Holding Aces

by Nikki Groom

  “No, I just thought I’d meant more to you than ending everything we have over a phone call.”

  “You did mean more to me than that, but you took away any love I had for you when you lost your temper. There’s nothing more to work out. I don’t want half of everything you own, and I’m not going to take you to the cleaners. With the gash on my cheek and the ugly bruising I’m looking at right now, if this goes to court it will ruin you.”

  I picture him on the other end of the phone, raking his hands through his shaggy surf hair as he does when he’s agitated.

  “I’ll have divorce papers sent to you. I won’t be asking for anything else from you, just a quick divorce with no publicity and no fuss. I don’t want the Porsche. It’s in your name anyway, so I’ll have it shipped back to you at my earliest convenience.” The matter of fact tone in my voice masks the multitude of emotions going through me right now.

  “Nat—”

  “No, Aaron, this is it, I’m not a contract that you can negotiate terms on. Please don’t call me again. My attorney will be in touch.” I hear him start to protest, but I cut him short. “Goodbye, Aaron.”

  I end the call.

  I have to.

  It’s the only way to stop this conversation going around and around in circles and risking me changing my mind because I feel sorry for him. I hate to think that my words are the cause of someone’s hurt, but if he digs a little deeper, he’ll see that it’s not my words that have hurt him, it’s his actions.

  No sooner do I hang up, then it rings again.

  Aaron.

  I let it connect to voice mail. A second later, the shrill tone starts up once more. It’s his last attempt at saving his marriage. If I were actually in love with him, I’d be impressed that he is fighting for me, but I know it’s the shame and guilt pushing him to make things right. I dismantle the phone, removing the battery, and throw all the pieces in the bin.

  And just like that, that’s it.

  It’s over.

  I don’t take any pleasure in ending our relationship, but I have already learned that if you don’t get out early on then all you are doing is waiting like a sitting duck, ready to be used and hurt. The conversation could have gone back and forth all day and we still wouldn’t have achieved anything. The minute he broke my skin, he hardened my heart. He won’t give in and neither will I.

  No compromises.

  No alternatives.

  Having gotten that phone call out of the way, I decide to spend a few hours shopping. I put some makeup on to try and cover the bruising on my face the best I can, but it’s come out fully now and is very noticeable. The clothes I packed are few and there’s only so long that I can live out of a suitcase for, I’m going to need more than four outfits just to get me through the next week.

  Four hours and countless shopping bags later, I return to the hotel, with a much lighter bank balance but a multitude of outfits from some great stores. I’ve enjoyed every minute of today’s carefree shopping as I took the time to admire window displays and let myself browse as well as buy.

  I enter the hotel through a different lobby to the main one. It takes me past some of the facilities I hadn’t seen yet. A gym and day spa which I make a mental note to try and book into for a treatment tomorrow. Maybe I could book Lottie in with me and have a real girlie day. I’ve missed her so very much and the thought of spending some quality time with her makes me smile. Further along the walkway is a casino. I stop to look through the large double doors.

  It has the trademark colors with cream walls, gold adornments and crimson carpets. Its tall ceiling makes it look huge and the flashing lights coming from all directions are mesmerizing. I have been to a casino once or twice with Aaron, but I don’t really know what I’m doing. It is Aaron who is the pro and I can’t even say I learned anything from him. He is a serious player and plays to win, poker mainly, sometimes blackjack, whereas I would do it just for the fun. ‘The Promised Land’ has been aptly named and makes me chuckle that people are actually led astray by the flashing lights and the guise of riches. There is only one winner in gambling and that’s the bank.

  “You’re allowed in, you know. That is, presuming you are over twenty-one?”

  I recognize the deep timbre of his voice and the vibration of his chuckle, and the sound evokes an acceleration in my heartbeat. I turn and face the source, already knowing who I will find. I am awarded with a full megawatt smile, he is clean shaven and smells divine. His crisp white shirt is open at the collar and his gray slacks fit his hips like they were made for him. Thinking about it, they probably are. I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. King,” I say with a genuine smile in my voice.

  “Miss. Jamesson.” He nods, his smug grin stretches across his cheeks and gives me the ‘I know you were checking me out’ look. “How are you finding your stay?”

  “I’m enjoying it very much, thank you.” His eyes haven’t left mine and the corners crease making his handsome face softer. “I wanted to say thank you for breakfast this morning. It was very thoughtful of you. Extravagant, but thoughtful.”

  “Good, I’m glad you enjoyed it. Will you be visiting the casino this evening?” He nods his head toward the casino doors.

  “Oh, I don’t know. It’s not really my thing,” I say nervously with a shrug of my shoulders.

  He leans ever so slightly toward me and his voice lowers to a soft growl. “And what exactly is your thing, Miss. Jamesson?” My heart rate spikes at the way his eyes burn into me, and my mind races with images of what my ‘thing’ could be. Every image involves him in one way or another, and I have no idea how he manages to do that to me.

  “I … uh ...” I seem to have lost the ability to form coherent sentences and I feel my face flush a little. He obviously finds my discomfort amusing as he’s looking at me with a sexy as hell grin plastered across his beautiful face and an eyebrow quirked as if he’s still waiting for my answer.

  “I think the spa and salon would be more my thing. I’m not really a gambler. Anyway, I really need to be getting back to my suite, these bags are—”

  “Please, let me take them for you.”

  “It’s fine, I can manage, really.” I start to walk away, needing to get out of this space but not really wanting to. In the few encounters we have had, Denham King sends my mind into a spin, but he also makes me feel alive in my soul, and I’m not sure I’ve ever really felt that before. The mix of emotions is not productive to finding the solutions to my current problems. I really have to keep a clear head.

  “You are a stubborn little lady, do you know that?” he calls out after me.

  I stop and turn back toward him. He stands casually with his hands tucked into his pockets wearing that smirk.

  “And you’re very persistent, Mr. King. Do you know that?”

  He looks perplexed as he frowns. “Hmm, I guess I am … so will you? Let me carry your bags?” He jogs the small distance to catch me up and I laugh.

  “Will it soothe your ego if I do?”

  “Very much so.”

  “Fine, you can carry them to the elevator. After that, I’ve got it covered, okay?”

  “You’ve made my day,” he says with a smile.

  He takes my bags, sending little jolts of electricity through me when his fingers brush mine. What is it about him that does this to me? I flex my fingers when I’m relieved of the bags and their weight. My arms feel like they’ve been pulled out of their sockets.

  We walk through the foyer and toward the elevator. “So, did you buy half of Vegas?” he says jokingly.

  “Let’s just say, I decided it was time for a change of image.”

  “Oh really? Well, your image looks mighty fine from where I’m standing.” He winks and I bump his shoulder with mine.

  “Are you always so smooth with the ladies?”

  “Only the pretty ones with a million shopping bags …”

  “I do not have a mill
ion shopping bags. There may be ten, but not a million.”

  He slows to a stop as we approach the elevator. “So what brings you here to Vegas? Business or pleasure?”

  “I … uh … I’m just visiting a friend.”

  Shit, I wasn’t prepared for that question. There’s something about him that makes me want to tell him the truth, but that’s a ridiculous notion. What do I tell him? That I left my husband because he hit me when he found out I didn’t want children and that I married under a false name because I was running from my ex-fiancé?

  “I see.” His eyes skim over my poorly camouflaged cheek. “So do you have any plans for the rest of the afternoon, or has all this shopping left you exhausted?”

  “No, no plans this afternoon, and shopping is tiring I’ll have you know.”

  “You do know that the concierge can get you anything you need?”

  “Yes, but I’d feel a little uncomfortable sending the concierge to Victoria’s Secret.” I start to take the bags off him one by one and he grasps his hands around the handles tightly.

  “You mean to tell me there’s a bag from Victoria’s Secret in this lot?” He looks like the cat that got the cream and holds up the bags to the light one by one to see if he can see through them.

  “No … uh, yes, there is but … oh, you know what I meant.” I swat at his upper arm playfully but the moment my palm touches him I get the urge to keep contact and my fingers involuntarily squeeze to feel his bicep. I force myself to pull my hand away.

  “I don’t want someone else doing my underwear shopping is all. Give me those!”

  He chuckles and hands the remaining bags over to me, then presses the button for the elevator and the doors glide open. I step in and turn to him scowling, but I’m fighting a grin.

  “Would you consider joining me for a drink this evening?” He smiles a lopsided grin and it creases one cheek, flashing a deep dimple.

  “I … um, I already have plans ...”

  Shit, I hate lying. I really want to have a drink with him, but I can’t, I just can’t.

  Disappointment flashes across his handsome face. “Well, I hope you enjoy your evening, and if you change your mind ...”

  “I know where you are.” I press the button for the penthouse and the doors start to close. His eyes don’t leave mine until the doors close completely and I breathe out audibly.

  My stay at The Kingdom is turning out to be an interesting one.

  AFTER HAULING MY MILLION shopping bags through the suite and into the bedroom, I drop them just inside the doorway. I kick off my shoes and I’m sure I can hear my feet breathe a sigh of relief. No matter how used to wearing heels you are, a five hour, and very successful shopping trip is going to be somewhat uncomfortable.

  I sit on the edge of the luxurious king size bed, letting my shoulders drop, then rolling them in circles to try and ease the tension. I feel exhausted, so I let myself flop back, allowing every muscle in my body to relax. It feels like I’m being hugged by the deep, soft bedding and I shut my heavy eyes for just a minute, knowing that if I don’t move in the next ten seconds I’ll be asleep.

  I don’t move.

  And three hours later I wake up with a jump.

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I never fall asleep during the day. Hell, I struggle to sleep at night, but since I’ve been here I’ve spent half my time sleeping. I know it’s not the luxury and comfort that does it; I had luxury and comfort at Aaron’s house. Maybe it’s because I feel safe, like I can breathe and let my guard down.

  But why do I feel secure enough to consider letting my guard down?

  I stretch out my arms and rub the sleep from my eyes before hopping off the bed and padding to the bathroom to freshen up. I glance in the mirror— I look a mess. Yes, I’ve been through emotional hell over the last few days and I’ve just woken from a very deep sleep, but I look terrible. My hair resembles a bird’s nest and my dark roots are far too long. My face is still very bruised, and despite the extra sleep I’ve had there are dark circles under my eyes. There’s not much I can do right now about my hair, but I can certainly treat my body to a soak in the stunning bath in my suite. Even if it’s a temporary fix, it’ll make me feel better.

  While the stunning porcelain bath is running, I pour myself a glass of white wine and empty all of my new belongings on the bed. I survey my collection and smile. My mom always said I was a magpie, attracted to pretty and shiny things. The beginning of my new wardrobe is different to the simple, conservative clothes I’ve worn for the past year—sexy denim, sultry underwear and bright colored tops. It’s about time I started living my life and having some fun.

  New me.

  New start.

  When I submerge myself up to my neck in the deep bath, all of my muscles relax and I groan in appreciation. The jasmine scented bubble bath is a perfect mix of fresh and exotic and I close my eyes, letting a feeling of calm wash over me as I listen to the water gently lapping as I move

  The blare of the loud phone ringing throughout the suite makes me jump. By the time I’ve decided to get out of the bath, the ringing stops.

  “Oh for goodness’ sake,” I mutter to myself.

  It rings again, making me jump for a second time. I hop out and wrap one of the huge fluffy white towels around me. It’s warm from being on the towel rail, just another nice touch that makes this place feel wonderful. I nearly slip over on the highly polished floor trying to run out of the bathroom, and I get to the phone just before it rings off.

  “Hello?” I say, a little unsure and out of breath.

  “Miss. Jamesson.” That baritone voice, smooth like caramel, makes my body shiver even though I’m clearly not cold. “I’m sorry if I interrupted you, you sound … out of breath.” I detect a stiffness in his voice and then I realize what he may be thinking.

  “Oh no, I … I was in the bath and I missed the call the first time, and I wasn’t expecting the phone to ring again, and when it did I had to run to catch it in time.” What is it about him that makes me act like a nervous schoolgirl?

  “You mean to tell me, you’re standing there dripping soapy bath water all over my carpet …”

  His voice has notably softened and I’m relieved. Why should I even care about what conclusion he comes to about me? “I’m not dripping water … oh, maybe I am, I’m sorry. I’ll have it—”

  His laugh cuts me off.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I’m joking, but the thought of you standing there wet and covered in bubbles is no laughing matter.” He sounds less humorous and I feel an edge that causes my skin to tingle.

  “How did you know I had bubbles?”

  “I didn’t, it was a guess. A good guess though, and an even better mental picture.”

  I feel my cheeks flush. Coming from anyone else that would sound lame, but from him it sounds incredibly sexy. “Mr. King, were you calling for a reason?” I change the subject and tap my foot at him, even though he can’t see it.

  “Yes … I wanted to offer you full use of the spa and salon tomorrow. You know, since it’s more your thing.”

  “Why would you want to do that for me?” My tone is stiffer than I meant it to be, but I can’t stop my instinct to be suspicious.

  He sighs deeply. “Haven’t we had this conversation already? Can’t a man do something nice for a beautiful woman?”

  His playful tone and the smile I detect in his voice softens me, and I actually believe that he wants to do something nice for me. That’s the thing that scares me the most; they all start out like that, but then it ends badly.

  “Not without expecting something else in return in my experience,” I say dejectedly.

  “Well, I don’t want anything in return.”

  “Nothing?” I question.

  “Nothing,” he says with absolute certainty.

  “I … I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes to the spa and say you’ll have a drink with me this evening?”

/>   I can picture the sexy smile he has on his face and after he’s gone to so much trouble to accommodate me, I find it hard to say no. But he has just proved me correct—men can’t do something nice without wanting something in return.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Yes, no …” I’m not sure if he can detect my smirk in my voice, but I hold my ground.

  “Why?”

  “Because you said you didn’t want anything in return, but then you asked me to go for a drink with you. You thought you could win me over by offering me a day in the spa and I would give in. Well, no.”

  “I didn’t … I … It wasn’t premeditated, I just—”

  “Mr. King?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re waffling ...”

  I hear him laugh gently on the other end of the line, and it empowers me to know that I obviously affect him too. “Touché, Miss. Jamesson,” he concedes.

  “Thank you for your kind offer of the use of your spa, Mr. King.”

  “Well, Miss. Jamesson, I sincerely hope you make use of it, and if you need anything at all—”

  “I know where you are …”

  “Have a good evening, Miss. Jamesson.”

  “Thank you, Mr. King. You too.”

  I hang up the phone with a big grin on my face. Despite his proving me right with his inability to resist offering me a drink, there’s something genuine about him and when he says he doesn’t want anything in return I believe him. You would think that my past experiences with the opposite sex would put me off for life.

  I would have laughed in your face if you had told me one week ago that any man could make me laugh, put me at ease and accelerate my pulse like Denham King seems to do. I’ve never known anything like it, but it’s fun, and exciting. A perfect distraction and the kind of light-hearted entertainment I need.

  As I sit on the indescribably comfortable chaise lounge in my suite, I decide that I’m supposed to be starting over, wiping out the past and embracing the thought of the future, so that means facing things head on ‘if’ not ‘when’ they happen. I’m in control of my own destiny and tonight is going to be just the beginning. I’m going to visit the casino, spend some money and maybe even win a little, and have a damn good time.