It had only been when she’d shut the door of her own room, safely inside, that she’d taken a full breath. And another, and another, until she still felt in danger of hyperventilating.
The sudden knock on the door made her jump. It was probably nothing, she told herself, but her imagination painted security standing outside the door instead, ready to lock her up for breaking into a guest room. She looked through the peephole.
It was Del.
He burst through the door when she opened it and pulled her to him, his arms coming around her hard. “God.” He held her. “That scared the hell out of me.” He pressed his face into her hair and inhaled.
Held close to him, Gwen finally began to shake, really shake, as though she could let loose because he was there. “It did a number on me, too, when—”
His mouth was on hers before she finished, hard and demanding. And that quickly the adrenaline residue of fear flashed over into passion. All she could register was need. She wanted his skin against hers, his body on hers. She wanted him inside her. And most of all she wanted it now.
It wasn’t about romance. There wasn’t a vestige of anything soft or tender about it. It was pure passion, hard and rough and uncontrolled. All the anxiety, all the tension, all the frustration of the past several hours poured into the heat of their fused mouths. Magnified by fear, desire became manifest.
Gwen gloried in the feel of Del’s hands moving roughly over her body. She wanted it fast, she wanted it urgent. Every atom of her body seemed supernaturally sensitive. His teeth scraped against her lower lip and she moaned. His hands slid down to squeeze her breasts and she caught her breath. His fingers slid up under her skirt and she cried out. In that instant she felt supremely alive.
She tore blindly at his shirt, wanting it only off, not caring how. When he stripped her tank top off over her arms, she caught herself to him, nipping greedily at his shoulder, his throat. “I want you inside me,” she murmured feverishly, leaning over to the bedside table for the condoms they’d left there. “I want your cock. Now.”
With a noise of frustration Del turned her around and bent her over the couch, pushing her skirt up over her hips. When he saw and felt the warm curves of her framed by the red silk of a thong, it almost undid him. Gritting his teeth, he held on long enough to free his aching cock and roll the condom on even as Gwen reached back to touch him, stroking the lightly furred skin of his balls, the tops of his thighs.
And he thrust himself inside her.
Gwen cried out, her head arching back as she clutched at pillows, pushing herself back against him.
It was too fast, too hard, too rough, he thought in some sane part of his mind. But he’d stood by while she’d been in danger and now some primitive instinct drove him to mark her as his. Her tight, wet heat around him dragged him closer to the edge of control with every stroke. Her breasts filled his hands. She surrounded him, inflamed him. As he drove himself home, as he felt her shudder and contract around him, he pulled her hard against him and spilled his soul into her.
The silence was broken only by their breathing. When he thought he could stand without falling over, Del pushed himself upright. “Oh, man,” he muttered. “Oh, man.”
“You can say that again.” Gwen stood shakily, one hand on the couch.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m not okay.” His heart clutched as she turned to him. “I’m fabulous.”
It took him a moment to catch up. “Yeah, that was…you were okay with that?”
“It was incredible.” She sat on the arm of the couch and let herself fall back onto the cushions, stretching her arms out languorously. “Of course, if you wanted to give me some basis of comparison, I could give you a more accurate assessment.”
He grinned. “Coming up, ma’am.”
“WANT SOMETHING TO DRINK?” Wrapped in a terry cloth hotel bathrobe, Gwen stood at the minibar.
“Beer, please.”
She handed Del one, grabbed a bottle of water for herself.
He studied her. “So, you’re okay?”
“Oh, yeah.” She flopped on the couch beside him. “So, what happened with Jerry?”
“Everything’s fine. He’s passed out.” Del twisted the top off the beer and took a long drink. “I don’t think he figured out a thing. You got out at just the right time. Five seconds later he was in the living room calling housekeeping. God, I about flipped when I saw your cell phone lying there.”
“I know. I realized I’d left it out when I was already behind the bar. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I tried to. Couldn’t get a signal.” As though the tension had come back, he rose to pace across the room. “So, did you find them?” His eyes glowed green with excitement.
“I think so. I’d just found an envelope when you guys came in. It’s wedged behind the refrigerator, I’m pretty sure, but I couldn’t get it out.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It’s okay. Now I know where it is. Next time I’ll get it.”
“Next time.” He turned to stare at her. “There isn’t going to be a next time.”
“Sure there will. We’ll work out a better plan.” Gwen opened her water and took a long pull.
“Oh, yeah? How do you figure?” He set the beer roughly aside. “We thought this plan was foolproof and it almost blew up in our faces.”
“So? We’ll figure out something else,” she said impatiently. “Maybe I get a new phone, or you do.”
“It’s too dangerous. What do you think Jerry would do if he knew you were in his room sniffing around, particularly given what’s at stake?”
“Probably try to get me into bed.”
“Are you even listening?”
She’d underestimated the level of his agitation, Gwen realized. She’d underestimated the level of her own. She took a deep breath. “We’re both tense over this. I think we should talk about this later once we’ve both calmed down.”
“I don’t want to calm down.”
“Just because you volunteered to help doesn’t mean that you’re suddenly running the show,” she exclaimed. “This is my hunt, Del. You’re not going to stand there and tell me what I can and can’t do.”
“You’re not going to do something that’s going to put you at risk,” he retorted.
Gwen took a deep breath. “Okay, we both need to take it easy. I’m not stupid, Del, I’m not going to take a ridiculous chance. But I do still have the key and I know where the stamps are.”
“You think you know where the stamps are,” he corrected.
“I’m going to get back in there and find out for sure. Not now, though,” she placated. “For now we play wait and see. If the right opportunity presents itself, then we make a move. Agreed?”
“Maybe,” he said reluctantly.
“Well, it’s not like we can do anything else tonight.” She reached for her sash. “Do you have any other ideas for ways to keep busy?”
15
EVERYTHING LOOKED DIFFERENT when you were the one at the tables, Gwen discovered. If she’d felt mild tension in the room the previous nights she’d been in the bleachers, now she felt an anxiety and strain so thick that it seemed to weigh her down.
Why had she thought entering the tournament was the way to go? She could monitor Jerry without the crushing pressure of knowing she could lose her place at the table and her ten-thousand-dollar stake in one night. She was in it now, though, obligated to play through to either win or lose. Cashing in her chips to get her money back wasn’t an option. Chips now only meant points in the game.
“You okay?” Del asked as he stood beside her.
Gwen nodded. “Yeah, sure, no problem.” She grimaced. “Except I feel a little sick.”
“Don’t worry, you’re going to do fine. Just remember, you’re only playing eight people at a time. Focus on them, not the big picture.”
Gwen nodded. It helped to think of it that way. “I’ve been playing with the same people for years. Doing thi
s feels a lot like jumping out of the plane without a parachute.”
“You’ve learned from those guys, though. They might have their tells, but it’s harder to bluff people who know you. Take what you’ve learned from them and go to the next level.” He squeezed her hand.
“You do a nice line in pep talks.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “I like to think of myself as multitalented.”
“Oh, I can definitely verify that.”
The MC began to call for players to go to their assigned seats.
Gwen looked at Del. “I guess that’s me.”
“Okay, relax and have fun.” Del leaned over to press a kiss on her. “It’s a little freaky at first. Don’t do anything sudden, just take a couple of hands and let yourself get used to the feel of things. You’re going to do great.”
Fighting panic, Gwen took a deep breath. “Swear?”
“Damn,” he said obediently and she grinned.
DEL SAT AT HIS HOTEL ROOM desk the next day, punching the keys of his laptop in a rapid tattoo. He knew plenty of guys on the paper who stuck with the two-finger hunt and peck. As far as he was concerned, you did the work and learned the drill. He’d done it when he’d been playing sports and he’d done it when he’d started on the paper and taught himself real typing.
His cell phone rang and he picked it up and flipped it open. “Redmond.”
“At least you’re answering on the first try today.”
“Hello, Perry.”
“What are you up to?”
“What does it sound like I’m up to?” Del rapidly finished typing his current sentence and hit the keyboard command to save the file. “Writing a story about how two women cleaned up in their first night of play yesterday.”
“Ah, the sound of a column being finished. Warms an old editor’s heart.”
“Save the shtick, Perry. We both know you’re not even fifty yet. What’s up? The series okay?”
“Better than okay. I was reading the article today on the little hustler. Got any photos of this poseur?”
“He doesn’t want any photos taken.”
“Interesting.”
“Kinda makes you wonder where he got his stake.”
“Kinda does,” Perry agreed. “I don’t suppose it’s got anything to do with a certain theft?”
Del closed his eyes briefly. “Jessup’s been talking.”
“He came and asked me if you were for real or if I thought you were putting him on about this story. I told him you were many things, including an occasional horse’s ass—”
“Not often,” Del put in.
“Not often,” Perry agreed, “but that you were not the type to put anyone on.”
“He believe you?”
“He seemed to take it okay. So, what’s going on? What have you bumbled into out there, anyway?”
He’d opened Pandora’s box, Del thought sinkingly, and putting the story back into it was going to be a job. He’d regretted his discussion with Jessup almost immediately. Now the more he discovered about Gwen, the more he was certain that doing a story on the stamp theft was the wrong move.
The question was, what would it do to his chances on the paper if he came back now and told Jessup to forget about it? Bye-bye, news job. Bye-bye, future. “It’s not as big as I thought. I’m going to check it out a few more days and report in. I thought it would be a chance to show Jessup my stuff. Now I don’t know.”
“You know he’s waiting for you to come up looking bad on this,” Perry said impatiently.
“Yeah, I know.”
“If you want this news job, I’d find a way to dig up a story.”
“There’s a complication.”
“There always is with you. Let me guess, the hustler is actually a redhead with big blue eyes and enormous—”
“No, the hustler is a nervy little guy.”
“But the redhead is somewhere in the picture.”
“Well, actually she’s a blonde,” Del admitted.
“Del Do-Right.”
He’d told Perry about it in a weak moment, after a few too many beers. “A classy guy wouldn’t have brought that up.”
“She throw her arms around your neck and beg you to save the family farm from the villains?”
“Actually no. She yelled at me and told me to mind my own business and that she could take care of herself.”
“She should know.”
“Maybe. The more I find out, the more I think maybe this story is a bad idea. I’ve been trying to think how to handle it with Jessup.”
“Oh, just telling him that you’re pulling your application will probably work,” Perry said lightly. “Redmond, you putz, reporters aren’t supposed to get involved. Rule number one. You know that. He finds out you’ve been suckered on your first story, you won’t get near his precious news desk.”
“I haven’t been suckered.”
“Well, I hope you haven’t been suck—never mind,” Perry said hastily. “Anyway, it might put him off you, but it won’t put him off the story. If he likes it—and he does—he’ll give it to someone else. Your best bet is to file something lukewarm but well written and tell him the story didn’t pan out.”
“Thus pulling my application.”
“Yeah, but maybe keeping him off the story.”
Del drummed his fingers on the desktop. He knew Perry was right, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
And he didn’t. Not one bit.
Perry cleared his throat. “It’s not my place to say, but you don’t know this woman. She’s probably not worth throwing this all away over. Can you even trust whatever it is she’s telling you?”
“Yeah.” He thought, anyway.
“You don’t sound too sure.”
“Don’t push it, Perry.”
Perry was silent for a little while. “This is the first one you’ve really gotten involved with since your divorce, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Hey, I’ve been there, too. Divorce sucks. It’s hard to swallow failure and it’s easy to go looking for something to erase that. But you’ve been in Vegas, what, a week?” He blew out a breath. “You just met her, Del. She’s not going to be the one—they never are. Trust me on this.”
Del pushed back from the desk and swung his chair around so he could look out into the pitiless sun of the Las Vegas day. “Don’t worry, I’m not going off the deep end.”
“I hope not. You’ve got the chance for a new career here. Something it sounds like you want. Don’t throw it away on a Vegas squeeze.”
Del hung up the phone and stared out the window at nothing for long minutes. Finally he came thoughtfully back to his computer and logged on to the Internet. You don’t know this woman. Maybe it was time he started to. He brought up a search engine and plugged in her name.
THEY SAT IN ALIZÉ, ON TOP OF the Palms casino, staring out over the lights of Las Vegas. The gargantuan hotels along the Strip looked oddly graceful by night, reduced to streaks of color—the green of the MGM Grand, the red and purple of Rio, the lighted arc of the Wynn. The twinkling lights of the rest of the town looked diamond sharp in the dry desert air.
Despite the lateness of the hour, she was still buzzed from playing. She felt alert, energized and just a little bit wild. The lighting was dim, the heavy linen draped over the tables crisp. It gave her a decidedly Nina-like urge to do something just a bit outrageous.
Del raised his wineglass. “To making it to round three and to seeing us both at the final table.”
“The final table? I’d just be happy to get through tomorrow night and make it into the money rounds.”
“And I’m sure you will. You ran some pretty fearsome bluffs tonight.”
It was probably the relief of surviving a second night and moving forward that was making her so giddy. “Speaking of bluffs, how did you get a table here tonight, anyway? Tell them you were Phil Hellmuth?”
“You don’t get reservations at Alizé the night of,” he
told her. “I had confidence in you.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Just like I have confidence in you in other ways. You’ll get those stamps back, I know it.”
“I wish I were as sure,” she sighed.
“I can see why the work fascinates you,” Del said casually. “I was doing some research on stamps on the Internet today.”
Her head came up like that of a doe scenting a predator. “Why were you doing that?”
“I figured I ought to know more about it. Anyway, I’m a journalist. Research is what I do. And the more I know, the better I can help. So Chastain Philatelic Investments is your family business, right? Is Hugh Chastain your uncle or your brother or something?”
“Grandfather,” she said. “You’ve been busy.”
“Not busy, just curious.”
“Ah, you know what they say about curiosity and cats,” she scolded and he felt something brush his leg.
He looked down. “What the…?”
“Maybe it’s that cat,” she said smoothly, and he felt it again, this time a satiny toe stroking up against his leg, under his pants.
It brought all of his nerves to awareness. “I think you’re trying to distract me.”
“Oh, no, if I were trying to distract you, I wouldn’t do something like this,” she said, stroking his leg with the side of her bare foot. “I’d do something like this.” The stroke over his crotch was quick and soft and had his cock twitching under his napkin.
“Oh, goody, here comes the chocolate fondant cake,” she said smoothly as the waiter walked up. Del just sat watching them go through the ritual pouring of the crème anglaise, grateful of the drape of linen in his lap.
And Gwen savored a bite of her cake, her tongue licking over the fork even as her toes stroked his balls.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked tightly.
She took another nibble. “Yes, you want a bite? It’s wonderful.”
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