Big Deck

by Blake Wilder

  I nodded. She was right. But that was the God’s honest truth. “It was destiny.”

  I said it seriously. I meant it. She needed to know that.

  She didn’t smile. Or nod. Or agree. But she didn’t disagree.

  “Liv, I sat down at that table because I couldn’t stay away from you. I was as shocked as you to find out we both have a connection to Warren Maxwell.”

  “But you didn’t say anything when I told you who he was to me and why I was here.”

  I leaned in and kissed her quickly, I stepped back, giving us both room to breathe. I shoved a hand through my hair.

  “I know. I needed to know what you were doing before I told you who I was.” I blew out a breath. “I’m not actually supposed to tell anyone who I am, exactly.”

  She crossed her arms. “And who are you exactly?”

  Damn, she was gorgeous. She was…strong. Her last name fit. She’d come to Vegas to right a wrong. She’d faced me down over poker and pancakes. She’d been playful, but sharp. She’d let me close.

  Then, when she thought it had all gone to hell, instead of retreating, she’d walked right into Maxwell’s office. She hadn’t known I’d be here, but she’d still come to meet the challenge head-on.

  Fuck yes, I was in love with her.

  Then I really took in what she looked like.

  Her tight body was sheathed in a little black dress that hit her mid-thigh and showed a lot of creamy, smooth skin. And when I say little black dress, I mean little.

  “Holy shit, Liv,” I said, my entire body going hard. “This is how you dress for casual lunches? I’m taking you out every damned day.”

  She took a deep breath and my eyes made it from her gorgeous tits to her face. I frowned.

  “This isn’t how you dress for casual lunches,” I said. “But it’s how you dress to meet your ex-stepfather so that you can distract him into thinking about you as anything but a threat.”

  She didn’t answer. Which meant she didn’t deny it.

  “It’s what you do at the poker table too,” I realized out loud. “You dress the part of the bombshell so your opponents are thinking about your body instead of your mind.”

  Finally Olivia lifted a shoulder. “All’s fair,” she said. “I don’t need people thinking I’m smart and brilliant and devious. If I didn’t have these boobs and legs, I’d be dressing as a frumpy housewife from Iowa or a nerdy, nervous bookworm, or a ditzy co-ed having a wild Vegas weekend. Whatever it takes to make the men I play with underestimate me. That way I have an advantage.”

  I understood that. When you went into battle, even if it was on a green felt tabletop, you used whatever weapons you had.

  “And you’re using your boobs and legs to…what, with Maxwell?” I asked. I didn’t like this. At all.

  Warren Maxwell was an asshole. I didn’t want her having lunch with him in blue jeans and a hoodie. I certainly didn’t want him having lunch with her dressed like this. Or for her to rob him dressed in…anything.

  She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “I think maybe I should get to ask some questions about you and Warren Maxwell.”

  Fair enough. I nodded. “Okay.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Declan Black,” I said.

  She lifted a brow.

  “That is my real name,” I said. “And I still use it ninety percent of the time. I’m an art thief.” Hell, I’d told her that much last night. “I steal things from rich people, sell it to other rich people, and give the money to poor people.”

  Both of her brows went up this time. “Come on.”

  I shrugged. “I can’t really prove it. The donations are always anonymous. I could tell you about some groups that have been covered in the news after receiving big anonymous donations just when they needed them most. But I can’t prove that was me.”

  “But it was?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  That question seemed to indicate some kind of grudging acceptance of what I was saying. Or at least not flat-out rejection of it.

  “I don’t think anyone should have that much money and own a bunch of shit they don’t really care about when people are literally going hungry and are unable to pay for school or worry about having their heat shut off.” I shrugged. “I hate rich assholes.”

  “So you pretend to be a cop to get close to them?”

  “I work for the FBI in exchange for being out of jail,” I said. “I can serve my time in there or I can help them catch other bad guys using what I know.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I’m a consultant, of sorts. I’m constantly under scrutiny and I have a handler, Jordan. He’s who you heard me on the phone with. He’s true FBI. But, we’ve become friends. He trusts me. And I’m good at what I do.” I shrugged. “It’s not perfect, but it beats a prison cell.”

  She gave a soft snort at that. “That house you live in? Yeah.” Then she frowned. “That is really your house, right?”

  “Liv,” I said, low and firm. “Everything else I’ve told you is true. And I haven’t actually lied about anything. I am an art thief. I have stolen many things. I do live in that house. My name really is Declan Black.”

  She seemed to just be taking all of that in for a moment. “What’s the deal with Maxwell? Why are you getting involved with him?”

  “He hosts an annual poker game with a bunch of high rollers. It’s really just a cover for a bunch of shady shit. We’re posing as a security company so that we can be on site tonight and take down whoever shows up.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Really. And that’s going to be the best chance for me to get your painting.”

  She sucked in a little breath. “You were planning to do that during your operation with the FBI that’s keeping you out of prison?”

  “No.” I took a step closer to her again. “I am planning to do that during my operation with the FBI tonight.”

  I didn’t reiterate her point about prison. Yeah, that was definitely a risk. I mean, obviously with my arrangement with the feds I wasn’t supposed to do anything illegal at all, ever. But doing it during an operation was even worse. Or was it? Taking that painting from Maxwell would violate my agreement and be big trouble no matter when I did it.

  If I got caught.

  “Why didn’t you tell me all of this? When I told you about Warren?”

  “What would you have done if I’d told you?” I asked her. “If the first thing I said was ‘Oh I work for the FBI and we’ve had our eye on him for a while’?”

  She bit her bottom lip and nodded. “I would have panicked.”

  “Exactly.” I stepped even closer and put my hand against her cheek. “And I needed to gain your trust. I wanted you to believe me when I said I was getting the painting for you. I couldn’t risk losing you.”

  Her breath hitched as she stared up at me. “Why do you want to be the one doing this so badly?”

  “Because you want and deserve to have that painting back and I can’t let you risk doing it yourself.”

  “But it’s a risk to you too.”

  I gave a brief nod. “But less of a risk.”

  “You barely know me,” she said softly. “Why would you do this for me?”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that. It was too soon for I love you. Besides, I’d decided to do this before I’d fallen for her. I finally just gave her the truth. “I’m not sure. There’s just something about you.”

  She didn’t argue. I had to wonder if she was thinking that she completely understood that strange sentiment.

  “And now,” I told her. “You need to leave.”

  “Leave?”

  “You’re not having lunch with Maxwell. I told him I’d handle this and I’m going to tell him that you came by because you’re in town for business and wanted to say hello, but you’re leaving tonight for a trip to St. John and that maybe you’ll come by next time.”

  She frowned. “W
ill he buy that?”

  “I’ll make sure he does.”

  “You’re protecting me,” she said. “Giving me an alibi—telling him I’m leaving town so that when the painting disappears tonight, he won’t think it was me.”

  “Yes,” I confirmed. “But I’m also sending you to St. John. You’ll stay with my friend Maria, who will vouch that you were there if anyone asks, until I get there in a couple of days.”

  “Wait, I’m going to St. John?”

  “Yes.”

  “As in the Virgin Islands St. John?”

  I nodded. “We are going to St. John. You’re just going a couple days ahead of me.”

  She looked perplexed. “Why are we going to the Virgin Islands?”

  “Because I want to fuck you on a white sand beach and lick pina coladas off your naked body.”

  Well, it was true.

  It was one scenario on a long list of them, but it was definitely one of them.

  Instantly the air around us heated and her pupils dilated.

  I cupped the back of her head and took her mouth in a hot, deep kiss.

  Her hands fisted the front of my shirt and she went up on tiptoe in her black fuck-me heels that were going to be digging into my ass as I took her on the conference table in about five minutes.

  I walked her backward, lifted her onto the edge of the table, and pulled her dress straps down, baring her breasts.

  I took those gorgeous mounds in both hands, teasing her nipples as she made sexy soft sounds. I sucked one, then the other as I hiked the skirt of her dress up over her hips. She was wearing a thong and I unapologetically ripped it off of her, literally. I tucked it in my pocket, swallowing her gasp with my mouth.

  I cupped her pussy. She was already hot and wet and I easily slid first one finger, then a second, into her tight heat. She was kissing me back, her hips arching closer to my touch, frantically working at my belt and zipper, clearly wanting this as much as I did.

  I started to reach for the condom in my wallet, but she guessed what I was doing.

  Ripping her mouth from mine, she panted, “No. Take me bare.”

  My whole body froze and I stared down at her. “Be sure,” I said, firm and short. “I’m only giving you this one chance to change your mind.”

  She nodded. “I’m on the pill and I’m clean.”

  I pushed my pants to the floor, gripped her hips, and pulled her to the edge of the table. Then I sank deep in one full, hard thrust.

  She gasped my name, and as I pulled back and thrust again, I could feel her sweet pussy already tightening around me. I covered her mouth with my hand, knowing now that she was a screamer. I had no qualms about fucking her in Maxwell’s conference room, but I did have qualms about anyone but me ever hearing the delicious sounds this woman made for me.

  She had no real leverage in this position, so she simply clung to me as I pounded into her, taking her hot, tight, sweet-as-fuck body hard and fast.

  Olivia tightened around me as she started milking me as she came, crying out into my hand. I thrust even faster, feeling my climax start building, gritting my teeth to keep from roaring out my orgasm as I pumped into her.

  We couldn’t linger in our post-coital bliss, of course, so I pulled out quickly and grabbed tissues from the box on the console under the flat screen TV that held the AV equipment. We both cleaned up, kind of.

  But I didn’t mind the idea of her walking out a little sticky and wet from me. What can I say? I’m a dirty bastard. I loved the idea that I’d marked her and given her something to think about with every step she took.

  Olivia slid off the table and pulled her dress up and smoothed the skirt. She took a deep breath and then looked up at me.

  “So now what?”

  “Now you get your pretty ass to the airport,” I told her. “I’ve got it all covered here.”

  “I really need to buy a ticket to St. John?”

  Well, she wasn’t saying no to the crazy plan I’d just hatched. Hell, maybe she’d even say yes to the proposed elopement I intended to lay on her on the beach the second I saw her.

  “No, you just need to show up. The ticket will be waiting.”

  Her eyes widened.

  Hey, there were some definite perks to being rich, what can I say?

  Suddenly, I had to hear her say she was going to do this. I stepped close and cupped her face in both hands. “Say yes,” I told her softly. Earnestly. “Please say you’ll get on that plane.”

  She hesitated and my heart stopped.

  Then she said, “I will go to St. John’s with you, Dec.”

  My heart started again with a hard thump and I kissed her deeply. It was too soon for I love you out loud maybe, but I could show her in other ways.

  I finally let her go and stepped back. “I’ve got this,” I told her.

  “I believe you,” she said.

  “Go.” I tipped my head toward the door.

  She stepped around me and reached for the knob, but she turned back. “By the way, my last name is Stone.”

  I studied her. She was telling the truth this time. She’d finally given me her real last name. Olivia Stone. Another strong substance, like steel.

  “Your mom didn’t give Maxwell her real last name?” Warren had recognized Olivia’s name when his assistant had said it.

  She shook her head. “Only people we fully trusted.”

  She trusted me. A shot of relief and pleasure arced through me. “It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Stone.”

  She gave me a smile and then pulled the door open and slipped out.

  Olivia Stone. The first and only woman I was willing to give up my life for. Because if I got caught stealing that painting, my life—at least outside of a prison cell—was over.

  I was going to do it anyway.

  Nine

  I couldn’t let him steal the painting, of course.

  All the way back to my hotel room, my mind reeled with the things Declan had told me.

  He worked for the FBI. They were keeping him out of prison. He was a convicted felon. He would go back to prison if he got caught stealing the painting from Maxwell. Yet, he was willing to risk that. For me.

  I was pretty sure I was in love with the guy.

  No one had ever sacrificed like that for me. My mom had done what she could—in her mind, what she had to—to take care of me. But instead of dating and falling for and marrying a guy with a decent, steady job and a healthcare plan to help make that happen, she’d gone after rich guys. Because she was also taking care of herself. And her love for Gucci.

  What Declan was doing was pure sacrifice. What did he have to gain from it? Why was he doing it? Because he knew what the painting meant to me and because he didn’t want me taking the risk myself.

  That was…I wasn’t sure what that was. No one had ever cared that much about my happiness and safety.

  He also wanted to take me to a tropical island and lick pina coladas off of me.

  How could I not be in love with him?

  Which meant I couldn’t let him steal the painting.

  The painting that suddenly didn’t mean as much to me.

  I know, I was shocked too. But the painting had been my mom’s. She had been the one that loved it. I’d wanted it because it would remind me of her. But lots of things reminded me of her. Macaroni and cheese from the box—a staple at our dinner table when she’d been between guys—reminded me of her. I ate it about once a month, even when she’d been alive, because it took me back to those nights when it had just been the two of us and things had been so simple and basic. Reruns of the TV show Cheers reminded me of her. I owned most of the show on DVD. The quilt that I still had on my bed reminded me of her. Every time I played poker or showed someone a card trick at an office party, I was reminded of her.

  I didn’t need the painting to think of her fondly.

  I’d also wanted revenge on Warren Maxwell. But, honestly, he didn’t matter as much now. Nothing seemed to matter as muc
h now.

  Because Declan Black mattered now. That had been fast. Don’t get me wrong. I get it. If a girlfriend had told me this story and then said she’d fallen for the guy and was willing to give up her crazy revenge plan for him, I would have rolled my eyes and tried to talk some sense into her.

  But I was in love with Declan and I couldn’t let him risk going to prison for me.

  There was only one thing to do.

  I fired up my laptop and logged in to Warren Maxwell’s account thanks to the bug my company hadn’t yet fixed. I got in easily.

  Forty-five minutes later, I was dressed in yoga pants and a t-shirt with tennis shoes on and my hair up and out of the way in a tight bun under a ball cap.

  I’d learned a few things from my night with Dec. Things beyond the fact that the guy was a freaking magician with his tongue.

  I had the Uber drop me off four blocks from Maxwell’s mansion and paid him with cash. I was lucky Warren didn’t live out in the desert like Dec did. He lived in a very affluent neighborhood, of course, and he had a high brick wall around the house and a massive gate in front, but there were other houses around his which meant the Uber driver wouldn’t remember a thing about this particular ride.

  I’d studied the house online including satellite photos of the grounds. I knew that with our security system installed, he’d taken out the other cameras he’d once had. I also knew that there were no guard dogs or security people employed at the house when Maxwell wasn’t here.

  Thinking of security people made me think of Dec and what he was doing for the FBI and the big poker game tonight. That was dangerous work. These weren’t nice people that Maxwell ran with. I didn’t want to know what specific things they were into or what they would do to a guy who tried to stop them and failed.

  They wouldn’t fail. It was the fucking FBI. I had to believe that they knew what they were doing and had dealt with assholes like Warren before.

  Still, I hated the idea that Dec would be there.

  For sure, I needed him focused on the job and the bad guys and not thinking about the painting.