CHAPTER 3 #2
The Irish guy was glaring this time when I retrieved his already empty glass. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “Is this how you always are,” he muttered, stacking his chips with more force than necessary, “or are you just particularly touchy when it comes to cocktail waitresses?”
Across the table, the blond man didn’t even sit up. He lifted his eyes briefly, like the question barely qualified as worth his time. His fingers continued to roll the chips in a slow, unhurried rhythm. “Only when someone forgets where they are.”
A few of the men around the table shifted uncomfortably, their chairs creaking as they tried to disappear into the leather.
The Irishman scoffed. “Relax. It was a joke.”
“Was it, Declan?” the blond man asked lightly. “Because it sounded like you had a problem with my boundaries.”
I stumbled at that word but quickly recovered as I passed behind them again, every instinct screaming at me that I needed to stay as invisible as possible.
The Irishman’s—Declan’s—jaw clenched. “I came to play cards. I’m not interested in . . . problems.”
A faint smile touched the blond man’s mouth. “But you do have an interest in walking into places that aren’t yours and seeing what you can get away with, right?” he asked in a tone you could almost call friendly.
A nervous laugh escaped someone at the table, and I set another glass down, my heart pounding hard enough I was sure they could hear it.
Declan leaned back, spreading his hands in mock surrender. “Again, I’m just here to gamble.” He let the words hang for a second, then added with a lazy grin, “I’m enjoying a gentlemen’s weekend, if you will. Cards, whiskey, a little friendly competition. That’s it. I don’t need an escort for that.”
“No,” the blond man agreed. “But you do need permission.”
I frowned? Permission? Vegas was Vegas. People came from everywhere—tourists, gamblers, conventioneers. No one asked permission to walk the Strip or drop money at a slot machine. What were they talking about?
Declan shoved back from the table, suddenly breathing hard like he was about to combust. “I’m going to remember this.”
The blond man continued to smile faintly. “I’m counting on it.”
Without bothering to collect his chips, Declan jumped out of his chair and stormed out of the room, leaving behind a stack of money worth more than I would probably earn in my lifetime.
The air immediately relaxed after he was gone, but I needed a minute.
I escaped the high roller room on the pretense of needing refills, my pulse still buzzing, my thoughts a mess.
The bar felt like a safe haven suddenly.
I loaded the tray with fresh glasses as I took steadying breaths, trying to tell myself to get it together.
I’d seen strange things here. It was Vegas. The other day someone had played a poker game with a naked woman sprawled out on the center of the table. Things happened here.
But that experience had been something else.
I turned back toward the room, but I didn’t make it three steps.
“Hi.” The single syllable slid from his mouth with a seductiveness that should have been illegal.
I startled, a soft, humiliating gasp slipping out before I could stop it. The blond man was there suddenly, like he’d stepped out of the air itself, blocking my path with an ease that suggested he was very used to people adjusting around him.
He was standing too close, actually. Close enough that I could smell his delicious scent, and my panties immediately threatened to combust because of how good it was. He smiled, clearly knowing exactly what he was doing to me.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding apologetic at all. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s fine,” I murmured, and I was annoyed at how breathy my voice sounded.
His eyes dipped briefly to the tray, then lifted back to my face, that strange brown-and-silver gaze intent in a way that made my skin feel tight. “You okay?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” I said immediately. “I’m fine. It’s just another day.”
He didn’t move away, and the silence stretched. Uncomfortable. Intimate. Charged.
I shifted my weight, tightening my grip on the tray. “What . . . what are you staring at?” I asked, trying for steady and landing somewhere near defensive.
His mouth curved in delight, as though I’d just given him exactly what he’d been hoping for. “I’m trying to decide,” he said, “whether you look at every man like he’s a bad decision . . . or if I’m just getting special treatment.”
Heat rushed straight to my face. “Excuse me?”
“Have you decided if I’m worth the trouble yet?” he continued as if I weren’t currently melting into the floor. “Because I’m hoping I am.”
I swallowed. This was dangerous territory, but I knew the rules. I’d lived by them for years.
“I’m married,” I said automatically. The words came out like they always did. But for the first time in my life, I felt a jarring, unexpected pang of disappointment as soon as I said them. And that was followed by guilt . . .
His brows lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.
But instead of easing, the interest in his eyes deepened, settling in as though it planned to stay.
“Lucky man,” he murmured, and I struggled to not squirm under his gaze.
I’d never had someone look at me like that, like they were memorizing the way I breathed.
I huffed out a quiet, nervous laugh. “You should probably move.”
“Probably,” he agreed . . . but he didn’t.
Instead, he leaned in just enough that only I could hear him.
His voice dropped, becoming more of a caress than anything else.
“Marriages aren’t always . . . permanent arrangements, though.
Don’t you think? Sometimes people outgrow them.
Sometimes husbands are misplaced. Especially when someone’s unhappy. ”
My breath caught. “I didn’t say I was unhappy.”
He smiled, his eyes flicking to my mouth and back up again.
“I didn’t say you were,” he murmured. “I’m just very pro-discussion.
Open communication. Exploring possibilities.
” He stepped back then, finally giving me space, his hands lifting in a gesture that might have looked innocent if it had come from anyone else.
“I guess I’ve distracted you from your job long enough,” he rasped, reaching down and adjusting the enormous bulge in his pants. He was smiling when I yanked my eyes back up, mortified, because he’d obviously just watched me check out his package.
What was wrong with me right now?
I stood there for a moment, every nerve in my body awake, and then I finally forced my feet to move. As I walked past him and back toward the high roller room, one thought echoed loud and unwanted in my head.
No one had ever made me wish I’d kept my mouth shut before.
And that was a problem.