by Dawn Brower
The whole room became tinged in scarlet as Emma worked her way over to the table. She stopped right in front of them and punched Colt in the nose. His hand flew up to protect himself from further assault.
“Ouch, what the fuck…” His gaze flew up and landed on hers. Irritation spread across his face, his lips pinching together in displeasure.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did my fist get in the way of your nose? My bad.” Emma clenched her hands into tight balls at the side of her hips. She resisted the urge to launch another punch.
“Damn it, Emma, was that necessary?” Colt’s hand cupped his nose as he winced in pain.
Paxton burst out laughing. Hilarity poured out of him in waves. He held his stomach with both hands and fell to the floor, knocking the chair over as he hit it with a thud, the contents of his own drink splashing all over his navy blue T-shirt.
“It’s not funny, dickhead.”
“I beg to differ. That’s humorous shit there.” Paxton grinned ear to ear. “Hey, Emma, nice of you to drop in. Can always count on you to make things more entertaining.” He set his chair back upright and sat. “What’s next? I’ve been dying here. Lewis here is a bit of a drag.”
Emma glared at him. He stopped laughing immediately. Her gaze flew back to Colt. She couldn’t believe he’d been so loving and wonderful—and now he was flirting with the hussy standing over him. Had she finally pushed him over the edge? Was this the answer to her constant back and forth with him? If so, she didn’t like it. If the blonde ho-bag touched him again she’d punch her in the nose. Emma turned her full attention on her—she needed to go, and soon.
The bimbo gulped, her eyes darting between Emma and Colt. She took several steps back and put distance between them.
Message received loud and clear—Colt was not available.
“Oh, that looks bad. I’ll go get some ice for it.” As she walked away, her pace was as rapid as her mile-high stilettos allowed.
“Bring me another drink too,” Colt yelled after her. “Hell bring the whole bottle. I’m going to need it.”
“Alcohol is the last thing you need.”
“I beg to differ. I need a damn case if I’m going to have to deal with you.” His eyes shot daggers at her. He fished out an ice cube from Paxton’s glass and wrapped it in the cocktail napkin and held it against his nose. “Why did you come here? You don’t want me, remember.”
Emma sneered. “That’s right. I definitely don’t want your sorry ass if this is how you’re going to act, but lucky for you I’m not here to chase after you.” She rested her hands on her hips and glared at both of them. “Well, not in the sense you’re implying. Coach got wind of your little vacation and sent me to get you. He’s not pleased with your reckless behavior.”
“I don’t care.” Colt turned back to the table. “I’m on a winning streak and I’m not leaving until I lose.”
Shit. This wasn’t going to be easy. If threatening him with the coach wouldn’t get him moving nothing would. Emma needed a new plan. Reasoning with him wouldn’t work if he was beyond logic. How to get him on board with her plan? An idea started to form in her mind—she just needed to implement it.
“Oh?” Emma studied her fingernails, acting as nonchalant as possible. “Against Paxton? Doesn’t seem like much of a contest.” Goading him was the quickest way to get him to follow where she led.
“Hey, I resent that implication.” Paxton’s mouth turned up into a cocky grin. “I’m not easy—I mean I am—”he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively,“—with the right incentive. But I never let anyone win.”
“And yet Colt insists he’s beating you—doesn’t seem like you have what it takes to win.” Emma shrugged. “Of course if you want him to keep kicking your ass, who am I to stop you.”
“Leave him alone. He doesn’t need you kicking him in the proverbial ass.” Colt set the dripping wet napkin on the table. “What will it take to get you to leave?”
Good. He was going to do exactly what she wanted. Emma suppressed a grin of triumph. “If you want to play, why don’t we make things more interesting?”
Colt leaned back in his chair and stared up at her. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’ll join the game. I can take Paxton’s place.”
Paxton held his hand up. “Hey, I want to play too.”
Emma turned toward him and stared at him for several seconds. “Too bad. You’re already losing, remember?”
“Fine, take my place.” Paxton threw up his hands in defeat. “You can have my chips too, but I am staying. Someone needs to referee.”
Emma didn’t have a problem with that. “Fine.”
“Okay, you’re going to play. What are the stakes?” Colt asked.
“If I win you go back and prepare for the game. No arguments.”
“What do I get if I win?”
Emma gulped. This was the problem. Did she want to play this game with him? This could be potentially higher stakes than she’d ever played in her life. If she lost—Colt would want a lot more than she was prepared to give.
Time to bite the bullet, so to speak—accept whatever hand fate dealt her…
“What do you want?”
Colt rubbed his chin and studied her. “I can tell you think I’m going to ask for you as my prize, but here’s the thing, Emma. I don’t want to win you over a game of cards. I’ve always wanted more than that from you.” He leaned over and yanked her into his lap. “So if I win, what I want is a different kind of promise from you. I want a chance. You have to spend time with me. Date me. Let me show you how it could be—without sex.” His fingers trailed across her hip and down her leg until his hand came to a rest on her knee.
“How long?” Emma squirmed in his lap. “If I’m going to date you, how much time do I have to give you to prove yourself?”
“As long as I want.”
“No, I’m not agreeing to an open-ended timeline. I want a specific timeframe in place.”
“Fine.” His fingers skimmed down her back, leaving a trail of energy. “If you still don’t want me by Valentine’s Day I’ll give up for good. We’ll go out, celebrate the day of lovers, and once and for all know if we’re meant to be together.”
“Three weeks?” He thought that was enough time to win her over? It didn’t matter. Emma planned on winning, so what he wanted didn’t really matter. If she lost—she’d deal with his dating idea. “What are the rules?”
“First—you need a few drinks. I’m already ahead of you in the drunk department. We need to be on an even keel to be fair.”
What? He wanted her to play drunk. That changed things a bit. She didn’t think well under the influence of alcohol. Who was she kidding? She didn’t think clearly under the influence of Colt—she was dizzy with sensations from sitting on his lap. “How much?”
“Three glasses of whiskey… down the hatch in under five minutes.”
Emma hated whiskey. “Fine. What’s your other concession?”
“First one to run out of money or the one to take three hands wins.” Colt signaled the dealer. “Can we have a private game between the two of us?”
“Certainly, Mr. Lewis.”
“Great, and have a waitress bring us another glass and a bottle of your best whiskey. Emma and I are playing the highest stakes we’ve ever played—and I intend to win.”
A different waitress brought over a glass and a bottle of whiskey and set it on the table. Colt opened it and poured some of the amber liquid into a glass. He set it in front of her. “Drink up, Emma.”
She lifted the glass and downed it in one gulp. It burned as it traveled down her throat. The glass hit the table with a quiet thud. Colt filled it again and made a drinking gesture. Emma repeated it two more times. The room spun a little after she drank the third glass—no way did Colt drink his whiskey as fast as he’d insisted she do it.
“Are you ready to play?”
Colt’s face swam in front of her. Time to find her own seat, Colt’s lap was too dist
racting. “Deal the cards.”
The next several hands would determine their next step. If she won, Colt would follow her to catch the red eye. If she lost—the game was just starting.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A glaring bright light blinded her—even though her eyelids were closed. It burned…so much. Why’d she leave the curtains open in her room? Maybe if she closed out the sun’s potent glow she’d be able to get some more sleep. Her head ached. Pain stabbed every inch of her skull. She groaned and held her head tightly in her hands. Emma refused to open her eyes and welcome the daylight to intensify her pain. The little of it bleeding through her eyelids was making it all worse—she must make it disappear. The deep piercing throb behind her eyes was unbearable. She had to do something… Emma rolled over and landed on a solid mass of hard muscle.
Naked hard muscle. A man’s chest to be more precise.
Emma’s eyes fluttered open into tiny slits. A blurry male face floated in front of her. She blinked several times to clear away the dry grit and attempted to focus on him. Who was she in bed with? More importantly—why was she in bed with him?
“Turn the light off, Emma…” He muttered as he turned onto his side. “I’m trying to sleep.”
Emma shot up, all the pain in her head disappearing as she realized who was lying next to her, his voice one she’d never forget because it still haunted her dreams. She pulled the sheets up tight against her. Oh God. She was naked too. What had she done last night? The whiskey…the game…it all started to come back. Did they talk to an Elvis impersonator last night? No, it must have been a wild, crazy alcohol-induced dream. This was why she didn’t drink much. Liquor did crazy things to her.
Time to deal with the immediate situation. Emma formed a fist and punched Colt in the shoulder. “Wake up, jerkface. We need to fly to Dallas.” The throbbing in her head intensified. Never again. Colt wouldn’t talk her into something as asinine as drinking and playing poker again.
Colt groaned and rubbed his shoulder. “You really need to quit punching me.”
“Why when it’s so much fun.” What had they done last night? Her lack of clothing was not a good sign. “Seriously start moving. Don’t make me hit you again.”
Emma rolled out of bed pulling the sheet with her. Where had her clothes gone? She searched the room and found Colt’s shirt lying near the bed. Her clothes though—were nowhere. Emma dropped the sheet and pulled his shirt over her head. At least it was big enough to cover her completely. She smoothed it down to make sure it didn’t leave any of her exposed. Her hand caught the end, snagging a string loose. Emma lifted her left hand…and froze. There was a ring—a bright princess cut diamond solitaire. It was familiar—so achingly memorable. It’d been her engagement ring. She’d thrown it at Colt when he cheated on her with Missy. Emma had never expected to see it again, let alone on her finger. But what terrified her was the matching wedding band that accompanied it.
Her voice wobbled as horror filled every inch of her. “Colt?” Her eyes never left the sight of the rings on her finger.
“Shut up, Emma. I need more sleep.”
“If you don’t get out of bed right now I’m going to make you regret it.” Emma stormed over to the bed and shook him. “Get up now, get up.” In full panic mode, she pulled his hands from under his head. There on his left hand a gold band gleamed in the sunlight.
“Okay, okay. I’m getting up.” He sat up and stretched. “Dallas—yeah, what time’s our flight?”
“Why am I wearing rings?”
Colt yawned. “Hmm? What?”
“Rings,” she shouted, pointing to her left hand and flailing as he stared at her. “Yours and mine.” She clenched her teeth together and grabbed his hand waving it in front of his face. “Why. Are. We. Wearing. Them?”
A knock rattled the door to their room. Emma’s head whipped around and she stared at it. Who was bothering them now? They had a situation—company wasn’t welcome.
“Are you two decent?” Paxton strolled in without waiting for them to answer, carrying a tray filled with food.
Emma’s stomach rolled at the smell of eggs and bacon. She couldn’t eat anything.
“How are the newlyweds this morning?”
“Come again?” Colt glanced down at his left hand again. His eyes filled with shock. “What are you talking about?”
“How soon we forget.” Paxton held his hand across his chest and sniffled. He wiped a fake tear from his eye. “It was so beautiful too.”
Colt growled and rubbed his hands across his face. “Explain,” he said, his eyes never leaving Paxton’s face.
“Well, you remember the card game?” Paxton asked.
Emma sat on the bed and stared at him. “Yes. Continue.”
“Well, after Emma downed those three glasses of whiskey, things got interesting.”
Emma snorted. She bet they did. Alcohol tended to make her do crazy stupid things. Somehow she’d topped all of her other escapades though—this had to be the debacle of the century. Emma stared at him. She knew the next words out of Paxton’s mouth were not going to be good. It was all pretty clear from the rings on her finger. They were in Vegas. There was only one logical conclusion, but she wasn’t ready to voice it. How could she have gotten herself in this situation?
Because Paxton implied—Emma gulped—she’d married Colt.
“I do remember that, but things get fuzzy after,” Colt agreed. “Fill in the blanks.”
“Who won the game?” Emma asked. She wanted to delay confirmation of her deepest concerns as long as possible.
“Tsk-tsk, don’t rush me by jumping to the ending. You’ll miss the best part.”
Emma groaned. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Colt folded his arms across his chest. “Quit stalling, Paxton. Lay it all on us.”
Colt was probably happy with this outcome. He’d been pushing for them to get back together. They couldn’t be more together than this. Emma had to fix it—
“Well, Emma won the first hand.” Paxton set the breakfast tray on the bed. “After that things got very entertaining. She got—let’s say cocky.”
“You’re saying I determined I’d win and went ahead full steam.”
Paxton grabbed a cheese danish from the tray and tore off a piece. He stuffed it into his mouth and chewed. It seemed to take him forever to continue. Emma was about to jump up and smack him—but lucky for him he started talking before the urge took root.
“Yes, that’s a way of looking at it, but it went all downhill for you after that.”
Emma dropped her head into her hands as she groaned. “What did I do?”
Paxton laughed and sat in a nearby chair and finished his pastry. He licked his fingers clean and then rested his elbows on his knees and formed a teepee with his hands. He tapped back and forth in front of his face as glee filled his eyes. “Where to begin—with the waitress you called a blonde bimbo or the third bottle of whiskey you ordered.”
Emma’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits. “That bitch came back?”
“Ah, I see you remember her. She was quite lovely and was only doing her job, but you didn’t quite see it that way.”
“That’s very entertaining, Paxton, but I don’t see how it’s relevant.” Colt picked up a piece of toast and took a bite. “Skip that part.”
“Why? Do you want to go looking for her later? Did you like her that much?” Emma’s hands rested on her hips as she stared at him. She turned her attention back to Paxton. “What did I do to the bimbo?”
“This was well after you two finished the first bottle of whiskey. You were half way through the second and you’d lost two hands. If Colt won the next round the game was over. When the waitress strolled in with the third bottle you blew up.”
Emma could only imagine what set her off. It was best to rip off the bandage and find out how bad it was. She took a deep breath. “Why?”
“You didn’t like how she rubbed her tits in Colt’s face.” Paxton
laughed. “The look on your face—priceless. I’ve never seen a woman leap forward so fast in my life. You’re amazing.”
Emma groaned. “Do I have something to worry about?”
“No, Colt stopped you from punching her.”
“Oh good.” That’s something at least. Even if the hussy deserved it. She didn’t need any legal ramifications. “So did I win the next hand?”
“No.”
“So the game was over after that?” Colt asked. “I won?”
“Not exactly,” Paxton paused, “Emma suggested you up the stakes, and you opened your third bottle of whiskey.”
Three bottles of whiskey? No wonder pain shot through her head like a million needles being pounded into it at a thousand different angles. What had she been thinking? That answer was easy—she wasn’t. If she had been she’d have left before disaster struck. Time to ask what she played for.
“What stakes did I suggest?”
“First the good news—you never did finish that third bottle, but you did put a nice dent in it.” Paxton stopped and stared her in the eye. “The bad news—Emma suggested you continue on for three more hands. The first one to win two of the three would win. If you won, Colt would still leave for Dallas immediately, but if he won…”
“Yeah?” Colt asked and leaned back against the wall. “What would I get?”
“You’d marry him before you left.” He looked at Emma as he said this.
Colt’s mouth fell open as shock filled his eyes. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No…” A full blown panic streamed through Emma’s veins. That wasn’t possible. She wouldn’t agree to something so outlandish. “Why would I agree to that?”
Paxton shrugged. “I don’t deign to understand the workings of the female mind—I’m not about to start with you.” He grinned. “I did volunteer to stand as a witness to the ceremony. The blonde bimbo agreed to be your maid of honor. She’s a nice woman. You should apologize for insulting her.”
What. The. Fuck.
“You’re joking.” This was insane—a comical piece of fiction made up to mess with her. “I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you want. I couldn’t care less.” Paxton stood and started to leave. He stopped at the door and turned back to them. “But there’s proof if you want it.”