Page 7 of Maximum Bet

Couples with children at home and the older guests are giving goodbyes and well wishes as I weave through the winding-down reception. Women shift in their heels, no doubt ready to discard them, as men with loosened ties lead them toward the valet. On the veranda, a few people linger, mainly couples enjoying the view.

Off to the side, with elbows propped on the stone railing, I spot Cassandra.

For a moment, I drink her in. The tousled waves of her hair cascade down her back, highlighting the luscious curves of her hips. Her diamond earrings sparkle in the soft garden lighting from below.

I’m the luckiest bastard alive.

Placing her drink on the railing, I press myself against her side, then wrap my arm around her waist to tug her close. “The view is beautiful,” I say, my eyes not wavering from her face.

She laughs and lifts her wine, taking a gentle sip. “Not your best pickup line.”

“Not my worst.” I shrug, my fingers brushing her side.

Sighing, she places her head against my shoulder and lifts her glass toward the golf course. “They’re building a lot of homes over there.”

“They are.”

The development on the other side of the golf course is nothing short of impressive. The smallest model boasts six-thousand square feet. Each home has a custom interior, with enough luxury options to keep even the highest roller in my casino happy.

“Have you ever . . .” Cassandra trails off with a shake of her head. She watches the Pinot Grigio dance as she twists the glass between her fingers.

“Have I ever what?” I turn to face her, nudging her waist and forcing her to look at me.

“Well.” She sips her wine. “I’ve just been thinking about the future. After we get married. Do you want to stay in the penthouse forever? I mean, if you do, that’s fine. I’m not complaining. It’s beautiful, and I know it’s convenient for you to be in the hotel. I guess I’m wondering what the plan is.”

I look toward the half-built homes. “I haven’t thought about it,” I lie.

“Oh.” Cassandra’s gaze lingers on one home in particular. With the front of the house facing us and a huge wraparound yard, it’s a perfect lot. It sits right at a curve in the golf course, giving a view over the greenery looking toward the mountains. An infinity pool is a given.

“A discussion for after our wedding,” I say.

“Of course.” Her hand finds mine, fingers threading together. “We have enough on our plate for the moment.”

A few Romano-Tariello associates stumble onto the veranda and call my name.

I roll my eyes and point them in the direction of the country club’s entrance. “I hope you’re planning on taking an Uber.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Tariello,” one of the younger men promises. “See you tomorrow!”

“What are the chances they call in sick?” Cassandra asks once they’re out of earshot.

“Judging by the fact that I’m their boss, and I know that would be bullshit, I have a feeling I’m just going to have a lot of hungover employees at the hotel tomorrow.” I tug her forward. “Ready to go?”

“Stop talking dirty to me.” She winks. “Seriously, though, I’d do anything to get out of these shoes.”

“Anything?” My brow quirks as my mind conjures all sorts of lascivious ideas.

“Come on, Casanova. Let’s say goodbye.”

Removing my hand from hers so that I can place it on the small of her back, I guide her to the ballroom. With a final glance toward the construction, my lips curve into a grin, and the promise of our future fills my chest with a comfort that only Cassandra brings.

Chapter 4

Dominic

Santos sinks into a leather armchair in front of my desk, nodding toward the floor-to-ceiling windows behind me. “Nice view.”

“Perks of being the hotel owner.” My focus remains trained on him.