what if I’d lost?”
He shrugged. “You wouldn’t have seven thousand dollars.”
“But I would have lost six hundred dollars.”
“True, but since you’re my guest, and this is by way of a business meeting…”
She shot him a look of complete disbelief.
“…and since you’re really ‘working’ tonight, soaking up the atmosphere of Daniz, the house would have forgiven your debt.”
Emily was skeptical. “Why would they do that?”
“Because my family owns the controlling interest in the casino.”
“Ah.” Understanding smoothed the slight frown from her brow. “I see.”
They stayed at the roulette table for several more spins of the wheel before leaving it to try a game of blackjack. For the next hour and a half, Emily sampled the games beneath the gilt dome. Lazhar strolled beside her, answering her questions about the games, showing her how to roll the dice at the craps table, and keeping her champagne flute filled. When she’d had enough of playing, they toured the other rooms on the casino’s lower level. The central gambling space was huge and wings to the right and left of the domed area housed two fivestar restaurants connected by a wide marbled passageway lined with exclusive designer shops. They browsed, window-shopping but not entering any of the exotic shops before they returned to the central room and climbed the sweeping staircase to look into several of the private gambling rooms on the second level.
Her curiosity satisfied, Emily paused on the wide balcony that circled the casino floor. With Lazhar leaning casually beside her, she rested her hands on the polished mahogany railing, her gaze sweeping the crowded floor below.
“It’s a fascinating place,” Emily commented. “The air nearly vibrates with anticipation and I can almost taste the excitement.”
Below them and to their right, a young woman dressed in a white evening gown, diamonds glittering at her ears, wrists, and around her throat, shrieked with delight and jumped up and down, hugging her silver-haired companion.
“I think she won,” Lazhar said dryly.
Emily laughed, her bright green eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’m sure you’re right.” She glanced at the scene below before she asked. “You said that your family owns the casino?”
“A controlling interest,” he corrected her.
“Ah.” She turned her back to the balcony and fixed her gaze on him, clearly curious. “Did you spend much time here when you were growing up?”
“A fair amount,” he admitted. “My grandfather loved to gamble and he’d tell my mother that he was taking me out for ice cream, then we’d come here. He taught me to play roulette before I was six and poker before I was eight.”
“Did your parents object that he was teaching you to gamble instead of buying you ice cream?”
“At first,” he conceded. Lazhar never talked about his grandfather to anyone outside the family circle, but something about the genuine interest in Emily’s green eyes made him want to confide in her. “My mother lost her temper when she found out but after my grandfather told her that I’d learned to do math far beyond my schoolmates, she calmed down.”
Emily laughed. “Did you win often?”
“Not at first. But after a while, yes.”
“What did you do with all the money?”
“Put it in the poorbox at St. Catherine’s.”
Her eyes widened and Lazhar could have kicked himself. He’d never told anyone else what he and his grandfather had done with their earnings. The truth had slipped out, seduced from him by the warm interest in Emily’s green eyes.
“That’s wonderful,” she said softly. “You weren’t tempted to spend it on candy and toys when you were six?”
“I was,” he said ruefully. “But my grandfather wisely discussed all the possible things we could do with the money, then took me to visit the nursery school at St. Catherine’s. Afterward, he told me that I could decide whether I wanted to keep the money or share it with the children at the church. Of course, I chose the church.”
“That must have been a difficult choice for a six-year-old to make.”
Lazhar remembered very well how he’d felt when his grandfather first asked him if he really wanted to spend his winnings on candy. A reminiscent smile curved his mouth. “At first, yes. But my grandfather was a very wise man. He didn’t tell me I had to give the money to St. Catherine’s. He talked about how fortunate I was to live in a palace and to be able to play cards in the casino; then we walked through Daniz, in and out of the shops, through the residential districts, both affluent and poor areas. By the time we finished, I’d learned an important lesson about the responsibilities that came with the benefits of being born into the royal family.”
“And the responsibility of being royal is what made you decide to give the money to St. Catherine’s?”
“Partly. But mostly I did it because I loved my grandfather. If he thought I should give the money to St. Catherine’s, that was a good enough reason for me.”
“He sounds like a wonderful man.”
“He was.” A flashbulb went off below them and Lazhar realized that they’d been standing in full view of the throng on the floor below for too long. The paparazzi had clearly found them. He turned his back to the railing and held out his arm, elbow bent. “Are you ready to move on to the next stop on our tour of Daniz nightlife? Or do you want to chance your luck at another table here in the casino?”
“I’m ready to continue the tour.” She took his arm and they moved down the sweeping staircase.
They said good-night to Esteban and left the casino. Lazhar’s car waited on the paved forecourt, the driver holding the door open. A small crowd of photographers began snapping photos the moment they left the building.
“Just smile and wave,” Lazhar advised Emily, keeping her moving forward at a smooth pace. Moments later, they were in the car, doors closed, and the limo was purring smoothly away from the brightly lit building.
“Goodness, is it always like that?” Emily asked.
“Not always. The local media has a longstanding arrangement with my family—they respect our privacy and in exchange, we have a publicist that arranges photo ops and information releases on a regular schedule.”
“So photographers don’t usually follow you when you’re out for the evening?”
“No, but ever since the tabloids publicized my father’s wish to see Jenna and I married, the international media has flooded Daniz with reporters and photographers. They’re not so willing to stick to the schedule set up by the palace office.” He shifted, his wrist grazing against the bulk of the roll of bills forgotten in his jacket pocket. “I nearly forgot about this.” He shoved his hand in his pocket and took out the bundle of money, holding it out to her. “What do you plan to do with your winnings?” he asked, setting the thick roll on her lap.
“I have no idea. It’s a lot of money.” She glanced at him, the streetlights flickering light and shadow over her features. “I know.” Her dimples flashed as she laughed. “Let’s drop it into St. Catherine’s poorbox.”
Arrested, he stared at her for a moment before his mouth quirked. “You’re sure you want to do that?” His voice held amusement. “You could buy a lot of candy with that much money.”
“I’m sure.”
“Whatever you say.” He leaned forward. “Nico, stop at St. Catherine’s.”
Moments later, the limo eased to the curb and Lazhar handed Emily out. He caught her hand and led her up the flight of stone steps and into the dim church. Not five minutes later, they hurried back down the steps and reentered the car.
“I wonder what the Sisters will think when they empty the box this week.”
“They’ll probably think an angel visited them in answer to prayer.” Lazhar raised their linked hands to his lips and brushed a lazy kiss against her knuckles. “And they’d be right.”
Emily couldn’t catch her breath to respond. His warm mouth barely grazed her fingers, but she felt the impact down to her toes. And the heat simmering in his eyes made her heart stutter in reaction.
The car slowed and braked to a stop. She tugged her fingers from his, glancing out the side window to see a small sign swinging over an arched doorway, the soft rose-colored neon spelling out Pilar’s.
“Where are we?”
“At a friend’s club.” The bodyguard pulled open the door and Lazhar exited, turning to hand out Emily.
Emily stepped out beside Lazhar and waited while he spoke in Spanish with the bodyguard. They were joined by three men from the black sedan that pulled up and parked behind the Mercedes limousine. Emily hid an amused smile. She hoped they weren’t planning to fade into the background, because the four tall, burly men would never be mistaken for anything other than what they were—men whose duty it was to guard the prince of Daniz.
The liquid, musical Spanish conversation flowed around her but she didn’t understand a word of the discussion. While she waited for them to finish, she glanced with curiosity first up, then down, the cobbled avenue. The city street they stood on was narrow and winding, lined on each side with stone buildings five-stories high, each festooned with wrought-iron balconies dripping with trailing flowers and greenery. The sweet scent of climbing roses mingled with lavender and spicy carnation to drench the night air with perfume.
Lazhar might claim this evening was strictly business, she thought, but for her, it was a dream come true. Daniz seemed very exotic and foreign to her and the sights and smells of the principality were seducing her senses.
And then there was Lazhar himself. The handsome prince was proving to be much more than a charming face with royal connections. If she wasn’t careful, she thought, she’d find herself falling in love with the man beneath the royal trappings.
And that would be a disaster. He would soon be marrying someone else, a woman with a pedigree to match his lineage and the training to become the queen of Daniz. Loving him would guarantee her a broken heart.
The car door slammed, the sound drawing her attention back to Lazhar just as he finished speaking with the burly bodyguards.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he murmured. He took her arm, his fingers warm, the calluses faintly rough against her skin.
“Is everything all right?” She glanced over his shoulder at the two men following close behind them.
“Everything’s fine.” His hand left her arm to rest on her waist and he moved her ahead of him through the door held open by one of the bodyguards. “They wanted to leave two men outside to watch the entrance in case the photographers followed us. I convinced them to come inside and enjoy the music and food.”
A wave of sound greeted them. The unmistakable strum of twelve-string guitars accompanied the staccato rap of boot heels against bare wood floors, nearly drowning out the murmur of voices, muted laughter and click of glassware.
“Lazhar! Welcome, my friend.”
Emily stepped back as a big bear of a man wrapped Lazhar in a hug and planted a kiss on each cheek.
“Joaquin,” Lazhar laughed and returned the hard hug.
“I haven’t seen you for at least two weeks. Where have you been?” the man demanded.
“Out of town. I’ve just returned, and I brought someone to meet you and to see Pilar dance.” Lazhar caught Emily’s hand and drew her forward. “Emily, I’d like you to meet Joaquin. He owns the club.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” she said politely. Joaquin had black eyes and a strong nose above a curved black bandido mustache that drooped over his upper lip, giving him a ferocious look. Given his size and the rest of his demeanor, she would have found him intimidating if not for Lazhar’s warm endorsement.
“It’s a pleasure to meet any friend of Lazhar’s, especially a friend as pretty as you are.” He winked at her.
“I hoped we’d be able to see Pilar dance,” Lazhar said. “Is she here?”
