Chapter 7
James
I kept my focus onthe cutting board and away from any thoughts of Emma showering upstairs. I should have kept an eye on her. Should have stayed on the beach. Should have done anything besides taking a long, cold shower to chase away the thought of Emma skinny dipping. Maybe then she wouldn”t have given me a heart attack when I spotted her faint outline floating away.
The pipes creaked as the water shut off and I recommitted myself to cutting carrots.
”What are you making?” Emma wandered downstairs in a green halter top that complimented her eyes and a pair of jean shorts that hugged her ass and made my throat tight.
“Seafood.” I choked out. “You can eat seafood, right?”
The grocery store on the outskirts of the archipelago stocked only canned goods, fresh seafood, and a limited-supply of locally grown produce. Carrots and watermelon, at present.
”I can eat seafood,” she said, raising an eyebrow. ”Is this a going away dinner?”
I shook my head. ”No. That storm looks nasty, and I”m not hauling you to the airport in torrential downpours.”
”That”s big of you.”
”Hardly. I”m calling a truce for the night. You can leave in the morning.”
She rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. ”I can handle a truce. What can I do to help?”
”Set the table and grab a bottle of wine from the pantry. And not that cheap stuff you bought.”
”You didn”t like the year-old vintage from the discount shelf of the liquor store,” she teased, fluttering into the pantry and pulling a bottle off the shelf.
”I was trying to be polite, but it tasted like vinegar.”
She fished a bottle opener out of a drawer and popped open the top, retrieving two glasses and filling them both. ”I”d say I”m sorry I don”t have a more sophisticated palate, but it”s cheaper to get drunk that way. Besides, it”s not as if I have a lot of opportunities that require me to know the difference between a five-dollar bottle of wine and a five hundred dollar.”
”Please tell me you can at least taste the difference,” I begged.
She lifted the glass to her nose, swirling the wine and inhaling before taking a sip. She swallowed, pursing her lips. ”Nope. Tastes just about the same.”
”That”s a flat out lie.” I set down the knife in my hand, pushing aside the cutting board and walking to the pantry. I fished out a bottle of something with a kangaroo on the label and twisted off the top, pouring the wine into two plastic glasses fished out of the cabinet. ”Drink them both together. You’ll see.”
I set a glass in front of her and she wrinkled her nose. ”Well, I’ll start by saying that the presentation could use a little work.”
I rolled my eyes. ”I considered having you gulp it from the bottle, the way it”s meant to be enjoyed, but wanted to even the playing field.”
She laughed, picking up the cup and swirling the wine and then taking a swallow. ”Alright, maybe you have a point.”
I twisted the top back on the bottle and pushed it to the far corner of the counter. ”We can save the rest for when someone is blackout drunk.”
”I didn”t think it was that kind of vacation,” she said, an edge of flirtation in her voice.
A clap of thunder shook the house as if on cue and the lights flickered. Emma jumped, sloshing the cup of wine onto the counter. She sheepishly grabbed a paper towel and sopped up the mess.
”At least it wasn”t the good wine,” I said, opening the trash can so she could throw the soiled paper towel away.
”What happens when the electricity goes out around here?” Her eyes wandered up to the light as it flickered again.
I shrugged. ”No idea. We should find some candles and flashlights, though, just in case.”
”What about dinner?”
I bit back a laugh. ”How about I finish dinner and you find some light? Check the hall closet and the basement. Mom usually stashes extra supplies in the laundry room.”
She nodded, dashing off to the stairs. I hurried, preparing dinner while she scuttled through the house.
The afternoon storms in the summer were common enough. Half my childhood memories involved being dragged out of the water and back inside the house every time a dark cloud rolled through the horizon.
By the time I cooked dinner, Emma had retrieved enough candles and lights to keep us going for weeks. As we ate, the thunderstorm raged in the background and the lights flickered with each clap of thunder. Emma washed the dishes while I cleared the table and by the time we had the kitchen back in order, the lights went off for good.
”Good timing, I guess,” I said with a shrug as I refilled our wine glasses and followed Emma to the living room. “At least we had time to prepare.”
She skirted the corner of the room, glancing back expectantly.
“One summer when Jackie and I were out on the boat when a storm hit.” I gripped my glass and sat on the couch. “The waves got so bad, we gave up trying to get home and pulled ashore on this deserted island, not a house on it. Jackie grabbed a bottle of rum Dad stored with the life jackets and we drank so much, we couldn”t drive the boat back when the storm finally blew over. Our parents freaked out, called the Coast Guard, and a very annoyed Coastie woke our hung over asses up first thing in the morning.”
I smiled, trying to remember the last time I”d told that story. Or hell, any story about myself. My job involved asking a lot of questions, not telling stories.
Emma smiled, shoulders bobbing. ”That sounds like Jackie. Not much like you, though.”
”I used to be fun.”
She eyed me skeptically while taking a sip of wine as she wandered over to the bookshelf stacked with games. ”Fun, huh? Alright, Mr. Fun, what should we play then?”
Her fingers skirted over well-worn copies of board games, pausing on Twister before gripping a deck of cards. ”Poker?”
”You play poker?” I quirked an eyebrow.
Slightly sunburnt and wearing clothes that hugged her curves, showing off just enough cleavage to distract me, she didn”t look like a card shark. ”You look like more of a Spades players.”
Her jaw dropped. ”How dare you? Now I”m not going easy on you.”
She sat on the ground across from me, crisscrossing her legs under the glass coffee table and pulling the cards out. In a practiced move, she riffle shuffled the cards before splaying them across the table, flipping them to face up and then back down again.
”Well, damn,” I muttered. I sat at my fair share of poker tables over the years, attending a few football games in Las Vegas that never felt complete without a trip to a casino, but I certainly wasn”t good at poker. And by the look of it, Emma was.
”My dad played professional poker,” she said with a grin. ”Normally, I”d let you find that out on your own, but I liked your Coast Guard story.”
”So, you”re giving me pity information?”
”I”m giving you a hint so you don”t attempt to bluff me and embarrass yourself. Now, what”s your preference? Five card? Hold’em? Razz? Pineapple?”
”Pineapple?”
”You don’t know Pineapple?” She grinned, riffling the cards again. “Oh, you’re in trouble. I spent a lot of time at tables as a kid. I know them all.”
”I have more questions about that, but let”s play Hold”em.” I slipped onto the floor across from her, back pressed against the couch.
”Good choice,” she said, completely unaware of how serious I was.
I had a million questions for her and now that the thin veneer of hostility had dropped, at least for the night, I wanted to ask them all. But before I could, she dealt out two cards for each of us.
”What are we playing for?” I asked, picking up the cards and finding a suited king and queen.
”Well, I”m broke, so not money.” She kept her cards on the table, lifting the corner for half a second before pulling her fingers away. ”The cabin.”
“The cabin?” I asked. “You know I don’t actually own this place, right? Just a week of vacation?”
She pursed her lips. “I know that. Just this week. If I win, I get to stay until my flight. If you win, I leave in the morning.” She flipped onto her knees, reaching across the floor to the bookshelf and pulling open a game of checkers. ”We”ll use the pieces. One chip buy in. Whoever gets all the chips is the winner. That’ll make it more fun.”
”By ”make it more fun,” you mean you want to make sure you have enough time to win based on skill rather than luck.”
Her green eyes lit up. ”Absolutely.”
How could I say no to that?
”You know I”m not a complete pushover when it comes to poker. I play a lot,” I bluffed.
”Then, show me.”
She won the first two rounds handily, but she gave me the third. A late play bluff and she won the fourth hand. Steadily, my chips slipped away. On the ninth hand, she raised the pot by two.
I held up my last chip. ”I can’t call. Or did you already know that?”
She looked innocent enough, but after an hour of playing, I knew all too well she knew exactly how many chips I held.
”Maybe you could offer something else.”
”Such as...” I prompted. ”The vacation house in perpetuity.”
She shook her head. ”A ride on the boat?”
”I would have given that to you, anyway. I prefer the boat to the beach.”
”Why? The beach is way better than the boat.” She scrunched up her nose and then waved a hand. ”Okay, how about breakfast in bed?”
Her cheeks bloomed red. She pressed her palm over her lips as if pushing the words back in. ”That”s not what I meant.”
But it was exactly what she meant. Hell, it was exactly what I wanted. ”How about my shirt?”
”Your shirt?”
I stripped it off and set it on the side of the coffee table with the chips. ”I thought you said you knew all the different varieties of poker.”
Her eyes fluttered down to my chest, cheeks burning more red with every passing second until it nearly matched her hair.
“Besides, it”d give me more incentive to win.”
”You didn”t want to win before?” she asked tentatively, flitting her attention to the row of cards turned up on the table.
I shook my head, choosing honesty. ”Not really.”
She straightened, eyes locking on mine. ”Okay. But I”m not taking it easy on you.”