“I didn’t order this,” I said, handing it back.
“It’s from Remy,” she said with frosted eyes.
“Oh. What is it?”
“A kiddie cocktail,” she said.
“Doesn’t want me to get drunk, does he?” I asked, amused.
“He said he’s had to carry you around enough and has plans tonight,” she clipped.
“Thank you,” I said, setting the cocktail down to peek at the dealt cards. I didn’t have time to worry why this bristly cocktail server had daggers in her eye. I had to win a favor. And it was going to be a great favor.
Pair of tens. I raised, hoping to push players out. A pair of tens was passable, but not if the whole table played.
Caleb called and raised from his spot across the table with a smile that issued a challenge. We weren’t able to find seats right next to each other, and that was fine with me. He was distracting enough without our legs and hands brushing together.
The players at the table were unfamiliar, but their style was familiar. It took Caleb only a few hands to reacquaint himself with the subtle play differences of low-stakes tables. Sure, there was a donkey at our table. There was also a woman who overplayed all her hands while eyeing Caleb. But other than that, we were seasoned players who knew how to navigate the table. Caleb had to adjust. He did so without losing a chip.
Caleb sat with his arms crossed, waiting for me to call or fold. My fingers mindlessly shuffled a stack of chips. I studied him for a moment. It was nearly impossible to read him since he maintained his naturally playful smile.
Do I play the tens? I glanced at my watch. I was running out of time. If I could win this hand, I could win the wager. I didn’t want to push my luck with a pair of tens, but . . .
I called.
Caleb lifted a brow with that same playful smile. He knew I was taking a stand with this one last hand, and I had the sinking feeling I just stumbled into a well-laid trap. Without being able to see his hand, I watched as the flop was laid: ace, queen, and two.
There was no help for me. If I didn’t continue with a bet, Caleb would trounce by shoving all-in to encourage me to fold. I had to bet large because he wouldn’t allow me to do otherwise.
Raising the pot with a healthy stack of chips, I leaned back to watch. Caleb wasn’t prone to studying his opponents. He learned everything he wanted in one glance.
He called.
The turn was laid. A nine. It was no use. Unless Caleb had an outranking pair, these community cards wouldn’t help for a straight or flush.
I bet heavy, hoping the river would carry me.
Caleb called with a wink.
I couldn’t read him. Actually, I could, in the sense that I instinctively knew there was something more to this hand than a few chips and a side wager.
The dealer flipped over the river. A three. He couldn’t have a straight or flush. Still, he could have a better pair or a three of a kind.
I held my breath and steadied my jumping heart, praying I wasn’t giving away a tell. He could bulldoze with a simple shove of his chips.
I bet heavy again, hoping he would toss his cards.
Caleb’s eyes never left mine. He didn’t have to know what I bet because he was continuing no matter what. He shoved his chips in, spilling them into the pot.
There was something to this hand, I thought again. I took a leap of faith and shoved all-in. There was nothing left to do but flip over my hand. I tossed my two cards face up to reveal my pair of tens.
Caleb smiled and mucked his cards. Most players would’ve have done the same, tossing their losing hand facedown to the dealer so the other players couldn’t see. But Caleb was different. He always showed me his cards.
Always.
My eyes mingled with Caleb’s as the dealer shoved the chip pile over to me. Caleb had given me the win . . . and a favor. I didn’t understand why. Why would he give me the win when he needed money?
I quickly gathered the chips, flipping one to the dealer. I stood to leave and Caleb stood to follow.
“Stay,” I said, tossing him a single chip. “You have a long night ahead.”
He caught the chip with a grin and settled back into his seat.
He let me win that hand.
As I cashed out, I saw Remy heading toward me. The bristly cocktail waitress stepped into his path. Remy gave her a cool courtesy smile and continued on his way. She hurried to block him again, resting her hand on his arm. She leaned in to talk.
Oh Lord, another one for his shelf.
He gave a tight nod and she bustled off with a contented smile. I shook my head. Oh, Remy. He needs a woman to challenge him, not another one that will collect dust.
“I see you won,” Remy said as he neared.
I smiled and tucked a thick bundle of cash in my pocket. Thank you, Caleb.
“Do you have a date tonight?” I asked, nodding in the direction of the server.
His eyes followed the same path. “I wouldn’t consider it a date.”
I shook my head. “So, another hookup?”
He shrugged as if fawning women begging for hookups was normal. Maybe it was. Who am I to say? But still . . .
“Don’t,” Remy warned.
“What?”
“I see that look in your eye. You think I should take a woman on a date and then marry her. I know that look well.”
“I never said you should get married. But what’s wrong with going out on a date?”
“I don’t date.”
“Why?” I asked.
His already-rigid shoulders tensed and I knew I couldn’t press him much further. “Jet, when I’m ready for a relationship, I’ll date. But I don’t want a relationship, and I don’t want to date.”
I held my hands up as a sign of surrender. “I understand.”
He frowned. “No, you don’t. But thank you for letting it rest.”
Actually, I was starting to understand. I had a feeling Remy’s heart had a deep wound that hadn’t healed yet. It wasn’t as if he said as much. He never says anything. It’s how he places everyone at a distance—and designing women get placed the farthest away. Now was not the time to press the issue, but it did raise many questions. Who was the woman Remy let into his heart? And where was she now?
I stood on my tiptoes and kissed Remy’s cheek. “It’ll get better,” I said. It had to. I wondered if I said it more for myself than for Remy.
Remy’s brow puzzled and then relaxed. His large hand cupped the back of my neck as he planted a light, chaste kiss on my head. “I know it will. Now get the hell out of my casino,” he said with a small smile and strolled away.
Chapter 10
Greyson opened the door with a wide grin smudged with dirt. His brilliant white teeth sparkled in contrast. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until later,” he said, collecting me from the step and into his arms for a hug. “I should shower before I hug you, but it’s too late now. I missed you.”
“I missed you too. Don’t worry about the dirt. I’m here to help.”
“Help with what?”
“The crater.”
He smiled. “The pond, you mean.”
“Until I see water and ducks, it’s a crater.”
“Do you want to see it now? I’ve made some progress.”
The way his T-shirt tugged at him, the crater wasn’t the only thing progressing. Greyson was firm before, but the newly developing muscles were quite fascinating. The need to explore this new world was growing achingly large.
“I’d love to see your progress,” I said, hiding the double meaning.
He escorted me through the house until we reached the back patio. The crater was now double the size and had an excavator looming idly beside it.
“You’ve brought in heavy equipment,” I said, eyeing the deadly looking machine. “Did you hire someone?”
He shook his head with a noticeable sparkle in his eye. “I rented it and have been learning how to use it.”
“From
CEO to construction,” I said, feeling his arm wrap around as he slid behind, holding me against his chest.
“It’s been fun,” he said softly in my ear. “I can honestly say I never thought I’d learn how to operate an excavator.”
“You’re happy,” I stated with a content sigh. For a brief time I wondered if he was ever going to fully recover from giving up his life in a suit. Now I sensed a switch. He’s starting to embrace his new life. It’s a start.
I leaned into him, soaking up his enthusiasm for a piece of machinery. It was hard not to be enthused when his newly defined body was wrapped against mine.
“I am happy, sweetheart,” he said, kissing my neck. “And I have you to thank for it.”
I fluffed off the last comment. I was thrilled he was finding his way, but I didn’t want his thanks. Not when I’m dating another man under his nose. A hollow feeling carved through my belly. He deserved better. Caleb too.
I must make a decision soon.
“I came to help, but you seem to have everything under control,” I said.
“You can still help.”
“How?”
“I’ll show you.”
His hand slipped into mine as he led me toward a table with a nicely hand-drawn plan of the multi-acre backyard.
I stepped closer, eyeing the elaborate design. “This is beautiful.”
“Thank you. As you can see, my crater grew into a fully landscaped yard.”
“This design isn’t just a landscaped yard,” I said, tracing the trees and plants with my finger. Secret alcoves and a labyrinth were also depicted. “It’s like a secret garden.”
“Do you want to add to the design?”
“No, it’s perfect.”
“Nothing is perfect.”
“But this is. I can already envision it. How long will it take to finish?”
He scanned the drawing. “Since I’m doing it by myself, I guess a year.”
“The way you work, it will be done in three months.”
He laughed softly, drawing me closer. “I plan on spending time doing other things too.”
“Like what?”
A devious smile grew.
“Oh,” I squeaked as he pressed against me, nibbling my ear.
“Let me shower and we can go on our date,” he said as his lips traveled a path to my neck.
“I want to help with the crater while it’s still light out,” I said. “We can go out after.”
His brow quirked. “You really want to help?”
“Yes. I want to help. And now that I’ve seen the design, I want to be a part of it.”
“You already are a part of it.”
“How?” I asked.
“You’re all I think of.”
“That’s sweet,” I said, feeling my heart pitter-patter. “But it has nothing to do with your garden.”
“It has everything to do with it. You are in my thoughts as I’m digging the pond. You’re the one I thought of when I designed the garden. Look at this,” he said, pointing to a secret alcove on his design. “This is where I want to kiss you; our own little spot of Eden. And this,” he continued, pointing at the labyrinth, “this is where I want to chase you . . . until I corner you here,” he said, tracing until he reached the middle of the labyrinth where it opened to a fountain and lounge area. His hand brushed my cheek in a soft caress. “That is where I want to make love to you. This garden is for you.” He slowly lowered his mouth to mine.
My heart thudded hard as I took in his words. It was the sweetest, most romantic gesture any man had ever given me, and it stole my breath. All of it. I held onto him as his lips hovered over mine. Curling my fingers into his shirt, I tugged him the rest of the way down. I had to kiss him.
He had once told me he loved me but then never repeated it. After the week I ran away, I thought I might have ruined whatever affection he had. But this garden and his words proved his love, making my decision that much more impossible . . . or maybe it made it easier.
Women should be allowed to have two husbands, I thought. From the stories I’ve heard from married women, one is never adequate to begin with. Of course, that would mean extra toilet seats left up . . . extra dirty clothes on the floor . . .
Did I say “husband”?
Is that what I’m deciding . . . who I want to ultimately marry?
Oh, brother. I just made it even more complicated. No. No, I have to remember baby steps. And the way Greyson was kissing me, there was a possibility of a different baby matter.
I pressed back against his chest, feeling his muscles beneath the thin T-shirt. Damn, who would have thought an added layer of muscles would be a hundred times sexier? I had a strong urge to rip off his shirt and nuzzle in. Maybe I could get him to take off the shirt while shoveling. I’d love to watch his muscles move while he worked.
“Nadia?” Greyson asked, snapping me from my thoughts.
“So,” I stalled, regaining composure. “Should we work on the pond while it’s still light?” Working is safe, I thought.
“And then when it’s dark?” he questioned, eyes twinkling.
I cleared my throat. “Then we do . . . something else.”
“Would you like to check out my equipment?” he asked.
I blinked, giving him ammunition to laugh at me.
“I meant the excavator. You’ve already seen my other equipment,” he said, amused, leading me to the excavator.
I looked up at the machine’s giant arm and bucket. “It’s rather scary up close. Are you sure you know how to operate it?”
“Hop on and I’ll show you.”
I scrambled up to the cab, feeling his hands assisting in the most inappropriate places.
“Are you trying to make me fall?” I asked, scurrying out of his reach.
“I’ll catch you,” he promised, following me into the cab where the controls were. “It’s not my fault I can’t keep my hands off you. Let me sit down first.”
I eyed him.
“Either you have to sit on my lap or I have to sit on yours. There’s not enough room.”
I shimmied over and let him sit. I plunked myself down on top of him, settling hard on purpose.
“Nice try,” he said. “You don’t weigh enough to hurt me.”
Especially not with the extra thigh muscles he’d developed, I thought. Heaven help me; I can’t stop drooling over his muscles.
His arms reached around, pointing to the different controls and describing each function.
“Where’s the steering wheel?” I asked.
“There isn’t one. You use the levers and joysticks.”
“I thought the levers were for the arm and shovel. How do you steer?”
“The excavator can turn independently from the tracks so there are levers and joysticks for every movement.”
“How long did it take you to figure this out?”
“About twenty minutes. But it takes much longer to master. My movements are still jerky. By the time the pond is done, I may have it down. Do you want to try?”
“Yes!” I took hold of the joysticks on either side of me, wiggling them with no response from the machine. “What do I do?”
“Start the engine,” he chuckled.
If I wasn’t so excited, I’d be embarrassed by the oversight. I turned on the excavator and the engine growled to life, vibrating the entire machine.
“Before you touch anything,” he warned, “make sure to use gentle movements. The joysticks are sensitive to touch. If you yank on one, you’ll have the arm swinging wildly.”
I glanced back. “A lesson from experience?”
“Let’s just say I learned fast.”
I gently wrapped my hands around each control. “Should I start?” I asked, now hesitant to take on the metal beast.
“You’ve played arcade games with joysticks, right?” he asked.
“Yes. But I have a feeling this is different.”
“It is, but not as much as you may think. Go ahead and
get the feel for one joystick and then the other. It’s easier to play with them than for me to explain each movement. You’ll have the hang of it in no time.”
“What about the pedals?”
“The pedals are the same as the two levers in front of you. I find I prefer using the levers. They control the movement of the excavator itself, not the arm and bucket.”
I took a breath. “Here goes nothing,” I said, tapping one of the joysticks. The arm lifted in the air. I tapped it so the arm lowered back down. Raising it again, I was able to straighten the bucket.
“This isn’t too bad,” I said. “I see what you mean by the movements being jerky.”
It looked as though my metal arm was arguing with the brain as it jerked here and there.
“Try to scoop a little dirt,” he suggested. “‘Little’ being the key word. Don’t try to dig to China in one scoop.”
“Another lesson from experience?” I asked.
He laughed, and I felt the rumble through his chest. Between the vibrating machinery and the warm, rumbling body beneath me, I was bracing for a stimulating encounter.
But first, scoop dirt. I maneuvered the arm and bucket in place and scraped the earth to pick up a layer of dirt. It wasn’t graceful, but I did it.
“Excellent,” he said. “Now swing the arm over to the dirt pile and let it drop.”
I moved the wrong stick and the dirt fell out into the pond.
“Try again. You’re doing better than I did the first time.”
Scooping the dirt again, I managed to swing the arm over and let it drop on the dirt pile.
“Excellent, sweetheart. Keep going, if you want. I’ve never enjoyed sitting idly while others are working, but I could get used to this,” he said as his hand glided over my thigh.
“Handle with care,” I warned. “Otherwise we’ll have an excavator in your living room.”
“I’ll always handle with care,” he murmured into my neck.
My hand jolted from his touch, slamming the arm into the dirt and lurching the excavator up on its track. I bolted in sudden panic, stepping on a pedal. The machine groaned forward against the arm.
Greyson grabbed my waist, planting me firmly on his lap. His hands took control of the confused machine and quickly righted the tracks and arm.
Squeeze Play Page 8
