CHAPTER ONE #2
Devlin would have said that pique drove her bet, if not for the cold control in her voice. He explained, “The brandy is from my private stock.” He matched her wager. So did the other three men at the table, and the next cards were laid down. “I keep a case here for my own use.”
“You often spend evenings here, then?”
He noted wryly that she didn’t thank him for the brandy. “A few.”
“Playing games?”
His lips curled. She made gambling sound like a children’s afternoon in the park. “Something like that.”
“Are you any good?”
“I have my moments.”
“Yes, I’m certain you do.” She won the hand, and the dealer pushed her winnings toward her. “Occasionally.”
That stung his pride, both the barb and the loss. Yet Devlin doubled the amount of the opening bid on the next hand.
She didn’t blink in matching it. “Do you often lose?”
“No,” he drawled. “Usually I win.”
“What a coincidence.” She smiled but didn’t glance his way. Was that flirtation…or amusement at his expense? “So do I.”
As if to punctuate her comment, one of the other players rose and left the game. Only three of them remained at the table now, and the stakes increased as they played on until each hand was worth over one thousand pounds.
The attendant brought the bottle of cognac and a glass on a silver tray, then set them at Devlin’s right elbow. Devlin tossed him a coin and splashed a small pour of brandy into the glass. He held it out to her.
She arched a disdainful brow. “That’s a rather small pour, don’t you think?”
“I wouldn’t want you to assume I was attempting to get you foxed.” But he added a second pour to the glass.
This time, she accepted it. “And in my experience,” she said as she smiled against the rim of the glass, keeping it raised to her mouth and his attention on her ripe lips, “men greatly underestimate ladies’ abilities.”
“In drink or cards?”
“In everything.”
His gut tightened. Surely, she hadn’t meant that as sexual entendre, yet her words wound through him, leaving an aching tingle in their wake. Who the hell was she? Why couldn’t he place her?
“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.” He held out his hand. “Devlin Raines.”
She held out her glass for topping off. “A pleasure.”
With a chuckle, he splashed more cognac into her glass.
This woman was sharp, whoever she was. He was still no closer to ascertaining if she were a lady or a courtesan.
Or why she stirred shadowy memories in the back of his mind that frustratingly he couldn’t quite uncover.
He wasn’t a eunuch, for God’s sake. He should have remembered everything about an encounter with a woman like her.
“And you are…?” he prompted.
“Going to win.”
Devlin grinned. Her confidence was damnably alluring. He enjoyed witty women who were able to hold their own in any conversation. Throw in the way she looked, all warm and soft and sensual, with enough flesh revealed to make him wonder what the rest would look like when she was bare—
“You seem to be a man who appreciates a woman who knows what she’s doing.”
His mouth twisted at that veiled flirtation. “What gentleman doesn’t?”
“Before this night is over, I’ll be on top.”
His cock jerked in his breeches. Jesus. There was no veil that time.
“Surprised you, did I?” A cat-like smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “I’m not a courtesan out for your money, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she told him loudly enough that a man walking past the table faltered mid-step before moving on.
He chuckled. He admired her audacity, even if he found her mysterious enough to give him pause. “Good to know my fortune’s safe.”
“Oh no, you misunderstand. I’m definitely out for your money.” She rested her elbow on the table and her chin in her palm, then gazed at him with an expression of such forthright honesty that he bit back a laugh. “But I’m not a courtesan.”
“Thank you for putting my fears to rest,” he drawled.
But she hadn’t. It bothered him that he couldn’t place her.
She wasn’t one of the Spanish or French women who had entertained him on the Continent, nor one of the widows who had so eagerly thrown themselves at him since he’d returned.
Nor was she a mistress seeking a new protector, although that was more likely given that he hadn’t seen her in society before—if she were his lover, he’d certainly keep her locked away from all other gentlemen.
So who the devil was she?
The last man left the table then; only the two of them remained. The dealer called for a pause and left the table to speak again to the club manager, surely to inform him that the stakes had grown even higher.
Devlin laid his arm across the back of her chair. “You’re very beautiful.”
“You noticed,” she murmured, her eyes almost glowing as she turned them onto him. Those eyes…not just blue, but multiple shades of blue. The shadows of memory stirred faster in his mind, but nothing came into focus. “How perceptive of you.”
He wasn’t blind, for God’s sake. “In that dress…you want to be noticed.”
He moved his hand to trail his fingertips over her bare shoulder in a soft caress. He smiled when she trembled.
“Who are you?” he drawled. “And what is it you want?”
“You.”
His fingers stilled against her skin. He froze, except for his cock which began to ache with longing.
“You said you weren’t a courtesan,” he reminded her.
“I’m not. I’m not for sale.” She removed her right glove, then dipped her fingers lightly into his glass of brandy. He watched as she sucked the drops of golden liquid from her fingertips. “But I can be won.”
He stared at her, transfixed, her brandy-wetted lips glistening in the lamplight.
A small drop clung to the corner of her mouth.
He reached slowly to wipe it away, then licked it off his thumb.
It tasted of her. Of brandied cherries, rich and sweet with a hint of tartness, and it left him craving a deeper taste.
She leaned toward him to bring her mouth close to his ear, and the soft brush of her breast against his arm stole his breath away.
“If we’re going to play together tonight,” she purred, her breath tickling warmly against his cheek, “then let’s make it worthwhile, shall we?”
His blood heated with anticipation. “What do you have in mind?”
“Winner takes all.” Her lips slid across his cheek in a featherlight caress as she shifted away. The challenge in her sapphire eyes was undeniable.
“I’ll win,” he warned, his deep voice husky with desire.
She settled back in her chair, pulled on her glove, and lifted his arm away from her shoulder, returning it to his side. Her attention turned back to the dealer as he returned with a new deck of cards in hand and the club manager at his side to oversee the game.
“You won’t,” she whispered, but with such icy intensity Devlin would have sworn he saw her shiver.
He frowned. “If you’re not comfortable with—”
“Deal,” she ordered.
The dealer nodded and placed three upturned cards on the table in front of her, Devlin, and himself.
With a king in her cards, she placed a stack of banknotes onto the table. “One thousand pounds.”
Devlin smiled and matched her wager for that card.
And the rest. When the hand was over, he’d won five thousand pounds, only to lose it all and more on the next one.
He didn’t care. Either way, when the game ended, he’d escort her upstairs to one of the private rooms and into bed.
As she’d implied earlier, it was simply a matter of who would be on top.
He opened the next hand with the same thousand-pound wager as before, then watched as she coolly swallowed the last of the brandy in her glass.
He watched the soft undulation in her elegant throat and wanted his mouth, right there, on her so badly that his hand shook as he reached for his own glass to distract himself.
But she did say that the winner would take all, and he planned on taking all of her. Repeatedly.
She tripled the wager on the next card. That got his attention, and also that of the club manager, who nodded to accept the bid when the dealer looked at him questioningly. Ten thousand pounds rode on the last card.
When the dealer flipped it over, the manager blew out a relieved sigh. The club had won.
“We don’t have to keep doing this,” Devlin told her beneath his breath, to keep from being overheard by the crowd of gathering onlookers. “We both want to end the evening the same way.”
For a moment, she didn’t reply. Then she turned her head and boldly looked at him. “I want to win.”
So do I. He glanced at her rapidly dwindling winnings, then slowly moved his gaze over her…down her delicate neck to the temptation of her full breasts beneath the soft velvet he wanted to rip from her body. “Can you afford to lose?”
She laughed, her spellbinding eyes gleaming as they found his. “Can you?”
Overwhelming need twisted his gut. More than anything in the world, he wanted to be inside her when she closed those shining eyes and cried out with pleasure. The damned seductress knew it, too.
She placed all her remaining money—one thousand pounds—on the first card of the next hand, surprising him. Deliciously so. Because if she had no more money to wager on the rest of the cards in the hand, then…
“When I win this hand, what will you offer me in winnings?” he murmured as he brought his mouth close to her ear. He still didn’t know if she were courtesan or lady, if he’d ever met her before or not. Suddenly, he didn’t give a damn either way.
“What would you like?”
He went hard as all kinds of wanton thoughts spilled through his mind. Her coming on top was the least of them, but it would be a damnably fine way to start.
“Everything,” he drawled. And meant exactly that.
Her gaze held his. “Done. But at least give me the chance to win some of your money on each of the cards.”
“Done.”
She gestured to the manager to lean down and spoke quietly into his ear.