“We came here in the summer if we were living in the city, but we lived in Texas and California at different times. I felt like a military brat, making friends, then leaving for a few years, adjusting to a new situation, then coming back and trying to fit in with the old crowd.” Eventually, he’d grown tired of trying. “I do know a lot of people. I don’t consider any of them friends.”

Her liquid-honey gaze searched his, making his chest itch.

The bell rang.

“Oh!” Fliss swung her attention to the track. “They’re off.”

At least she was having fun with the betting. She’d been appalled when he had told her he would stake her ten grand. He had threatened to pick her horses himself if she didn’t spend it, so she had sat down with the program and her tarot cards, making her selections before they’d even arrived to glimpse the horses.

She’d won the first race, but her bet had been so small, she’d only come away with eight hundred dollars, which she’d tried to give to him.

“Double down,” he had insisted, so he knew she had at least that much riding on this race. He’d dropped five grand, and things were not looking good.

“Which one is yours?” he asked.

Fliss’s hand came out to grasp his arm. Otherwise, she wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing. She was transfixed by the sprinting horses.

“The one in front?” he guessed, starting to grin as her expression began to glow.

“Shh.” Her grip crushed his sleeve.

It was like watching her as she approached climax. Her breath was uneven. Her breasts trembled. Anticipation radiated off her, tightening his own nerves.

It was titillating enough to set hooks into Saint’s libido, but he was also amused in a completely non-carnal way. She was mesmerizing, looking so sexy and cutely rapt at the same time. He was twitching into arousal and wanting this win for her in a way he’d never wanted anything, just so he could see her reaction.

If the race had gone one second longer, he would have been fully hard, but there was a collective roar. Fliss screamed in triumph and leapt into his arms, crashing her curves against him, filling his senses with floral and citrus notes that he was learning were innately her. She was warm and soft beneath the thin layer of crepe, light and lovely. Her wild excitement provoked a rusty scrape of laughter in his throat, one that stalled when he noticed his father had turned up after all. He was watching them.

Saint’s first, most primal instinct was to draw her protectively closer, but another more harshly learned response recognized that he had revealed a weakness.

He set her back a step. “How much did you win?”

“Enough to pay you back your stake.” She was jubilant, smile wide and eyes bright as she straightened the sunglasses that had been knocked askew.

“I don’t want it back. It’s for you to play all weekend,” he reminded.

She did pay him back, though, since she had doubled her money by the end of the day.

“Beginner’s luck,” she claimed that evening when they were on the terrace at the Belton-Websters’. Word had got around that Fliss had been on a hot streak today. Everyone wanted to know her secret. “Also my lucky horseshoe.” She picked up the pendant she wore.

“Have you looked at tomorrow’s races?” a middle-aged man asked her.

“I’m saving most of my money for Paprika’s Tuft,” she said, mentioning Norma’s thoroughbred. “But there are a couple others that look promising.”

“Show me.” The man had his program and a pencil in hand.

Saint excused himself to the bar and was returning with a fresh drink when he ran into Kyle, the son of their host that he’d told Fliss about. Kyle was newly divorced and a little drunker than was wise.

“So that’s her, the one who got you in trouble with Dad and the rest of the board?” Kyle snickered, his attention twisted to where Fliss still had her head together with the older man. “I see the attraction. Nice.” His hand came up to his chest, cupping imaginary breasts.

“That’s your one shot, Kyle. Leave it there, and I’ll forget we had this conversation.” It was a lie. Saint would never forget. He wanted to blacken both his eyes.

“She’s a housemaid. You’re not serious about her,” Kyle scoffed. “Let me know when you’re done with her, though.”

“We’re getting married.” Saint squared himself against the man, planting his feet. “She’s going to be the mother of my child.” He blindly reached to the table beside him to set down his drink.

He missed. The smash of glass on the stones silenced the din of conversation, but Saint didn’t look anywhere but at Kyle’s disbelieving smirk.

“Swallow what you just said, or I’ll shove those words back down your throat for you,” Saint warned.

“She’s pregnant?” Kyle guffawed into the silence. “Man, I gave you a lot more credit than you deserved.”

The heel of Saint’s palm hit the middle of Kyle’s chest before he realized that he was reacting. It was a shove, not a strike, but it was strong enough to send Kyle stumbling backward. His arms flailed as he hit the edge of the pool, then he was plummeting backward into it. The splash washed across nearby shoes, making everyone gasp and step back.

“Saint!” His mother’s voice cut through the murmur of shock.

Kyle was slapping at the water, clumsily swimming to the edge, swearing a blue streak.

Saint resisted the urge to stand on the man’s head. He looked for Fliss and found her staring at him with the same appalled shock as everyone else.

All heads turned to her now, making her the center of attention as everyone reevaluated her dress, which was three long layers of pleated ruffles from a single shoulder strap, disguising her thickening waistline.

“She does bet on the right horse, doesn’t she?” an amused voice gurgled.

“Shut up,” Saint said in the direction of the voice.

Fliss pivoted on one sandal and walked into the house.

“Fliss!” Saint caught up to her in the music room.

Fliss was so furious she couldn’t even look at him. “I need the ladies’ room.”

“You’re not locking yourself in a bathroom,” he said through his teeth, looming closer.

“I will use the loo when I need one!” She paused long enough to glare a warning at him. “Take away every other bloody right I have, but not that one.”

Heads swiveled in their direction, the level of acute curiosity sizzling on the air like electricity building for a lightning strike.

“It’s this way,” he said tightly and directed her through an archway and into a short corridor.

Tempted as she was to crawl out the window, she flushed and washed her hands and came out a few minutes later.

Saint was leaning on the wall, arms folded, expression grim. He straightened. “The car is waiting outside.”

“Oh, are we leaving?” she asked with facetious surprise.

“You want to stay?” He held her simmering gaze without flinching.

“Does it matter what I want?” She stalked ahead of him to the door.