by A. C. Arthur
“We have a home here in St. Michaels and one in Cambridge. My husband plays golf with your very fine mayor here. That’s how we came into the invitation. And imagine my surprise when I recalled that you were the son of Jure and Tarine Remington.”
Noelle continued to rub her hand over Brock’s elbow, noting that the tension now rolled off him in thick heavy waves. And she could certainly see why. This woman obviously knew of what happened with Brock’s parents. It was also painfully clear that Mrs. DeSalvo’s entire purpose here tonight was to let Brock know that she knew.
“Your parents would be proud, son,” Enrique interrupted.
Brock cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
“Yes. They certainly would be proud. Especially of this pretty young lady you’ve chosen.”
When Brock was about to respond, Noelle cut in. “Actually, I’m the one who is proud to be with Brock this evening. He’s an exceptionally talented man and it’s been a pleasure working with him,” she said in a voice just as deceivingly sweet as Mrs. DeSalvo’s.
“Yes. Well, your name doesn’t sound familiar, dear, so I can only assume that you are not from St. Michaels.”
“No. I’m from Las Vegas.”
“Oh, I see, the casino capital of the world.”
Noelle smiled back in return. “Well, when you want to create the best, you need to start at the top.”
Mrs. DeSalvo raised a brow. “I’m wondering, in your haste to create the best casino, did you bother to check out the dark past of the construction company you hired?”
“Remington Construction was selected based on their proven ability to get the job done,” was Noelle’s tight response. This woman was steadily getting on her nerves.
“I’m sure. I’m sure,” DeSalvo said. “But what I’m referring to is, from what type of family the owner of said company is from.”
Noelle didn’t miss a beat. “Fortunately, I know several of his family members and can speak highly of them all.”
“Then clearly you aren’t speaking about the Remingtons of Cambridge. The Jure Remington who was brutally gunned down by his wife after it was revealed that he was nothing more than a drug-smuggling fraud.”
With those words Brock took a cautious step closer to Mrs. DeSalvo, whose husband was now glaring at her in annoyance. Noelle stepped with him, her hand tightening on his arm.
“Mrs. DeSalvo, unfortunately I don’t believe that you and your husband are welcome here. You’re invitation is now revoked. Please leave,” Brock said in a tight, stern voice.
Again, Mrs. DeSalvo only smiled. “It’s only right that she know everything. Especially with the way she’s standing so close to you and you giving off that possessive sneer to any man who dares look twice at her. It’s only fair that she know exactly what type of man she’s dealing with.”
“Thank you, Mrs. DeSalvo, for your consideration. I’m well aware of the type of man that Brock Remington is, just as I am aware of the fine upstanding citizen his father was before he was maliciously framed.”
“Is that what he told you? In addition to knowing the Remingtons, I’ve also been a longtime friend of the late Mr. and Mrs. Truesdale.”
Noelle looked to Brock, who said, “Truesdale was my mother’s maiden name.”
DeSalvo nodded. “Precisely. I was there when Tarine brought home the less-than-deserving Jure Remington to present to her parents. I was also there when her parents told her that she was out of her mind to think they would allow her to marry the man and that he would only bring bad news to their family. And just look what happened.”
Brock was already signaling for one of the security guards at the door.
“That’s enough, Marilyn,” Mr. DeSalvo said.
“No. It’s not enough. I swore to Lillian that if I ever got the chance I would protect the next innocent woman to fall prey to the shenanigans of a Remington and that’s what I intend to do.”
“Then your intentions are misplaced, ma’am. Because I have no desire to turn my back on Mr. Remington based on your scandalous lies. I suggest you go back and recheck this history that you are so compelled to bring up.”
The security guards had arrived.
“The DeSalvos were just leaving,” Brock said.
Then one of the guards looked at Mrs. DeSalvo, who had yet to move. Her husband, with a grim face, nodded and took her by the arm, moving her in the direction of the door. Pausing momentarily, Mr. DeSalvo turned back to Noelle and Brock with a look of apology on his face but no words.
The rest of the evening was tense, to put it mildly, with Brock walking around, going through the motions and Noelle staying close just in case the inevitable breakdown occurred. But to his credit Brock survived the evening schmoozing and networking just the way he was supposed to. It wasn’t until the building was finally empty and only the two of them remained that his real feelings showed.
“I thought it was behind me. I thought I had finally escaped,” he said as they walked around, turning out lights. They were in one of the private gaming rooms and just about to leave.
“My Grammy used to always say that good gossip never dies,” Noelle offered, trying to remain upbeat.
“I guess your Grammy was right.”
“Yeah. Most of the time she was. But the thing about gossip, Brock, is that you don’t have to believe it. Nobody has to believe it or even listen to it. It’s a choice and people that know you will make the right choice if they should hear Mrs. DeSalvo’s cruel insinuations.”
“I know that. I just thought it was over. When I decided to come back to Maryland, I knew it wouldn’t be to Cambridge, but I wanted to be close to the place that they loved. To the small Eastern Shore town where they’d met and fallen in love. I thought it would make me closer to them.”
“That’s why you kept your mother close, as well?”
He nodded. “I tried for years to visit her, on her birthday, on their wedding anniversary and on my birthday. But with each year she seemed to fade more and more until finally I couldn’t see the point in continuing. She has no idea who I am or who she is.”
“I don’t believe that.”
He turned at her words.
“I believe she knew. I just think that the memory is buried deep within her, along with all the good memories. That’s what people do sometimes to protect themselves. They bury the good and hope that the bad will pass.”
Pushing back his jacket, Brock slipped one hand in his pants pocket. “Is that what you did? Did you bury the good in your life, hoping that your bad choices would disappear?”
“Sort of,” she said, noting that now the conversation had turned to her.
She didn’t mind. Knowing him as she did now she’d been sure that his delve into his past wasn’t going to last long. He didn’t know it, but he was doing exactly what she’d said, burying the good and hoping the bad would pass—only his bad wasn’t going to pass until he forgave his mother.
He looked so solemn standing there. A look she hadn’t seen in a couple of days. In his black tuxedo and white shirt and vest, he was GQ handsome and more desirable than she’d ever realized. But that wasn’t what struck her. It was the cord of loneliness in his voice, the way the deep timbre reached out to her, touching her, summoning her to do…something, anything to make it better.
Last night Brock had been there for her. He’d calmed her through the fear and panic of Luther’s threat. He’d sworn to help her and he hadn’t judged her. That had been the most important part, the thing that had taken her aback yet was profoundly relieving. He’d accepted the mistake that she made but didn’t hold it against her. It had taken her more than a year to forgive herself and he’d done it in just seconds.
And he hadn’t stopped there. He’d held her all through the night making her feel not only safe and protected but, for once in her life, cherished. When she’d awakened this morning he’d already been up and in the office, which she’d suspected was his way of letting her out of an uncomfortable situation
. Yet it wasn’t uncomfortable at all. Waking in Brock’s bed was more right then Noelle had ever dared to admit.
“You owe me one,” she said, and watched as his brow furrowed in confusion.
“I owe you one what?”
“You won the race so I want a second shot.”
The frown increased. “We’re standing in the middle of a casino, Noelle. I don’t really see how we’re going to have a swim race right now.”
“No.” She shook her head and took a step closer to him. “Something else I know I’m good at.”
This time he looked intrigued. “And what might that be?”
With a nod toward the table that Brock was standing closest to she smiled and said simply, “Poker. What else?”
Chapter 20
Brock had removed his tuxedo jacket and was now sitting across the green felt table from Noelle. Where she’d found a deck of cards he had no idea, but she was presently shuffling them like a pro. Of course, they were in a casino so it should have been a given where she’d found them. The question was when had she gotten them and where she’d kept them. Nothing could be hidden beneath that dress she wore, nothing but her gorgeous body.
All night long he’d been salivating as he watched her. Well, up until the point that the DeSalvos had appeared. Still, even with that nasty episode, Brock hadn’t lost sight of Noelle, nor had he lost the deep hunger for her that was now threatening his sanity. Damn, it was hard trying to be a gentleman where she was concerned, especially when with each shuffle of the cards her breasts jiggled, expanding the already fine display of creamy cleavage.
“What are the stakes?” he asked, trying to keep his mind off her body and on the game at hand. Admittedly, the suggestion of a game of cards at the end of this long, tension-filled evening wasn’t exactly what Brock had in mind. But as diversions went, it would be fun, as he was sure was Noelle’s intention.
Noelle paused with half the deck of cards in one hand, the other half in the opposite hand. Tilting her head, the corners of her lips tipped in a smile. “Those,” she said, and nodded to him.
Brock looked down at himself then back up at her. “My cufflinks?”
She shook her head.
“My watch?”
With another negative nod, Noelle pushed the cards toward him, indicating that he should cut the deck. With slow movements Brock did so, then looked up at her with a raised brow. “My shirt?”
Her smile widened, then she licked her lips seductively. “And whatever other pieces of clothing you should lose.”
Well, well, well, Brock thought with heat rising steadily in his groin. This diversion just might be more than fun. “Or whatever pieces of clothing you should lose.”
“Not a chance,” she said confidently. “You had your chance at winning and you collected your prize. Now, it’s my turn.”
She began to deal and Brock watched her carefully. If she lost a hand he’d have her releasing those straps from her shoulders. He wanted to see her breasts, with the urgency of a man dying of thirst. Then again, if she won this hand he was betting she’d ask for his shirt first. In which case he’d tell her she needed to take it off. Then her hands would be on his bare skin. One hand fell into his lap and before he could stop it stroked his length. He was going to come out of this game a winner either way.
“Texas hold’em,” she stated, drawing his attention back to the cards. “Blinds?”
Brock cleared his throat. “Hmm, the lady likes a challenge,” he said, then considered his blind bet while his hand hovered over his two hole cards.
She was placing the last of the five community cards in the center of the table, then neatly stacked the remaining deck to the left.
“I want those straps,” he replied.
She looked at him strangely for a moment. “With only my teeth I want to pull each strap from your shoulders, then watch the top half of that sinful dress fall.”
A flicker of desire lit her eyes as her fingers ran slowly over her hole cards still facedown on the table. “I’ll raise your bet. I want your shirt,” she said softly. “Quick and completely I want it off and your chest bare.”
Brock swallowed as she picked up her cards. He’d known that’s what she’d go for first, but actually hearing her say it had his heart pounding.
She performed the flop, dealing three community cards faceup on the table. Lifting her two hole cards, she surveyed them and the three cards revealed.
Brock was now looking at his hole cards and at the community cards, trying like hell not to stare at her breasts or imagine them exposed for his perusal.
She nodded in his direction, indicating that he should begin the second round of betting.
“The dress comes off, completely. I’m going to peel it off of you just as I’d peel a sweet, juicy orange.” With his bet stated, Brock took a card from the community deck.
“I’ll take your belt,” she said. “Have you ever been tied up, Brock?”
No, he thought, but he was about to pass out from low blood flow. Her words had it all dropping to his already thick erection.
Two more rounds, two more bets and Brock was ready to fold his hand and throw her up onto this table. Making love to her in the casino wasn’t exactly his idea of seducing her, but he’d let that minor infraction slide for the blissful release, the inevitable pleasure of slipping into her slick heat once more.
Noelle surveyed her cards. Two nines, two threes and a six. She looked at Brock, who looked confident, devilishly handsome and just a tad dangerous. She’d noticed throughout the betting process how dark his eyes had grown, how sensual his looks at her had become.
When she’d suggested this game of poker she hadn’t really thought it through. Karena would be glad to know that the impulsive Noelle was back. She’d wanted simply to take his mind off the altercation with the DeSalvos, to give him a reprieve from the trauma of his childhood.
Instead she’d succeeded in arousing them both to a point that they may not recover from. She’d pushed him away last night, giving him the rules of her own game. If he wanted her he had to work for it, to prove it wasn’t just about sex. And here she was, twenty-four hours later, tempting him, tempting herself.
“Well?” his husky voice stroked the already burning fire inside her.
“Well, yourself?” she quipped. Just because she was ready to jump his bones didn’t mean she had to let him know that.
With a smile that was designed to have any and all women within reach dropping their panties on command, Brock spread his cards onto the table. He waited a beat, letting her look her full at him, then down at the table.
Damn, Noelle thought as she surveyed the cards. Hot damn!
“A full house,” she replied. “Very impressive.”
Placing her cards faceup on the table, Noelle sat back in her chair, waiting for Brock’s reaction to her two pair. He’d won again, she thought and couldn’t remember if that was supposed to be a good or bad thing. All she knew right now was that one of Brock’s wagers had been to peel her dress off her like peeling an orange. Her entire body shivered. Another bet had been to lick every exposed inch of her skin. Her thighs quivered.
No, she didn’t give a damn who had what cards. All she was concerned about at this moment was how fast he could get around this table and get his hands on her.
“Two pair,” Brock whispered. “Too bad. I win.”
He was already standing, pushing his chair back so hard it fell to the floor. Noelle didn’t know whether to stand or sit or possibly run. She opted to stand just a second after he reached for her, pulling her up out of the chair.
“Did you wear this dress on purpose?” Brock asked, loosening his hold on her arms until his fingers were running lines up and down the bare skin. “When you put it on did you know I’d spend the duration of the night fantasizing about taking it off?”
Her mouth was dry so she swallowed. “I wore it because I liked it,” she answered defiantly and was rewarded by a wicked gleam i
n his eyes.
“I like it, too,” he said, before lowering his head, kissing her neck, using his tongue to create tiny circles of heat down the column to her shoulder blade.
Noelle inhaled, letting the scent of his cologne permeate her senses. His hands were barely touching her, yet his tongue was claiming her.
When his teeth latched on to the first thin gold and orange-twined strap, Noelle audibly sucked in a breath. With a torturously slow movement, he lowered the first strap. Then he surprised her by moving around her from the back, tracing kisses along the back of her shoulders, her spine, to the other shoulder. Again his teeth scraped along her skin as he slipped the second strap down. When she didn’t voluntarily move her arms, he lifted them both until the straps were released, coming around to the front of her just as the top portion of the dress folded down, baring her naked breasts.
It was his turn to inhale, exhaling roughly through his parted lips. Immediately he was lowering himself, taking first one nipple into his mouth for the sweetest kiss Noelle had ever experienced, then moving to the next. To her surprise he spent no more time on her breasts but proceeded to use his teeth to pull and tug at the rest of the dress until it was pooled at her feet.
A string of curses flowed fluently from Brock’s lips as he looked up at her. “Don’t ever,” he began then closed his lips tightly, taking another deep breath. “Ever,” he began again in a voice that allowed no argument, “let me catch you out without me, wearing just a thong.”
“The dress didn’t allow for much more,” she said, the words sounding extremely inconsequential at the moment.
He was standing by that time, taking her mouth in a rough, intimate kiss that had Noelle’s arms wrapping helplessly around his neck. “Never again,” he said tearing his mouth away from hers and breathing heavily. “Say it, Noelle. Never again.”
She heard his words but they were swimming around in her mind, going under, then resurfacing as if caught in a whirlpool. His hands were on her bare back, sliding down to cup her buttocks, his lips still touching her skin in fiery caresses. How the hell did he expect her to say anything?