The Winning Hand

by Nora Roberts

  He slid his arms under her jacket and discovered to his delight that the dress left her back bare to his hands. “We’ve got a little time before I have to get back. What would you like to do?”

  “Well …” Her eyes sparkled in the neon. “I’ve never seen an exotic dancer.”

  “And your second choice would be?”

  “I just wonder what it would be like in one of those places where the women dance topless and slide around on those poles.”

  “No, I’m definitely not taking you to a strip joint.”

  “I’ve seen naked women before.”

  “No.”

  “All right.” She moved a shoulder, began to walk casually beside him. “I’ll just go by myself some other time.”

  He shot her a look, narrowed his eyes, but she only smiled up sunnily. He considered himself highly skilled at judging a bluff. And knew when he was up against a better hand.

  “Ten minutes,” he muttered. “And you don’t say a word while we’re inside.”

  “Ten minutes is fine.” Delighted with the victory, she tucked her arm through his.

  “The patriotic one was double-jointed, I’m sure of it.” With another fascinating experience under her belt, Darcy breezed into Mac’s office just ahead of him. “The one with the little flag over her—”

  “I know the one you mean.” Every time he thought he had her pegged, Mac thought, she flustered him. She hadn’t been the least bit embarrassed or shocked. Instead she’d been fascinated.

  “The way they slid around on that pole, they must practice for hours. And the muscle control, it’s phenomenal.”

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into taking you into a place like that.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Obviously.”

  “No, I mean about you.” She sat on the arm of a chair. He was already behind his desk, scanning the screens.

  “What about me?”

  “That under that suave, sophisticated exterior, you’re really a fuddy-duddy at heart.”

  He stared at her, unsure if he should be amused or insulted. “Anyone who uses the expression ‘fuddy-duddy’ in a sentence automatically assumes fuddy-duddy status.”

  “I’ve never heard that.”

  “It’s written down somewhere. Are you hungry?”

  “Not really.” She couldn’t sit still and rose to circle the room. “I had such a wonderful time. It’s been the most incredible day of my life—and I’ve had some incredible days lately. Everything’s churning about inside me.” She wrapped her arms around herself as if to hold it all in. “I don’t think there’s any room for food.”

  Her jacket caught the lights as she moved, glittering like jewel-toned stars that reminded him of the fireworks. But it was her face—it always seemed to be her face—that held his attention. “Champagne?”

  She laughed, a warm delighted sound. “There’s always room for champagne. Imagine me being able to say that. It’s like every minute I’m here is another little miracle.”

  He took a bottle from the small refrigerator behind the wet bar, watching her as he opened it. She was glowing, he thought, eyes, cheeks, lips. Everything about her seemed to pulse with energy and fresh, unshadowed joy.

  Seeing it, feeling it, aroused, contented and unnerved him. Be with me, she’d asked him. And being with her, on a walk down a crowded street, alone in a tumbled bed, over a candlelit table, was becoming uncomfortably vital.

  But she was glowing. How could he take his eyes off her? “I like seeing you happy.”

  “Then you must be having a good night, too. I’ve never been so happy.” She took the glass he offered, twirling around as she sipped. “Can I stay here with you awhile, watch the people?”

  Did she really have no idea how she affected him? he wondered. “Stay as long as you want.”

  “Will you tell me what you’re looking for when you watch the screens? I don’t see anything but people.”

  “Trouble, scams, tells.”

  “What are tells?”

  “Everybody has them. Gestures, repetitive habits that tell you what’s going on in the head.” He smiled at her. “You link your fingers together when you’re nervous. It keeps you from biting your nails. You cock your head to the left when you’re concentrating.”

  “Oh. Like the way you put your hands in your pockets when you’re frustrated—so you don’t punch someone.”

  He lifted a brow. “Good.”

  “It’s easy when you’re watching a handful of people, but there are so many,” she added, gesturing to the screens. “How do you pick them out?”

  “You get to know what to look for. This is only backup. The first line of defense against scam artists is the dealer.” He walked up behind her, laid a hand on her shoulder so they could watch the screens together. “Then the floor man, the pit boss, the shift boss. And over it all is the eye in the sky.”

  “This?”

  “No, this is a wink. We have a control room with hundreds of screens like this. The staff in there watches the casino from every angle, and they’re linked to the floor men, the shift and pit bosses with radios. They’ll spot a hand mucker—”

  “A what?”

  “Card palming. The scam artist is dealt say a six and an eight, he palms them, and switches them with a queen and ace for a blackjack. Cheating’s a problem—more now than it used to be when you were dealing with loaded dice and fast hands. We’re talking body computers these days.”

  Body computers, she thought, scam artist. Hand mucking. Wouldn’t that be a fascinating backdrop for a book? “What do you do when you catch someone cheating?”

  “Show them the door.”

  “That’s it?”

  “They don’t walk out with our money.”

  The chill in his voice had Darcy glancing back at his face. “I bet they don’t,” she murmured.

  “We run a clean room, the cameras there and in all the counting areas help keep it honest. But the house always has the edge. It’s not hard to win money in The Comanche, but odds are, you won’t keep it.”

  “Because you want to keep playing.” She understood that. It was so hard to stop when there was a chance for more.

  “And the longer you play, the more you’ll put back.”

  “But it’s worth it, isn’t it? If you’ve enjoyed yourself. If it’s made you happy.”

  “As long as you know what you’re risking.” He brought her to her feet, and saw that she understood they were no longer talking about table games and slots.

  “The danger’s part of the allure.” Her heart began to thud as he took the glass from her hand and set it aside. “That, and the whiff of sin. You get a taste for it.”

  “And why stop at a bite or two, when you can have all you want.” His gaze roamed over her face, lingering on her mouth, then sliding down. “Take off your jacket.”

  “We’re in your office.”

  His eyes came back to hers, and his smile was slow and dangerous. “I wanted you, here, the first day you came in. Now I’m going to have you, here. Take off your jacket.”

  Mesmerized, she slipped it off, let it fall in a colorful pool over the arm of the chair. When she realized she’d linked her fingers together, she pulled them apart. And made him smile again.

  “I don’t mind you being nervous. I like it. It’s exciting to know you’re a little afraid, but when I touch you, you’ll give.” He reached out to toy with the sassy red strap on her shoulder. The dress clung to every quiet curve. “What’ve you got on under there, Darcy?”

  Her breath shuddered out. “Hardly anything.”

  His eyes flashed, a clash of swords in the sun. “I don’t want to be gentle this time. Will you risk it?”

  She nodded, would have spoken, but he was already dragging her against him. His mouth was bruising and hungry and tasted of such raw passion she could only marvel he felt it for her.

  Then he was pulling her to the floor, and the shock of that alone had her gasping.
His hands took her over, body and mind, racing over her, taking, possessing, inciting a fury of sensations.

  All she could think was that it was like the roller coaster, a fast and reckless ride. Glorying in it, she yanked desperately at his jacket, tugged at his shirt while the pulse pounding in her seemed to scream hurry, hurry, hurry.

  She moaned as he peeled the dress down, and the sound raged through his blood. Her breasts were small and firm and when he filled his mouth with the taste of them she fisted her hands in his hair, urging him to take more. Desperate for the taste of flesh, her flesh, he used tongue and teeth until she writhed under him, her sobbing breaths like a drumbeat to his greed.

  But still it wasn’t enough.

  His mouth streaked down, laying a line of heat on skin that had gone hot and damp. Her muscles quivered beneath his tongue, her body shivered under his busy, relentless hands. His own breath was ragged when he gripped her restless hips and lifted them.

  The fast plunge ripped a scream from her throat. The fire that shot through her was molten, shocking her system with sensations so acute she feared for a moment they would simply tear her apart. The climax rushed through her, a towering wave of hot, hard pleasure that tossed her high, sucked her deep. Helpless, she tossed an arm over her eyes and let it drag her where it would.

  When she thought there could be no more, he pulled her mercilessly over the next edge.

  She lay bonelessly as he yanked off the rest of his clothes. Her skin glowed under the lights, flushed and damp. Her mouth was swollen from his. When he drew her up, her head fell weakly back, leaving him no choice but to plunder her soft mouth.

  “Stay with me.” He murmured it as he assaulted her neck, her shoulders. He shifted, bringing her over him, brought her down until she took him into her, closed that glorious heat around him.

  Her moan was long and deep and broken. He watched as flickers of fresh pleasure moved over her face and into the clouded eyes that opened and fixed on his.

  “Take what you want.” His hands moved up her body and covered her breasts.

  She was already moving. Her body was unable to rest. There was a shock of control, of power, a nervy kind of energy that demanded movement. Tantalizing. She arched back and drove herself mad.

  Everything inside her was as bright, as brilliant, as reckless and bold as the world she now lived in. A world where nothing was too big or too fast, or too much.

  He was quivering beneath her, and his hands were rough as they gripped her hips. A new thrill snaked through her, the knowing that she was taking him with her.

  Stay with me, he’d demanded. And she wanted nothing more than to obey.

  When the climax bowed her back, when it had her melting down on him, he rolled her over, his body plunging, his heart pounding, until both body and heart emptied themselves into her.

  Chapter 10

  The phone woke Darcy at five past nine. She thought blearily that her days of working an ordinary eight-hour day were over. It had been nearly four in the morning when she’d given in to exhaustion. And even then she’d been wrapped around Mac.

  Since she was alone in the big bed, she had to assume he’d figured out a way to function on little to no sleep. If he could learn, so could she.

  She yawned widely, reached for the phone with her eyes still hopefully shut. “Hello?” she mumbled, and buried both her head and receiver in the pillow.

  Fifteen minutes later she was sitting straight up in bed, staring at nothing. Maybe she’d been dreaming, she thought, and stared at the phone. Had she actually just talked to an editor in New York? Had that editor actually asked to see her work?

  She pressed a hand to her heart. It was beating, fast but steady. She could feel the light chill from the air-conditioning on her bare shoulders. She was wide-awake.

  Not a dream, she told herself, bringing her knees up and wrapping her arms tightly around them. Not a dream at all.

  Her story was all over the media—the editor had said as much. Darcy had told reporters that she was writing a book, and now the next miracle had happened. A publisher wanted to see it.

  It was only because of the attention from the press, Darcy thought, resting her forehead on her knees. She was an oddity, a story in herself, and the publisher would consider her manuscript because of the public’s interest in the writer, and not the work.

  And that, she thought with a sigh, didn’t make her a writer.

  What difference did it make? She sat straight again, balling her fists. It was a foot in the door, wasn’t it? A chance to see if—no, not to see, she corrected, to prove her work had merit.

  She’d send the first book in, and the opening chapters of the second. She would let them stand or fall on their own.

  Tossing the sheets aside, she scrambled out of bed, bundled into a robe and raced downstairs to turn those first two chapters into gems.

  She said nothing to Mac, to anyone, afraid she would jinx herself. Superstition was another new character trait, or perhaps one she’d kept buried. She worked steadily through the day, ruthlessly cutting, lovingly polishing her words until she was forced to admit she could do no better.

  While the pages printed out, she retrieved her list of agents. If she intended to be a professional, she told herself, then she would need professional representation. It was time to take the big risk. Finally take it.

  They were just names to her, faceless power symbols. How would she know which one to pick, which one would see something inside her worthy of their time and attention?

  The face of the slot had been only stars and moons, she remembered. She’d gambled everything once. It wasn’t so hard to do it again. Following impulse, she shut her eyes, circled her finger in the air, then jabbed it onto the list.

  “Let’s see how lucky you are,” Darcy murmured, and calculating she had fifteen minutes before offices closed on the East Coast, picked up the phone.

  Twenty minutes later she had representation, or at least the promise to read the manuscript and sample of her work, and to negotiate if the publisher made an offer.

  More than satisfied, Darcy typed up a cover letter, then called the desk to request an overnight bag and form before she could change her mind.

  She nearly did so while the bellman waited for her to seal the envelope. She very nearly gave in to the dozens of excuses whirling in her head.

  It wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready. The book needed more work. She needed more time. She was sending work she’d slaved over to strangers. She should ask someone’s advice before she mailed the pages. She should call the agent back and tell her she wanted to finish the second manuscript rather than submitting the first.

  Coward, she berated herself and, setting her jaw, handed the bellman the envelope. “Will this go out today?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’ll be in”—he glanced at the address on the form—“New York tomorrow morning.”

  “Tomorrow.” She felt the blood drain out of her face. “Good. Thank you.” She handed him some crumpled bills as a tip, then sat down the minute he was gone and dropped her head between her knees.

  It was done. There was no going back now. In a matter of days she would know if she was good enough. Finally good enough. And if she wasn’t …

  She simply couldn’t face failing at this. Not this. As long as she could remember, she’d wanted this one thing. Had set it aside time after time after time. Now there was no one to tell her to be practical, to accept her own limitations. There were no more excuses.

  Steadier, she sat up, took two long breaths. She’d plugged in her stake, she told herself, and she’d pulled the lever. Now she would have to wait for the end of the spin.

  When the phone rang, she stared at it, horrified. It was the editor calling back, she thought frantically, telling her there had been a mistake.

  Holding her breath, she picked up the phone. “Hello,” she said, with her eyes tightly shut.

  “Hello yourself, little girl.”

  “Daniel.�
� His name came out on something close to a sob.

  “Aye. Is something wrong, lass?”

  “No, no.” She pressed a hand to her face and let out a quick, nervous laugh. “Everything’s fine. Wonderful. How are you?”

  “Right as rain.” The way his voice boomed through the receiver seemed to prove it. “I thought I should let you know, I lost every penny in a leveraged buyout.”

  “I—I—” She blinked so rapidly the room spun in front of her eyes. “All of it?”

  His laughter roared out, forcing her to pull the receiver several inches away from her ear. “Just joking with you, lass.”

  “Oh.” She pressed a hand to her speeding heart. “Ha-ha.”

  “Got your blood moving, didn’t it? I’m just calling to let you know we made some money already.”

  “Made some? Already?”

  “You know, Darcy girl, you’re using the same tone for the good news as you did for the bad. That’s a good sign of a steady nerve.”

  “I don’t feel steady,” she admitted. “But I feel lots of nerves.”

  “You’ll do. We made a tidy little sum on a short-term deal, an in-and-out sort of thing. You should go buy yourself a bauble.”

  She moistened her lips. “How big a bauble?”

  He laughed again. “That’s my girl. We pulled in a quick fifty, just getting our feet wet.”

  “I can get some nice earrings for fifty dollars.”

  “Fifty thousand.”

  “Thousand,” she repeated though her tongue seemed to tangle on the word. “Are you joking again?”

  “Buy the bauble,” he told her. “Making money’s a fine way to pass the time, but enjoying it’s better. Now tell me when you’re coming to see me. My Anna wants to meet you.”

  “I may be coming East—on business—in the next few weeks.”

  “That’s fine then. You plan to come here, spend some time, meet the rest of the family, or those I can gather up. Children scatter on you. It’s a crime. My wife pines for them.”

  “I will come. I miss you.”

  “You’ve a sweet heart, Darcy.”

  “Daniel … do you …” It had to be delicately put, she thought, but it had to be put. “Mac mentioned, that is, he seemed to think you might have the idea that we’d suit each other. That you were, well, planting seeds along those lines.”

  “Planting seeds, is it! Planting seeds. Ha! The boy needs a cuff on the ear. Did I say a word? I ask you.”

  “Well, not exactly, but—”

  “Where do they get this idea that I’m scheming behind their backs? I didn’t drop you into his lap, did I?”

  “No, but—”

  “Not that it doesn’t take a push to get these young people to do their duty—and to see what’s best for them. Dawdle around is what they do. My wife deserves babies to bounce on her knees in her twilight years, doesn’t she?”