by Jennie Lucas
“This is my outfit.” Her voice was cool as she stared him down. “For poker.”
“Oh.” His round, friendly face looked confused. “Well. Okay. Go in, then.”
“Thanks.” Forcing the ice in her voice to fully infuse her heart, she pushed open the door.
The private room for the villa residents had a cavernous ceiling and no windows. The walls were soundproofed with thick red fabric that swooped from a center point on the ceiling. The effect made the room glamorous and cozy and claustrophobic all at once. To Bree, it felt like entering the tent of a sheikh’s harem. But as she approached the wealthy men who were playing at the single large table, if there was a stab of fear down her spine, she didn’t feel it.
She’d succeeded. She’d turned off her heart.
There were no women players. The only females in the room stood in a circle behind the men, smiling with hawkish red lips, wearing low-cut, tight silk gowns. At the table, she saw the dealer, Chris—what was his last name?—whose eyes widened with surprise when he saw her.
The four players at the table were Greg Hudson and three owners she recognized: a Belgian land developer, a long-mustached oil man from Texas and a short, bald tycoon from Silicon Valley. But where was the arrogant stranger Josie had mentioned? Had he already quit the game?
Whatever. It was time to play.
In her black leather jacket and jeans, Bree pushed through the venomous, overdressed women. Without a word, she sat down at one of the two empty seats at the table around the dealer, beside Greg Hudson.
“Deal me in,” she said coolly.
The men blinked, staring at her in shock that was almost comical. One of the men snorted a laugh. Another frowned. “Another cocktail waitress?” one scoffed.
“Actually,” Bree said with a grin, “I’m with the housekeeping staff, and so was my sister.”
The men glanced at each other uncertainly.
“Well, well. Bree Dalton.” Greg Hudson licked his lips, looking at her with beady eyes in his florid, sweaty face. “So. Did you bring the hundred thousand dollars your sister owes me?”
“You know we don’t have that kind of money.”
“Then I’ll send my men to take it out of her hide.”
Bree’s knees shook beneath the table, but she did not feel fear. Her body might feel whatever it liked, but she’d disconnected it from her heart. Crossing her legs, she leaned back in her chair. “I will play for her debt.”
“You!” He snorted. “What will you wager? This game has a five-thousand-dollar buy-in. You could scrub the bathrooms of the entire Hale Ka’nani Resort for years and not have that kind of money.”
“I offer a trade.”
“You have nothing of value.”
“I have myself.”
Her boss stared at her, then licked his lips. “You mean—”
“Yes. I mean you could have me in bed.” She looked at him steadily, feeling nothing. Her skin felt cold, her heart as frozen as the blue iceberg that sank the Titanic. “You wanted me, Mr. Hudson. Here I am.”
There was a low whistle, an intake of breath around the room.
Bree slowly gazed around the table. She had everyone’s complete attention. Without flinching, she let her gaze taunt each man in turn, all of them larger, older and more powerful than she could ever be. “Who will take the gamble?”
“Well now.” Looking her over, the Texas oil baron thoughtfully tilted back his cowboy hat. “This game just got a lot more interesting.”
In the corner of her eye, she saw a dark, hulking shadow come around the table. A man sat down in the empty chair on the other side of the dealer, and Bree instantly turned to him with languid eyes. “Allow me to join your game, and I could be yours....”
Bree’s voice choked off midsentence as she sucked in her breath.
She knew those cold blue eyes. The high cheekbones, sharp as a razor blade. The strong jaw that proclaimed ruthless, almost thuggish strength. So powerful, so darkly handsome, so sensual.
So impossible.
“No,” she whispered. Not after ten years. Not here. “It can’t be.”
Vladimir Xendzov’s eyes narrowed with recognition, and then she felt the rush of his sudden searing hatred like fire.
“Have you met Prince Vladimir?” Greg Hudson purred.
“Prince?” Bree choked out. She was unable to look away from Vladimir’s face, the face of the man she’d dreamed about unwillingly for the past ten years.
His cruel, sensual lips curved as he leaned back in his chair.
“Miss Dalton,” he drawled. “I didn’t know you were in Hawaii. And gambling. What a pleasant surprise.”
His low, husky voice, so close to her, so real, caused a shiver across her skin. She stared at him in shock.
Her one lost love. Not a ghost. Not a dream. But here, at the Hale Ka’nani Resort, not six feet away from her.
“So what’s on offer? Your body, is it?” Vladimir’s words were cold, even sardonic. “What a charming prize that would be, though hardly exclusive. Shared by thousands, I should imagine.”
And just like that, the ice around her heart exploded into a million glass splinters. She sucked in her breath.
Vladimir Xendzov had made her love him with all the reckless passion of an innocent, untamed heart. He’d made her a better person—and then he’d destroyed her. Her lips parted. “Vladimir.”
He stiffened. “Your Highness will do.”
She didn’t realize she’d spoken his name aloud. Glancing to the right and left, she matched his sardonic tone. “So you’re using your title now.”
His blue eyes burned through her. “It is mine by right.”
She knew it was true. His great-grandfather had been one of the last great princes of Russia, before he’d died fighting the Red Army in Siberia, after sending his wife and baby son to safety in Alaskan exile. As a poverty-stricken child, Vladimir had been mocked with the title at school. When he was twenty-five, he’d told her that he never intended to use the title, that it still felt like a mockery, an honor he hadn’t earned—and was worthless, anyway.
But apparently, now, he’d found a use for it.
“You didn’t always think so,” Bree said.
“I am no longer the boy you once knew,” he said coldly.
She swallowed. Ten years ago, she’d thought Vladimir was the last honest man on earth. She’d loved him enough to give up the wicked skills that made her special. When he’d held her tight on a cold Alaskan night and begged her to be his bride, it had been the happiest night of her life. Then he’d ruthlessly deserted her the next morning, before she could tell him the truth. When she needed him most, he’d stabbed her in the back. Some prince. “What are you doing here?”
His lip curled. Without answering her, he turned away. “The table is full,” he said to the other players. “We do not want her.”
“Speak for yourself,” one of them muttered, looking at Bree.
Looking around, she jolted in her chair. She’d forgotten the other men were there, looking at her like hungry wolves at a raw mutton chop. The beautiful, sexily dressed women standing in a circle behind them were glaring as if they would like to tear her limb from limb. Perhaps she’d taken her act a little too far.
Feel nothing, she ordered her shivering heart. I have ice for a heart. She looked away from the large, powerful men and sharp-taloned women. They couldn’t hurt her. The only man who’d ever been able to really hurt her was Vladimir. And what more could he do, that he hadn’t done already?
One thing, a cold voice whispered. Ten years ago, he’d taken her heart and soul.
But not her virginity.
And he never would, she told herself fiercely. Bree didn’t know what Vladimir Xendzov was doing in Honolulu, but she didn’t care. He was ancient hist
ory. All that mattered now was protecting Josie.
To save her little sister, Bree would play cards with the devil himself.
With an intake of breath, she lifted her chin, ignoring Vladimir as she looked around the table. “It is for this first game only that I offer my body. If I lose, the winner will get me, along with all the money in the pot. But if I win—” when I win, she amended silently “—I will only bet money. Until I possess the entire amount of my sister’s debt.”
As she spoke, her heart started to resume a normal beat. Bluffing, playing card games, was home to her. She’d learned poker when her father had pulled her up to their table in Anchorage and taught her at the tender age of four. By six, shortly after her mother had died two months after giving birth to Josie, Bree was a child prodigy accompanying her father to games—and, when he saw how much money she could make, his partner in crime.
Leaning forward, she looked at each man in turn, ignoring the death stares of the women behind them. “What is your answer?”
“We are here to play poker,” another man complained. “Not for hookers.”
Bree twirled her long blond hair slowly around one of her slender fingers and looked through her lashes at the Silicon Valley tycoon. “You don’t recognize me, do you, Mr. McNamara?”
“Should I?”
She gave him a smile. “I guess not. But you knew my father, Black Jack Dalton.” She paused. “Have you enjoyed the painting you paid him to steal from the archives of the Getty Museum in Los Angeles? When did you learn it was a fake?”
The Silicon Valley tycoon stiffened.
“And Mr. Vanderwald—” she turned to the gray-haired, overweight man sitting beside her boss “—twelve years ago you were nearly wiped out, weren’t you? Investing in an Alaskan oil well that never existed.”
The Belgian land developer scowled. “How the devil did you—”
“You thought my father conned you. But it was my idea. It was me,” she whispered, lowering her eyelashes as she ran her hand down the softly worn leather of her black motorcycle jacket. “It was all me.”
“You,” the fat man breathed, staring at her.
She was doing well. Then, from the corner of her eye, she felt Vladimir’s sardonic gaze. It hit her cheek and the side of her neck like a blast of ice. Her heart skidded with the effort it took to ignore him. He was the one man who’d ever really known her. The mark she’d stupidly let see behind her mask. She felt his hatred. Felt his scorn.
Fine. She felt the same about him. Let him hate her. His hatred bounced off the thickening ice of her scorn for him. She’d thought he was so perfect and noble. She’d killed herself trying to be worthy. But when he’d learned the truth about her past, he’d deserted her, without giving her a chance to explain.
So much for his honor. So much for his love.
Bree’s lips twisted. Turning away, she gave the rest of the men a sensual smile. “Win this first hand, and you’ll have me at your mercy. You’ll get your revenge. Humiliate me completely. Take my body, and make your last memory of me one of your own pleasure.” She gave a soft sigh, allowing her lips to part. “My skills at cards are nothing compared to what I can do to you in bed. I’ve learned the art of seduction. You have no idea,” she whispered, “what I can do to you. A single hour with me will change your life.”
Her act was one hundred percent fraud, of course. She, know the art of seduction? What a joke. She’d have no clue what she’d do with a man in bed. Since Vladimir, she’d been very careful never to let any man close to her. At twenty-eight, she was a virgin. But she did know how to bluff.
The men were riveted.
“I’m in,” Greg Hudson croaked.
“And me.”
“I accept.”
“Yes.”
As the men at the table agreed, Bree would have been frightened by all the looks of lust and desire and rage, if she hadn’t frozen her heart against emotion.
But the last set of ice-blue eyes held no lust. No desire for domination. Just pure, cold understanding. As if Vladimir alone could see through all her tricks to the scared woman beneath.
“As you wish,” he said softly. He gave a cold smile. “Let’s play.”
His low, sensual voice slid through her body. When she looked into Vladimir’s eyes, fear pierced her armor. Pierced her heart. She wanted to leap up and run from his knowing gaze, to keep running and never stop. It took every ounce of her willpower to remain in the chair.
Clutching her jacket around her for warmth, she wrenched her gaze away, gripping the black leather so no one could see that her hands were shaking. “Then let’s begin.”
At Greg Hudson’s nod, Chris the dealer dealt the cards. Ignoring the spiteful whispers and daggered glances of the trophy girls, Bree stared at her cards, facedown on the table.
She couldn’t let herself think what would happen if she lost. Couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to let any of these angry, fat, ugly men take their revenge on her virginal body through rough sex.
But even more awful would be having Vladimir win. Giving her virginity to the man who’d once broken her completely? She couldn’t survive it. Not from him.
Just win, she ordered herself. All she had to do was take this first hand, and her virginity would no longer be on offer. It would be a long night of poker trying to win a hundred thousand dollars. But this was the most important hand.
Closing her eyes, she silently prayed. Then she picked up the cards. Careful not to let any of the players see them, she looked at them.
It took every ounce of her skill not to gasp.
Three kings. She had three kings, along with a four and a queen. Three kings. She nearly wept with relief. It was as if fate had decided she was gambling for the right reasons and deserved to win.
Unless it was more than fate...
She looked up through her lashes toward the young dealer. Could he be helping her? Chris was about Josie’s age, and he’d come twice to their apartment for dinner. He wasn’t exactly a close friend, but he’d spoken many times with irritation about Greg Hudson’s poor management skills. “You would do a better job of running this resort, Bree,” he’d grumbled, and she’d agreed with a smile. “But who wouldn’t?”
Now, catching her eye, the young dealer gave her a wink and a smile.
Sucking in her breath, Bree looked away before anyone noticed. Her eyes accidentally fell on Vladimir’s. His eyebrows lowered, and she gulped, looking back down at her cards, hastily making her expression blank. Had he seen? Could he guess?
The dealer turned to his left. “Your Highness?”
Because of his placement at the table, Vladimir was the first one required to add a bet to the pile of chips already in the middle of the table from the ante. “Raise.”
Raise? Bree looked up in surprise. He was looking straight at her as he said, “Five thousand.”
Texas Big-Hat cursed and threw his cards on the table. “Fold.”
“Call,” Silicon Valley said, matching Vladimir’s bet.
“Call,” Mr. Vanderwald puffed, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead.
“Call,” Greg Hudson said.
All eyes turned to Bree.
“She’s already all in,” Greg Hudson said dismissively. “There’s nothing more she can wager.”
He was right, she thought with a pang. She couldn’t match Vladimir’s raise, and that meant even if she won the hand, she couldn’t win anything beyond the twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of chips currently in the center. What a waste of three kings...
Bree suddenly smiled. “I call.”
“Call?” Greg Hudson hooted. “You have an extra five thousand dollars hidden in the back pocket of those jeans?”
She stretched back her shoulders and felt the eyes of the men linger
on the shape of her breasts beneath her black T-shirt. “I can match the bet in other ways. Instead of just an hour in bed, I’ll offer an entire night.” She tilted back her head, allowing her long blond hair to tumble provocatively down her shoulders. “Many chances. Multiple positions. As fast or slow or hard as you like it, all night long, and each time better than the last. Against the wall. Bent over the bed. In my mouth.”
She felt like a total fool. She hoped she sounded like a woman who knew what she was talking about, not a scared virgin whose idea of lovemaking was vague at best, based only on movies and novels. But as she looked at each man at the table they seemed captivated. She exhaled. Her mask was holding. She was convincing them. Even Chris the dealer looked entranced.
Vladimir alone seemed completely unaffected. Bored, even. His lips twisted with scorn. And his eyes—
His blue eyes saw straight through her. A hot blush burned her cheeks as she said to him, “Do you agree my bet is commensurate with your five thousand dollar raise?”
“No,” Vladimir said coldly. “That is not a call.”
Her heart sank. “You...”
He gave her a calm smile. “That is an additional raise.”
“A...a raise?” she echoed uncertainly.
“Obviously. Let us say...your added services are equivalent to an additional five thousand dollars? Yes. A full night with you would surely be worth that.” He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Would you not agree?”
“Five thousand more?” Greg Hudson’s voice hit a false note. Catching himself, he shifted uncomfortably in his chair and snickered, “Fine with me. I’m half raised already.”
“Good,” Vladimir said softly, never looking away from Bree. “So we are in agreement.”
Bree’s brow furrowed as she tried to read his expression. What on earth was he doing?
Trying to help her? Or giving her more rope to hang herself with?
Repressing her inner tumult, she stared him down. In for a penny... She lifted her chin. “If it’s worth five more, then why not ten more?”
The corners of Vladimir’s mouth lifted. “Yes, indeed. Why not?” He looked around the table. “Miss Dalton has raised the wager by ten thousand dollars.”