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أختكم كريمة

CHAPTER TWO


An icy heat washed through Sam. Skin prickling, she turned on the sofa's arm to face the door and was immediately struck by heat, a dark heat that seared and burned from all the way across the room. "How did you get in?" she demanded.


Cristiano held up a key ring, "My key."


"Your key."


His broad shoulders twisted and he smiled that same mock*ing smile he'd smiled last night. "My villa."

It wasn't much of a villa, not in its current state of shabby dis*repair. When Sam first met Johann, he had a larger, finer villa on the Rock, close to the royal palace, tucked in an elegant old square, set off by equally elegant old fountains, but as his finan*cial picture changed, so did their accommodations,


"You're mad," she said, digging her hands into the couch, looking at Johann, heart racing, adrenaline surging through her in sickening fashion. "You're both mad. You don't wager homes. Wives. Families." But Johann's eyes were closed, his empty glass cock-eyed in his lap and Sam's glance swung wildly back to Bartolo. "You can't take someone's wife,"


"You can if she's wagered."


Sam swayed on the arm of the sofa, swayed and laughed. She had to laugh. She didn't know what else to do. This was absurd. This was a farce. It had to be. Johann was trying to scare her, trying to make a point. Obviously he was in over his head.

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