The Sheikh's Stolen Bride-To-Be

I took my time on the way back from the restroom, and my tipsy meandering led me past all sorts of interesting characters: elderly women camped out in front of slot machines, couples draped across each other at card tables, cowboys with wide-brimmed hats and booming voices—everything I’d ever pictured Vegas to be.

Apparently, I was too engrossed in my people watching to look where I was going. One second my feet were connected with the solid, carpeted floor. The next I was veering off sharply to the right as I tripped over my own foot.

I barely had time to register the fact that I was falling before I collided into something solid.

No, not something. Someone.

FOUR

I fell, yelping in alarm. Someone said something in a language I couldn’t understand. Then I collided with a man at the craps table.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” I started spouting out apologies before I’d even righted myself.

I was face-first against the man’s shirt. He must have been quite a bit taller than me, because my face didn’t rise above his shoulders. That being said, I was leaning into him pretty heavily.

“I honestly have no idea how that happened. Jeez, I’m such a—”

I stopped speaking as soon as I looked up at his face.

Holy moly macaroni.

The man who caught me looked like he’d walked off the cover of some high-profile business magazine. He looked down at me with warm, chocolaty eyes and full, curved lips. He had the rich, dark complexion of someone from the Middle East or Western Asia.

While I continued gaping at him, he set me back on my feet.

“Are you okay?” he asked. His voice was lightly accented and sounded Middle-Eastern in origin.

He stared down at me through lashes as dark as the inky black waves on his head. The dusting of stubble on his elegant chin was just as dark. I couldn’t stop looking at him. I knew I should say something, but the embarrassment surging through my veins made me fear that if I opened my mouth I’d only end up making more of a fool of myself.

“Mr. Afsal,” a woman’s voice called. I couldn’t see her behind my savior’s broad frame.

He glanced over, his hands still on my shoulders to hold me steady. “I know. I threw the dice too early. It’s fine.”

Oh God! Not only had I bowled over the most attractive man in the casino—and I didn’t need to see the rest of the men there to know this for sure—but I’d messed up his game too! How much money had I just lost him?

My face flushed with heat. I readied myself to pull away from him.

And then the dealer said, “Actually, Mr. Afsal—that’s craps!”

The table around us went up in cheers. Startled, I went to take a step back, but the man didn’t let me. He grinned and pulled me into a tight hug. His deep, masculine laugh rumbled through me, sending a shiver of delight down my spine.

“What’s happening?” I asked. My face was pressed into the soft cotton of his shirt again, only this time I noticed the intoxicating smell of his cologne. I breathed in the scent of sandalwood and something musky before he released me again.

“What’s happening?” he repeated. “Do you know anything about craps?”

“Not a thing.”

I glanced around at the table, where a crowd of people had gathered and were celebrating something. I found it odd that the man holding me hadn’t abandoned my clumsy ass to join in.

“Let’s put it this way.” He smiled and tapped my chin affectionately. “You must be some kind of lucky charm, because that throw I made just won me over twenty thousand dollars.”

My mouth dropped open and a very undignified gasp escaped. And then I shrieked with joy, overcome with relief at not having ruined this guy’s day.

Twenty. Thousand. Dollars. I’d never even seen that kind of money before. The fact that this guy had just won it because I hadn’t quite mastered the art of walking made me positively giddy.

Mr. Afsal’s grin grew wider and he turned back to the table, pulling me with him to present me to the crowd. With a gentle arm around my shoulders, he nudged me forward. “This gorgeous woman is my new lucky charm!”