She opened the faded cover and showed Allie an inscription on the inside. In beautiful handwritten script, it read May those who seek comfort find it here. —E McMasterson, North River Steamer.

Allie didn’t see the connection. She looked to Mrs. Gibson for understanding.

“That was my grandfather,” the woman explained, her eyes welling with happy tears. “I don’t know how it ended up here, but this belonged on his riverboat. If we hadn’t lost the honeymoon suite and been reassigned to a different room, I never would’ve found it.”

Allie felt her cheeks break into a warm smile. “See? I told you there are no accidents. This is a message of comfort from your grandfather’s spirit.”

Mrs. Gibson hugged the book to her chest. “Do you think the captain would mind if I took it home with me?”

“Not one bit,” Allie said. “That’s a gift, and it belongs with you. I’ll replace it myself if I have to.” Stepping into her room, she bent to reach into her backpack and pulled free a gris-gris bag for love and luck. “Here,” she said with a wink, handing the sachet to Mrs. Gibson. “Now get back to your room and enjoy that sweet husband of yours.”

After sharing a quick hug, they walked together until they reached the stairwell and parted ways. Allie jogged down the stairs to the casino, figuring that’s where Marc would be. She was right. She found him alone with Nick in the dimly lit room, the tops of their heads illuminated by a lone spotlight above the bar.

Marc had let down his hair and pulled off his tie, which rested atop a nearby barstool along with his captain’s hat and jacket. He grinned at his brother while clinking his glass in a toast. When he tipped back his cola, a visible patch of tanned skin at the base of his throat shifted, trapping Allie’s gaze for several long beats.

She couldn’t stop imagining how his skin might taste beneath her lips or how he’d smell of sunshine and shaving cream. But more than that, she loved seeing him relaxed and happy for once. It lifted the corners of her mouth as she strode toward the bar.

“I take it the tournament went well,” she called across the open room.

Nick whipped his head around and gave her a smile, then pointed behind her to the door. “Hey, Allie. Lock that, will you? We’re closed till morning.”

She spun on her heel and did as he asked. By the time she reached the bar, Nick had poured her a shot of something she couldn’t identify in the dim lighting. Marc pushed out a stool for her and grabbed a nearby bowl of lime wedges.

“Tequila,” Marc said with a mischievous grin.

Allie lifted a palm. “No, no, no. That’s my kryptonite. A few shots of that and I start leaking IQ points out my ears. There might even be table dancing.”

In response, Nick quickly procured a bowl of salt.

“C’mon, Allie-Cat,” Marc said. “Celebrate with us. The tourney from hell is finally over.”

She nodded at his glass of cola. “Why aren’t you partaking?”

“Because I have to stay sober enough to pilot the boat in case of an emergency,” he said. “You and Nicky don’t.”

“Go ahead, darlin’.” Nick tipped aside his blond head and pointed to the spot below his ear. “I’ll even let you lick salt off my neck.”

Allie didn’t have to tell him thanks but no, thanks. Marc did it for her in the form of a peanut hurled at his brother’s head. After deftly batting aside the tiny missile, Nick hopped down from his barstool and backed toward the door.

“I know when I’m not wanted,” Nick teased. “I’ll leave you two alone . . . so you can find more interesting places to sprinkle that salt.”

This time it was Allie who pegged him with a peanut. He took the abuse with a grin and vanished out the doors, locking the handles behind him.

“I didn’t mean to break up your party,” Allie said, pulling her cell phone from her back pocket. “I just wanted to show you this.” She tapped her message button and turned the screen to face Marc.

Squinting, he leaned in and read, If that overgrown weasel asks about me, remind him that the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his chest with a sharp knife. Marc wrinkled his forehead. “I don’t get it. Is that supposed to be a threat?”

“What?” Allie glanced at her phone and discovered a new text from Devyn. “Oops, wrong one. My sister’s not exactly turning cartwheels at the idea of running into Beau.” She pulled up the message from the Natchez fire department and handed Marc the phone. “Read this one.”

Marc scanned the text and nodded thoughtfully. “Huh. Faulty battery.” Then he added a casual, “Good to know,” and went back to sipping his Coke.

Good to know? How did he not see what a big deal this was? Allie shook the phone in his face. “This proves I didn’t cause the fire.”

Marc sucked a drop of cola from his bottom lip. “Nobody said you did.”

“Oh, come on. You were all thinking it.”

He shook his head. “Not me.”

“Liar,” she said, lifting the shot glass to her lips. “I saw it all over your face that day in Regale’s suite.”

“Naw, honey, that was pain,” Marc said with a grimace. “I had a raging case of blue balls.”

Allie sputtered tequila into her fist and choked on a laugh, doing her best not to snort liquor up her nose.

“But Regale believed it,” Marc went on. His impish twinkle faded as he dropped his gaze into the glass of cola. “And you stepped up and left the galley to keep him on board.” He peeked up at her with respect in his eyes. “That was mighty big of you.”

Allie threw back what remained of her shot, wincing at the burn. She cleared her throat. “I know how important the Belle is to you.” The dark circles beneath his eyes proved he’d run himself ragged this week. “You look exhausted. Why don’t you turn in?”

He flapped a hand and poured her another shot, waiting until she downed that one, too. “I’m all keyed up. I need to unwind first.”

At least they agreed on one thing. Marc needed to blow off some steam, and Allie was happy to help—they were even in the perfect place for it. “Then let’s play a game.”

Marc glanced over her shoulder to the rows of dormant slot machines and empty roulette tables in the darkness. He pressed his lips together as if weighing her suggestion and finding it intriguing. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Well,” she began. “You’re probably tired of poker.”

He nodded in agreement. “Especially the Texas variety.”

Which left blackjack, but then they’d have to take turns representing the house, which didn’t sound like much fun.

“I don’t know a lot of card games,” Allie admitted. “We could play Go Fish.” She’d meant it as a joke, but Marc’s lips tugged in a wide smile that drew out the cleft in his chin. He seemed to take it seriously for a moment, then laughed in a low, masculine chortle that turned her thoughts from gaming to sinning.

“Haven’t played that in a while,” he said, nudging another tequila shooter in her direction. “What should we wager?”

“Do we have to bet?”

“Of course,” he said. “That’s half the fun.”

In general, Allie didn’t carry much cash, and what little she had was in her suite. “I don’t have any money on me.”

“That’s okay. I don’t want your money.”

She glanced around the bar for ideas, then pointed at a bowl of salty snacks. “We could play for pretzels.”

“Pretzels?” He scoffed in offense. “What are we, twelve?”

Allie scowled at him. “Well, what do you want?”

His gaze took a slow trip down the length of her body, from shoulders to toes and back up again. Her skin heated as she began to understand the stakes he had in mind. “I wouldn’t object to seeing what you’ve got on under those clothes.”

Reflexively, Allie darted a glance at the strong contours of Marc’s chest, barely visible as shadows beneath his white dress shirt. Truthfully, she wouldn’t mind seeing what he was hiding either. “Are you suggesting we play Strip Go Fish?”

He answered by toasting her with his Coke and eyeing her shot in a silent message to drink up.

“Right here in the casino?” she added.

“The door’s locked, and the cleaning crew isn’t scheduled to come around till third shift.” He nodded to a dark corner on the opposite side of the room. “We can sit back there if you want. That way nobody will spot your bare-naked backside through the glass doors.”

Allie pointed at him. “I think you mean your bare-naked backside.” Which she was going to enjoy ogling—immensely.

“Sugar, you’re going to be very cold, very soon,” he teased. “So you’d better take another shot.”

“I will have another, but only to prove I can still trounce you half-drunk.”

She tossed it back, then slid off her barstool, feeling warm and floaty as she led the way to a round table in the corner. Marc found one of those battery-operated candles that mimicked a flame’s flickering glow and set it on the table, so he could “see what he was winning.” They continued their Go Fish trash talking until they’d found a pack of cards and settled in their chairs.

“Wait,” Allie said while Marc shuffled the deck. “First we should make sure we’re starting out with the same number of clothes.” She counted her polo shirt, bra, skirt, panties, and clogs. “I’ve got five.”

“Are we counting socks and shoes as one item?”

She shook her head. “Separate.”

“Then I’ve got six.”

He quickly remedied the injustice by unbuttoning his dress shirt and pulling his arms free. Beneath it, he wore a white T-shirt that fit him like a second skin, stretched unmercifully tight across his broad shoulders. Even in the dim light, his bunching chest drew Allie’s eye and watered her mouth.