by Kelsie Rae
Kingston, however, is still at the table, staring at the chips as if they hold the key to solving world hunger.
“Hey.” Trying to grab his attention, I throw a card at him, and it does its job, bringing him back to me.
He blinks. “Hey, sorry.”
“How do you think it went?” I ask.
“It wasn’t bad, but they also can’t compete with Burlone so…”
“So you don’t think that you can compete with Burlone, even though you cleaned up during tonight’s game?” I finish for him.
With a shake of his head, a vulnerable Kingston admits, “I don’t know what to think anymore. And this might be a moot point, anyway. If my other plan works out then…”
“Will you tell me your other plan?”
“Babe—”
“I know, I know. You and your stupid rules.” A breath of laughter escapes me as I remember Gigi saying the same thing to me. Setting aside my frustration, I add, “Want to know something interesting, King? I had my rules, too, yet they don’t even really enter my mind anymore. Not since I found you and moved in here. I trust you, King. With everything. And I think one of these days, you’ll realize you can trust me too and that you can tell me anything. Including what your plan is and how I can help.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. “But…since you’re not ready, and I don’t want to push you, let’s focus on poker, shall we? You’ve already gotten the basics down, and you’ve learned some strategy techniques that can be really valuable––as you saw with tonight’s outcome. You cleaned up, and you need to give yourself a little credit. But I think it’s time we start talking about Burlone, in particular. What do you think?”
“Yeah.” He sits up a little straighter with a fire in his eyes that’s pretty freaking attractive. The determination is sexy as hell. “I think that’s a good idea.”
“Okay.” I set the cards down and reach for his hands, linking our fingers together and squeezing softly. “First, you’re already at an advantage because you’re a master at reading people. You’ve always been able to tell if I’m lying or telling the truth, and I know you’ve done the same thing with the men you interrogate.”
Kingston opens his mouth to refute my comment, but I press on before he has a chance to argue. “I’ve heard a bit about your specific set of skills, and I think you should tap into them.”
His eyes cloud for a split second before sharpening. “How the hell do you know about that?”
I brush his question aside. He doesn’t need to know about my heart-to-heart with D.
“Do you think I’m blind?” I joke. “I might not have had front row seats to your…extra-curricular activities, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed the blood-stained shirts on occasion or the bruised knuckles. And don’t even get me started on the knife you keep strapped to your ankle. I’m not an idiot, and I’m not a naïve little girl who doesn’t know who she’s sleeping with. To win the tournament, all you need to do is know the rules, know the strategies, and know your opponents. And you have all of that mastered. The only difference between poker and your interrogation techniques is that with poker, your cards are your weapons instead of a knife.”
A heavy silence hangs over us as Kingston stares at me, appearing to be made from stone. Brushing aside my entire comment, he repeats, “You didn’t answer my question, Ace. How do you know about my specific set of skills?” His voice is like ice.
“I did tell you—”
“I want the whole truth. Not half of it,” he bites out. The man in front of me transforms into a stranger in the blink of an eye. The usual warmth that I feel around him is replaced with a frigid glare that seeps into my bones and makes me desperate for a scalding shower.
I cringe. Sometimes I hate how well he can read me. Praying he won’t cut off any of Diece’s fingers, I admit, “D.”
“And you still want me?” he pushes, though his tone is indifferent. “Knowing all the blood that’s on my hands?”
I don’t bother to tell him I don’t know any real specifics. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Nothing can change how I feel about him. How I see him as a protector and not an adversary. Standing, I lean across the table then kiss the back of his hands in hopes of comforting him and putting him at ease.
He doesn’t move an inch, but he does watch me with his dark, scrutinizing eyes. I can feel him pushing me away. I can feel his walls sliding into place. I can feel the distance between us, even though we’re inches away from each other. I can feel it all.
With a deep breath, I hold his stare. “I don’t care what you’ve done. I don’t care who you are when you’re the Dark King. I care about you. The real you. I care about who you are when you’re around me. I care about how you treat me. You make me feel precious. Cherished, even.” I smile. “D says you’re different when you’re around me. He thinks you’re softer and sometimes more hesitant like you’re afraid to show your true self. Like you’re afraid I won’t understand the real you.” Licking my lips, I sit back down and tell him the truth. “I love that you’re trying to protect me, but if you want to win this tournament, then you need to stop holding back. You need to be you. You need to be ruthless. You need to be the Dark King.”
“And what if you don’t like the man you meet when I let him loose?”
“Not possible.” I shake my head, trying to imagine a world where I don’t love him. Where I don’t understand he was made for me.
His hands squeeze mine, but he doesn’t say anything, so I decide to leave that battle for another day. “Now, I’m going to tell you all I know about Burlone and his little ticks, and you’re going to take notes. You ready?”
He grabs onto the subject change without a backward glance. “Ready.”
I smile. “First. If Burlone is anxious, he makes a point to not touch his chips unless absolutely necessary. If he’s pretty laid back then he’ll fidget with them on occasion. That doesn’t really tell you what’s in his hand, but how he feels about his hand, which is just as important. Also, if he doesn’t take a second look at his cards, he’s confident he’s going to win, and you should fold. But, if he looks at them every time the dealer lays a community card, then he still has something but isn’t quite as confident. This is when he’s most dangerous because he isn’t sure of the outcome, either. It makes the hand a wild card, and you don’t want him to suck out. Do you remember what that means?”
Nodding, he explains, “Being sucked out means you were losing at the beginning of the hand, but by the time the last community card is shown, it gives you the edge to win the pot. For example, let’s say I go all-in with two kings, and I’m called by an opponent who’s holding two aces. Then the dealer lays a king among the community cards, thus enabling me to suck out and win the hand despite having been behind when the chips went in.”
I clap my hands dramatically, my face showing my pride. “Not too bad, King. I’m impressed.”
“I learned from the best,” he jokes. “Does he have a tell for when he’s bluffing?”
“He’ll look you straight in the eye when he bets. He’ll ooze arrogance as if you’d be an idiot to question him, to take him on. That’s when you know he’s full of shit.”
“Good to know. And what are my tells?” he probes.
With a sly grin, I admit, “I don’t think I’m ready to reveal them quite yet.”
“And why’s that?” he laughs.
“Because I might want to get something out of you one of these days, and if I tell you your little idiosyncrasies, then you’ll try to cover them up. It’ll throw off my entire strategy, Kingston, and where’s the fun in that?”
Kingston opens his mouth and tugs his hands away from me with feigned outrage.
“Is that a challenge, Ace?”
With that same sly grin firmly in place, I reply, “Only if you’re not too scared to take me up on it. How else will we know if you’re ready or not?”
“Game on, Ms. Mezzerich. I have one conditi
on, though.” His gaze heats with lust, making me squirm in my seat. To hide my reaction, I stand up and raise my hands over my head to stretch then yawn for good measure.
“And what’s that?”
“We play strip poker.”
Giggling, I shake my head then start walking down the hall before tossing over my shoulder, “How did I know you were going to say that?”
“Is that a yes?” he yells back.
“Maybe. Now, come to bed. You got me all hot and needy with all that poker talk.”
His laughter echoes back, and I’d be willing to bet all my chips that he’ll be joining me in a minute or two. The bastard might like to make me beg, but I’m glad I was able to put a smile on his face.
Even if it’s just for a little while.
Chapter Fourteen
Ace
Nearly skipping down the stairs and toward Kingston’s office, I rap my knuckles against the doorframe.
“Yeah?” His voice sounds annoyed, but I know that’ll change. Sure enough, his eyes light up when he looks over at me.
“Oh. Hey.”
I grin. “Hey, Mr. Romano. Are you ready for a challenge?”
Kingston’s brows crinkle. He’s been cooped up in his office all day, and I’m ready for him to put away his work and have some fun with me. The pressure to keep the Romano family intact while the tournament looms closer has been eating him alive, and I want my playful, fun Kingston for a few hours.
Sensing my need, he clicks a few buttons on his computer before scooting his chair back and swaggering toward me. The pheromones must be oozing from his pores because I’m seconds away from throwing in the towel and begging him to do me right here, right now, which would completely ruin my plans for the evening.
“No offense, Ace. But with the way you’re looking at me right now, I don’t really sense a challenge.”
I turn on my heel before I can prove him right and yell over my shoulder, “Whatever, young Padawan. Follow me.”
Cards in hand, I walk to the kitchen table, take a seat, and begin shuffling the Allegretti deck. A curious Kingston sits across from me, pressing his back into his chair and casually undoing the top button of his shirt to reveal the long column of this throat.
I know he’s simply getting comfortable after a long day at work, but he’s totally distracting me with a glimpse of his olive skin. Damn him and his ruggedly attractive face.
“Okay, Yoda, let’s see what this challenge is.”
It takes every ounce of concentration to remember my game plan for the evening, but I dig deep and somehow spark my memory about tonight’s lesson.
“Plain and simple. I believe you promised me a game of strip poker, and I’m calling to collect.”
Throwing his head back, he laughs loud and hard. The sound makes my heart sing, and I join in, giggling right along with him.
“Well, alright, then. Let’s see whatcha got, Wild Card.”
I begin dealing the cards and watch his demeanor for any little twitch that might tell me what he’s thinking as he looks at his cards. But he’s like a steel vault, not revealing a thing.
Three community cards are placed face-up in the center of the table when he glances up at me.
“So, what are the rules? How does this work? You’ll have to forgive me for not being strip poker savvy.” Narrowing his gaze in suspicion, he adds, “And you better tell me you had to Google this shit, or I’m going to have to hunt someone down.”
With a grin, I explain, “No hunting necessary. The rules are pretty simple. If you fold, you automatically lose a piece of clothing––victor’s choice. However, if you play the round and lose, you can choose your own article of clothing to discard. Other than that, it’s the same rules as normal Texas Holdem without the betting in between. And…to see how well you can read your opponent––aka me––we’re going to add one more rule. If you’re able to guess what my hand is before I show you, then I have to take off two articles of clothing. But if you’re wrong, you have to remove two pieces of your own clothes. Understand?”
“Yeah. So, pretty much you’d be an idiot to fold because even if you know you’re going to lose, you still have the chance of guessing what cards the other player is holding, which makes them discard two items of clothing, right?”
“Yup.”
“Well, then…I’m not folding this hand. Are you?”
I take another peek at my cards, seeing I have nothing, but I decide to play along anyway because, like he said, I’d be an idiot to fold.
“Nope.”
Placing another card face-up in the center of the table, I school my features. If we were playing with chips, there’s no way I’d stay in, but I’m curious to see how he plays against me when there’s something he wants on the line.
After a fifth card is placed next to the other four, I look up to find Kingston watching me closely.
“Would you like to make a guess at what I’m holding?” I ask, batting my eyes.
“Two of a kind?”
I flip my cards over to show he’s wrong; I’ve got nothing. “Nope.”
With a shrug, he slides his arms out of his jacket then tugs his tie over his head before showing me his cards. “I still won the hand, Ace.” He shows me a pair of sixes. “Now take off your shirt. There’s way too much clothing covering that beautiful skin.”
Tsking, I shake my head then take off my shoes. “Sorry, Kingston. I didn’t fold, which means you don’t get to choose what I take off.”
“Fiiine,” he whines before winking at me. “Deal another hand; we need to get you naked.”
Laughing, I do as I’m told and give us our cards then put three in the center.
“Folding?” I ask.
“Fuck, no.”
My mouth lifts, but I add a couple more cards to the community pile to move things along.
“I have a guess,” I say, pinning him with my stare.
“And?”
“Three of a kind.”
A mock-outraged Kingston tosses his cards into the center of the table before throwing his hands into the air. “How the hell did you know that?” he laughs.
“Lucky guess.” I wink. “But maybe you should try not grinning like a loon when the cards are flipped over.”
“Good point.” He slides his belt through the loops and drops it to the ground. “One of these times, I’m going to fool you, Wild Card. And you’re going to rue the day you ever challenged me.”
Again, I just laugh, soaking up the easy connection we have and how much lighter I feel when I’m around him. “Not likely, but I appreciate your work ethic.”
Shaking his head, he gathers the cards and begins shuffling. “One day, Ace. One day.”
We continue playing, laughing, shouting in outrage, and licking our lips as more items of clothing disappear from our bodies until we’re in nothing but our underwear.
I have to give Kingston props; he’s getting better. He’s learning what to look for and how to hide his emotions even better than before. Although part of me wonders if his true feelings come to the surface anytime we’re around each other, and that he’ll have an easier time keeping them in check when he plays against Burlone. Especially when I consider what Diece mentioned when we went grocery shopping––how Kingston is different around me. Softer.
But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
When I look at my cards, I pull my lips into a thin line to keep from smiling. Two kings. Effortlessly, Kingston lines up three cards onto the table face-up. Two aces and a six, which gives me a two-pair. We don’t bother asking if either of us is folding because we haven’t the entire evening.
I can feel King watching me as he flips over the final two cards. Another ace and a seven which gives me a full house.
“I have a guess,” Kingston says with a confident grin.
“You look awfully sure of yourself.”
“Because I am. I’d bet all in if we were playing with chips.”
“Because yo
u’re sure your hand can beat mine, or you’re sure you know what’s in my hand?”
“Both. You have a full house, and I have four of a kind. Now take off the rest of your clothes and come sit on my lap.”
My jaw hits the floor at his confidence combined with his accuracy. “You have four of a kind?” He flips over his card to show me an ace and a queen.
“Seems like I’m good at collecting aces,” he teases, winking for good measure.
“But…how did you know what I had?”
“Because you’re right. With a little effort, I can read you like a fucking book. Now get over here. Don’t make me ask again.”
Reaching behind my back, I unclasp my bra and drop it to the floor, leaving my underwear on as I walk around the table, taking my time. The way his gaze heats as he eats up every inch of skin I have on display is pretty much the best confidence boost a girl can ask for, and my heart feels like it just might burst at the realization I get to call him mine. Shaking off the very real and serious turn my thoughts just took, I hook my thumbs around the flimsy material at my hips and tug them slowly down my legs.
“You got lucky,” I quip as I watch him tug down his black boxers.
With a grin, he razzes, “Never took you for a sore loser, Ace.”
“Then maybe you’re not so good at reading me after all.”
He laughs before reaching forward and tugging me closer. His hot, needy hands grip my ass before he situates me so that I’m straddling his lap.
“Now ride me, Wild Card. I’ve been dying for you since you challenged me in my office, and I think we both know how impatient I can get.” With a light slap to my butt, he leans back and lets me take the lead. I give him a coy smile before following his orders like a good little girl while knowing who’s really in charge in this very moment.
Me.
And I love him even more for giving me that power.