“No, please,” Emma said. She put her hand on his shoulder. “Let’s just go, Vanni.” Vanni looked down at her touch, his icy, focused anger fracturing slightly. His face settled into a determined mask. He put his hand on her upper arms and turned her in front of him. The next thing she knew, he was urging her up to the table. People were laying down their chips.

“Vanni . . . what—”

“Bet it,” he said quietly from behind her. She looked over at her shoulder, shocked. Was he so furious at Mario, he’d gone crazy? His face was still stiff from anger, but when she met his stare, he gave her a small, imperceptible smile. “Bet it,” he repeated, placing his hands on her waist.

“What do I do?” she asked, turning back to the table.

“Pick a number on the inside and put the chip directly on it,” Vanni instructed. She thought she understood what he meant by emphasizing directly. Some people were setting their chips between and at the corner of numbers. He wanted her to bet it all on one roll of the wheel.

She bit her lip uncertainly. A thought struck her. “What’s the Montand racecar number?” she asked impulsively.

“Fourteen,” Vanni said from behind her.

She placed the chip on the velvet-covered table directly on fourteen. She heard someone curse bitterly and glanced around to see Mario standing there, his handsome face pale.

“You said you were playing host, Mario,” Vanni said with false calmness. “You certainly were being a generous one.”

Mario bared his teeth, and the wheel was spinning. Emma looked on, her heart beating fast with rising excitement. Somehow, she knew what was going to happen before it did. The ball rattled to a stop as if in slow motion. The croupier called out something, but Emma couldn’t discern what for the roaring in her ears.

The ball had landed on fourteen.

She spun around in Vanni’s arms.

“I won?” she asked with excited disbelief.

“You won,” Vanni said, a smile breaking free. He caught her against him when she jumped, his deep laughter adding to her sense of euphoria. Over Vanni’s shoulder she saw the men Vanni had been talking to laughing and congratulating her.

“I’ve never won anything in my life!” She told them ecstatically. Then she caught sight of Mario’s desperate, angry expression and immediately sobered. “Oh . . . but it was Mario’s chip, of course . . .”

“Nonsense,” Vanni said briskly, setting her back down. “Take your winnings. It’s time to go.” He shot Mario a dark glance. “Mario knows the rules of the house. Maybe he won’t be quite so hospitable next time.”

Mario opened his mouth to protest, but seemed to think better of it under the influence of Vanni’s glare. He turned and disappeared into the crowd.

“Take your winnings,” Vanni directed again gently. “We’re leaving.”

Emma scooped up her chips and followed Vanni through the crowded casino. This time, when people tried to stop him to talk, he politely put them off.

“Do you want me to cash them for you?” Vanni asked her a moment later when they approached a desk that looked like it might be casino services.

“Are you sure we should?” she asked doubtfully, handing him the chips. “Mario seems pretty drunk. It doesn’t seem fair.”

“He didn’t realize he’d given you such a big chip,” Vanni said succinctly. Emma blinked in surprise. “He gets sloppy when he drinks. Trust me, I’ve seen it before. And if you think I’m going to feel sorry for that idiot for propositioning you right in front of my face, you’re sorely mistaken. You do realize he was trying to buy you for the night—or an hour or two—with that chip?”

“Yes,” Emma admitted.

“And you’re still defending him?”

She sighed. “No. I guess he got what he deserved. I just feel bad that I’m the one to benefit from his stupidity.”

“Who else should? You were the one he insulted. I’ll be right back,” he told her, turning to the desk. A minute later, he returned and handed her a receipt.

“I had them convert it into American dollars. They’ll be sending the check to your address at home,” he said, grabbing her hand. Completely undone by the strange turn of events, Emma just followed him out of the casino and hotel lobby. As the doorman opened the gilded doors for them, however, she glanced down at the receipt. Stunned, she stopped dead in her tracks at the top of the marble stairs. Vanni looked back at her when she broke his hold, his brow furrowed.

“Vanni . . . this says that they’ll be sending a check for one hundred forty-one thousand seven hundred and fifty-one dollars to my apartment in Evanston,” Emma said, shock making her voice sound hollow.

Vanni gave her a bland glance and took her hand again.

“Mario has never been one to bet small. I’m sure he’s bet a king’s ransom in the casinos that he’ll win the Montand cup on Sunday, for instance. Maybe this will teach that stupid sod not to bet on what isn’t his.”

Week

SEVEN

Chapter 32

Adrenaline, happiness, and Vanni’s seemingly unquenchable sexual appetite assured that Emma only got three or four hours of sleep that night. Nevertheless, when he awakened her by nuzzling her cheek and ear the next morning, Emma immediately buzzed with alert sensual excitement. She opened her eyes to a room infused with pale gold morning light and fresh, sea-infused air.

Who had time for sleeping when being awake was so sweet? Who had time for sleeping when they were falling in love?

Don’t think about that, a voice in her head warned. Don’t be stupid.

“Would you like to start our day with a swim?” Vanni asked her, his voice a sexy, sleep-roughened rumble near her ear, and she promptly forgot her dire mental warnings.

“Yes,” she replied, turning her head to find his lips with her own. “I still can’t believe I won all that money,” she sighed a moment later when he lifted his head and she stared up at him, muzzy and warm from his kiss. “Did it really happen?”

“I’m sure Mario is wishing it didn’t, but it most definitely did,” Vanni said, smirking slightly. “You couldn’t have shoved his idiocy in his face any more forcefully. What are you going to do with your winnings?”

“I don’t know,” she said blankly. “I suppose Amanda could use some of it. Medical school isn’t cheap.”

His brows slanted. “You are not giving found money to your sister,” he said darkly.

“Why not?” she said, although she thought she already knew the answer. “Vanni, I don’t have a vendetta against Amanda. We’re working on things in our way. I wish you’d stop imagining me victimized. I love my sister. My mother would have wanted—”

“What do you want, Emma?” he interrupted as he coiled a tendril of her hair around his finger. She looked up at his face as her heart throbbed an answer. He looked beyond beautiful to her in the morning light, his thick hair tousled and bracketing his sea-colored eyes, whiskers sexily darkening his lean jaw. She touched his shoulder, wondrous yet again at the delicious denseness of muscle covered so tautly in smooth skin.

“I want to be happy,” she whispered.

“Are you?”

“Yes,” she said without reservation. His small smile made her happiness swell.

Yes, for these diminishing weeks and days and hours, she was nothing short of ecstatic.

Instead of swimming in the terraced pool area to the right of the villa, Vanni led her to the cliffside, where they descended the long, meandering white staircase, the bright sun shining off the Mediterranean blinding her. There was a small beach when they reached the bottom and a floating dock forty feet out from the shore.