The One-Night Wife Page 9

  Missy. He was going to take Missy out of her safe haven in Switzerland. Savannah threw herself between him and the desk.

  "I beg you, don't take this out on my sister."

  "You failed me, Savannah. Apparently, your sister's wel­fare doesn't mean as much to you as I thought."

  "Alain." Her voice trembled. She'd swallowed hard, fought for composure. "I'll win back the money. Every cent. I swear it."

  His smile was the epitome of cruelty. "And will you win back your virginity? That's all you ever had, you know. Your skill at cards and your hymen." He thrust his face inches from hers. "And now they're both gone."

  She started to tell him he was wrong, that she hadn't slept with Sean, but she caught herself just in time. That might make him only more furious, knowing she'd reneged on her wager. In the small world in which they lived, it meant she and anyone closely associated with her would be known as welshers.

  Alain cursed, grabbed her arm, hustled her out of the salon and into her stateroom, slamming the door after her. Savannah had stood in the darkened cabin, shaking and shaken.

  What he'd said, the way he'd said it... He'd made her virginity sound like a prize in a lottery. She wasn't surprised he knew she was innocent; when he'd first taken her from New Orleans, he'd demanded she undergo a complete phys­ical examination.

  "I'm entitled to know if there's any danger you carry disease," he'd said, and she'd burned with embarrassment even though the doctor had been brisk and professional.

  But what did he mean, that all she'd ever had was her skill at cards and her virginity?

  You know, a sly voice had seemed to whisper. It had to do with the way he'd taken to looking at her lately. The way he'd started talking about her with his friends. The way they'd turn their eyes on her, smile, all but lick their lips.

  Savannah had shuddered. No. She wasn't going to think like that. Alain was just angry. He'd get over it.

  But he hadn't. For ten days now, she'd been waiting for something to happen. Thus far, Alain had done nothing. He hadn't arranged any card games on his yacht, or sent her to play on shore. And he'd made a point of assuring her that Missy was still in her school.

  The cabin door suddenly swung open, cutting short Sa­vannah's musings. She swung around, saw Alain—and, for a moment, felt a weight lift from her shoulders. He didn't look angry. He didn't look threatening at all. He was dressed in a tux and, most surprising, he was smiling.

  Then she realized it was the kind of smile that made the cabin seem suddenly airless. Savannah forced herself not to react. Whatever happened next, she wasn't going to give him the pleasure of hearing her beg. "Good evening, cherie." "Alain."

  "You have half an hour to dress." "Excuse me?"

  "Is there a problem with your hearing, Savannah? I said you have half an hour to dress. Wear something long. Slinky. No, on second thought, put on something elegant." A smile lifted the corners of his lips. ' 'It always amazes me that people think they know what's in a book by the look of the cover."

  She almost sagged with relief. She'd read him wrong. Everything was okay. Alain was going to take her to the casino, or perhaps to one of the island's mansions. She didn't care where he took her. What counted was that he was going to let her play for him again and win back the money she'd lost.

  "Thank you, Alain. You won't regret it. Where are we going? I'll win a lot of money, more than I lost, and—"

  "We're not going ashore." He shot back his cuff and checked his watch. "I'm expecting guests in a little while. Forty minutes, to be exact, but, of course, I want to see how you look before they arrive."

  "Alain," she called as he swung away from her. "Wait." He looked at her, eyebrows raised, and she forced a smile. "Who am I going to play?"

  "Play?" He chuckled. "I can't see that it will matter to you."

  "You know that it does. You can tell me the weaknesses of the other players."

  "Ah." He nodded solemnly and tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. "I'm afraid you misunderstood, cherie. You see, I've a plan that will enable you to repay me the money you lost."

  "Yes. I realize that. And I promise, I'll play well. It shouldn't take too long."

  "To win back the money?" He smiled, rocked back on his heels. "No, it probably won't. Now that I've had time to think things over, I'm willing to admit you're still worth something to me."

  She nodded. Her mouth was dry with relief. She'd be playing again. Winning again. With all this time on her hands, she'd thought of a couple of ways she might be able to skim a little money. It would be dangerous, and it would take a very long time, but if she were careful, if she were lucky, she might be able to put together enough to see her through a few months of Missy's care while she found a job to support them both.

  Just thinking about the future made it easy to smile,

  "Thank you, Alain. You won't regret this. I lost to Sean O'Connell, but I'm still one of the
  "I told you, that's not at issue. In fact, I don't want you to win." ,

  She stared at him. "You don't? But if I don't win, how can I pay back what I owe you?''

  "Darling girl, I'd expect more creativity from a street hustler! Why would you think there's only one way to repay your debt? You have other talents besides playing cards, Savannah. Many of my friends have noticed. And I've no­ticed that many of them lead dull lives. I've come up with a way to combine their appreciation of you with their desire to lead more interesting existences, cherie. Isn't that clever of me?"

  A chill speared through her blood.

  "Well," she said, forcing a little smile, "your friends always seem to enjoy playing poker here. The Lorelei is—"

  "Most of them own yachts of their own," he said with a dismissive gesture. "Charming as Lorelei may be, she's nothing new to them." : "I don't—I don't—"

  The sound of the tender's engine interrupted her words. Alain tut-tutted and checked his watch again.

  "Our first guests. They're early but it's understandable. Who wouldn't be eager to play our new game?"

  Savannah felt her legs giving out. She couldn't show weakness. Not now.

  "I don't understand what you're suggesting, Alain."

  "It's quite simple, cherie. I've devised an entertainment, something a bit unusual. It will be far more profitable than if you were simply to play against them and win."

  Slowly, he reached out and ran his hand down her cheek. Savannah flinched. That won her an oily grin.

  "Come on, darling, don't play dumb. The streets of New Orleans schooled you well, non? I'll provide the players. You'll provide the incentive. Why do you still look puzzled, Savannah? It's a simple plan. We're going to hold a poker elimination tournament. Several, to be precise, until the nov-elty fades. A timed game each weekday night, with the big­gest winners to play against each other on Saturdays." He flashed another smile, bigger than the last. "The stakes will be very, very high, cherie. High enough to be worthy of you."

  "Worthy of me?" Savannah said in a small voice.

  "Certainly." Alain grinned. "Don't you see? The final winner wins you!"

  Savannah felt the blood drain from her head. "Are you crazy?"

  "I admit, your value might be a bit greater if you were still, as we say, intact, but look at the amount O'Connell was willing to wager without even realizing you were a virgin." He chuckled. "I suppose I should thank him, should I ever have the misfortune to see him again. After all, this is his idea, when you come down to it, and it's brilliant."

  She stared at him, struggling for words that wouldn't come. Her heart, her breath, seemed to have stopped.

  "Alain," she said, trying to sound calm, "this isn't funny."

  "It isn't meant to be." Alain tucked his hands in the pockets of his trousers and rocked back on his heels. "Life can get so dull, cherie. I should think you'd applaud my efforts to brighten it."

  "I'm not a whore!"

  His false smile vanished. "You'll be whatever I tell you to be."

  "N
o. No!"

  "After all I've done for you and that pathetic sister of yours, I finally asked one thing in return. 'Humiliate Sean O'Connell,' I said. And you didn't do it."

  "I tried. I'm sorry it went wrong, but—"

  "There are no 'buts,' Savannah. Failure is failure. All things considered, I think I'm going out of my way to be generous. After I deduct the money you owe me and ex­penses, there'll be a tidy sum left. It will be yours."

  Bile rose in her throat. "I won't do it!"

  Alain's false good humor vanished. He caught hold of Savannah's wrist. "Yes, you will."

  "You're insane!"

  "The lady's right, Beaumont," a deep, lazy voice said. "You always were a crazy son of a bitch."

  Alain let go of Savannah and spun toward the door. Sa­vannah caught her breath.

  "Sean?" she whispered. "Oh God, Sean!"

  Sean dragged his eyes from Beaumont long enough to look at Savannah. Her face was white; her eyes were enor­mous, but when she saw him they began to shine. Her mouth trembled, then lifted in a smile.

  She made him feel as if he were mounted on that prancing white horse.

  For one heart-stopping minute, he wanted to go to her, sweep her into his arms and tell her he'd protect her. Then he remembered what he'd overheard. It looked as if he'd walked in on a lovers' quarrel about money.

  His gut knotted. He'd been a fool to let Savannah haunt his dreams and not to have taken her when he could. She wasn't even a call girl, as Cullen had implied. That was too high-class a term.

  "O'Connell?" Alain's voice was strained. "How did you get on this boat?"

  Sean turned his attention to Beaumont. ' 'Why, you were kind enough to send your tender for me," he said softly. "I thought that was a mighty decent gesture."

  "You lied your way onto this vessel!" Beaumont grabbed the intercom. "I'll have you thrown overboard. I'll have you—"

  The words became a cry of pain as Sean caught his hand and bent it back. The intercom slid from Beaumont's grasp and he sank slowly to his knees.

  "You're hurting me," he gasped.

  "I want my money."

  "What money? I don't know what—"

  "Your lady friend played against me ten days ago. She lost."

  "You just said, she played you. What has that to do with me?"

  "Give me a break, Beaumont. She played for you."

  Beads of sweat popped on Beaumont's forehead. "So what? She paid her debt."

  "She didn't."

  "What do you mean, she didn't? You won her for the night."

  "Yeah, and I didn't collect."

  Beaumont shot a look at Savannah. "What does he mean?"

  "Nothing. Of course he collected, Alain. It's just—it's just that he wants more. Isn't that right, Mr. O'Connell?"

  She turned away from Beaumont and stared at Sean. Her eyes, even her body language, implored him to go along with her lie. But why would he? He owed this woman noth­ing.

  "Please," she mouthed silently.

  "Yeah," Sean growled, mentally cursing himself for be­ing a fool, "that's right. So I'm going to let you make up for it, Beaumont. I want a million bucks."

  Beaumont turned whiter than he already was. "Why would I give you a million dollars?"

  "Lots of reasons, starting with the fact that you wouldn't want me to spread the word that you're not only a liar, you're a man who sends a woman to seek a revenge he's too cowardly to attempt himself." Sean's smile had a savage edge. "Then there's the little matter of the lies you've spread about me. I've heard the rumors. You said I cheated you last summer when the truth is that you couldn't admit you'd lost."

  "Alain?" Savannah whispered. "Is that true?"

  "Your lover boy wouldn't know the truth if it bit him in the butt." Sean tightened his grip on Beaumont. "A million bucks, and I'm out of here."

  "Even if I wanted to give you that much, I couldn't. Ahh! You're breaking my wrist, O'Connell. Let go!"

  "Let him go. Please."

  Sean flashed a look at Savannah. She looked desperate. Was there a heart somewhere inside her, and if so, did she really feel something for this pig?

  The possibility made Sean's jaw clench. What in hell did it matter to him? Savannah McRae could have the hots for King Kong for all he gave a damn. Still, he was tired of listening to Beaumont whimper. Abruptly, he let go of the man's pudgy hand.

  "Get up."

  Beaumont dragged himself to his feet as if he were dying and cupped his hand against his chest.

  "You're almost as good an actor as your lady friend."

  "I think you broke a bone."

  "No such luck. Come on, Beaumont. I know your safe is in the salon. Take me to it, get me what you owe me and I'm gone."

  "I don't have that much money here. If you wait until Monday..."

  Sean laughed. Beaumont swallowed hard.

  "My marker is good everywhere."

  "Maybe, but not with me. I want cash."

  Braver now that Sean had let him get to his feet, Beau­mont's mouth thinned. "I could charge you with theft."

  "No, you couldn't." Sean jerked his chin at Savannah. "I have a witness who'll say otherwise."

  "She'll say what I tell her to say. Won't you, cherieT' Savannah didn't answer. Beaumont narrowed his eyes. "Won't you?" he said in a menacing whisper.

  He raised his hand. Sean moved quickly, grabbed him and threw him against the wall.

  "Don't touch her," he growled.

  "She's mine. I created her and I'll do whatever I like to her."

  A soft cry burst from Savannah's throat. Sean watched as she buried her face in her hands. Her hair, loose as it had been that night, tumbled around her face...but it wasn't as it had been that night. Not really. Then, it had been combed into artful disorder. Now, it hung in curls that were wild and real.

  Everything about her was different from the last time. She wore no makeup, no jewels. No do-me heels and sexy dress. Instead, she had on a baggy sweatshirt, faded, loose jeans and sneakers.

  She looked vulnerable. Beautiful. Sweet and innocent, the kind of woman a man would give his soul to possess.

  The kind a man could take home to his mother.

  Sean blinked. Beaumont chuckled. "Ahhh," he breathed.

  Sean's eyes flashed to his face. Beaumont had gone from looking as if the world were about to end to smiling, if you wanted to call the smirk on his fleshy lips a smile.

  "Ah, what? Did you just remember that you have enough money in your safe?"

  "No, Mr. O'Connell. I just thought of what I can offer you to satisfy your demand."

  "I'm not in the market for a yacht, Beaumont."

  "How about a woman? Are you in the market for that?"

  "No!" Savannah shook her head wildly. "Alain. You can't. I won't. I swear, if you try to do this, I'll—"

  "This woman owes me five hundred thousand dollars. And you just said you came here because you want more of her. Well, you can have her," Beaumont said, jerking his chin at Savannah. "For... Let's see. A week?"

  ' 'Alain. Please, Alain..."

  "Not enough? How about two weeks?" A smile crawled across his mouth. "Surely you can think of something to do with a woman like Savannah for fourteen days and nights."

  Sean saw a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye, and then Savannah was on Beaumont, clawing at him while he staggered and tried to protect his face.

  "I'll kill you," she panted. "I swear, I'll—"

  Sean grabbed her, pulled her back against him and pinned her in place with an arm wrapped tightly around her waist. His hand lay just under her breast; he could feel her heart beating against his palm.

  Once, decades before, he'd felt a heart beating that same way.

  He'd been eight, maybe nine; he'd been in big trouble at home for playing hooky and had gone to a hidey-hole he knew in a lot behind the Desert Song. That day, his hiding place already had an occupant. A tiny songbird lay on its back, beak open as it panted for breath.

  He knew
something terrible had happened to the bird and he wanted to help it, but he couldn't. All he could do was cradle it in his hand and feel the terrified gallop of its heart.

  "Well, O'Connell? Yes or no?"

  To hell with that long-ago wounded bird. He had an op­portunity here that could solve his problem.

  "The woman," Sean said. "For two weeks."

  "No," Savannah moaned, but Beaumont nodded his head and the deal was done.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Savannah didn't go quietly.

  She shrieked, raged, yelled that she wasn't property, but Sean encircled her wrist with a hand that felt like a manacle and propelled her up the ladder to the deck.

  "Move," he said through clenched teeth, "or I'll toss you over my shoulder and carry you off this damned boat."

  Had she really felt her heart lift with hope when she first saw O'Connell in the doorway? She was a fool to have expected anything good from a man with his morals. So what if he'd won her that night and not taken her to bed? That wasn't enough to mark him as her savior. Whatever the reason he hadn't demanded full payment, he was going to demand it now.

  He could demand what he liked, but she'd be damned if he'd get it without a fight.

  Savannah slammed her elbow into his belly. He grunted at the force of the blow.

  "You stupid son of a bitch," she panted. "Do you really think you can get away with this? Let go or I'll report you to the police."

  "You'd have to get past your boyfriend first." Sean dragged her to where a ladder led down to the tender. "Somehow, I don't think he'd let that happen. Besides, what would you tell the cops?" She balked when they reached the ladder and he pushed her forward. "I can get fifty witnesses to tell them how you handed yourself over to me a couple of weeks ago at the casino."

  "That has nothing to do with what you're doing now."

  "Sure it does. We're just picking up where we left off. Get down that ladder."

  "I won't!"

  Savannah jammed her feet against the teak deck coaming. Sean cursed and slung her over his shoulder, just as he'd threatened. She roared with frustration and pounded her fists against his back. The ladder swayed precariously under his feet.

  "You want to go for a swim, babe? Keep that up and, so help me, I'll dump you in the drink."