Chapter 17 Dangerous Games
Dangerous Games
Juliette swirled her cocktail. “I thought drivers didn’t drink during the season.”
Cap and Liêm exchanged a look. They were sitting at a table in the Monte Carlo Casino; plush velvet drapes lined the walls, and chandeliers dripped from the ceiling like glittering diamond earrings.
Cap slipped a piece of chicken under the table, where it swiftly vanished, replaced by slobbery dog saliva.
Juliette glanced at the security guard; she wasn’t sure if pets were allowed in the casino, but she found that everyone was willing to turn a blind eye where Cap was concerned.
Not because her brother was famous, but because he was infuriatingly charming when he wanted to be.
“Monaco’s an exception,” Cap said, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “It’s tradition to drink the night before Monaco.”
“It’s the only exception,” Liêm corrected. For reasons unknown, he was wearing a glittery top hat, a playing card tucked behind his ear. “Makes the race more interesting.”
Cap shook his head. “Do you remember when Alex was sick in his helmet last year?”
Liêm smirked. “I told him the vodka was a mistake.”
“And then he blamed it on the heat.”
“Even though it was raining.”
Both boys cracked up, drawing glances, and Juliette hunched closer to her drink. She still wasn’t used to this. The staring. The whispers. Yesterday, she’d seen a yacht in the harbor and thought, Holy shit. I could buy one of those.
How did anyone ever get used to this?
“Alex was never going to win,” Anthony announced, shuffling cards. “His car was a piece of shit. No offense.”
This last part was directed to Liêm—Alex’s teammate—who ignored him. The two men had exchanged a short, terse conversation when Anthony first arrived, and Juliette had caught snatches of tabloids and should apologize before she’d deliberately tuned out. That was their business.
Anyway, she was avoiding social media. The British press had gone from wary observers to eager fans, and the offers had begun to roll in: chicken burger adverts, zero-alcohol campaigns, and a six-figure deal with some Scandinavian skincare company that Zoe described as “using snail mucus in their products” but “in a trendy, millennial way.” She’d been terrified that the whole thing was a practical joke before Cap had reminded her of one crucial thing: There was nothing the British public loved more than an underdog, and Juliette was surprised to find that she qualified.
Still. The enthusiasm had created a new sort of pressure. “Put your phone away,” Zoe had advised, and Juliette had been all too happy to lock it in a drawer. A giant orange alien could have landed on the moon and she’d be blissfully unaware.
Anthony’s sleeve brushed her elbow as he set down the cards, which was the second time he’d done that. Hard to tell if it was on purpose; the stools were shoved so close together that it was difficult to avoid.
Baz nodded at the cards. “What are we playing?”
Anthony grinned. “Strip poker.”
Juliette exchanged horrified glances with Cap. The problem with being friends with your sibling, she thought, was that everyone forgot you were related.
Cap pulled a face. “You realize you’re sitting next to my little sister, right?”
She sighed. “I was born like, two minutes after you, Capulet.”
Her brother ignored this, slipping another piece of chicken under the table. Anthony shrugged. “Better hope she doesn’t lose then.”
“Pick something else,” Cap said.
“Strip roulette,” Anthony countered.
“Dios mío,” Baz muttered under his breath.
“If you wanted to see a group of men naked so badly, Sinclair, you should have gone to boarding school.” He surreptitiously glanced at his watch, and Juliette hid a smile.
If it was up to Baz, he’d already be at home with the football and his paints. “What about blackjack?”
Cap shook his head. “I’m too pissed to add things.”
“What about—?”
“Dom!” Liêm looked delighted. “You came.”
Juliette whirled and then immediately wished she hadn’t.
Dominic Hastings stalked across the casino.
He wore suit trousers and a crisp shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. Eyes lingered on him as he passed, women whispering behind their clutches.
Dominic slowed, his eyes flicking over her black dress with almost clinical appraisal, and a low pulse started in her stomach.
The dress was the first expensive thing she’d bought with her new salary, and as much as she hated to admit it, she’d thought about him while choosing it. He’d always liked a low back.
Juliette cleared her throat. “I didn’t realize you were coming.”
Dominic’s eyes were dark coals. “Neither did I.” His eyes flicked to her shoulder blades and then away, and she felt a terrible rush of satisfaction. Good. Let him regret how things had played out. “What are we playing?”
“Truth or Dare,” Liêm volunteered.
Cap groaned. “No.”
“Absolutely not,” Anthony said.
“It’s my birthday this week,” Liêm said. “I get to pick.”
Dominic rolled his eyes. “It isn’t your—Christ.”
He hissed out a breath. Liêm, whose foot had mysteriously disappeared below the table, gave him an innocent look.
“You were saying?” Liêm asked. Dominic shot him a look, and he smiled. “Good. Here are the rules. You do the dare, or you’re out. Last one standing wins. Everyone understand?”
Juliette shifted. Oh, she understood. Whether it was a good idea, on the other hand…She glanced sideways at Dominic. The last time she’d played this game with the boys at the academy, Phil had ridden a highland cow naked through a local village. Who was to say that this time wouldn’t be worse?
“Good,” Liêm said. “I’ll go first. Sinclair. I dare you…”
Mercifully, the dares were tamer than she’d anticipated.
Cap had to buy drinks for everyone in the casino.
Baz had to eat six jalapenos without sweating (“I’m Spanish,” Baz said, frowning.
“You realize this is just a snack for me, no?”).
Eventually, all three boys bowed out, leaving only Anthony, Dominic, and herself.
Anthony took a long swig of champagne, looking at Dominic with consideration, and a flicker of apprehension filled her.
Whatever was coming next, it wasn’t good.
“Hastings. I dare you—”
“Here we go,” Dominic muttered.
“—to get that girl’s number.”
Anthony nodded across the casino, to where a stunning brunette stood by the blackjack table, saying something that made the table laugh.
Juliette’s stomach knotted. It was clear that the woman had the sort of confidence that most people would have sold a kidney to achieve.
Stupid, she thought, to compare herself.
Women had been comparing themselves for years, in the aisles of grocery stores, or to friends while shopping, or to glossy celebrities in magazines.
There was no point. It only ended in misery.
Still.
Hard to shake a lifetime’s worth of habit.
For a moment Dominic’s gaze slid to Juliette. She looked at the marble pillars until they blurred into a row of white teeth. She’d rather chew glass than look anything but unbothered. If he thought for a second that she was upset, or angry, or…or jealous, she’d never live it down.
Dominic shrugged. “Fine. I’ll talk to her.”
There was the scrape of the stool. Don’t look, she thought firmly, but she did, of course.
The woman smiled as Dominic approached, and he rested a casual hand on her stool, leaning over to say something that made her laugh.
Something searing lodged in her chest, and Juliette muttered something about another drink, pushing blindly toward the bar.
By the time she returned, Dominic was holding out his phone for Anthony’s inspection.
“Satisfied?”
Anthony’s smile was a blade. “Did you fancy her?”
Juliette toyed with her paper straw and did her best not to care. Or at least look like she didn’t care. Dominic’s warm shoulder pressed into her like an insistent question, although she ignored it.
He tucked his phone away. “Sounds like another question. Anyway, it’s my turn.” There was something dark and assessing in his eyes. “Sinclair. Stand on this table and sing any Taylor Swift song of your choice.”
Juliette glanced up. Really? That was his dare? Cap must have felt similarly because he snorted. “Oh, come on, Dominic. Pick something exciting.”
Anthony’s mouth tightened. “Agreed. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever—”
“That’s my dare,” Dominic said. “Take it or leave it.”
Anthony folded his arms. “I don’t know any Taylor Swift.”
“Don’t worry.” Dominic scrolled through his phone again. “I do. What do you fancy? Country? Pop?”
Twin spots of color burned in Anthony’s cheeks.
She examined his casually unbuttoned shirt, his silver necklaces, the signet ring that glittered on his pinky…
And then it struck her. There was nothing that Anthony Sinclair valued more than his image.
And if someone took a video…if someone posted the clip to social media…
She hid a smile. Hastings, you stupid genius. Dominic met her gaze, and for just a second something like mischief sparked between them. Then Juliette thought of Paris and any amusement vanished. She turned away, reaching for her drink.
“No.” Anthony’s teeth clenched. “I’m not doing it.”
Dominic shrugged. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn he was still trying to catch her eye. “Guess you’re out then.”
“Fuck this,” Anthony muttered. “What happens now?”
Liêm spun his top hat around a finger. “As the last player to go out, you assign each player a dare. And if they don’t complete it, they lose.”
Juliette paused with her drink raised halfway to her mouth.
Wait, what? What? She’d been expecting a draw, not a gunfight.
Lord only knew what Anthony would dare them to do.
Probably slit each other’s throat with playing cards.
That would certainly eliminate ten percent of the competition on track.
Dominic must have been thinking along the same lines, because he stilled.
“Sinclair assigns our dares?”
“Why?” Anthony raised an eyebrow. “Got a problem with that?”
“Not at all.” Dominic spread his hands. “Go right ahead.”
Anthony scanned the casino. “I dare you…” His eyes landed on Juliette, and she shivered. There was something in that gaze she didn’t like. Something cruel and unrelenting. “I dare you to kiss Juliette.”
A frisson of shock went through her.
“No,” she said, at the same time that Dominic said, “Fuck off, Sinclair.”
Anthony smirked. “That’s my dare. Take it or leave it.”
Cap groaned. “Can we not?” He drained his beer, sneaking a lump of cheese to Clyde under the table. “That’s my former teammate and my little sister. I don’t want to watch them snog in a casino.”
“Or anywhere else,” Baz added dryly.
She couldn’t help it; she was looking at him again, damn it.
Dominic leaned against the table, his hands clasped so tightly that the green veins in his forearms bulged.
There was dark fire in his eyes, and—just for a second—his gaze flicked to her mouth, as if he was sizing up the possibility.
Weighing up what the win would cost him, like a driver assessing a particularly difficult bit of track.
Goosebumps exploded along her arms. A flicker of curiosity went through her, accompanied by something hotter.
Something that burned like midnight whiskey.
Even now, she could recall kissing Dominic; he’d always kissed like he drove, with unyielding concentration, like he would raze everything in his path just to seize what he wanted.
And when he was looking at her like that…
Dominic picked up his drink. “No.”
Something gave in her chest. Anthony raised an eyebrow.
“No?”
“No.” Dominic sipped his drink, looking unbothered. “I’m not doing it. I resign from the game. Marchmont can have it.”
Anthony’s lip curled. “Funny. And here I thought I was doing you a favor.”
She tensed. But no. Anthony couldn’t know about their history, could he? He was just taking a guess. Still. If he hit upon the right conclusion…Cap leaned forward, and when he spoke, his voice was dangerously flat.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t know?” Anthony’s smirk widened. “Hastings wants to fuc—”
Dominic slammed his drink down. “Enough.” Champagne sloshed onto the table. The fire in his eyes could have melted steel. “I’ve never thrown a punch in a suit before. Don’t give me a reason to try.”
Tension hung over the table. Juliette cleared her throat.
Her heart felt like it had inhaled too much helium and now hovered somewhere in the region of her throat, fluttering rapidly.
He really meant it, she realized; Dominic was prepared to start a brawl in the world’s fanciest casino.
Hell, he looked excited for it. God. The media would have a feeding frenzy.
So, for reasons unknown, Juliette found herself straightening and saying, “You never gave me a dare.”
All five men turned to look at her. Her gaze was fixed on Anthony.
“To win. You need to give me a dare.”
Slowly, Anthony smiled. “Dance with me.”
Juliette swirled her whiskey. In retrospect, what had she been expecting?
A dare to limbo under the blackjack table?
Of course Anthony would pick this. Mostly, she suspected, because he seemed to harbor genuine delusions that Dominic would care if they became involved.
Still. She couldn’t be arsed to sit here pretending that everything was fine while Dominic looked entirely apathetic to the idea of kissing her. And a win was a win, so…
“Fine,” Juliette said, hopping off the stool. “Let’s dance.”