A little while later, the restaurant started to clear. Emma was leaving the ladies’ room, when someone caught her hand and halted her. She looked around and saw Mario Acarde standing there.

“I’ve been trying to find you all night,” he told her, the thickness of his speech making her think he’d had a bit too much to drink.

“Really?” Emma asked in a friendly, neutral tone, removing her hand from his. “I’ve been sitting in the same place the whole time.” Another hand enclosed the one she’d just dropped. She looked over her shoulder.

“Hi,” she said, smiling.

“Hello. Sorry for leaving you like that. Everyone has something to say about the race,” Vanni replied, his gaze running over her face and then flicking over to Mario. “But I promise I won’t leave your side for the rest of the night. Excuse us, Mario.”

“Are you off to the tables?” Mario called, but Vanni didn’t respond. He just led Emma onto the terrace, which had cleared out. It was a warm, starry night, a full moon in the sky making a swath of the sea gleam and wink. The band had stopped playing and was starting to pack up their instruments. Vanni left her, approached one of the men, and exchanged a handshake with him.

“Encore une chanson, s’il vous plait?” Vanni asked quietly.

The man looked down appreciatively at his palm. “Avec plaisir, monsieur.”

The musicians all took up their instruments again and at a signal from the leader began playing. Vanni came toward her, a small, devastating smile shaping his mouth. A thrill went through her when he took her into his arms and they began to dance. She looked up at him as he pulled her closer, her smile matching his.

“Do you always do things perfectly?” she asked softly.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re playing ‘Moonlight Serenade,’ ” she said with a small laugh, glancing significantly out at the moonlit water.

“It’s not me who is perfect tonight,” he murmured. Her breath caught when his lips closed gently over hers and lingered as they spun to the music. Her flesh tingled next to his solid length. It was pure magic.

“I’m sorry for leaving you. It seems every time I turned around, someone had a question or something to say about the race,” he said a moment later.

“Don’t worry. I understand. This is your work. Niki kept me company.”

“I saw. I asked him to watch out for you.”

“Did you?” she asked, entranced by the image of his angled, bold face etched in shadow and moonlight, and the feeling of his body moving in subtle rhythm next to hers.

He nodded, his expression sober. “And then I got jealous when I saw him doing it,” he growled softly, capturing her lips again for another kiss. She felt his body harden next to hers, and the kiss deepened.

“You have absolutely nothing to be jealous of,” she told him breathlessly a moment later. “All I can see is you, Vanni.” One dark brow rose in a wry expression.

“For these weeks and days and hours?” he asked, a thread of sarcasm in his tone. One of his hands lightly skimmed over her lower back and the top of a buttock. Emma shivered.

“For these weeks and days and hours.”

“You’re mine.”

She smiled and pressed closer to him. “You know it’s true,” she chided.

“I still like to hear you say it.”

“I’m yours,” she whispered. His head lowered, and their mouths fused again.

“Almost everyone will have gone into the casino,” Vanni said as he led her through the mostly deserted restaurant after the memorable dance was over. “Would you like to stroll through before we leave, or would you rather not?”

“I’d like to at least have a look,” she said as they entered the palatial grand lobby of the hotel, and Emma glanced around eagerly. Vanni’s stare stuck on her face.

“Of course. I keep forgetting you haven’t been here before,” he said.

“I’ve never even been to Europe,” she said.

“What?” he asked, his stride breaking slightly.

“It’s my first time. I have a passport because I was supposed to go to London for a trip arranged through my college after graduation. But then my mother died, so I never got to go. She had a small life-insurance policy, but funerals are a lot more expensive than I’d realized.”

He didn’t say anything as he led her to the entrance. There was a line to enter the casino, but Vanni surpassed it. The burly man wearing a tuxedo guarding the entrance nodded once at them and murmured, “Mr. Montand,” before releasing a velvet rope for them to enter.

When they entered the bustling casino, Vanni squeezed her hand.

“I’m sorry about how busy I am. I’ll be a better tour guide, I promise,” he said quietly. “As soon as the race is over. And tomorrow, we’ve been invited onto Niki’s yacht. You’ll get a nice view of the local country from the sea.”

“We have been?” she asked excitedly. She noticed how sober he looked and squeezed his hand back. “Don’t worry, Vanni. You’re treating me to the experience of a lifetime. Don’t you know that?”

He gave her a small smile and they proceeded into the casino. The atmosphere was electrical and chic. She recognized many of the faces she’d seen at the dinner, people looking around and greeting Vanni as he passed. It wasn’t just a casino, Emma realized. In the distance, she could see a crowded club where people were dancing and lounging in deep, cushioned booths and drinking exotic-looking beverages. If a patron chose, they could escape the sounds of music and slot machines and music by walking out onto a wide veranda that faced the Mediterranean. Unlike other closed-off, stuffy casinos she’d been in in the States, the opened patio doors made the atmosphere open and sea-air fresh.

“Do you gamble?” she asked Vanni, watching gamers as they passed a row of roulette tables.

“Not much anymore. Would you like to play?” he asked her politely, noticing her curiosity.

“Can we just watch?”

“Of course.”

They paused behind a table that was a little less crowded than the others. Vanni ordered them drinks from a passing waiter as Emma observed. She wasn’t familiar with the chip denominations, but she had a feeling from the extremely well-heeled and bejeweled players around the table that this was a high-limit table. She’d been to Las Vegas once, but had never played roulette. The game hadn’t been all that popular in the States, but roulette appeared to rule here in the Cannes casino. Vanni patiently answered some of her questions about how it was played, before three men appeared—two of which Emma recognized as American drivers she’d been introduced to at dinner—and drew him into conversation about the race.

“He’s a fool to keep ignoring you,” a man said near her ear in an Italian-accented voice. She glanced aside reluctantly and saw Mario standing very close. Emma stepped back to a more appropriate distance.

“The race is a pretty big deal,” she said lightly, turning her attention back to the table and the spinning wheel. “He’s just doing his job.”

“If you were mine, I’d make you my job,” he said quietly. He leaned closer yet again and whispered in her ear. “Do you know what I think? I think you’re lucky. I can sense luck from a mile away and I saw it in you the second you walked in to that restaurant tonight. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I have been utterly captivated by you since that moment.”

Emma’s eyes widened in amazement. Mario must play the part of a Lothario frequently, because he managed to make the corny statement sound completely genuine.

“Do you even remember my name?” she asked him with hushed incredulity.

He looked offended, but she had the distinct impression he was in fact fumbling for her name mentally. She resisted an urge to laugh, glancing anxiously to her left, where Vanni stood. His back was partially turned to her as he spoke with the three other men. Mario seemed to notice his preoccupation and moved in for the kill, sliding his hand suggestively against her forearm. She thought for a disbelieving second he was reaching to hold her hand. Instead, he pushed something against her palm. Emma’s hand instinctively cupped the objects.

“Take a chance with me,” Mario whispered hotly. “Luck should be with a winner.”

She held up her hand and stared blankly at what she held.

“Close your hand, you little fool,” Mario hissed, covering her hand with his, but not before Emma noticed what he’d given her . . .

A casino chip and a hotel room key. She stared from the items to Mario in stark disbelief. Had he really just propositioned her with Vanni standing right next to her? Narcissistic swine. Mario had frozen and was looking over her shoulder, his eyes glassy from too much drink, his expression stiffening with anxiety. Emma glanced around, and did a double take. Vanni stood next to her and was facing them both. She started when he shoved Mario’s arm and Mario’s hand fell away from Emma’s. Holding Mario’s panicked gaze with a glacial stare, Vanni lifted her hand. He looked down at what she held, his jaw going rigid. Emma glanced up and saw a startled expression on Mario’s face as he looked at her hand as well. He recovered quickly.

“I was just inviting her to play roulette, giving her a little gambling money. She looks as if she wanted to play, and I was trying to be a good host, since you were so busy,” Mario said, his anxious expression belying his cocky tone.

“Funny, I hadn’t realized the Hôtel Le Maj had roulette tables in their hotel rooms these days,” Vanni bit out.

Sensing his cold, sharp fury at Mario and not wanting there to be a scene, Emma tried to intervene. “It was just a misunderstanding,” Emma assured, putting her hand out to give the chip and the hotel keycard back to Mario. The men who had been talking to Vanni were starting to look over at them, obviously sensing the rising tension between Mario and Vanni. Mario put out his hand to take back the key and chip, a relieved expression on his face.

“Damn straight, it was,” Vanni said, halting her action with a hand on her arm. He stepped past her toward Mario aggressively.

“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.”