Holiday with the Millionaire

She shook her head and blonde curls cascaded forward over her shoulders. ‘No. But I’m sure I could kiss your dice for luck.’

Her whole body was tingling right now. Maybe she was reading this all wrong. Let’s face it—she’d hardly been astute when it came to Josh.

But this situation and this man felt like a million miles away from her last. Reuben reached up and brushed his finger next to her cheek. Any second now she might actually see stars.

This time she moved. She stepped forward, letting the aroma of him drift through her senses. He leaned forward.

She could smell his shaving gel, the one he’d used as he’d got ready. For some reason she was holding her breath, caught in the gaze of his dark brown eyes. His sexy smile seemed entirely for her only. ‘I think you’re right.’ His voice was low and husky. ‘I think you might be my good-luck charm.’

The effect was instant. Butterfly wings against her skin, beating in tiny frantic movements. All parts of her skin. Even parts that were apparently covered.

This couldn’t be happening. This just wasn’t right.

The hand holding her cocktail glass trembled, even though she tried to steady it.

He was still only inches from her. She could see tiny lines around the corners of his eyes, the hint of shadow around his jaw line and a pair of lips just asking to be kissed.

Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. Everything about this was, oh, so wrong. She shouldn’t even be thinking like this. Shouldn’t even let these thoughts enter her head.

But from the second they’d arrived it was almost as if a fanfare was erupting all around them. Back home in England there had been several moments, several flashes that might have made her think about Reuben Tyler a little differently.

But once he’d kissed her, once he’d made her lips sting and toes curl it had been like a tiny seed in her brain that just unfurled into a giant chestnut tree. With acres of room to swing on. Stop it!

She swallowed nervously. It didn’t matter she’d already drunk half her cocktail. Her lips were bone dry. Especially when he was staring at them.

Her automatic response was to lick them. But Reuben’s gaze didn’t move. Normally she would have felt uncomfortable, felt as though she were under the microscope. But everything about this—the grandeur of the surroundings, the volume of people around them, the feel of the expensive dress against her skin, and the way his cologne was weaving its way around her—made her feel a little bold. It was like starring in her own private movie.

She licked her lips again and watched as he straightened his shoulders a little. She matched his move, pressing lightly towards him and letting her breasts almost touch the lapel of his jacket. She bit her lip and kept watch on his dark eyes.

It was the first time she’d ever overtly flirted with a man. Lara was used to speaking her mind, but she wasn’t a girl of action, and she’d never been a tease.

Maybe she was having an allergic reaction to the mangoes in the daiquiri? They weren’t exactly her normal fruit of choice. It could be that they’d had some strange effect on her body and lowered her inhibitions. Or maybe it was just the giant rush of pheromones emanating from them both and exploding somewhere in the middle.

Whatever it was, the sparkle coming off her dress didn’t even begin to capture what was happening between them.

Reuben shifted on his feet, a little uncomfortable. Was he adjusting himself? She couldn’t help the smile that reached from ear to ear.

‘Come on,’ he said briskly, covering her free hand with his own. ‘Let’s teach you how to play European roulette.’

He crossed the Salon Renaissance in such long strides she almost had to run to catch up. Now she had pulses shooting up her arm too.

He stopped abruptly and turned to face her, not dropping her hand. ‘Did you want to eat first? There are restaurants here.’

She shook her head. Eating was absolutely the last thing she wanted to do right now. Her stomach wouldn’t be able to keep a single thing down.

Reuben walked smartly to a booth and changed some money for chips. He turned and handed them to her. She frowned and stared at the multicoloured pile in her hands. ‘How much are these worth?’

He paused, as if he was hesitating to tell her. ‘They’re in euros. The value is on them. It ranges from twenty-five euros to one hundred, five hundred and a thousand.’

‘A thousand euros? Are you mad?’ She could see heads turn at her rising voice. But she didn’t care. She started riffling through the chips. ‘Which ones are those? I don’t want those. I don’t really want the five hundreds either. Even the hundreds make me feel a bit faint.’