Last Name - Dr. Rebecca Sharp Page 0,1

with that misogynistic crap, he looked back to the Blackjack table in front of him and picked up his cards.

Bastard.

Gritting my teeth, I tried to twist from his grasp only to feel beefy fingers curl and crunch into the side of my dress and painfully lock me against him.

That was it.

Maybe I should scream. Call for help. Accuse him.

I huffed. I was tired of men taking advantage of me, and just like I handled Andy, I was going to handle this asshole all by myself.

I looked to assess the fat fingers digging into my waist, and suddenly there was another voice. One without a sexist Southern accent. One that was powerful and commanding in the dangerously unassuming way. One that was close enough to send a parade of tingling sensations down my spine to pool low in my belly and giving my dress a run for its money the way the sudden warmth shimmered all over my body.

“That’s a nice five of hearts and jack of clubs you have there,” the voice mused.

I looked up to meet light brown eyes—the color a blend of warm sugar and sand as they danced with determination, drawing my attention to every feature of the most handsome man I’d ever seen.

Those eyes were perched on strong cheekbones and an aristocratic nose, a jawline that seemed to be cut sharper than the next deck—so sharp that I was able to see it underneath the short-trimmed beard that masked most of his lower face except for his lips.

My mouth parted.

He casually took up the empty seat at the high stakes table, drumming his fingers on the felt top as though it belonged to him.

His gaze swung up as though he was looking for something or someone in the ceiling before it locked on me like a hot, protective shield.

A slice of perfect white teeth flashed through his lips, the ends curling up in this devastating way that felt as though when they turned, they turned a key that locked me in his spell. And out of all the sights I’d seen today, out of all the lights, all the glitz, and all the things so outrageous to make sure they were never forgotten, the memory of his smile was the only souvenir I’d take home with me.

A smile that was the greatest risk and the greatest rush to linger in its presence.

“Did you—” the pervert sputtered, glancing down at his cards, his cheeks turning Roulette red, as he gaped at the man who’d just sat down next to him and told the rest of the table what his cards were. “How dare you,” he accused as though he were able to do something about it. “You can’t look at what’s mine. Fucking cheater. I—I’ll have you arrested, you hear me? I would’ve won that hand. I’ll have you arrested for cheating me out of what’s mine.”

I had the strange urge to laugh.

In truth, I felt like Princess Leia trapped against Jabba the Hut, the sheer mass of him able to hold me prisoner but unable to defend himself against the man who moved with the subtle, calculated strength and precision of a jaguar.

The gorgeous rule-breaker flashed me a ‘don’t worry’ glance, and I couldn’t help but be intrigued by his cool confidence, coming over and nonchalantly ruining the very large pot for Mr. Greasy-Groper.

“You don’t like someone touching what’s yours?” That smile flashed again—brighter than the lights of the whole Strip—before it disappeared into the darkest, most punishing look I’d ever seen on a person. “Then you should let her go before I have you arrested for harassment and you’ll never be allowed out of jail, let alone in this city again.”

I sucked in a breath.

He was saving me.

And I caught the wink from his warm sugar gaze as the groper spun to me, glazed eyes bugged wide, realizing what this was all about.

Suddenly, I was free, stumbling back a step on my heels, and almost crashing to the floor with my new liberty until he saved me again.

My chivalrous Casanova reached for my arms, steadying me with a firm grip—one that made me want to linger in rather than lunge from—before plucking two cups of water from a passing waiter, handing me one—a chaste celebration of my freedom.

Taking it, my fingers sizzled at the momentary contact with his—a warm and inviting touch that lit up parts of my body dormant for some time now—dormant in revolt against the heartbreak it had led me to. A