Barbara Dunlop - The Billionaire Who Bought Christmas

The tables were covered in white linen, well-spaced, with comfortable, padded chairs. The service was impeccable, and the decor spectacular. Bold burgundy carpets covered the floor, while padded, striped chairs surrounded the tables and spotlights shone on recessed circus murals.

They started almost immediately with chilled cocktails, then she savored course after course of exotic delicacies complemented by fine merlots and chardonnays.

Afterward, Jack didn’t even glance at the bill before handing over his platinum card.

His cell phone rang.

“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for his inside breast pocket.

Kristy shook her head. “Don’t worry about me.” She settled into the overstuffed chair, sighing as she gazed around the softly glowing room. The ceiling was draped with bright silk—yellow and orange and ivory fluttering like a tent dome around a central chandelier. It was dark outside, and the dancing lights of the fountains beyond the windows added to the intimacy of the restaurant.

“What time?” Jack asked into the phone.

Kristy took another sip from her wineglass, letting the tart, woodsy flavor ease over her tongue, as the room’s ambiance seeped in and relaxed her.

“If that’s the best you can do,” he said, catching Kristy’s gaze and giving her a smile that warmed her blood. “I understand. Okay.”

He flipped the phone shut.

“Everything okay?” she asked, truly not caring for the moment. As long as nobody had gone bankrupt or died, she was going to enjoy her stolen evening with a handsome, intelligent and interesting man.

Things like this simply didn’t happen to women like Kristy. Her last dinner out had been the bistro down the block. She and her date had split the bill. It hadn’t been expensive. But watching him calculate the charges, add the tip and count out change had definitely taken any romance out of the evening.

“Simon’s waiting for parts,” said Jack.

Well, that didn’t sound too dire. “What does that mean?”

“It means we’re stuck here for the night.”

Okay. That burst Kristy’s little bubble. Cash-flow alert. She’d planned on finding a small family-style motel outside of L.A. Her travel budget didn’t include Bellagio rates. Not even for one night.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Jack.

“About what?”

He reached for her hand, stroking his tapered fingers over her knuckles. “Whatever it is that made you frown. Don’t worry about it.”

“I have to worry about it.”

“Says who?”

“My accountant and my credit card company.”

He grinned. “Oh, that. Don’t worry. I won’t let you go bankrupt before morning.”

She frowned at him. “Dinner was great, but you’re not paying for my hotel room.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have self-respect.”

“You’re my guest.”

“I’m your fellow strandee.”

“It was my plane.”

“And you let me ride on it for free.”

Jack sighed, and she could feel him regrouping.

He opened his mouth.

“No,” she jumped in.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.” He got to his feet. “Come on. I’m going to show you something fun.”

“You keep your platinum card right where it is.”

He grinned, his eyes glowing in the candlelight. “Cross my heart.”

She nodded. “Okay. That’s better.” She bunched her linen napkin on the table and rose with him. “So, what is it?”

He shook his head. “It’s a surprise. It won’t hurt a bit. But that’s all I’m telling you.”

“Will it be embarrassing?”

“Not in the least.”

“Will I hate myself in the morning?”

His gray gaze went smoky, sizzling into hers for a split second, clenching her stomach, tripping her heartbeat. “I certainly hope not,” he said.

“Jack—”

The sizzle evaporated. “Grab a sense of humor, Kristy. I’m not propositioning you”

She felt like a fool. “Sorry.”

He held out his hand, the dare clear in his smirk.

She took a deep breath. Then she told herself to chill and curled her fingers into his palm.

His hand was strong, warm and dry, just the way she remembered. There was something about the texture of his skin, or maybe it was the way his fingers wrapped confidently around hers. It was the way it had been on the plane. She felt safe in his hands, as though he was in control of the planet, and all she needed to do was hang on for the ride.

It was probably a lingering emotion from the turmoil of the airplane landing, but it felt nice all the same.

They made their way across the patterned carpet of the casino. Machines flashed and chimed on all sides, while muted lighting showed yellow through draped fabric valences. Kristy tucked in behind Jack as he naturally cleared a path in front of him while he strode confidently through the crowd.

Above the buzz of conversation, a woman whooped in delight, and applause broke out around one of the craps tables.

The throng thinned, and they approached the casino cage where a neatly uniformed woman greeted Jack with a smile.

“Fifty thousand,” said Jack, tossing his credit card on the counter.

Kristy turned to blink up at him like an owl. “That was a joke, right?”

He glanced down and gave her a wink and a mischievous grin.

“Seriously,” she prompted.

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he turned back to the clerk who handed him a receipt and a stack of bills.

Kristy focused on the money, trying to figure out if fifty thousand was casino lingo for some other amount. Maybe he’d meant fifty dollars or five hundred.

But those were thousand-dollar bills. And there were a lot of them. She’d never even seen a thousand-dollar bill.

Feeling panicky at the thought of him walking around with that much money, she pulled up on her toes and hissed in his ear. “This is nuts.”

He leaned down to whisper back. “How so?”

“You can’t blow all that.” She was practically hyperventilating just looking at it.

He smirked. “I’m not blowing it. They’ll give it back to me when I cash in the chips.”

Like that was a reasonable answer. “Only if you don’t lose it.”

He shook his head. “Have a little faith. I’m not going to lose it.”

“You can’t know that.”

He tucked the bills into his inside pocket. “Sure I can.”

She resisted an urge to sock him in the arm. “Do you have a gambling problem?” Was she an enabler in all this? Should she try to drag him out of the casino? Maybe call Hunter for help?

Jack grinned, turning to walk away from the cashier. “It’s not a problem at all.”

She moved up beside him. “Seriously, Jack. Should we leave?”

“I told you. This is going to be fun.” He stopped in the middle of the casino and took a look around. “Okay, what are you up for?”

“A drink,” she said, suddenly inspired. “We should go back to the lobby bar instead.”

“They’ll bring you free drinks at the table. Ever played roulette?”

He started to move again, and she scrambled to keep up. “No. Of course not. I don’t gamble.” Like she could afford to on her budget.

“Really?” he asked.

“Really.”

“That’s too bad.” He stopped in front of a green numbered table and a shiny roulette wheel.

“Hop up,” he said, putting the stack of bills down on the edge of the green felt.

She stared at the money, a sick feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. “No way.”

He pulled out one of the high chairs. “Don’t spoil the party.”

“Jack, really—” Then she realized they were attracting attention from the dealer and the other players, so she lifted her heel to the crossbar and jumped up into the chair.