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the craps tables, bumping Kate, but hanging on to her arm so she didn’t go over. “Sorry.”
    “Not a problem. Where are we going?”
    He pointed straight ahead. “Right here. Table thirteen.”
    A crowd had gathered next to the table and he pushed his way through. Mrs. Miller would hate this. A proud woman, she wouldn’t want rubberneckers gawking at her. “Okay, everyone, let’s clear out. Nothing to see.”
    In the middle of the aisle lay Mrs. Miller in her Chanel suit. Her pixie cut gray hair standing on end—which she’d also hate. Her chunky, gold necklace had slipped tight and the damned thing was probably choking her. She stared up at him, grey-blue eyes busting with tears.
    The scene brought back the wrenching memory of finding Gram sprawled at the bottom of her stairs. They’d had a dinner date planned and when he’d swung by to pick her up, he found her. She’d been lying there for hours with a broken hip, unable to get to the phone. If he hadn’t shown up… Don’t go there .
    Horrible thought.
    He squatted down, eased the heavy necklace away from Mrs. Long’s throat and forced the grin she often cooed over. “Hey, gorgeous. Why are you on my floor causing a ruckus?”
    She tried a smile. Flat out failure. Damn. He grabbed his handkerchief from the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and blotted her tears. “You know I’ve got you. Where does it hurt?”
    “My hip.”
    Not good.
    “We’re not gonna move you then. And no trying to get up.”
    She opened her eyes, stared up at him. “This is humiliating.”
    “Falling?”
    “Lying on this fucking floor.”
    He cracked up. Even in pain, she embodied a certain image—powerful and fierce, so much like his gram—and being spread out on a casino floor wouldn’t do.
    Distract her . Surrounded by gawkers— did these people not have money to lose? —he stretched out beside her, propping himself up on his elbow. “I don’t see what the issue is. I run this place and I’m down here.” He leaned forward, getting right next to her ear. “I know you’re playing me. All you want is for me to lie here with you.”
    She huffed. “Ross Cooper, I should skin you. Young man, if I were forty years younger, you’d be terrified of me.”
    “I’m already terrified. If you were forty years younger I’d be your love slave.”
    Mrs. Miller laughed, but it was followed by a wince. “You devil. Don’t make me laugh.”
    Next time he talked to Gram, he’d tell her this story. She’d appreciate the wackiness of him on the floor, talking dirty to an eighty-year-old woman. He was either going to hell or he’d be a hero. “Oh, come on. You know you love it. You’re the one who invited me into the sauna last week.”
    “You rejected me.”
    He snorted. “I didn’t reject you. I was working.”
    Her lips spread into a forced smile, but her eyebrows pressed into a tight line.
    Around them, the security guys cleared the rubberneckers. “Ambulance just pulled up, Mr. Cooper.”
    “Thanks, Marty. I’ll stay with Mrs. Miller until they get in here. Did we locate her son?”
    “They left him a message,” Mrs. Miller piped up. “He’s in a meeting.”
    Meeting. Right. Ross knew from the Miller’s casino host that the meeting included a brunette and a blonde dressed in matching Catwoman suits.
    “Marty, leave Mr. Miller a message to meet us at the hospital.” Ross clasped Mrs. Miller’s hand. “I’ll stay with you until he arrives. How’s that?”
    The look she gave him, those grey-blue eyes cloudy with pain, but thankful and scared all in one, nearly tore him in two.
    “Thank you.”
    “You bet. Just stay off my floor. I can’t have these gamblers distracted by sexy grandmothers. I got a business to run here.”
    “If I were forty years younger…”
    He smoothed her hair and tugged one of the short strands. “Promises, promises.”
    * * *
    I want him.
    Kate stood at the edge of the aisle watching paramedics transfer Mrs. Miller to a