The VIP Doubles Down (Wager of Hearts Book 3)

by Nancy Herkness

  Had she been crazy enough to fall in love with this cranky, sarcastic, cynical man? Yes, but she’d also fallen in love with the generous, courageous, sensitive man who hid behind the cynicism.

  She shook her head in disbelief.

  “Sit,” he commanded, lowering her onto the taupe-colored cushions of a plush sofa. He stooped to take her ankles and swing them up so she rotated sideways. “Lie down.”

  “I’m not a dog,” she said, pushing his hands away from her shoulders as he tried to ease her backward.

  She needed to get away from him to figure out what the heck to do about these feelings. Her phone pinged from her back pocket, and she seized on that as an excuse. “I’d better check this text. It might be a prospective client,” she said, putting her feet back on the floor and jogging out of the room.

  She was afraid he would follow her, so she dodged through another doorway, finding herself in some sort of library–cum–game room. Bookcases lined the walls, and a polished wooden pool table dominated the middle. She braced her hands on the lip of the pool table and rocked forward, sucking in slow breaths to counterbalance the acceleration of her heartbeat.

  Clearly, she suffered from some sort of self-destructive urge, going from an abusive actor to a blocked writer. A blocked writer whose mother had left him, whose stepmother hated him, whose father had recently died, who loathed his ex-fiancée, and who drowned himself in alcohol when he was upset.

  But he had stopped drinking when she arrived at the Bellwether Club. He was beginning to create again. He was a passionate, generous lover. He helped out debut authors despite considerable emotional trauma to himself. And he was becoming attached to Pie. So he wasn’t beyond redemption.

  However, he wasn’t in love with her.

  She picked up the cue ball and rolled it across the table so it caromed off the bumper and back to her hand.

  “Maybe that’s better,” she said. “I can’t repeat my mistakes.”

  Her heart didn’t agree with her brain, though. A slash of anguish hit her right in the chest at the idea of Gavin walking away without a backward glance. Well, maybe he’d toss a sarcastic quip over his shoulder as he went.

  Unclenching her fingers from the cue ball, she placed it back in the center of the table. To distract herself, she pulled out her phone, hoping the ping meant a possible job. But the text was from Troy and said, Call me. You’ll want to hear this.

  She swallowed against the anxiety clamping a fist around her throat, typing, Are you in LA?

  Yeah, so you don’t have to call the cops, he typed back.

  His dig sent anger prickling through her, even as the tightness in her throat eased at the knowledge that he was three thousand miles away. It was so typical of him to jab at her when he was the one who had initiated the communication.

  She’d learned that it was better to respond promptly or Troy would escalate his attempts to reach her. He refused to believe she really meant that he should not have any contact with her. And since she didn’t have the heart to notify the police when he called, it was partly her fault.

  But she didn’t want Gavin walking in on a conversation with her ex. She made her way back to the office to find him standing at the window, staring out at the sea again. As soon as he heard her, he pivoted, raking her with an inquisitor’s gaze. “You look like it was bad news. Can I help?”

  She shook her head. “Everyday life intrudes, even in the Hamptons. I just wanted to let you know that I need to make a phone call. I’ll go to another room so you can get to work.”

  “Of course.” He paused as though he wanted to say something more but then walked to his desk.

  She felt weirdly disloyal, lying to him about calling Troy, but she didn’t want to go down that twisty road.

  She left Gavin in the office and returned to the pool room.

  “What is it, Troy?” she said as he answered.

  “It’s sunny in LA, and they love me in my role, and I’m staying at Finn Bolger’s apartment right on the water. Thank you for asking.” His tone reached for irony but came off as boastful.

  “Sorry, but I’m crunched for time, and your message sounded urgent.” She forced herself to loosen her grip on the phone before the pressure cracked the screen.

  “You’re never going to believe who I’m acting in four scenes with.” He paused for effect. “Irene Bartram!”

  “She’s in a soap opera?” Shock made Allie tactless, and she could practically feel the chill across all three thousand miles.

  “Many stars got their start in soap operas.” He mimicked her scornful tone perfectly.

  “I didn’t mean it that way. I thought she only did movies.”

  “She’s lowering herself to do a guest appearance on Saints and Sinners.” The frost melted into whining. “You love the Julian Best movies, so I thought you’d be excited. Irene and I have been talking about what it’s like to work with Hugh Baker and Edwin Shaw.”

  She decided not to tell him that she’d met Irene Bartram and Hugh Baker and hadn’t been impressed.

  “I have to give you credit,” he said. “All the times you made me watch the Julian Best movies paid off. Irene was bowled over by how much I knew. She says I have a profound understanding of the dynamic, and I should consider auditioning for a role.”

  “Glad I could help, Troy, but I have to go.”

  “Wait! I have some not-so-good news for you.” She braced herself as Troy continued. “I know you love the Julian Best books, but Irene says that the author, Gavin Miller, has a bad case of writer’s block. Can’t write a word. He’s way past his deadline for the next book. And she’d know because she was engaged to him.” He lowered his voice. “It’s so bad that they’re hiring a ghostwriter to do the screenplay for the next movie.”

  “What? That can’t be right!” Allie cast a nervous glance at the door to make sure Gavin wasn’t racing in to see what she was yelling about.

  “I think Irene would be correct, since she’s starring in the movie. And she’s going to get me an audition for a speaking role. She says I’d be perfect for Sturgis Wolfe’s right-hand man.” His excitement came through the telephone line.

  Allie made sure to keep her voice calm this time. Troy didn’t know about her connection with Gavin, and she wanted to keep it that way. “Does Irene have any idea when the movie will be released?”

  “Late next year. I know you’d rather have a book,” Troy said, although he’d never understood her preference, “but a movie is better than no Julian Best at all.”

  She might have agreed with that before she’d met Gavin, but not now. “I’m still hoping for another book.”

  “Did I tell you that they love me?”

  “Yes, but I have to go to work.”

  “Okay.” His tone was sulky, but he disconnected.

  She lowered the phone. It didn’t make sense. Hugh said he’d been released from his movie contract, and he wouldn’t be mistaken about that. So why would they hire a ghostwriter to create a script? She didn’t know anything about how contracts worked for books that got turned into movies, but Gavin must have some control over the character he had imagined into fictional existence. However, the fact that Irene had promised Troy an audition made the movie sound like a reality.

  Now she had to decide if she should share this information with Gavin. If it were true and Gavin didn’t know about it, he would be even more devastated than he’d been by Hugh’s contract news. If it were not true, she would be upsetting him for no reason.

  Wait, he had Jane, who was a really great agent, according to Gavin. She would know what was going on with the ghostwriter, and she would certainly tell Gavin if there was anything to worry about.

  Allie blew out a breath of relief. She didn’t have to upset Gavin unnecessarily. Damn Troy anyway.

  She marched back to Gavin’s office and said breezily, “All settled. Sorry it took so long. Now we can get to work.”

  He swiveled around in his desk chair and nodded
to the coffee table. “Don’t you want your hot chocolate?”

  A tray with two steaming mugs and a plate of what looked like homemade miniature doughnuts sat on the table. She inhaled and caught the rich scent of chocolate, making her mouth water. “Do I ever. Got any tequila to add to it?”

  “Hair of the dog?” He walked to a built-in cabinet and swung open the door to reveal a well-stocked bar. “Here we are . . . Gran Patrón Piedra. Probably a crime to mix it with chocolate, but it’s all I’ve got.”

  “I was kidding,” Allie said.

  “But I wasn’t.” He carried it to the tray and poured a generous helping in each mug before he picked them up and offered one to her.

  “This isn’t going to improve your work ethic,” she said, taking the drink.

  “I hope it will completely destroy yours.” He touched his mug to hers and took a sip.

  She did the same and moaned at the deliciousness of the dark, slightly bitter chocolate, the creamy milk, and the kick of tequila. “Germaine is a genius.”

  “And you haven’t even tasted her doughnuts.” He took a pastry from the plate and held it in front of her mouth, his eyes glinting.

  Allie knew she was being seduced, but she played along, taking a bite of the doughnut, chewing the light, cakey treat and licking the sugar off her lips. Gavin watched her mouth the entire time, his face tight with focus.

  “You seemed to enjoy that,” he said, offering her the doughnut again.

  She took another bite, chewed, and swallowed, but before she could lick her lips, Gavin leaned in close. “Let me,” he murmured before he flicked his tongue against her skin, lapping up the sugar crystals.

  The touch of his tongue sent tremors of pleasure dancing over her skin. How was she supposed to subtly find out whether he knew about a ghostwriter when he was brushing the doughnut against her lips, making the sugar cling to them so he could lick it off?

  “Your kisses are always sweet,” he murmured before he sucked on her lower lip. Her body reacted as though his mouth was between her legs, making heat and arousal bloom inside her.

  She put her hand on his chest and pushed at the hard, warm surface. “You promised we would work like dogs.”

  He put the half-eaten doughnut in his own mouth and chewed slowly before swallowing, his strong throat muscles working. “Drink up your hot chocolate, and then we’ll see how interested you are in keeping our noses to the grindstone.”

  His gaze went to the windows again. Allie took one more sip before putting down the mug. “Let’s go outside,” she said. “Fresh air will inspire you.”

  “A walk on the beach?” He grinned suddenly. “I have a better idea, but you’ll need to bundle up.”

  “Will we be back in time for Pie’s arrival?”

  “We’re not leaving the grounds,” he said.

  After a quick trip to his bedroom to collect warm clothing, he escorted her through another wing of the house and out a side door, where they followed a winding path through fallow winter gardens. Gavin swung open a gate set into a high, arching hedge and waved her through. His eagerness vibrated in the air between them.

  “Are you kidding me?” Allie said, as she took in the huge sheet of perfectly groomed ice spread before them, a hockey goal at each end. “You have your own skating rink?”

  “And skates.” He strode toward a small shingled building that sat at the side of the rink. It was stocked with skates in all sizes, hockey sticks, blankets, and a hot-chocolate machine. Sliding glass doors provided a view of the rink as well as the stone patio furnished with lounge chairs and a fire pit. Allie gaped at it all while Gavin rummaged around for skates.

  “Does anyone use this except you?” she asked as he handed her a pair of figure skates.

  “My guests.” He sat down and looked up at her as he pulled on hockey skates. “The local high school hockey team practices on it when the weather allows, if that makes you feel better.”

  She plunked down on the bench beside him. It was weird that his owning a helicopter didn’t shock her, but having a private skating rink seemed like the height of extravagance.

  “I played on the hockey team in high school,” he said, lacing his skates with swift efficiency. “It was one of the few frivolities my father allowed. Hockey practice meant I didn’t have to work in his store.”

  So he had built this to remind himself of the happy times when he had escaped his father’s grim control.

  He secured the laces with a couple of abrupt movements before he straightened. “Skating means freedom to me. Now let’s get your laces tightened.”

  Her heart twisted at her imagined picture of a younger Gavin shedding the misery of his loveless home life as he skimmed across the ice, tossing wisecracks at his teammates. Maybe that’s where he’d begun to hone his cutting wit.

  She felt his strength when he snugged her skates around her feet and ankles and tied the laces tight. As he leaned forward, she rested her hand on his broad back, savoring the flex of muscles under his jacket and offering comfort to the boy curled inside the man.

  He kept a firm grip on her hand as they waddled along the rubber-surfaced walkway to the rink. Once they stepped on the ice, Gavin put his arm around her waist and swept her along beside him over the glassy surface, the powerful strokes of his legs propelling them faster and faster as they circled, their skate blades hissing beneath them. The cold rush of air whipped through her hair while the length of Gavin’s lean, muscled body against her side kept her secure.

  It reminded her of the Bellwether Club, where she had been the one supporting him. Here, though, he was letting her lean on his strength.

  “Hold on!” he said, speeding around a corner, his thighs pumping as he fought the centrifugal force.

  As they hit the straightaway, she threw back her head and laughed, letting all her barriers down.

  “You love it, too!” he said.

  The boyishness of his excitement made her heart contract before it flooded with warmth. This was the sweetness, the joy, she sensed in him beneath the sarcasm and pain.

  As they sped around the next corner, he said, “You move with me perfectly.”

  She turned a sly smile up at him. “I’ve had some practice moving with you.”

  “You’re playing with fire, my sweet.” He slowed them to a stop and sandwiched her between his body and the side of the rink.

  “Two-minute penalty for boarding,” she said just before his mouth came down on hers.

  He cradled her head in his hands while he used his weight to keep her body pressed against his. The kiss began as a tease of his lips against hers, a flicker of a touch, but the exhilaration of the skating turned to desire sizzling through her veins, and she pushed into him to feel the heat of his mouth.

  “Minor penalty for unsportsmanlike conduct,” he murmured against her lips before driving his tongue in to meet hers.

  Liquid flame licked through her, so she grabbed his arms to bring him even closer. He groaned into her mouth and pushed his thigh between hers, lifting her onto her toe picks, the solid bulge of his rectus femoris muscle hitting exactly where she yearned for it.

  “We can’t make love on an ice rink,” she said, even as she panted with the longing to do just that. She wanted to give him everything she was feeling.

  “It’s my rink, so we can do anything we want to.” He wedged his thigh farther between her legs, making her gasp outright when the added friction sent a shock of electric delight surging through her.

  She giggled. “It’s a medical fact that cold makes it more difficult for certain parts of the male anatomy to function effectively.”

  “When you’re around, my anatomy is quite capable of functioning at subzero temperatures,” he said. “However, I’d prefer not to suffer from frostbite, so we’re going where the water is in a softer state.”

  Chapter 21

  “I’m not going in the ocean!” Allie protested. “Those Polar Bear Club people are crazy.”

  “Ah,
but I’ll be doing things to keep you warm.”

  “Not even what you do could keep me warm at this time of year.”

  Gavin laughed and steered her back to the skate house, where they stripped off their skates, leaving them lying willy-nilly on the floor.

  Retracing their steps through the garden, Gavin took them around a different corner of his mansion. A wing constructed of glass and white columns jutted out in front of her. “Is that an indoor pool?” she asked.

  “No self-respecting billionaire would be without one,” he said, pressing his thumb against a panel beside one of the glass doors. It slid open, and she stepped into a light-filled space that smelled of water and warm soil. The soil scent came from the pots of huge ficus trees dotted around the stone patio that edged the pool.

  “And now . . .” He reached for her jacket’s zipper.

  “But . . .” She looked at the transparent walls.

  “The moment we walked through the door, the glass turned opaque to viewers from the outside.”

  “Is there anything you billionaires don’t think of?” Allie dragged his zipper open and pushed his jacket down his arms.

  They left a trail of clothes right up to the lip of the pool and dived in side by side as though they’d planned it. When Allie surfaced, Gavin came up behind her, snaking his arms around to cup her breasts and pull her back against him. His erection nestled hard between her buttocks as he tweaked her nipples with his thumbs. The water was just deep enough so her feet didn’t touch the bottom, while Gavin could stand. It made him her anchor.

  “Have you ever made love in a pool?” he murmured as he nipped at her earlobe.

  “That’s a very personal question.” The pinch of his teeth zinged through her like lightning.

  “You’re right. I don’t want to know.” He skimmed one hand over her stomach to slide it between her thighs while the heel of his hand pressed against her. “I can’t tell if you’re wet for me.”