Claiming His Wedding Night

‘They’re not,’ he had whispered back. ‘They’re looking at you.’

But of course they hadn’t been.

It was Malachi who was the object of their curious and admiring attention. He was the reason the hum of conversation tailed off. The reason men stood taller, waiters moved with even more swift efficiency and women—

She breathed in sharply. All the women were in his fan club, if the furtive, hungry expressions on their faces were anything to go by.

But of course they were. He was devastatingly handsome—and in a dinner jacket at his most desirable, with the stark contrast of black and white emphasising his flawless bone structure and restless grey eyes. Moreover, it was his night—his name on a thousand lips.

And she was the woman holding his arm. His wife.

Except that at no point had Malachi made that clear to anyone. Her heart began to pound. Just who was she supposed to be tonight? And was everyone else thinking the same thing?

Malachi stared across the casino floor, struggling to adjust his thoughts. Normally on an evening like this he would have been acting on autopilot: smiling, chatting, working the room. But tonight he just couldn’t seem to concentrate. Not with Addie so close to him, the bare skin of her back so soft and tempting. If only he could peel off that dress and see the rest of her—

She was so beautiful, so desirable. Every woman in the room wanted to be her and every man wanted her. But she was his wife.

His wife.

So why not tell the world?

He glanced around the room. Everywhere he looked there were couples. Men and women holding hands, looking up at one another in excitement, sharing their happiness. His chest felt tight; his mouth was suddenly dry. He wanted to touc

h Addie and hold her close. But deep down he knew that they had no future. No sex, however perfect, was enough to make a marriage happy or healthy. He knew that better than anyone.

They were standing beside the roulette table. Beside him, the casino manager, Edgar, was talking to the young male croupier.

Malachi nodded at them. ‘Are we busy?’

The croupier nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Very busy. Roulette is very popular with the ladies.’

Malachi grinned. ‘It always is.’

Beside him, Edgar cleared his throat. ‘Would you like to play, Mr King? Or maybe...’ Glancing past Malachi, the manager smiled politely at Addie, hesitated.

Malachi stared at her profile in silence, feeling her tension. He’d always known this moment would come: the moment when he would have to formally introduce Addie and he knew that she was waiting for his response. His chest felt tight. She was his wife, but he didn’t believe in happy-ever-after.

He met her gaze deliberately. ‘Addie, this is Edgar Baptista, my casino manager. Edgar, this is Miss Addie Farrell.’

Addie stared at him in silence as slowly the meaning behind his words filtered through her nerves. Miss Farrell. Not Mrs King. Not My wife.

‘They want you to spin the wheel.’

She gazed up at him through the confused tangle of misery and disappointment. ‘Spin the what?’

He gestured towards the roulette wheel. ‘It’s a tradition. It brings good luck to the house.’

‘I’m surprised you of all people believe in luck,’ she said lightly, pushing down the hurt in her chest. ‘You’ll be telling me next you believe in the tooth fairy.’

His eyes met hers: dark, mocking, compelling.

‘We have a saying in the casino, sweetheart. Luck is for losers. But it seems a little churlish to point that out right now.’

He smiled at her then—one of those devastating smiles that made her heart beat too fast.

‘Besides, everyone needs a bit of luck in their lives, don’t you think? For when the odds are really against them.’

Only of course the odds never were against Malachi. How could they be? He was the man who set them.