Books

Excerpt: Bound to the Baby

Prologue

January 2, Sterling Palace Hotel and Casino, Atlantic City, New Jersey

Devlin Campbell had been taking up space at a blackjack table for two hours.  By rights he should be down thousands of dollars, since his head wasn’t in the game but on a letter he’d jammed into his inside coat pocket that morning.  It took a lot to shake Dev up, but the one-page document typed on a California law firm’s letterhead had shaken him to the core, the repercussions still resonating.  It was impossible to forget the letter, so he’d settled instead on ignoring it, as best he could.

He swigged his fourth scotch-and-water, then glanced at the woman standing at his shoulder, observing him silently.  Even before he’d gotten himself semi-drunk, she’d been easy on the eyes.  Her hair was long, light brown and shiny, her body curvy and tempting, but her smile didn’t reach her beautiful blue eyes.  Oddly, her sadness drew him as much as the physical attraction.  He didn’t know her name, only that she’d brought him luck since he’d first laid eyes on her more than an hour ago.

He’d been in the hole a few hundred dollars when he’d spotted her walking toward his table.  He had gone on full alert, everything about her appealing to him, calling to him.  She’d stopped to talk to a passing employee, who had pointed toward someplace in the distance.  She’d glanced in that direction then straight at him and seemed to freeze in place.  Her eyes widened.  For long, increasingly fascinating seconds, neither looked away.  The dealer drew him back into the game, and he won the hand.  

When he’d looked toward her again, she was gone, only to pass by him at that very moment, within reach.

“Wait,” he’d said, his hand on her arm, the contact sizzling.  “You’re my good luck charm.”

Amazingly she waited.  When she’d tried to walk away several times over the next hour, he implored her to stay, although more with his eyes than his words.  He’d dubbed her Ms. Fortune, hoping to make her laugh, but the sadness in her eyes only deepened.

And yet she’d stayed, even as a small crowd gathered, curious, as his winning streak continued and his bets became more daring.  A pit boss watched.  Security people milled.

They scrutinized Dev’s every move, but he wasn’t cheating.  Wasn’t counting cards, either, although he was proficient at it.  He and numbers had a remarkable affinity.  However, no one could count cards at the big casinos anymore, their systems too refined for cheaters to prosper.  But this time he hadn’t cared whether he won or lost, didn’t have the mental wherewithal to do anything more than play the game. 

Yet all he did was win.

Dev jiggled the ice cubes in his otherwise empty glass then set it down as the next hand was dealt.  He lifted the corners—a jack and a five—the kind of hand any sensible person would’ve stayed on, letting the dealer’s hand determine the outcome, but Dev took a hit.  Odds were he would be dealt a face card, putting him well over twenty-one. 

He drew a six.  Twenty-one. It was that kind of night.

As conversation buzzed around him, Ms. Fortune leaned close.  “I really have to go,” she said.  “Congratulations.”

He turned his head.  Their noses almost touched.  “Have dinner with me.”

She pulled back.  “I can’t,” she said quietly. 

She left.  He would’ve had to stop her by force, something he was tempted to do, but instead he watched her disappear into the crowd, wondering what her story was, wishing he could get his hands on that incredible body.

The thrill of the game gone for him, he scooped up his winnings, was accompanied to the cashier and cashed out.  Now what?  He couldn’t drive home to Philadelphia, not with four scotch-and-waters in him.

He could get a room, order room service and face the contents of the letter, and the memories. . . .

He hesitated, a rarity for him.  He usually dealt with situations head-on and quickly.  But this was going to require some soul searching, and he wasn’t comfortable with that.  Damn you, Hunter.

Dev found the front desk, got himself a room on the twenty-fifth floor and headed to the elevator banks.  When a bell pinged he moved to stand in front of the arriving elevator.  The doors opened.  Ms. Fortune stood there.

More than a coincidence, he thought.  Fate. 

She didn’t make a move to exit.  He entered, pushed the button for his floor.  The doors closed behind him.

A tight, hot ball formed inside his chest at the pain he saw in her eyes.  “Who broke your heart?” he asked.

Her eyes filled instantly with tears.

“Let me fix it,” he said softly.

Wordlessly he moved closer, put his arms around her, and gently pulled her close.  She resisted, then she pressed her face into his shoulder and slid her arms around him, squeezing tight, a small sob escaping.  He brushed his lips to her temple.

All too soon the doors opened.

“Come with me,” he said into her ear.  “Stay with me tonight.”

After a moment she nodded then stepped away.

He reached for her hand.  “What’s your name?” he asked, holding the door, preventing it from closing.

“Nicole.”

“I’m Devlin.”

Hand in hand, they walked down the hall.

Chapter 1

May 1, Sterling Palace Hotel and Casino, Stateline, Nevada

Where was Ms. Fortune when he needed her?

Devlin Campbell studied his surroundings, his equilibrium challenged by the garish neon lights and incessant slot-machine noise.  This time he couldn’t win at the blackjack table, not one hand.  He wasn’t superstitious, wasn’t blaming his losses on his former lucky charm not being at his side.  He knew it was, instead, that sly culprit, jet lag.

And so instead of focusing on the cards, he found himself watching the people milling around, even though there was no reason to continually search the casino for her . . . Ms. Fortune.  Nicole.  After all, he’d met her on the other side of the country, ships passing in the night—or more appropriately in this case, ports in a storm, finding comfort and refuge in each other’s arms for reasons neither of them had confided.  He hadn’t experienced another night like it, before or since, although he’d gone back twice, hoping. . . .

Yeah, jet lag.  With the three-hour time difference in Philadelphia, he’d already put in a full day.  Not to mention the fourteen-hour days he’d been working the past month in preparation for this trip. 
Dev watched the dealer dispense the cards, then turn up a king for himself.  Dev looked at his hand—seven and five. 
He didn’t know why he’d come to the casino in the first place.  The refrigerator at the lodge where he was supposed to stay had been stocked by an attractive, efficient young woman named Mary, who’d met him with a key dangling off an ornate keychain.  He could’ve heated up one of the meals from a local restaurant she’d thoughtfully provided, then gone to bed.  Instead he hadn’t even unpacked, hadn’t taken time to tour the spectacular log house.

“Hit or stay, sir?” the dealer asked, awaiting Dev’s decision. 

He signaled for a hit.  A queen landed on his cards.  Twenty-two.  Loser.  It wasn’t a word associated with the name Devlin Campbell.  Ever.

Dev scooped up his few remaining chips and left the table, in need of food.  He’d spotted a sports bar earlier where he could order from the bar.  He would eat something quick and simple, then go back to the lodge and sleep for at least twelve hours.

The televisions were tuned to a baseball game between his beloved Phillies and the San Francisco Giants.  He ordered a beer and checked out the menu, deciding on a burger and fries.  He lifted the frosty glass set before him and scanned the room.  A woman walked past the entrance.  A woman wearing a Sterling Palace uniform.  A woman who reminded him of—

Beer sloshed onto his hand as he thumped his glass onto the bar then rushed out.  He could see her maybe twenty feet ahead, moving at a quick, steady pace.  The same long, shiny, light brown hair, this time braided neatly.  Killer body.  Sexy legs that had wrapped around him and held tight.

“Nicole!” he called.

She turned, looked straight at him, hesitated, then picked up speed.  What the hell?  She was trying to get away?  Why?  He posed no threat.  He hadn’t even learned her last name.  Not that it mattered, since he hadn’t been on a second date or spent a second night with a woman in the past couple of years, no matter how beautiful or sexy. 

Except . . . he’d wanted to have a second night with Nicole, who had been one passionate handful, as intense as he, assertive and demanding in a way that had made him forget everything else that night. 

Even the letter.

He caught up with her, cupped her elbow.  She had no choice but to stop.

“Are you in training for a marathon?” he asked.  His gaze slid to her name badge: Nicole, Sacramento, California.  He’d had no idea she was an employee of the Palace.  She hadn’t been wearing a uniform when they met, but jeans, a dark sweater and boots with heels high enough to bring her close to his height.  He’d tugged them off her, then her jeans, exposing knock-out legs . . .

“Oh, hi,” she said.  “Um . . .”

“Devlin,” he supplied, surprised.  She’d forgotten?  “January? Atlantic City?”

She tugged her jacket together, freeing herself of his grip at the same time.  She was even more voluptuous than he recalled.  His memory hadn’t failed him.  And he definitely wanted a repeat of their night in Atlantic City.

“I remember,” she said, finally smiling a little but, like the first time they’d met, the smile not reaching her eyes. 

“You work here,” he said, looking again at her name badge.

“I’m an assistant manager for the hotel.”

“Were you employed by the Palace in when we met in January?”

“Yes, for the hotel, as head reservations clerk.  I wasn’t on duty when we . . . that night.  I transferred here to Tahoe . . . two months ago.”

She gave the information reluctantly, and barely made eye contact.

Both intrigued and irritated, he said, “Have dinner with me.” 

“I’m working.”  She glanced around, as if seeking someone to come to her rescue, a bit of panic in her eyes. 

Surely she wasn’t afraid of him, not after the night they’d shared.  “When do you get off?”

She finally looked him in the eyes, perhaps concluding he wouldn’t back down, although nothing in her demeanor indicated she was backing down, either.  “At nine.”

Less than an hour.  His jet lag vanished at the anticipation.  “I’ll wait for you.”

“Please don’t.”  She took a step back.  “Please.  I have to go.”

Dev let her leave. He returned to the bar just as his food was being set on the counter. 

There was something to be said for timing.  Food first, then Nicole. 

She wouldn’t get far.

He knew where to find her.