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Only the American player, number eleven, matched her. He had a full house.
Ten million euros poorer than she’d been ten minutes earlier, Rose smiled gracefully and got to her feet at the same moment the door opened. She’d played her cards with perfect timing.
Head held high, she strolled past the remaining players, all gawping incredulously at her, towards her husband.
The gangly nineteen-year-old who’d been shamed into giving her words of sympathy over a decade ago had filled out over the years. Diaz Martinez had transformed into a six-foot-two slab of pure rangy muscle, the dark brown hair that eleven years ago had been worn long like the surf dudes who hit Devon’s beaches in droves cut short at the back and sides, the longer top squiffed up and to the side.
The green eyes that had never bothered to disguise their loathing skimmed hers before he stepped aside to let her through the door.
Without exchanging a word or a glance, they crossed the casino floor. It didn’t surprise her that he led her to the back offices rather than take her up to his suite.
The office he selected had ‘Accounts’ on its door. It smelt stale, as if its occupants never bothered to open the windows. She was quite sure he’d chosen this one deliberately.
Inside, he propped his backside on the nearest desk, folded his arms across his chest and gazed at the ceiling. In perfect, barely accented English, he said, ‘I have seen some stunts in my time but throwing ten million euros away in one hand just to get my attention is a new one on me.’
The agony at his indifference came within a breath of poleaxing her.
‘I had to get your attention somehow, didn’t I?’ she said tremulously. ‘I mean, you’ve blocked my number.’ She’d woken to an empty bed and a note that read:
My lawyers will be in touch about the divorce.
And they had been.
Of Diaz, she’d seen and heard nothing.
That note had lodged like a taunt in the forefront of her mind. She’d read it so many times the sharply executed letters had etched themselves into her retinas and into her broken heart.
‘I’ll do everything else through the lawyers but this you need to hear from me and not a suit. Not that I particularly think youdeserveto hear it from me, but then, I’m not the vengeful narcissist of this so-called marriage. Keeping track of your itinerary is impossible, but I knew you’d be here tonight so took my chance. Luckily I kept my maiden name otherwise the security checks would have picked up that I had the same surname as you, which would have quite ruined the surprise.’
The firm, sensuous lips twisted. It was a twist she’d seen too many times to count. ‘Spit it out.’
‘Notice anything different about me?’
‘I do not have time for games, Rose.’
‘Neither do I, so why don’t you look at me and see for yourself why I pulled that stunt?’ It shouldn’t hurt so much that he refused to look at her. She should have expected it—shehadexpected it.
Diaz hated her. Shared grief had pulled them together that night, nothing more. While she’d fallen asleep locked in his arms and with a sense that the world’s axis had righted itself, he was already deep in regret. He’d extricated himself from her arms and her bed with such darkness in his heart that he’d been compelled to leave a note about their divorce. The final cruelty had been where he’d left the note—on the pillow where his head should have been.
The night that had meant everything to her had meant nothing to him, and she would never,nevermake the mistake of allowing emotions to play any part in their relationship again.
Teeth gritted, heart furiously pumping, Diaz let his stare fall to the face he’d last seen in the flesh four months ago while she’d been sleeping.
She looked the same as she’d done then. Same large blue eyes ringed and enhanced with dramatically applied eyeliner and mascara. Same too-long nose. Same wide mouth and high cheekbones. Same long, dirty blonde hair. The same captivating beauty that had mesmerised and repelled in equal measure.
He shrugged roughly. ‘What am I looking at?’
She lifted up her index finger, then pointed it downward.
His still dry throat had closed even before his gaze followed her finger’s direction.
Same slender neck. Same slender shoulders. Same high breasts. All covered in a silk dress he didn’t recognise, black and long-sleeved, more like an oversized shirt than a dress, and which shouldn’t cling to her slender waist and flat belly…
His heart made a sudden cold, hard thump.
She pressed a hand to the belly that was no longer flat.
He shook his head in disbelief and lifted his gaze back to hers.