All Bets Are Off

Chapter 1

ONE

Vida

“Housekeeping.”

Tucking the card back into the pocket of my uniform, I rub the stiffness from my neck and wait for a response or any indication that the occupant is still inside the room.

There isn’t one. And honestly, there shouldn’t be anyone inside.

It’s a gorgeous July day outside on the coast of Massachusetts, the waves lapping gently against the cliffs, the gulls calling to one another gently.

All the trust fund kids who arrived today are at a welcome soiree on the beach, sipping the resort’s signature cordials and soaking in the sunshine.

Technically, I’m not employed as a housekeeper for Reserve, the Northeast’s premier beach resort designed for the upper class, but I have been filling in for my aunt a lot. Her arthritis is causing her to come home in too much physical pain lately, so I stepped in and took over.

What is she going to do in the fall when I start my freshman year at Dartmouth?

Worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, I proceed to gather the towels I need off the cart.

My mind is still on my aunt, however. Peggy raised me from the age of ten, and she’s worked around the clock to support us both, through bad times and good.

I probably wouldn’t even have applied to colleges if she hadn’t insisted.

Can I really leave her when the time comes?

Who is going to cover her shifts when she’s weakened with pain?

Setting aside the worry for later, I let myself into the room with an armful of towels.

I’m brought up short when I find the curtains are drawn, leaving the room dark.

Most of the new arrivals dropped off their luggage and went straight to the beach.

Warily, I turn on the lamp to my right, which is perched on a modern, oak desk with gold hardware.

My eyes widen a little at the size of the room that is revealed.

Is this the presidential suite? I don’t think I’ve ever cleaned a room this large.

This isn’t even the bedroom. It’s merely the seating area.

“Hello?” I call, wetting my lips. “Housekeeping.”

Silence.

No water running.

“Just leave the towels and go, Vida,” I whisper, advancing toward the hallway, the sounds of the ocean growing louder as I draw closer to the bedroom.

Based on the orientation of the room, the sleeping quarters must overlook the Atlantic.

How incredible it must be to wake up in such a room.

Why would anyone want to keep the sunlight out?

Reminding myself that rich kid behavior is none of my business and I’m just here to clean, I step soundlessly into the bedroom and gasp, barely able to keep my jaw off the floor.

It’s extraordinary.

Modern in whites and creams and golds, the curtains billow gently behind the mostly closed windows.

As if someone didn’t want the light, but they wanted the sound of waves.

A finger of discomfort creeps up my spine at the feeling that someone is either in the room or only recently departed.

The maids are supposed to operate without being seen or heard.

We’re the unseen facilitators of comfort, not meant to be underfoot. Ever.

If I were to jeopardize Peggy’s position at the resort, I’d never forgive myself.

No one is here. Calm down.

Taking a deep breath, I sidestep toward the bathroom and lower the heavy, carved gold handle, pushing inside—

A man stands at the double sink, his hands planted on the alabaster marble, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs.

His head is bowed forward, giant noise-canceling headphones covering his ears—and the music must be blasting, because I can hear the bass from five feet away. No wonder he didn’t hear me calling.

I’m frozen in indecision. Run? Make myself known and apologize?

Oh God. What do I do?

Trapped by uncertainty, I can’t help but notice the man I’ve just intruded on is…Something to behold. To call him a work of art would be an understatement.

He’s easily six foot four, generously muscled.

His hands and bare feet are huge. Tension tightens the cords and sinew of his broad shoulders and triceps.

Even without seeing his face, I can deduce that he belongs in a grand room such as this.

It’s a room fit for a lord or a king. A god among men.

That’s exactly what he is. But gods come armed with wrath, and that means I need to get my butt out of here. Unseen.

Embracing my flight instinct, I back up a step—

His head lifts. Whips around.

I’m pinned by a pair of turbulent blue eyes.

My breath jams in my lungs and I drop the towels.

I’ve never seen more attractive features in my life. Not even in the movies.

Unruly black hair is tousled around a face that belongs in a museum. Dark brows slash together over aristocratic cheekbones. His mouth is the only soft part about him.

He yanks off the headphones and leaves them screaming around his neck.

I expect him to shout at me. Or demand to know my name so he can call a manager and have me relieved of my position for daring to interrupt his taciturn solitude.

But he only regards me in a kind of head-tilted wonder.

“I-I’m sorry,” I say, stumbling backward out of the bathroom—and tripping right over the towels I dropped. My face flames, and I scramble to my feet, gathering up the towels in my arms and power walking out of the bedroom. “I thought the room was empty,” I call uselessly over my shoulder.

Footsteps stride up behind me. “Wait.” He catches my elbow and slows me down.

An electric current blasts up my limb and explodes in goose bumps along my neck.

I don’t dare turn around and look up into that face again. I’ll be rendered speechless.

“Is this…part of the act?” he rumbles.

Confusion briefly clouds my panic. “Act, sir?”

His fingers twitch around my elbow, his breath quickening slightly. “You can’t really be a maid. You’re too…” With an audible swallow, he removes his headphones with his free hand and tosses them onto a nearby bureau. “You’re way too fucking beautiful. Did they…send you to me?”

I’m rocked by the fact that this man just called me beautiful. So thrown that I blurt a response that barely makes sense. “Yes, of course they sent me,” I manage, assuming he means the hotel. As in, yes, they sent me to bring him extra towels. To do my job.

I’m obviously not thinking clearly, because he’s an upper-crust kind of gorgeous that I’ve never seen this close up. And secondly, he smells like musk and grapefruit, a combination I had no idea would be so appealing.

“I thought so,” he says, his voice much lower than before. Resonant and rich.

That giant hand strokes up my arm until it encircles the back of my neck, his thumb digging into my nape and massaging me carefully. Hesitantly.

“My God, I might actually do it this time,” he mutters, his breath ghosting along my hair, the heat of his body warming my back.

I’m being wrapped in a pink haze of pleasure as he rubs the exact spot where I’ve been sore for a week, forcing me to hold back a whimper.

“Do what, sir?” I whisper.

He advances a step, his tall frame towering behind me. “I might actually fuck you.”