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She closes her mouth and I send up a prayer of thanks to the gods.

“Sir.” A man who looks like he’s in charge of security walks over to me. “Can I see some I.D.? The young lady says she doesn’t have any.” The way he says ‘lady’ is almost comical. He absolutely doesn’t think she is one.

I go to grab my wallet and realize it’s still in my jacket. The one she’s wearing.

I step toward her, ignoring the way the security guards tense. “Let her go,” I tell him calmly. “Before you make this worse.” Because his hands are still on her body and it’s pissing me off.

“This woman is my fiancée,” I say again, ignoring the look she’s shooting at me.Just go with it, Eden.“And you’re wrinkling a Tom Ford jacket,” I add.

Before the second sentence is out of my mouth, he releases her. I hate and I love how easily I can get people to do what I want.

Eden steps away from the guard and frowns at me, but I don’t give her time to ask any questions. Instead I step into her space,my fingers brushing the edge of the lapel as I slip my hand inside the jacket’s inner pocket.

Her breath catches. Just for a second.

So does mine, if I’m being honest. Not that I let it show.

Retrieving my wallet, I flick it open for the guard, showing him my driver’s licence.

Eden’s eyes flash but she says nothing. She’s not stupid, she knows this is trouble. She shifts her feet as the guard reads my name off my licence and mutters into his mouthpiece. There’s a little back and forth with whoever he’s talking to before he turns back to look at me.

“Mr. Abbott, sir. The owner has requested you both join him in his office. Now.”

Of course he has. Christ, I have a headache.

If there’s one thing I know about casino owners it’s that they don’t like noise. Or mess.

They like quiet. They like profit. And they really like it when problems disappear fast and clean. So this is going to take some delicate negotiation.

I slide my wallet back into my jacket that Eden’s still wearing and shoot her a warning look. “Come on, darling.” I brush my lips against her cheek. “Let’s go apologize to the nice man.”

They march us through the back corridors, and I resist the urge to rub my temples. Instead, I’m concentrating on our next move. Apologize, get out of here, and put Eden on the next plane out of here. And then I can get back to my damn job instead of thinking about how my jacket is going to smell like her.

When we reach the back rooms of the casino, the security guard leads us into a private office that looks exactly as I expected it to. Dark wood-paneled walls, cream marble floor, a massive desk at the center with green leather inlay. And behind it is a gray-haired man, a scowl painted firmly on his lips.

He looks up as we enter, his gaze flickering over me. A glass tumbler rests in front of him, empty but polished. Everything about him gleams, except the expression on his face.

“West Abbott I assume,” he says with a graveled voice.

His gaze turns to Eden. From her bare legs to the dried paint on her skin to the oversized jacket swallowing her frame. His mouth twitches. His expression looks somewhere between amusement and disdain. “And your fiancée, I presume.”

I try not to wince at that. She’s going to give me hell about this for the rest of my life.

“That’s right.” I give a small nod to the man, sliding into charm mode. “And you must be Mr. Riva.” Vin’s cousin. Or second cousin. Something like that. Vin has a big family. He called and got us a room here when I told him I had to leave for Vegas. “Thank you for your hospitality,” I tell him. “And I apologize for the uproar a moment ago.” I pull Eden close and kiss her brow like a besotted lover. “My fiancée has a very strong sense of right and wrong.”

“I didn’t realize you were here with your fiancée,” Riva says, his expression completely neutral. “Vin just said you had a problem to sort out.”

Eden laughs softly. “I guess I am a problem,” she says, leaning against me. Good girl. “I’m really so very sorry,” she says. “I absolutely regret everything that just happened.”

I squeeze her waist. Very good girl. Ten out of ten.

But Riva doesn’t look convinced. “How long have you two been together?”

“Three years,” I say at the same time Eden says, “Six months.”

Damn.

“Well, it depends.” I give him an open smile. “I’ve been in love with her for three years. She’s only given me the time of day for the last six months. But to be honest, it’s all a bit of a mess.”