“Please, let me introduce you to the other players.”
Had it only been hours ago? Walking in, meeting Jarryd and then the other players? Norman had assured me the Melbourne and Sydney private gambling scenes had little cross-over. But it would only take one person in the wrong room at the wrong time, to recognize me. Blow my cover. Literally blow up my life. My family and Norman could only protect me so much.
Hiding behind my striking black leather outfit, I’d known exactly how to put on a show for my male audience. Finessed to a fine art from five years playing high stakes, private games in Melbourne. Walk in as if I owned the room. If they couldn’t see my eyes, they’d drink in what they could. My legs, breasts and the tiny waist they’d want to crush.
Read the room, read the table, put my sexuality away and then play the person.
No familiar faces. No knowing glances. By the time I’d claimed my seat, my nerves had been replaced with adrenalin. A fresh, slow application of lip gloss to more than one subtle moan from around the table, and I’d been ready for the kill.
“Have you played much?” Cleese or Col asked when we’d started—I’d been too busy watching body language to remember names.
“Enough to get an invite,” I’d easily battered away. Norman had warned me about Jarryd’s games; whale gamblers who wanted to enjoy life and had the money to spend on luxuries. High end gamblers needed placating and pampering.
The room was crowded with the ten players, Jarryd, one waiter, two hostesses and a chef who was making use of the hidden kitchen. The bar held enough liquor to keep a navy mess happy and enough food to feed most families for a week.
“Sugar, if you need a hand reading your cards, you just let me know. We can’t have a woman looking as sweet as you go out in the first hand—okay honey?”
I’d smiled sweetly at Carlos the Chauvinist. My personal nickname for the wannabe alpha who was almost asking to become my victim. Based on the level of arrogance and designer suits, no one here would miss their wallet, and no one had seen me play at my best.
“You are so sweet; I’ll keep you in mind.” I’d kept my breathing even and smile in place. No prey needed to know his fate until it after it happened.
From the start, Jarryd’s game had a certain style and opulence. Safe behind my mask, the thrill of the game came as much from stroking each player’s ego as winning at cards. Each man brandishing expensive watches and cufflinks, manicured nails and even styled eyebrows. I’d been around enough in Melbourne to identify the designers behind the suit tailoring. Their competitive banter showed off tastes in wine, food and probably women were extravagant to the extreme. Just a bunch of good corporate executives wanting to hand over money they’d never miss.
Executives playing at being professional poker players. Babes waiting to be slaughtered.
Patience. I had in spades.
Humility. I’d learned bloodied and naked at the feet of a master manipulator.
Tonight had been a good re-entry into the world. Treating all men as marks, except for Jarryd. Norman had suggested Jarryd could help build credibility with invitations to the right games. For Jarryd alone, my smile was genuine, hiding my desperate need to build a bankroll, and build it quickly.
“Well played,” Col or Cleese had offered after I folded early in the first hand. Idiot—all I’d proven was being willing to walk away from bad cards.
“Thank you. You too.” Stroking an ego didn’t hurt or weaken me.
By the end of the second hand, I’d decided the pecking order of the other players, building a strategy of how to take them out. Starting with the weakest wouldn’t build any respect but if I went after the strongest, I’d only become a collective target for the rest of the table. Number seven fell for my flirting simper, trusted my fake tell and handed over his stack. Then number four fell for what he described as a lucky hand. Luck played no part in it.
Carlos the Chauvinist took out players nine and ten. Pulling wings off butterflies?
My ability to read players had won me fortunes—unfortunately each one lost by my ex. I knew early on that only a truly lucky hand would beat me. In order of ability, the sexy Scott Alexander and chauvinist were second and third—the order didn’t matter. Except self-destruction did.
High end games like this didn’t usually attract drunks, at least not on a regular basis. It took a serious bank balance to turn up each night and throw it all away with the bottle.
Who had broken Scott Alexander, and why hadn’t anyone stopped him? The shared glances around the room only proved this was his pattern of behavior. Clean up quickly and self-destruct slowly.
As much as I wanted to win, desperately needed to build my stake for future nights, even I wanted to reach out and extract the glass from his hand.
But as the hours passed, Scott became more engrossed with his glass than the cards. What a shame, he’d proven harder to read than most and I had wanted to see what he’d bring if we went one-on-one.
I’d never been attracted to older men, but his body told the story of being well maintained. Fit chest, faded tan under the week-long stubble. He wore scruffy elegance naturally. Think George Clooney meets Matthew McConaughey.
What the hell was his story? Despite myself, I couldn’t bring myself to take him down without provocation. It would come, and I’d launch a counterattack.
Attack the arrogant, protect the weak. Scott didn’t need my protection, but I couldn’t wait to attack Carlos who had ignored me in his zeal to bring down Scott. His arrogant taunts disrespectful and offensive. The asshole didn’t have one friend in the room. They were all silently barracking for Scott.
Five hands. The game had turned in five hands.
When Carlos went all in, I’d have bet serious money Scott’s night was over. Carlos had a subtle yet predictable move. I’d folded early to get out of the way, but Scott looked hell bent on handing over his chips and calling it a night.
After an eternity of decision making and several prompts from the dealer and even Jarryd, Scott folded.
Damn. I hadn’t seen that coming.
Scott Alexander came alive. Swapped out Scotch for coffee while I got out of his way. Watching in awe as he wiped out Carlos with a reverse trap.
Five hands had turned the game and created flutters where my heart used to live. Yes, I’d needed the toilet break, but I also needed to think unsexy thoughts. To stop thinking about the way Scott Alexander held his cards and wonder what else he could do with those broad fingers. Whether they’d be firm and probing, or soft and gentle?
“And then there were two.” Damn it, I hadn’t meant to purr, any more than I intended to lick my lips every time he caught me looking at him. Instinctive and like a bitch on heat. Except, he wouldn’t know the difference between the sensuality I put on show for the others and what came naturally when I looked his way.
Patience.
It was down to the two of us. I’d been patient all night. I could outwit and outlast one more man.
Still in the bathroom, a quick check of my phone. According to the rules, I had less than one minute before the dealer could start without me. Or would he?
A full audience of players wanted to see me play the last hand. Scott Alexander would want to beat me, not win by default.
I’d read the players and the room.
Wiping the cold water from my face, it took another five minutes to reapply my mask and adjust my hair.
Time enough for Scott Alexander to overthink how to play me. Enough time for the men in the room to wonder aloud if any of them stood a chance to get me between the sheets. All the conversation and thinking would be about me. What was keeping me so long? Could I come out and finish the job?
The longer I took in the bathroom, the longer Scott would have to get frustrated, blood start to simmer in a justifiable rage. Only, he couldn’t do a damn thing about it until I returned for the next hand.
One last check in the mirror. Good, my eyes were still clear and determined
. No slight redness which was always the first sign of tiredness and rash decisions. It had been months since I’d played a full table with a fixed buy-in.
Come on, you can do this. Fuck them. One by one, leave them in the gutter to rot. Fuck him.
No! What was I thinking? Who was I thinking?
Jarryd or Scott? Both sexy as. One in control and the other broken but trying to rebuild.
I didn’t have time for complications.
Eight minutes. I’d been hiding in the bathroom rather than out in the room facing my new complication.
Fuck Scott Alexander.
Not the smart choice, but once again my body hadn’t asked my brain before choosing.
The mind, the presence and of course, the man. I seriously wanted to find out for myself what the man felt like beneath the suit.
I steadied my breath, willing my body to behave.
Yes, there was an attraction. Unexpected and unwelcome.
Yes, the table had gotten out of our way. Now, we could have some fun and see if he was man enough to handle me at my best.
To hell with playing nicely and not mixing business with pleasure. After all, some rules, like men, were meant to be broken.
Fuck him.
Scott
Subconsciously, we all reacted.
Chests puffed out like peacocks, banter a little louder and more pretentious.
Yes, cars needed to be test driven, but I doubted the hostesses cared what make or model. GG might, but why give the woman more ammunition about likes, dislikes and weaknesses. The less she knew about me the easier I could take her down.
Still, the clip of GG’s heels on the tiled hallway back to the room set my alpha friends into overdrive and my heart racing.
“Can I get you another drink or something?” The tanned breasts offered me a sampling menu. Unfortunately, they were attached to a woman needing attention from her usually captive audience.
“I’m good.”
The good news was my response had been automatic. Not interested in the breasts or a drink.
Instead, the sound of high heels echoed in the room full of men who’d fallen silent. Awaiting the return of GG.
I tried to put my reaction down to frustration. I mean, how many liberties had Jarryd given her tonight—because of her gender? Hell, she’d been given a five-minute break and it was past ten. If she’d been a guy, the chips would be in my pocket and the cleaners would be already summoned to start restoring the room for tomorrow’s guests.
Instead, Jarryd’s slight nod said it all. We’d wait until her ladyship decided to grace us with her presence.
“Thanks, Larissa.” My cup almost overflowed with freshly brewed, black coffee. Larissa didn’t need to ask what we needed, she’d been looking after Jarryd’s games for years and knew us better than we knew ourselves.
“Take her down,” she whispered as we heard GG stop to talk to the chef on her way back to the table.
“That’s the plan.”
The mysterious GG represented every reason why I hated—no, too strong a word—I preferred to play against men. Put a sexy woman at a private game and it became embarrassing to watch corporate giants drop away like Johns who’d found out the price of a woman’s charms.
From the minute she’d walked into the room on Jarryd’s arm, it had been like the opening scene from The Bachelorette. A dozen horny bastards all trying to outdo themselves to get the first date. The night almost destroyed with subtle and then obvious flirting and game playing that had nothing to do with poker.
Screw that.
Fuck her.
Gorgeous woman but, for my mind, too obvious in her entrapment. GG wore her sex like a shield and wielded it like a sword. Even half-drunk I’d known any fool who thought he had a chance with her would only leave with a lighter wallet. Oh, and his ass would be returned with interest.
Not me. Tonight, against all odds, I’d decided to claw out of my black pit and get back to living.
Starting with teaching Miss GG a lesson in life. One card at a time.
“So sorry I took so long.” Her battered eyelashes took in the room, well, almost. They’d avoided me. Her last opponent. Last man standing. The only man she didn’t acknowledge. “Thanks for waiting.”
Seriously? I wanted to respond with something bitter, twisted. Witty and full of intelligent sarcasm. Except, anything would need an appreciative audience and they were still acting like schoolboy virgins lining the walls at a high school dance.
Without responding, I decided to play the room. My manicured nails tapping against the coffee cup while rolling my bottom lip through my teeth. Once, twice and once more just to make sure everyone was looking.
I looked up, seeing my reflection in her dark glasses. After flexing my knuckles, I reached into my jacket pocket. Making a show of fidgeting around, as if to find something that may or may not be there. I wasn’t the only man in the room who’d given up hoping I’d reach this stage in a game again. Pretending to be lost in my own world, or captivated by her stare, I held back a smile as whispers started up.
Yes.
They’d noticed.
My audience would be willing me on.
In slow exaggeration, I wiped away non-existent dust from my almost forgotten dark Gucci glasses.
“It seems we have quite a game on our hands,” Jarryd smirked. Yes, when my game was on fire, Jarryd filled tables with players wanting to take me down. “Scott Alexander has finally decided to play! Welcome back, my man.”
Okay. I rewarded Jarryd with a slight nod. Some players wore glasses from the outset. Others hid their face behind ball caps.
My glasses only came out when I went head-to-head.
My signature move.
Now, every man knew I was back. Meaning business and taking no prisoners.
GG was about to receive one of my infamous poker lessons. Something I wish couldn’t be searched on YouTube, but my CEO had bigger problems to deal with other than his CFO moonlighting as a professional gambler.
“Don’t any of you have homes to go home to?” I pretended to growl while stretching my neck. Something I should have done while waiting for her ladyship. Or not. Now, I could slow the pace.
Lesson one. Force her to play to my timing, my rules.
“Shut up and clean the bitch out,” Jason sniggered, still smarting from being the first to hand over all his chips. But from where I’d sat, Jason had never recovered from sitting across with prime viewing of GG’s impressive cleavage.
“Gentlemen, I’d prefer you remember your manners when there are ladies present,” Jarryd warned.
Wait, what?
Jarryd never played favorites, but I caught the sideways protective glance towards GG. Did they have history—or was Jarryd looking to make some?
Did I care?
Yeah. At least a little.
Hell, I’d forgotten how much fun winning could be!
Months of drunken oblivion had numbed me not just from the pain of an irresponsible heartbreak, cost me tens of thousands in hard cold cash, but had also denied me the unmistakable thrill of being in control. The irreplaceable satisfaction that only came from clearing a table of all opposition.
Now, all my senses had decided to wake up and join the living. Even my taste buds salivated at the wafting smell of toasted cheese sandwiches from the kitchen. Skipping lunch to leave work early, I’d forgotten to grab something to eat on the way.
Damn it.
Now wasn’t the time to get distracted by hunger. I could motion to Larissa, but that would give GG the wrong message; that this could take a while. Not bloody likely.
“Gentlemen?” The dealer asked, showing the fresh deck. “Oh, sorry, Ms.”
While the dealer prepped the first hand, my raised eyebrows acknowledged the players around us trading stories about facing me man-to-man back in the days when defeating me seemed as impossible as breeding unicorns.
Most of the old guard had one or two wins worth bragging abou
t, but the camaraderie came from sharing war stories about how I’d taken each of them down.
GG wouldn’t be able to read my eyes, but even a cursory read of the room and she’d be left with no misapprehension. This was about to be a night she’d never forget.
Waiting for the dealer to show off his shuffling prowess, I sat silent and stone-faced. Obviously checking out my competition.
Sexy as fuck.
Gorgeous as an untouchable goddess.
A white witch—no—my black-hearted vixen.
The first woman in months able to force me to take a second glance.
The first to make me even want to think with my cock. Okay, the first person to make me want to think at all.
I’d been on my best behavior all night. Playing the cards and taking down opponents, one by one. Now, I could take my time to study GG as both a woman and the poker player. Appreciate her glossy lips and imagine how they’d feel against mine.
Kissing her would leave me hungry for more. An addiction worse than the bottle or cards.
The strangest random thought hit me, would licking her makeup be more toxic or erotic? Would anyone notice or care if I quickly googled the answer?
Too late, the first cards waited for me to pick them up.
Lesson two, wait for GG to look at hers, first. Amateur messing with her head, but she’d left me waiting here while she did who knew what in the bathroom.
Only the sound of glass being refilled while GG tried to outwait me. Not tonight, sweetheart.
“Mr. Alexander?” The dealer tried to become part of our game.
Still, I waited.
“Humph,” she snorted, a quick look at her cards before placing them facedown. “Childish, much?” she muttered under her breath.
Yeah, I could get under her skin and she could get under my cock.
“Nah,” I said, pushing away the cards. Normally, I’d play a suited king and eight, but I could fold all night. See how long it would take for her to overplay her hand, give into emotion. Frustration or impatience?
No.
I could sit back and let my imagination take over. Folding each hand while deciding how I’d unzip her black leather dress, unleash her breasts and find out for myself the most important question of the evening. Real? Padded or fake?
Reckless Gamble: a billionaire high stakes suspense romance (City Sinners Book 4) Page 2