Bet Me

by Catherine Mann

  Thank you for what?

  TWO HOURS LATER seated at the head dinner table, Marc reached over his egg drop soup for the pepper mill. He didn’t like how they all sat on pillows on the floor, feeling distinctly at a disadvantage if someone launched an attack. However, what could he do?

  To make matters worse, Kim’s words still echoed in his ears as she sat to his right on her cushion. She’d rocked him more with a single sentence than his ex-fiancée had the entire time they were engaged.

  How had she known what it felt like to survive when even his friends hadn’t? Certainly his fiancée hadn’t. Could it be Kim had a point of reference from her past in Cantou as well as assassination attempts that took people who worked for her family?

  He’d considered questioning her on the subject earlier, even had the words formed and ready to spill out, but stopped. Such a discussion would only serve to deepen the level of intimacy that had already been heating out of control fast enough on its own. Much more closeness and they may not have made it down to supper.

  Marc finished off his soup and a second egg roll. He couldn’t help but think of his return from overseas and how Carol had never once said, “I’m glad you’re alive.” Instead, she’d focused on, “I can’t stand this way of life.”

  Sure, he understood. It would be hell to live not knowing if the person you loved—or claimed to love—would be coming home or not. But damn, he’d expected something in the way of a tearful “Welcome home.” Like Kim’s straightforward sentence and head resting on his chest.

  This simple assignment wasn’t turning out to be so simple after all.

  He fiddled with his cuff links, his cummerbund and bowtie confining but necessary. He preferred his flight suit and black leather boots, but what could he do? This was the job before him.

  And yeah, he wondered if he’d nudged his way into this job because somehow unresolved business with Kim had caused him to sabotage his engagement a year ago. No woman seemed to measure up to the lady seated next to him.

  Damn, he hated thinking about his broken engagement at all, much less now when he had another relationship screwup on the mind. Must be the uniform. He hadn’t had the thing out since the night before his wedding, when his ex-fiancée had decided she didn’t want to be married to a military man and always wonder if he would come home alive or not.

  He vaguely noted the soup being taken away and replaced by the main course of peanut chicken. He clicked his chopsticks together absently while he waited for Kim to be served first.

  He was tired of hearing how it was better to have found out before the wedding. People might be right—they were right—but hearing it over and over again didn’t make him feel one damn bit better.

  People didn’t like their faces rubbed in “right.” So why did they feel compelled to keep on doing it to others? One of life’s great mysteries, right up there with Stonehenge and why a man lost the ability to think rationally when he saw a flash of woman’s lingerie?

  Yet he couldn’t escape the disconcerting fact that Kim, fully clothed in a dress subtly hugging her gentle curves, unsettled him just as much as Kim showing hints of her sexy underwear.

  Hell, dude, he reminded himself. Be respectful.

  Sure, he needed to act the boyfriend role, not like some over-revved lech. He dragged his gaze back up to her face.

  Her frowning face. Furrows dug deep trenches in her forehead, shadows cast by the low lantern lights—that dim lighting being another security risk that irked him.

  She leaned close to him, her shoulder touching his as she brought her mouth up to his ear. “Ting is allergic to peanuts.”

  Protective instincts went on high alert as he glanced at the peanut chicken. His arm shot along the back of her shoulders. He cupped her closer to him, scanning the room. “Your assistant would have let them know, right?”

  “Absolutely. It’s part of the planning package that’s sent ahead before a royal goes anywhere,” she said as if it should be basic knowledge, except that would be commonplace in her world.

  Now all the food on the table seemed suspect. No wonder kings and queens had food tasters back in the olden days. He watched the table of diners and people had finally started eating, no one falling face-first into their soup yet, so the food must be basically safe.

  Apparently Ting’s allergy was the only problem with the meal.

  Kim leaned closer, her hand falling to his knee. “Do you think they suspect I’m an impostor?”

  “Or is this a plot to harm her?”

  “Either way, I can’t eat it.”

  He covered her hand with his, allowing a second to reassure himself that whoever was threatening her—or Ting—hadn’t succeeded for the moment at least. “I’ve got this one.” He raised his voice. “Waiter. Waiter! Take this chicken dish away and get the owner immediately.”

  Before he’d drawn another breath, Mr. Chiang appeared at Kim’s side. “Sir? There’s a problem with the food?”

  “A problem?” Marc allowed his frustration from the past hours to seep slowly into his words. “I should say so. Your staff was given a list of Princess Ting’s preferences and medical conditions. That includes allergies. Your peanut dish there could have killed the heir to the Cantou throne.”

  Chiang paled whiter than the linen table cloth. “I have, uh, no idea how,” he stuttered in seemingly genuine dismay, “this could have, oh my, happened. I will see that something else is prepared right away. Whatever you wish—”

  Kim stood, waving her hand. “No need. I have lost my appetite. I believe I would like to gamble now.”

  Mr. Chiang wrung his hands. “Please, Princess, allow me to make it right for you. Our chef is the best in town.”

  Kim stared him down, blinking slowly as she studied him. Marc had to give Chiang credit for holding his ground. Kim pulled out the stops with that regal gaze, more intimidating than the brass dragons at the bottom of the staircase leading to the open upper level. Even knowing she was actually making a cop assessment of the situation, Marc found himself feeling a bit sorry for the casino owner.

  Kim was a force to be reckoned with.

  Finally, she nodded. “We will avail ourselves of room service later this evening.”

  A hint of pink flushed back into Chiang’s face as he smiled his relief. “Thank you so much, Princess Ting. We look forward to making this right.”

  Kim turned her back on the casino owner in dismissal. “All right, Marc, are you ready to gamble?”

  Something about her words kicked him in the gut. Gamble. His whole career was about taking risks on a regular basis. Why then did he balk when it came to pursuing his attraction to this woman?

  He’d deluded himself with some nonsense about sex distracting him from protecting her. Yet the closer he stood to her, the less chance anyone else had of getting near her. After their history two years ago, he didn’t have to worry about things getting serious.

  So why not take a risk right here? Right now. They would both enjoy the hell out of it.

  Marc palmed her waist low, right where the band of her panties would ride, panties that would undoubtedly be hot if her earlier satin-and-lace choice was any indication. “This whole weekend is one great big high stakes. Let’s go for it.”

  Kim blinked fast, as if caught by surprise, then she tossed back her head, her hair shaking in a flirtatious dark curtain. “What’s your pleasure tonight? Cards? The slots?”

  Raising his hand, he flicked back a strand of her hair that caught on her lip gloss. “Lady’s choice this evening.”

  Her lips curled in a smile, gloss shiny and begging to be kissed off. “Anything where the Joker’s wild.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AFTER AN EVENING SPENT checking out every corner of the casino, Kim had a serious case of falling arches. Dang, but she’d never wished for her butt-ugly cop shoes more than right now.

  The elevator door dinged at the penthouse level, Marc still glued to her side. It felt as if they’d spent th
eir time together today more intensely than they had in the month they’d known each other in Cantou.

  They’d eaten Mr. Chiang’s substitute meal, then rushed back down to scope out as much of the casino as they could, even managed a quick peek into Chiang’s office. They hadn’t discovered anything to advance the investigation that she could ID yet, unless she counted the fact it appeared the owner had enjoyed a romantic dinner with his current lady love—although the apparent cheapskate had served the woman the leftover peanut chicken.

  She hoped all these seemingly insignificant pieces would come together soon, or she didn’t stand a chance at winning the bet. Plus, the longer she spent with Marc, the more tempted she became to toss away something a lot more precious than a week’s vacation. Something like, say, her self-control.

  Inside the penthouse they had privacy to speak, now that her other guards had gone to their rooms for the night or stood in the hall outside the door. Thank goodness her people made sure the room stayed safe from and clean of bugs or goons. She yanked the spiky heels off her feet and tossed one to the floor.

  Marc leaned against a wall. “You do the royal thing well.”

  She stared at the second shoe in her hand until realization dawned. “Oh, uh, how quickly I forget people have to pick up after me if I throw things down and leave them there.”

  Marc shrugged. “You do have your assistant—”

  “Sun—”

  “Right, Sun—for this job.”

  Kim thought of the days when she’d had a dozen servants to pick up after her. Too easily she could slip and become that spoiled child again. Right now, she craved the warm familiarity of her tiny apartment over this penthouse. She’d earned that space for herself.

  She shook off the thoughts. This assignment had her in such a turmoil. Certainly not the time to fall under the allure of entering into a relationship again when her judgment might be shaky at best. “Sun’s undercover, too, and will take it out of my hide once we’re back at work if I give her grunt work, like picking up after me.”

  “Good point.” He slid his formal jacket off and hung it on the back of a chair at the small table with the remains of their supper. His waist sported a 9mm strapped in a leather harness. “While you were calling the hospital to check on Vincent and Tim, I double-checked with Sun to see if she’d remembered to pass along the peanut allergy info. We had to check, and I figured she would be less insulted if the question came from me.”

  “Thanks. Good catch.” She lined her shoes up in her closet, calling over her shoulder, “And?”

  “She seemed genuine.”

  Kim hesitated in the door connecting her room to the sitting area, more than a little surprised at his distrust of one of her colleagues, but if he’d gotten a strange read off Sun’s reaction, Kim wanted to hear more. Instincts were there for a good reason. “Seemed?”

  He shrugged and resumed his post holding up the wall. “She even showed me your Preference List on her PDA. Is she the kind of person to tweak something after the fact to cover her ass?”

  “She’s new to the force here.” Kim padded barefoot back into the room and sank into the sofa, then bolted up again, restless. “I don’t know her that well.”

  “So that’s a dead end, no matter what.” His eyes locked on her, narrowed and dark, following her every move. “I think we’ve done all we can for the day, given we were chased by gunmen and nearly run off the road.”

  She rubbed her hands along her arms, pacing around the room, hands lighting on odds and ends for no reason at all. “I guess you’re right. I’m just still so wired after all that’s happened.”

  “Then we won’t go to sleep.”

  Gulp.

  That stopped her cold. What did two adults usually do to stay up all night in a hotel suite? She didn’t see a board game or deck of cards anywhere. That left only one alternative that she could think of.

  The word sex blared through her mind like the bright lights of a Las Vegas marquee.

  She wanted him. No question about it. But she could not handle the distraction being with him would cause. The feelings he evoked had scared the socks off her two years ago and things hadn’t changed one bit. The precinct shrink told her she ignored problems rather than dealing with them.

  Well, she preferred to think she saw problems and stayed clear of them until she had a plan.

  Right now, walking racetrack circles around this room to get rid of her nervous energy seemed to be a plan. “You don’t have to stay up with me. You’re really carrying this bodyguard thing to the extreme. We’ve got Las Vegas’s finest in the hall and all over the place.”

  “Maybe I’m wired, too.” He shoved away from the wall. “Let’s go out on the balcony and get some fresh air.”

  How had he known just the right suggestion for her jitters at the end of this bizarre day? Getting out of this place, out in the open air sounded heavenly—and they would be farther away from the tempting bedrooms.

  His eyes narrowed. “Did your guys check the balcony?”

  “I’m not sure.” She reached under her dress to pull her gun from where she’d strapped it to the inside of her thigh, Marc already having pulled his 9mm from the waist harness.

  The weight of the gun in her hand offered a sense of grounding, regaining control of her world. Her training, her job—here she knew the rules.

  Slowly, he unlatched the sliding doors and nudged the glass to the side. She paced her breathing to keep her heart steady. No hyperventilating like she’d done on her first time out on the streets after the fatal shooting. She could hold herself together these days. Besides, the chances of there being anyone out there were slim but she appreciated Marc’s thoroughness.

  Not many men could hold a weapon alongside her. She lost a lot of dates when they learned how she made her living, and damn, now her brain had shifted to dating. What a time for that to happen as she walked out onto a romantic moonlit balcony with an attractive man in uniform. A bed wasn’t necessary after all.

  Think about the job.

  Scanning the garden area, she didn’t see any lurking attackers hiding behind sculpted bonsai trees or bamboo furniture. Dim lanterns on a wire creaked in the late-night breeze, casting enough illumination with the help of the moon and Las Vegas’s neon lights for her to feel certain of her safety.

  She lowered her gun. “Looks all clear to me.”

  Marc was slower to drop his weapon to his side, but eventually he joined her out in the open air, setting his gun on the table between two loungers.

  Her toes curled on the warm concrete, the light wind easing the muggy night. She sank down into a lounger, stretched out her legs and relaxed her head back with a long sigh. “You are such a smart man. This is exactly what I needed to unwind tonight and recharge for tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.” He dropped onto the lounger beside her, his white shirt a beacon in the dim light. “I figure we have a full day ahead of us, hopefully with no more attempts on your life, Princess Ting.”

  She flinched. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Sorry.” He stretched, shoving his hands behind his head while the street traffic hummed and honked below. “What made you decide to leave the country of your birth and all the shoe-picker-uppers behind?”

  He’d struck a nerve larger than he could imagine with his Princess comment. He’d hit on a secret bigger than he could fathom, one even she sometimes forgot since she’d lived with it for so long.

  How angry would the man beside her be if he knew the truth about how fully she’d left behind her heritage?

  “KIM?” MARC SNAPPED HIS FINGERS in front of her face to nudge her out of her daze.

  She seemed so far gone at the moment, she might as well be back in Cantou. She blinked fast, rejoining him in the here and now, with the lanterns and the buzz of cars below. “What was your question?”

  He considered blowing off the whole discussion and just kissing her senseless, an idea with serious merit. Except he could tell she w
asn’t ready yet—the reason he had suggested they come out on the balcony to talk in the first place, so she would relax and then he stood a chance at getting physically closer to her.

  “My question? What made you decide to leave the country of your birth and all the shoe-picker-uppers behind?”

  “A few reasons. There is such political turmoil there. They’re trying for democracy, but no one is safe. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not much into pageantry.” She wriggled her bare toes. “I think I must have been a changeling child.”

  “Yet there’s no mistaking the royalty in you.”

  Even in her bare feet, hair loose around her shoulders, she had the regal bearing.

  Kim plucked at the stitching on her dress, swirls of flowers over her that made him want to trace them—touch her.