Beloved Gambler

By Ruth Ryan Langan

A Romance Classic from New York Times Bestselling Author Ruth Ryan Langan.

Lane Winters has achieved her dream of being a famous singer. Ross Matthews is the lover she left behind. Now Ross is back and Lane finds herself working in his casino. Love is the easy part. Her secret could shatter both their lives.

13 Titles Available:
Just Like Yesterday
Beloved Gambler
Hidden Isle
Eden of Temptation
Family Secrets
Star-Crossed
Whims of Fate
Mysteries of the Heart
To Love A Dreamer
No Gentle Love
This Time Forever
The Proper Miss Porter
Cross His Heart

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ruth Ryan Langan
• Release date: Jul 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311072757

Ruth Ryan Langan

New York Times best-selling author Ruth Ryan Langan, who also writes under the pseudonym R. C. Ryan, is the author of over 100 novels, both contemporary romantic-suspense and historical adventure. Quite an accomplishment for this mother of five who, after her youngest child started school, gave herself the gift of an hour a day to follow her dream to become a published author. Ruth has given dozens of radio, television and print interviews across the country and Canada, and has been quoted in such diverse publications as THE WALL STREET JOURNAL and COSMOPOLITAN. Ruth has also been interviewed on CNN NEWS, as well as GOOD MORNING AMERICA.

Book preview

Chapter One

"Lane, you were wonderful! You have them eating out of your hands. Give them one more encore."

As the thunderous applause continued, the beautiful face broke into a wide smile. She was a vision in a flesh-colored gown.

Thanks, Danny. Throw me that towel, will you?

Wiping her glistening face, she lightly tossed the towel back to him and headed onto the stage.

Instantly, a crescendo of applause greeted her. She paused, as if momentarily surprised at the almost religious fervor of her fans, then smiled, acknowledging the audience.

This response from the people always had the same effect on her. First there was the utter astonishment that she was actually standing here on stage, poised and confident, before throngs of cheering people. Lane Winters—supreme entertainer. That familiar description, the many accolades, never ceased to amaze her.

The fear and indecision that always plagued her before each performance, the butterflies churning in her stomach, were entirely gone, replaced by the flow of adrenaline brought on by the sheer joy of watching the faces of strangers brought to life by her presence. Her enthusiasm, her electricity, were picked up by the audience, and, like a pulsating wave, passed back to her, charging her performance with even more energy.

She loved walking among these cheering people, taking their outstretched hands, feeling the love emanating from them. She often wondered if she would ever tire of the demands of entertaining.

A mane of ash-blond hair, a legacy from her Swedish grandmother, swirled about her shoulders, falling nearly to her waist. Her eyes, mirroring the amber of her sequined gown, were magnified by the stage lights.

As the audience settled back in their seats, an expectant hush rippled through the packed showroom. The piano player struck a single note, and Lane instantly picked it up, matching perfectly the clear sound. The orchestra joined her and she delivered her encore with practiced precision. A single spotlight illuminated her flawless figure encased in the gown like a second skin, then narrowed to her face. As Lane brought the song to a close, the beam narrowed in on her eyes, glowing like a cat’s in the brilliance. At the precise moment that her voice faded, the stage darkened, all light extinguished. The audience gasped at the dramatic effect, then, as one, burst into applause. When the lights went back on, the stage was empty. A moment later, Lane Winters moved with feline grace to acknowledge her adoring fans for the last time.

* * *

As he had every night since Lane opened her act, Ross Matthews sat in the darkened shadows of the private casino booth at the rear of the giant showroom, his unblinking gaze fastened on the glittering figure on stage.

With absolutely no emotion crossing his face, his eyes roamed over her figure with intimate appraisal. She was thinner now, her hair a bit longer. The hollows in her cheeks seemed more pronounced, but that could be due to the stage lighting or makeup. He seemed to detect an underlying sadness, but quickly dismissed that impression. Lane had every reason to be happy. She had achieved the goal she had set for herself years ago. The hazel eyes, which changed color with her moods, from pale green flecked with gold when she was angry to warmest amber when she was aroused, glistened round and luminous in the spotlight. As the audience burst into applause, he felt a tightness in his throat.

His eyes followed the graceful figure across the stage. As she bent and accepted a flower from an admirer, her silken hair cascaded over one shoulder, and she unconsciously flicked it back.

His hand clenched involuntarily. He wasn’t surprised by her enormous success. He had always been aware of her dynamic appeal, even before she was aware of it. All he had wanted was to share it with her, as he wanted her to share his success. But something in Lane made her insist on doing it alone.

She was determined to prove to herself, and everyone else, that she had what it took to be a success, without any help. She had resented Ross’s suggestions and his offer of financial assistance. Instead of accepting them as tokens of his love, she considered them an intrusion into her personal life and career.

At thirty-eight, with his presidency of the hotel chain assured, most of Ross’s long-term goals were now achieved. Most—but not all.

Ross turned to the lawyer seated beside him. His voice was coldly professional. See what I mean? She gets the same reaction at every performance. Make the offer.

The lawyer nodded, his approval of the shrewd businessman evident in his smile.

When the spotlight darkened after the second encore, Ross stood abruptly before the houselights went up.

In the doorway, he spoke to the maître d’ and turned for a last glimpse of the figure on stage. As he paused, distracted, several women passing outside the doorway turned to glance admiringly at his commanding figure in the expensively tailored suit. Thick dark hair, neatly trimmed, spilled across his wide forehead. There was a ruthless, almost dangerous look about him that was darkly attractive.

He tore his glacial blue eyes from Lane’s profile and turned away. With an air of tightly coiled impatience, he strode from the room.

* * *

By the time the crowd began filing out of the huge showroom and into the casino, Lane was already seated at a dressing table, creaming off her stage makeup. As always, she was experiencing a slight depression. After the euphoria of an hour and a half singing and entertaining non-stop, there was always this letdown. It rarely lasted more than an hour, and she had learned that this was her body’s way of releasing all the tension.

Her gown, bathed in sweat, was draped in a discarded heap over a chair in the corner of the room behind a folding screen. Her terry robe clung to her damp skin.

After a light tap the door to her dressing room was thrown open unceremoniously.

Hurry up, Mama. You promised a story.

Lane turned a smiling face to the tiny imp standing with her nurse in the doorway. Flying across the room, the little girl bounded onto her mother’s lap, wrapping chubby hands around her neck. Running one tiny finger down the cold-cream smear, she wrinkled her nose.

Ooh. You’re all sticky.

How did you like the show, Sam? Lane murmured into the tousle of blond curls.

It was okay. Ann and I left to watch the cartoons on TV. When are you coming up?

Lane chuckled at the display of childish impatience. Having Samantha around certainly kept her ego from getting too inflated. There was nothing quite like having to compete with television for her daughter’s attention to keep her head out of the clouds.

We’ll go right now. Wait till I wipe this goo off my face, and I’ll tuck you in.

She set her daughter down and picked up several tissues, deftly creaming off the last of her makeup. Draping a towel around her neck, she caught the little girl’s hand, and together they walked to the private elevator which took them to the suite of rooms at the top of the Las Vegas hotel.

Ann, the smiling, matronly nurse who accompanied them, remained silent, giving Lane and her daughter this private moment they both treasured. After traveling around the country with them for the past four years, she had learned that both mother and daughter seemed to need these quiet moments after the dinner show. For Lane, it was a chance to unwind before the late show. For Samantha, her tiny, four-year-old replica, it was an intimate time, away from the crowds of people who seemed always eager to mob, to touch, to admire her mother, the star.

As she had so many times before, the nurse marveled at how easily her employer seemed to slip from the unusual role of an entertainer to the ordinary role of a mother. She wondered which role demanded more of Lane Winters.

Glancing at the smile on Samantha’s glowing face, she realized again how extraordinary her employer was. Somehow she was managing to raise a perfectly normal, unspoiled child in the highly sophisticated, glamorous life of show business.

The older woman had come to respect Lane, not only because she was so devoted to her daughter, but because she had proved herself to be a highly disciplined woman who took her responsibilities seriously. Many times she had seen Lane give up an enticing invitation from well-known people in order to spend more time with her child. Lane’s two demanding roles left her little time for a satisfying social life.

With motherly concern, Ann fretted over her employer’s frantic schedule. She was pushing herself too hard. Just once, the nurse thought, she would like to see Lane Winters do something uncharacteristically frivolous.

By the time Samantha was peacefully sleeping, and her nurse was enjoying some privacy in her own room, Lane had bathed and arranged her freshly washed hair in a towel before the hairdresser arrived for a quick comb-out. She sank down contentedly in a lounge with a cup of hot tea laced with lemon and honey to soothe her throat, parched from the dry desert air. Two shows a night, seven days a week, always caused Lane’s throat to become overtaxed until she adjusted to the arid climate.

The door chime interrupted her cherished privacy. Sam’s nurse hurried to the double doors of the celebrity suite.

Lane’s business manager, Danny D’Angelo, and her agent, Max Arnold, charged in, looking flushed and breathless. Danny’s swarthy, usually placid face was animated. The dark, glittering eyes were round with excitement. Without apology he dropped his suit jacket on a chair and in one motion pulled his carefully knotted tie away and loosened the collar of his starched shirt. The air about him cracked with high-voltage energy.

Max’s bald head glistened, and he mopped his head and neck with a wadded handkerchief before speaking. His gravelly voice was a shade higher than usual.

Lane, you’ll never guess where we’ve been since your show. Before she had a chance to speak, he went on, Talking with a lawyer from the hotel. They’ve just made us an offer you won’t believe. For a one-year exclusive, they’re willing to pay us more than any star has ever received.

In the stunned silence that followed, Danny bellowed, Do you understand, Lane? We’ve just made show business history!

Both men chuckled at her incredulous look. When she found her voice, she asked, A one-year exclusive? Spell it out, Max. How much? What terms?

For one year, you perform only in Belmond hotels and casinos. They call the shots and are responsible for all publicity. They will control only your personal appearances. They won’t interfere with your record contract. In return, you’ll be paid more than any star in history. You know what the media will do with this, don’t you?

Danny caught her hands in his and interrupted. This means you’ve made it to the top of the heap, Lane. The highest price ever paid a performer. The whole world will be buzzing about this when you sign that contract.

Lane stared into his beaming face, then looked away abruptly. You’ve read the newspapers, Danny. You know who the new president of the Belmond hotel chain is, don’t you?

Sure, kid. Ross Matthews. And I know what you’re getting at. So you two were once romantically involved. That was a million years ago, when you were a green kid and he was a junior executive. You’re a woman now—a superstar. This contract proves that. And he’s a shrewd businessman. He knows a winner when he sees one Don’t you see? he demanded, catching her shoulder. You’ve won all the marbles. The biggest contract ever, with the most successful hotel-casino chain in the country.

When she allowed a halting smile to curve the corners of her mouth, he rushed on, You’ve never let your personal life get in the way of your career, and I refuse to believe that an old romance could be a stumbling block to this contract. In fact, that should make it even sweeter. You’ve got an old boyfriend willing to gamble the highest price ever on your talent. When your new album comes out next month, they’ll be turning away mobs at the door. Baby, you’ve done it!

Lane squeezed his hand. No, Danny. We’ve done it. Her smile encompassed both men. You two must have driven a hard bargain.

Her agent grinned good-naturedly. The truth is we didn’t even get a chance to open our mouths, Lane. The offer was all on their side. All we did was tell the lawyer we’d present it to you. He studied her eyes. Wouldn’t you agree that this news is going to make the late show seem a whole lot shorter tonight?

She laughed easily. My feet will probably be two inches off the stage. I’m flying. Now—she stood abruptly—get out of here, Danny boy and dear Max, and give me some time alone before the show. I have to let all of this sink in before I get myself together, and there isn’t much time.

Danny grinned at her familiar use of an endearing nickname. We have a lot of paperwork to go over tomorrow, he called over his shoulder. I’ll get our lawyers on it first thing in the morning.

As the two men strode from the room, Lane sank back down on the lounge and let out a sigh. They hadn’t even asked whether or not she would sign the contract. It was simply taken for granted. Of course, she would be a fool to even question such an offer. Every entertainer dreamed of this kind of security. No more one-night concerts in cities located hundreds of miles from the last one. No more fretting over whether the advance publicity people had their advertisements out on time.

The Belmond hotels were the most luxurious in the world. The accommodations for herself and Samantha would be considerably more elegant than many of the places they had been in past years.

She sighed. The biggest contract in history, and it came from Ross Matthews.

Was Danny right? Was this Ross’s admission that she was the best? Or was Ross trying to intrude on her life again? She stood and paced the room in agitation.

A one-year exclusive. For one year, she would be told where to perform and when. In return, she would get maximum publicity. She shivered. For one year, Ross would own her contract. Ross would own her. Her fists clenched in sudden anger. Never!

Then a second thought brought a smile of triumph to her lips. Ross was willing to pay top dollar for her contract. That meant an admission that she was the best. She knew, coming from Ross, that admission had been made grudgingly.

It had been easy for Lane to follow his business successes. Ross Matthews’s name was constantly in the news. But then, she thought with a secret smile, so was hers.

When she had broken their engagement, she had tried to make him understand how important this career was to her. She had already been a minor celebrity when they planned their marriage. She knew she could go further. Much further. Ross told her to be satisfied with what she had already achieved. He kept reminding her that for a girl from Toledo, Ohio, she had done well. On the other hand, he never seemed content with his own success. From college to junior executive with one of the largest corporations on Wall Street only whetted his appetite for more.

She had tried, as gently as possible, to explain why she needed to try to succeed on her own. At first he had humored her, cajoled her.

We’ll marry, Lane, and you can still be free to try your wings.

Finally he had tried to bend her to his will. He swore he didn’t care what she tried, or for how long, as long as they could be together.

Just marry me. That’s all the ties that will bind us. You’ll be your own person, Lane, I promise you.

No matter how long she talked, she couldn’t make him understand that she had to do this alone. She had felt certain that a man like Ross would never be content to pursue his own career on one side of the continent while she traveled across the country making her own way. She would have had to fight him every step of the way.

Lane had also harbored a very private fear, that once they had merged their lives she might find herself unwilling to be separated from Ross for even one night. In the time they had been together, Ross Matthews had been not only a tender lover, but he had been her best friend as well. She had felt perfectly free to confide her dreams and ambitions to Ross, believing that he would never scoff at her grandiose plans for her life.

She was still humiliated to recall how blind she had been. Ross had only been humoring her in order to gain her confidence, and, in time, her love. When he became aware of her deep feelings for him, feelings that were impossible to hide, he used that knowledge for his own advantage, insisting that they would both be happier if she could abandon her plans for her own life in order to share his.

For Lane, Ross had one giant flaw. He was an overpowering personality, steamrolling over any and all obstacles in the path of his success. How easy it would be for him to override her objections as well. In no time, Lane feared, she would find her own individuality submerged in his.

Ross was one of those gifted people who just made things work by the sheer magnetism of personality. If she agreed to his terms, she was certain she would succeed, but she would never know if she had made it on her own. She would have always had to wonder whether she had earned it, or if Ross had made it happen for her.

The more she tried to reason with him, the more unreasonable he had become, until finally Ross had erupted in a fit of rage. The whole scene had ended in a screaming match, with Lane swearing she would never speak to him again. How could he have betrayed her with such ease? Ross was the only person with whom she had ever shared her deepest fears and her burning ambitions. He was the only man who had ever heard Lane Winters weep as she discussed her childhood.

Lane’s mother had died when she was so little that she couldn’t remember her at all. Her father, an itinerant musician, often left her