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Nope. She’d just have to catch him first.
CHAPTER FIVE
FINN DIDN’T WASTE any time calling in a favour and landing a suite at the most exclusive Casino in town—where all the glitz and glamour that made the city famous came together in a fairy-tale fantasyland of opulence and high-flyers—and ordering a tuxedo from one of the exclusive concessions in the marble and bronze foyer.
Strict dress code aside, at times he luxuriated in his debonair façade. Playing Casanova was generally more interesting than being himself. Also, as it turned out, his penthouse here had evolved into a necessity. Not only did he need somewhere to sleep with no lingering residue of the demons haunting him in the dead of night, but a gratifyingly quick sale had gone through that very afternoon. One of the members of a minor royal family reviving his Swiss bank account very nicely.
The fact he was Seraphina-free for the evening was also an added boon.
The plan was, he’d grab a couple of girls, lavish money on a few gaming tables, dance until the wee hours and then sleep. Great plan. The fact that he lacked enthusiasm...? Not so great.
Her fault. It’s all her fault.
Had he actually stormed into the garage to check on her? According to his memory banks, yes, he had.
Since when had he left the hullabaloo of the roaring crowd for a woman? Never before in his life!
Do not panic—it’s the guilt.
Knowing she missed her brother and veiled the ache with her beautiful bravado was killing him. The pain that lurked behind those incredible grey eyes was a fist to his gut. Her strength was formidable, but he couldn’t help wondering what it cost her. Of late, holding his own façade in place came at an extortionate price, but the alternative fall out would be catastrophic. As soon as he opened the door to his emotional vault the contents of Pandora’s box would be unleashed and all hell would break loose.
Now, sitting in the prestigious lounge known as the throbbing heart of the Casino, he palmed a tall glass of tequila and raised it to his lips, hopeful that the sharp kick and bite would burn the dull edges off his dark mood. For some reason the suave, elegant cut of his suit wasn’t working tonight. He felt dangerous enough to burst out of his skin.
The sensation of black eyes staring into his soul reminded him of dark, agonising days and he downed the liquor—his first drink in a week—and it slid down his throat, trailing a blaze of fire to his gut.
Gradually the muted whoosh of spinning roulette wheels, the mumble of inane chatter and the evocative beat from a small band filtered through his mind.
The singer was a stunning blend of French beauty and passionate sultry vocals, and when he felt her eyes slither over him in blatant invitation the crystal in his fist cracked with a soft clink. What was he doing here? He’d sell his soul to be someone else for one day, one night—
Between one heartbeat and the next the hair on his nape tingled, shifting his pulse into gear.
Easing his totalled glass onto the low-slung mahogany table, he glanced covertly around the room—from the impressive plaster of Paris inlays and priceless art to each and every table in between. By the time he reached the archway leading to the main gambling hall every cell in his body was on red alert and his heart had roared to life.
It was the kind of stupefying feeling he’d used to get on the starting grid. The very one he’d lost what felt like aeons ago, leaving a dull imitation in its place.
Now the cause of that incredible sensation shoved heat through his veins as he caught a flash of ruby-red hair flowing across the foyer.
Within seconds he was on his feet. What was Miss Spitfire doing in here? Looking for him? She was a determined little thing.
In the main lobby he glanced left, towards the wide entryway—seeing the line of supercars curling around the fountain beyond—and then right, to fall beneath her spell as she disappeared around a darkened corner.
By the time he caught up she was facing a door, her hand in mid-air—
‘You’ve come to the Casino to use the bathroom, Seraphina? Do you have a problem with the plumbing on your father’s yacht?’
She froze, palm flat against the hardwood panel, and Finn watched her decadent long lashes flutter downwards to whisper over her satiny cheeks. No make-up, he mused, and her natural beauty was really quite breathtaking.
With a swift inhale she spun on her feet and then crossed her arms over her knee-length black coat. She arched one delicate brow. ‘When a girl needs to go, a girl needs to go.’
‘How right you are.’ He needed to be rid of her just as badly. Because she was angry—no, she was furious—and he wanted to kiss that mulish line right off her lips.
