The Park's Empire: Handsome Strangers...: The Prince's Bride

“It looks like photos I’ve seen of the Opera House in Paris. Is there a connection?” Enchanted, Emily smiled with delight and looked at Lazhar for confirmation.

“The architect was Charles Garnier, who also designed the Paris Opera House and the Monte Carlo Casino in Monaco.” Lazhar leaned closer and his fingertip brushed her cheek, just to the left of the corner of her mouth. “When you smile, you have dimples.” His voice was distracted, his gaze intent.

Emily forgot to breathe. Warmth lingered where the tip of his finger had touched her. “I know. You haven’t noticed them before?”

“I noticed. But they aren’t always there.”

A tiny frown of confusion pleated her brow. “They aren’t?”

“No. Only when you really smile, like you did just now, do they appear.” His voice was deeper, the smooth tones roughened and faintly uneven.

“I didn’t know,” she murmured, held by the heat in his eyes and the slow, repeated brush of his fingers against the spot near the corner of her mouth. He bent nearer, his big hand cupping her chin, his fingertips gently covering the frantically beating pulse in her throat. He was going to kiss her. Emily desperately wanted him to; her lashes lowered, her gaze fastened on his mouth as he drew closer.

The car stopped moving.

Despite the opaque glass that separated them from the driver and bodyguard in front, Lazhar heard the passenger door open and knew that he had only seconds. He forced his fingers to leave Emily’s silky, warm skin and eased away from her. Her lashes lifted and she stared at him, clearly disoriented.

“We’re at the casino,” he murmured, watching her. The bemusement cleared from her eyes and she glanced over his shoulder just as the door opened behind him.

“So we are.” Her cheeks were flushed but her voice was calm, composed.

Lazhar wished he were as cool but frustration tightened his muscles and he had to quell the urge to pull the door shut, take her in his arms and to hell with the crowd gathering outside. Instead, he slid out of the car and turned to hold out his hand to Emily.

The thigh-high slit in her gown’s skirt allowed a tantalizing glimpse of shapely leg, ankle and strappy heeled sandals as she took his hand and let him draw her out of the limo. The casino security staff stood in a semicircle, creating an oasis among the elegantly dressed crowd of onlookers.

Someone called to Lazhar and he lifted a hand, smiling with cool ease before tucking Emily’s hand through his arm and bending closer. “The security staff will escort us into the casino. Don’t worry, just keep walking and smile and wave.”

Lightbulbs flashed, excited Danizians and tourists called hellos as they moved quickly across the forecourt and through the wide bronze doors into the casino’s huge foyer.

The security staff, each holding a walkie-talkie in their hand and wearing headpieces that allowed them to hear, escorted them across the marble floor to a series of arched doorways.

Emily’s eyes widened as they paused at the top of the shallow stairs just past one of the rocococarved doorways. Before them stretched the main floor of the casino. Carpeted in plush red, with enormous Waterford crystal chandeliers suspended from the domed ceiling, the gaming tables a mix of turn-of-the-century mahogany and state-of-the-art machines, the Daniz Casino was awash in a glittering, shifting crowd of tuxedo-clad men and designer-gowned women.

The air hummed with excitement and tension.

“Oh, this is marvelous. What fun.” She turned to Lazhar, smiling with anticipation. “I love it.”

“I’m glad you approve.” He nearly groaned with frustration. He wondered how long she’d want to play? How long till they would once again be in the dark privacy of the limo and he could touch her again, taste her as he wanted to? “What do you prefer? Cards? Roulette? Dice?”

“I have no idea.” She smiled at him again before her fascinated gaze drifted over the scene before them. “I’ve only been to Las Vegas a couple of times and I tried my hand at blackjack, but only because the friend I was with played.”

“Friend?” The swift stab of dark jealousy took Lazhar by surprise.

Chapter Four

“Yes, my friend Jane and I were there for a wedding convention last year.” She looked up at him. “You remember Jane, don’t you.”

Relief washed over him. “Yes, I remember Jane.”

“Lazhar?”

The casino manager, his tall lean body elegant in a black tuxedo and a welcoming grin on his swarthy face, strode quickly up the steps from the gambling floor. The guards stepped aside, allowing him to enter the small oasis of space their circle created around the prince and Emily.

“Esteban.” Lazhar held out his hand. “How’s business this evening?”

The manager’s handshake was brief but firm. “The house is doing well, as usual.”

“Good to hear. Emily, this is Esteban Garcia, the man who controls the casino. Esteban, this is Emily Parks.” Emily was friendly but no more than polite as Esteban bowed over her hand and returned her smile with a glint of male appreciation. She glanced at Lazhar. When she lifted a brow in inquiry, he realized that his jaw was set, his fingers curled into fists and he had the distinct urge to punch Esteban for smiling at her and holding her hand for seconds longer than he thought was necessary.

What the hell is wrong with me? He’d wanted many women, but he’d never before felt this combination of possessiveness and lust.

He flexed his fingers, purposely relaxing tense muscles. “Emily would like to play,” he said, his voice bland. “Perhaps the roulette wheel?”

“Certainly.” Esteban took one of the handheld walkie-talkies from a guard and spoke into it, his fluent Spanish liquid and musical. He handed the small transmitter back to the guard. “It’s arranged. Would you like to play in a private room upstairs or down on the floor?”

Lazhar looked at Emily. She was half-turned away from them, her face animated as she drank in the sight of the colorful crowd shifting under the glittering lights, her gaze following the activity on the casino floor with obvious interest. “Downstairs—I think Emily will enjoy the excitement of the crowd.”

“Very good.” Esteban gave a quiet command and the guards moved down the shallow, carpeted steps. “If you and Miss Parks will come with me, Lazhar…”

A ripple of excited whispers followed in their wake as the three crossed the huge room, the guards clearing a path in front of them with Lazhar’s personal bodyguard following behind.

Lazhar was accustomed to celebrity status and the attention his presence always received. He accepted it as part of the downside of being born into the royal family. But tonight, he was more aware of being the focus of all eyes because of Emily. Would the attention worry her? Annoy her? Scare her? How would she handle it?

He needn’t have worried, he realized a few moments later. Emily dealt with the attention with calm serenity. Most of the casino guests were intent on their own gambling, but a small crowd of onlookers gathered around the roulette table where Esteban himself manned the wheel. Lazhar seated Emily on one of the tall, low-backed stools upholstered in red leather and took the seat beside her.

There were four other people at the table, three men and one woman. The men nodded briefly in greeting, while the woman’s gaze flicked assessingly over Emily and lingered for a moment on Lazhar before returning to the wheel on the table in front of them.

“Roulette is easy to learn.” Lazhar rested his arm on the back of Emily’s chair and leaned close to her, his lips brushing the delicate shell of her ear. “Esteban will give you chips.” He gestured at the stack of playing chips on the table in front of each player. “You notice that everyone has different colored chips so the dealer can quickly identify the bets.” He nodded at Esteban and the dealer deftly counted and then slid two handfuls of blue chips across the table to Emily. “Now you place your chips on the numbered squares on the table, wherever you’d like.”

Emily looked up at him. “How do I know which numbers to choose?”

“Some players have lucky numbers they always play. Some believe in intuition and playing their hunches for the night.”

“I don’t have a lucky number and my intuition is silent. So how do I pick a number?”

“Tell me the first number that comes into your mind—quick, don’t think about it.”

“Seven,” she said promptly.

“Now another number.”

“Twenty-two.”

“Okay. Now pick any combination of those numbers between one and thirty-six—add, subtract, whatever—and put chips on those numbers.”

She stared at him for a moment, a small smile curving her lips. “Does that work? Will I win?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea. It was my grandfather’s system and he swore that it worked for him.”