Devious Eyes (A Cane Novel Book 2)

by Charlotte E Hart

  A guy knocks into me, his drink spilling on my black tux.

  “Back the hell off,” I snarl out quietly, scowling at his interference in my vision.

  He does, hands raised in the air by way of apology, and I’m thankful as fuck for that because I don’t think I can handle whatever damn jealousy is ripping me apart. I haven’t ever felt like this. Not once. It’s in my chest, boring away at me and increasing a heart rate that never gets above average.

  My feet stall, part of me not knowing what to do. This shouldn’t be happening. Holiday fling. That’s all. It’s what both of us want. And there’s no way in hell I’m dragging someone as perfect as this into the world I have to go back to, irrespective of who she really is. This ends here. It ends when we both step back onto a plane and wave goodbye, happy to have fucked our way into oblivion for a few weeks. I should walk away now, back off before this damn feeling in my chest makes me do shit I should not do.

  I don’t.

  The walk to her is swift and pitiless to anyone in my way. A group of men block my route, all swaying with the amount of booze they’ve consumed. One is pushed, another barged by my shoulder until he reels backwards towards the tables. I scowl the moment he comes back at me, ready to prove his temper unusable. This accountant knows all about defending territory, regardless of the tuxedo.

  My hands grab for her with more force than I intend, fingers synching around her waist to pull her back into me. She gasps a little, the jolt onto me proving a surprise.

  “You’re damn near illegal in this,” I mutter into her neck, lips brushing the curve to her ear. Her neck stretches, forcing my mouth across the cool bump of diamonds as her hand comes back to my hair. “This,” I tighten my grip further on her hips, “is fucking scandalous.”

  She twists in my hold, the silk of the dress running under my fingers until she’s facing me. “Well, good evening to you, too.” I reel back at the look of her. She’s changed. Precision make up highlights each angle to a level way above average beauty. Lush red lips. More diamonds dripping in long falls from her ears. “Are you ready to lose some money?” Lose? I doubt it. I smile at the thought. “How are you at gambling?”

  If only she knew.

  Perhaps she should find out.

  “You’re missing something, Gabby.” She smirks at me, checking herself over and then looking back. I hold the gardenia up and slip it into her hair above her left ear. “Taken.”

  “What?”

  “Right ear means single and available. Both ears—married but still available. Kinky.” She smirks again and moves her hand to the flower. I knock her fingers away and replace what she was beginning to take out. “Backward behind ear—available immediately. Left ear,” I stall and tuck it precisely where it should be again, gazing at her damn mouth. I’m so fucking screwed. “Married, engaged or taken. I’m choosing taken.”

  “Are you? And what about my choice?”

  “You don’t have one. Not ‘til we’re done here.”

  “Masterful.”

  “Mmm.”

  We gaze at each other for a while until the crowd around us roars with excitement about something. It makes her swing back to the wheel, fingers reaching for her chips with a frown on her face. I notice them for the first time, several hundred thousand piled up.

  “How long have you been here?” I ask, surprised by her stack of chips.

  “Not long. You?” She looks to my hands. “You’re lacking funds.”

  I nod and flag a runner down, asking him to bring the manager to the craps table. He scurries away as I gather up her chips and guide her away from the wheel, barely able to control the thought of just pulling her into a store cupboard.

  The hustle through the crowds tests all my patience. We’re bumped and barged, normal damn procedure getting in my way. I huff, knocking people sideways when they come at her, eyes leering at what doesn’t damn well belong to them. All I really want is out of this suit and back into a bed with her. That’s it. I want her hand in mine, her eyes looking at me, her lips wrapped around anything I choose. Fuck, the thought infuriates me as much as it makes me smile and keep watching her ass sway.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she asks as we arrive. My hand shuffles more gatherers out of the way, making the space she deserves. “You’re agitated about something.”

  “People.”

  She giggles lightly and runs a hand over my shoulder, attempting soothing. I’m not soothed. I’m screwed up with the feelings I’m having about her and irritated about my life outside of this adventure. Not that anyone should be able to notice that with my normally cool exterior, but all these people remind me of it as they batter us around. Guns, villains, murder. The unending need to protect my back, check everything constantly rattles me. It’s this place, the bustle of it, and for some damn reason, I want her away from every part of it.

  Protected from it.

  Her lips land on mine before I’ve tried to counter the topics in my head, and the relief is instant. It all melts away within seconds, causing me to tighten the last of my frustration around her waist rather than let it invade my mind any more.

  “Sir?” A man coughs behind us. I let my lips slowly peel from hers, part annoyed this dick’s interfered, and turn towards him. “You asked for me.” I look him over, noting the two guards hovering behind as the crowd screams a celebratory cheer.

  “What’s your stake limit?”

  “That depends, Sir.” I nod, knowing exactly what that means. They don’t know me. What fool would give money over to someone they don’t know?

  “Call the Four Seasons. Ask for details on Villa Oriata.”

  He does, walking away a little and signalling for a runner. It gives me time to look at the one thing worth looking at. She smirks and picks up two thousand-dollar chips, one of them flung to the table, another offered at me.

  “I could lend you some if you’re a bit short?” I snort at that and smile, grazing my finger along her face as the revellers keep shouting their odds and winnings. Jesus, I could look at her all day. Night too. What the hell am I going to do when this is over?

  “Thanks. I don’t need the support, though.”

  “Sir?”

  “Hmm?”

  “No limit. Keep calling for us.”

  Her brows raise as I turn to sign the pad he presents. I don’t look at it, don’t need to. It’s the same legal jargon we deliver, threatening incarceration should we choose to not pay debts swiftly. It’s been ten years since I had to pay a debt caused by gambling. Ten years of counting cards. Ten years of learning tables before I play any game. I haven’t gambled a damn thing since I started counting money. I win, or I don’t play at all. That’s what happens when accountants strategize rather than throw caution to the wind.

  A case is handed over the moment I’ve signed it, no doubt filled with chips.

  “No limit, hey?” she says, ass rubbing into me as she stretches to move her own chips, her other hand reaching for the dice.

  “Holiday.”

  “Expensive holiday.”

  She holds up the dice and throws, the roar of the other players jeering her on. The dice tumble over and over until a five and six land face up. The excitement erupts, cheers and chants getting louder, enough so that I laugh at the revelry as she turns to me and smiles.

  It’s the first time dice tumbling has caused any form of smile from me in a long time.

  I dump fifty thousand down on her pile, hand snaking around her waist to pull her back to me, and signal the barkeep working the tables.

  “Champagne,” I order, and hand over a few hundred dollars as tip. “For the whole table.” The crowd goes mad, heckles and jeers shouting Gabby on to move my chips into place as they hold their drinks up at me. “You gonna win me some money, Gabby?” She looks back at me, her quirky frown in place.

  “You’re sure?”

  I nod and kiss her briefly, turning her back to the table and backing my ass into the crowd so I can wa
tch. I couldn’t give a damn for the money. She can lose it, win more. Give it away for all I care. Watching her is all I want. Watching her and fucking her. I’m lost to her. Happier than I’ve been most of my adult life and damn sure this is not how I should be feeling about a woman I barely know.

  “Well, I best match it then.” She digs into her bag and produces a fuck load of ten-thousand-dollar chips. I snort, unsure who the hell this woman is, where she’s come from, and where she’s damn well been all my life. “We’ll play together.”

  I watch after that, champagne flowing down my neck like it’s water. Everything is calm, regardless of the energetic atmosphere around us. Just focusing on her brings me relaxation, keeps me smiling rather than thinking of what I’ve got to go back to soon.

  She’s sharp as fuck, too. Cunning. She plays the table and odds as well as I would in some ways, calculating her risk long before most others have even thought their moves through. It’s something I’ve not seen from her before. Like she’s got another part of herself hidden away that I’ve never known. But she’s still got that effervescence that throws caution to the wind on occasion, a flair that considers those odds obsolete and unnecessary when she’s excited.

  She wanders off after a while, phone attached to her ear and a slight scowl marring that beauty. It pisses me off, enough so that I peer at her through the crowds, trying to read her lips. I can’t. She turns her head too often, almost as if she knows I’m watching and is trying to cover her conversation. I narrow my stare and hold our chips steady, throwing one in to keep the game turning over until she bags her phone and starts the walk back to me. The graceful smile comes the moment she sees me looking at her, but I can see it for exactly what it is. A cover. Seems my Gabby is still hiding things from me she shouldn’t be. Or perhaps she should. It’s not like I’m being completely honest, is it?

  I snort, lifting my glass to my lips again as she saunters back to me, her fingers wiggling for me to join her.

  “You matching me again?” she asks, still beaming. “Because I’m going all in. The lot. All of it.” She turns back to the table and pushes everything she’s got forward with steady hands. I narrow my stare again, gazing at nothing but her eyes as she focuses hers back on mine. She’s pissed about something. I can see the annoyance lingering, regardless of that smile. It’s sexy as fuck.

  “You’re risking it all, huh?” She laughs, infecting me with the same sense of exuberance before I’ve given normal thought to the odds.

  “Vaccaciones,” she says.

  I reach for my ruck of chips, tossing them alongside hers. She’s right.

  Holiday.

  Screw the odds.

  There’s never been a more intense vision of money than the one I’m currently gazing at. She’s lying on nearly a million profit, notes scattered out around her and hair tumbling over the edge of the bed. I don’t know what time it is, nor do I care. We came back here, drank more champagne, and then fucked on every surface I could find. She’s red raw in some places and not nearly raw enough in others. And no matter how much I’ve tried to keep it cool and calculate my odds, play it safe, I don’t want to anymore. I’m itching to get inside her again. Near desperate.

  Odds be damned.

  “You’re stunning,” I murmur, watching as she turns her head to me.

  She smiles and stares in response, no words, just those lips turning up at the edges as light filters in from the moon. It cascades and bounces through the sheer drapes, a light breeze sending dapples and flecks across her olive toned skin. It’s picture fucking perfect. The sort of thing that dreams are made of.

  The sort of thing that isn’t made for Cane.

  I reach for the bottle of champagne and tip some into our glasses, ready to carry on with the romance occupying my mind. I’m damned if Cane is getting in the way of this tonight. Just for once I’m going to be me, let it come without calculating my chances.

  “You ever dream?” I ask as I get up and wander over. She wiggles up, a perplexed look on her face. I push her back down, handing her the flute. “Stay down. We’re not finished here yet.” She smirks and shuffles over, fiddling with the flowers in her hair as she gives me room to lie on the bed next to her. “So, do you?”

  “I think I stopped dreaming a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Dreams aren’t real, are they? I don’t have time for anything that’s not real.” She frowns a little and slips a hand under her head, a small sip of champagne following. “My life doesn’t have room for dreams. They’re silly and foolhardy.”

  The last of it’s so quiet I barely hear it, but it resonates so deeply in me I barely stop myself from telling her I know how she feels. I stare and sip instead, words tumbling around my mind that I don’t know how to say as I watch her gaze back.

  “How about you?”

  “Too processed to dream. Life is calculated for me.”

  “There’s nothing processed about you. You’re …” She takes another slow draw of her drink, tongue running over her lips when she’s finished. “Raw.”

  “Raw? Like meat?”

  She giggles quietly and runs her leg closer to mine, a sadness lingering in her smile that shouldn’t be here. “No,” she muses. “Like spur of the moment raw. You’ve got mood swings going on all the time. And then there’s the fruit thing.” She snickers again, fingering her flute. “There’s definitely nothing processed about that.”

  I chuckle a little, but I’m not laughing inside, and nor is she. She’s quiet now, thoughtful, and I’m reeling with emotion, all of it channelling up through me hoping to explode into her rather than keep this light and breezy any longer. It makes me reach for her face, the laughter ebbing away, and pull her to me without care for the consequences.

  “You feel like dreaming now?” I ask, brushing my lips across hers. She hovers in my hand, the hesitation proving something both of us know. “’Cause I’m thinking there’s more than nothing between us here.” She looks at my lips moving, cautiously navigating her own odds. “One night of dreams, Gabby. One night.” Her hand moves to my chest, trickling its way over my skin until she lays it gently at my jaw and frowns a little. That sadness sweeps her face again, consuming me with the same thoughts.

  Our time is nearly up.

  “One night,” she whispers.

  My mouth turns into her hand, lips pressing into it as I roll her onto her back and settle between her legs. She’s so damn soft under me, so in tune, her fingers already threading into my hair before we’ve fully balanced. Her legs wrap around me as she gazes, a serious expression boring more damn emotion into me by the second, but we’re having our one night of living a dream rather than calculating its impossibility. We are, both of us. Just one, and then we’ll move on like we should.

  “Nate I…”

  I swallow the words, not caring for whatever thought is trying to stop this as my mouth smothers hers. Nothing is stopping me taking my dream any more, and the hitch of her leg, forceful pressure pushing her into place, proves my point. She gasps under me, arms tightening around my neck as I nudge at her pussy and put my full weight into her.

  “Oh god,” she mouths, tipping her head back as she moans around my movement.

  I watch that, more interested in her face and reactions than the feel of her around my dick. She pants as I rock in and out, fingers digging into my scalp to pull me down to her. Screw that. I shake my head and knock her hands away, bracing them out by the side of her head so I can keep watching. My hips grind, deepening the fucking into something that’s so far from where we should be it’s incomprehensible. But she’s so damn perfect. She’s everything, and this need to deepen makes me slow everything down until there’s nothing else but the two of us.

  One of my arms wraps around her back, lifting her slightly so I can tease a nipple into my mouth, but still I watch her face as I link my fingers with hers. Time seems static as I hear the moans coming and I keep forging in, gazing at the way her mouth
moves and willing this to never end. She clenches around me, bruising my hand as she chases the orgasm I’m building for her.

  “Oh god. I’m coming, Nate.”

  She doesn’t need to say it. I can feel it. It’s in my fucking heart somehow, towing me along with her to a point I don’t want to reach. I’m not ready yet, not ready for this dream to finish, but the pressure in me won’t give up. It’s churning, rallying all kinds of images and thoughts along with it as I shunt her further up the bed, trying to lessen the need to come.

  “Show me you give a damn,” I mutter into her neck, sliding her down onto me again and not giving one fuck for any outcome. There’s love here. I know it and so does she.

  I want it.

  “Nate, I…”

  I stare so damn intently it has her closing her mouth before she finishes. No more. No more lying. No more pretending. This happens now. Here.

  “Show me. Dream with me.”

  Whatever changes in her mind in the next five seconds has us both grappling for each other, passion making us cling on as if the end of the damn world is coming to get us. Sweat pours. Lips mingle. Hands grab and link, smothering us in the one feeling I’ve never given anyone before. It’s fucking divine.

  And it’s mine for one night.

  It’s everything it should be and more.

  It’s love.

  Chapter Eleven

  For the first time in my life, I feel happy. Content. Like I could have everything I’ve ever wanted. And it’s all because of the man passed out next to me.

  Sleep isn’t an option for me. How can I, knowing what I need to do?

  Last night was everything to me. It was the closest I’ve come to showing Nate the woman I am in real life. Not this relaxed, holiday persona that’s been scarily easy to slip into. The Gabby I’ve been with Nate might be the one I love the most, but she’s not the me who keeps me safe. She’s not the calculated woman I need to be to stay clear of trouble.