What the Gambler Risks

by Kristina Knight

  Sabrina shook her head and drew her lower lip between her teeth. “And what does five-card draw have to do with any of this?”

  “It’s my favorite game, my best game. And it’s going to be my last game.” He shuffled one more time and split the deck, holding half in his hand while the other half rested on the honeyed wood of the table. “I want to play you.”

  “For your last game?” she asked as he began to deal. “What are the stakes?”

  “I want to play you for your heart,” he said, as he sent the last card sliding across the table toward her. He looked at his hand. A full house. Lucky draw.

  Thank God.

  Sabrina’s teeth worried her lower lip, and her hands shook. “I’m not just going to puddle up and forgive you. You were a jerk.”

  “I was an ass. A petrified ass. I like playing cards, and I’ve always thought that made me like her. I didn’t want to be like her, and I didn’t want to be like my father because I thought he was weak. Weak to go after her, weak to keep allowing her to disrupt our lives. Weak because he wouldn’t just let her go.” He waited a moment. “How many do you want?”

  Sabrina slid two cards across the table to him. “I’ll take two, please.”

  Jase gave her two new cards and took the old ones.

  “Don’t you want new cards?” she asked after a moment.

  Jase shook his head. “I’m going to play the hand I was dealt.”

  She looked carefully at her cards and drew her lower lip between her teeth again. “So I’m supposed to believe that you love me. Even though you think your parents were weak. And because you aren’t taking new cards, I’m supposed to think you’ve got the better hand and fold my hand and fall into your arms and forget everything that happened?”

  “No. I want you to play your hand. Winner takes it all.”

  “And by all, you mean my heart.”

  “And mine.” He watched her carefully across the table. “I didn’t give it to you before, because I thought it would make me weak, like my father. What I didn’t know was that giving of yourself is one of the strongest things you can do. You did that, and I brushed you away. I’m sorry.”

  She watched him for another long moment, and her eyes were clear pools of green glass that he couldn’t read. Her teeth didn’t worry her lower lip, and her hands were completely still on the cards. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe the things he’d said to her couldn’t be forgiven, but she still deserved to know just what she meant to him.

  “I love you, Sabrina Smith. Somewhere between poker and book tours and crazy women chasing me down in casinos, I fell for you.”

  “Show me what you’ve got.” Sabrina’s words were soft in the room.

  Jase put his cards on the table. “Full house, jacks over threes,” he said.

  “You should have taken new cards,” Sabrina said.

  She laid a ten of diamonds on the table, then the nine, the eight, and the seven. She held the final card in her hand for a long moment, and Jase couldn’t breathe. Maybe loving her now wasn’t enough.

  “It’s the jack. Straight flush beats a full house,” she said.

  Jase could only look at the cards on the table for a long minute. “That was a good hand.” He had been so certain he would win. That playing Sabrina for her heart would be the thing that showed her how much she meant to him.

  Sabrina gathered the cards and stood from the table. She held the cards out, and Jase could do nothing but take them.

  “Thanks for the game,” she said. “You should maybe have stuck with the charity game tonight.”

  Jase walked to the door on legs that felt wooden. “Sabrina,” he said, turning. She stood in the kitchen, the light behind her making her hair glow like a halo. Jase knew it was silly to think of her as his angel, but she was. She had saved him from a life of living out of suitcases, and of pretending to himself that he didn't need anyone or anything in his life except cards. She’d given him back his life, and she needed to know it. “I love you. I’ve gotten by my whole life by just doing what I needed to do. I played cards because we needed money; I developed casino games because they make money. Money equals security, and security means all those base needs are met. I know I can get by the rest of my life on my own, and all my needs will be met, but I don’t want to just get by.” He waited a moment, wanting her to look into his eyes when he finished. When she finally looked at him, he said, “I want you.”

  Sabrina crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I would bet on you, no matter the cards in my own hand. I would bet on you. When you’re ready, you know where to find me,” he said and opened the door.

  “Jase,” she said, and he paused with his hand still on the knob. “I don’t want to be a bet that is won or lost. I want to be loved, and I want to be a partner, and I want, I really want to have a few less plans.”

  “Then that’s what I’ll do,” he said, turning to face her once more. “I can love you, and I can be your partner. You already know I keep a suitcase packed and can have a plane on standby to take you wherever you haven’t planned to go.”

  Sabrina swallowed. She went into the kitchen and returned holding a deck of cards. “How about double or nothing?”

  Jase’s hands itched to take the cards from her hands, not because he wanted to gamble, but because he wanted to play. He wanted another five minutes with Sabrina, because they might be the last five he would ever get. “I’ve already played my last game.”

  “That was five-card draw. We still have seven-card and Texas hold ’em and three-card Monte, and choke the chicken—”

  Jase laughed, and a smile crossed Sabrina’s face. “It’s spit in the ocean. I’m actually not a fan of that one.”

  “Good. Maybe that will make it easier to beat you.”

  “Sabrina—”

  She shook her head. “Are you in, or are you out?”

  “I made you a promise—”

  “That I never asked you to make. You don’t have to not be a gambler for me to love you. I love that you take risks. That you gamble. I love you, Jase Reeves. So are you in or are you out?”

  He crossed the room in a heartbeat and took Sabrina in his arms. She was soft and warm against him, and he took her mouth with his. He wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing her to his eye level.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. Jase held her for a long moment. “Is there ever a tie in poker?” she asked.

  “Not that I’ve ever seen,” he said. “The game goes until one player takes it all.”

  Sabrina nodded. “Then I guess we stick with partner play. I’ll be the aggressor.” She pressed a kiss to his jaw.

  “Did I ever tell you about the time I played partners in Monaco? Big buy-in, super competitive, called follow the queen. We couldn’t decide who would be conservative and who would be aggressive.” He pulled the elastic band from her hair, releasing it to fall around her shoulders.

  She blinked at him, her eyes wide. “What did you do?”

  “We were both the aggressors. We went after what we wanted equally. Scared the pants off the other players.”

  “I like no pants. The other players folded?”

  “Like they were holding random suits with scattered values.”

  “You should teach me sometime.”

  “Sooner or later we’re going to run out of games to play.”

  “You said yourself there are at least twenty variations of poker, not counting the at-home versions that guys come up with after Monday Night Football is over for the year.” She pressed her lips to his. It didn’t matter if they ran out of card games. He had finally won.

  What he wanted and what he needed were wrapped up in one beautiful package named Sabrina. “And when we finish playing all the variations?” he asked, wondering if she would agree that running out of games wouldn’t matter.

  “That’s a gamble you’re going to have to take.” Sabrina stepped out of his arms and put the cards on the table. �
��Well?” she asked.

  “Deal me in,” he said.

  “You were always in, just like me,” Sabrina said, and Jase decided she was right. From that first moment at the poker table in Atlantic City, he had been all in, and he hadn’t even looked at his cards.

  More from This Author

  What the Heiress Wants

  Kristina Knight

  Connor Reeves looked out over the printing area. It was just after noon, and the presses were mostly silent. A couple of men were working on the spool, and janitors were cleaning up after last night’s print run. In another hour or so, the second shift would come in, and the area would be a flurry of activity.

  But this was how he liked it best. Quiet. As if the machines were anticipating what would come. The workers saw him from the walkway and waved. He waved back.

  He bit into the apple in his hand and turned, thinking about an upcoming meeting with a few of his biggest ad accounts. He needed something new to present to them, something different than the usual space-plus-cost initiatives that would keep them invested in his business.

  When he’d bought the old press, and the nearly defunct Vegas Daily newspaper, with its weekly circular of Strip events and coupons, his plan was simply to make a profit. He’d had a clear plan: focus Daily on all of Las Vegas and turn the circular into a full-fledged publication he called Vegas Nightly. In the years since, he’d taken Nightly from a circular that a few tourists picked up for casino vouchers to the second-most read publication in all of Nevada. Daily was also holding its own, although its revenues paled in comparison. In fact, until six months ago, his plan to make both Reeves Pub brands the most-read publications in the state seemed within reach. Then Clayton Holdings moved into his territory, buying up the top daily newspaper and adding an online news show that covered Strip happenings and gossip. The very additions he’d been planning to add here.

  He punched the elevator button and tapped his foot while he waited. He took the last bite of his apple and tossed the core into a nearby trashcan.

  Advertisers wanted sexy, and sexy was video. He needed to convince his advertisers not to jump ship. He only needed another few weeks, and the Nightly’s rival show would launch, complete with a Hollywood news anchor who would blow the local talent Clayton was using away. Then, his arm of Reeves Brothers Entertainment would be back on solid ground. His business was supposed to be the stable one. Gage, who developed properties, took the big risks. Jase, who developed new casino games, played the odds in a different way. Even so, they both continued to be successful. This was not going to be the year Reeves Pub failed to bring in its share of profits.

  The elevator doors opened, and Gage’s girlfriend, Callie Holliday, stood inside with a portable table in her arms.

  “Hey, Con,” she said, pushing by him as if it were the most normal thing in the world for her to carry a table around his newspaper office.

  “Callie.” He stepped on to the elevator, and then stepped back off, following her back to the walkway that circled the press area. “What are you doing here?”

  “Working,” she said, her voice a happy chirp. She wore her usual outfit of fuzzy boots, skinny jeans, and a floaty top, and her short, blond hair was held out of her face with a colorful band.

  “But you don’t work here.” He caught up with her. She turned into a hall leading to the break rooms the press operators used. Connor followed her into an empty room. She snapped open the table, which he now saw had a hole at one end—it was one of the massage tables she used for her work. She pulled a small speaker from the satchel over her shoulder and plugged her iPod into it. Soft, soothing music flowed into the room.

  “Sure I do,” she said, and the uneasy feeling Connor had in his gut since Clayton made his first Nevada move increased. Callie Holliday had never been on his payroll; she had her own business to run.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yeah, I do.” She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side. “I’ve worked here for the last three weeks.”

  Connor opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. “Who hired you?”

  “I did.” Miranda, his new vice president, the one he didn’t trust to do more than bring him burned coffee, stood in the doorway with a pink-haired woman holding another table. Miranda had pulled her long, red hair into a high ponytail that made her large brown eyes look even larger and the curve of her neck more kissable. Though there was no reason for him to notice either her eyes or her neck, much less how the silk of her top outlined her breasts or how the fitted pencil skirt she wore outlined her long legs. Connor thrust his hands into his pockets. “We had a couple of extra sign-ups,” she said to Callie, “so I called Mandy to back you up. We’ll divide the appointments between this room and the one next door.” The pink-haired woman, apparently, was Mandy.

  “I’ll go set up,” Mandy said and disappeared down the hall.

  “What, exactly, is going on here?” Connor eyed Miranda, but then turned to Callie. He could read her more easily than he’d been able to read Miranda. “I thought you were renovating the Heck ranch for your spa.”

  “And until it’s up and running, I need income.”

  “Gage already gave you money.”

  “Gage invested in my business. He didn’t just throw a few twenties on the dresser this morning.” Callie’s pretty, green eyes narrowed, and she frowned. “So until the dude ranch is officially converted into a destination spa, I’ve picked up a few corporate clients that I service a couple of times each week.”

  “And I’m a corporate client?”

  She nodded. “Yep.”

  “And Miranda hired you.”

  “Of course.”

  “Three weeks ago.”

  Callie nodded, but her eyes narrowed as she focused her attention on him. Connor didn’t have to wonder what she saw, he saw the same thing each morning in the mirror. A worried gaze, frowning mouth, and stiff shoulders. “You look tense,” she said finally.

  Of course he looked tense. He was tense. For the third straight quarter, his revenue line was down, his readership was down, and now his VP had hired a corporate massage therapist, something Connor was certain was not covered by their health plan. Callie was a smart businesswoman; she wouldn’t low-ball her services.

  “I’m fine,” he lied, and willed his shoulders to relax.

  “I have fifteen minutes if you want to get on the table.”

  “I’m not getting naked with my brother’s girlfriend.”

  Callie’s full lips thinned. “Your brother’s girlfriend isn’t offering you a quickie. She’s fitting you into her schedule for a neck and upper back massage before your head pops right off your shoulders.”

  “I don’t need a massage.”

  “You need something,” she mumbled.

  “We should talk about this outside,” Miranda interrupted, angling her pretty, red head toward the hallway.

  “I didn’t authorize this,” Connor said, once they were clear of Callie and Mandy.

  “You said we needed better preventive care for the press workers. Massage therapy isn’t exactly a gym membership, but they didn’t have time to go to a gym, anyway. While we’re on the subject, though, the space above Gage’s office could easily be converted into an onsite workout facility.” They arrived at the elevator, and Miranda tapped the up arrow. “And you authorized it when you told me to look at new health plans.”

  “There isn’t enough headroom in that space for anything. It’s why that space remains empty.” The car arrived, and they stepped inside. “And I expected my assistant to present the plan options so I could make the final decision.”

  He watched the muscles in her jaw clench, and then she said stiffly, “You seem to be forgetting that I’m not your assistant. I thought when you hired me as vice president of marketing that would entail more than fetching your coffee or printing up new ad rate sheets.”

  So had he. Until he’d done a little late night web surfing and found a picture of
Miranda Walker on the arm of William Clayton—his primary competitor—at a big event in Denver and realized Miranda Walker was really Miranda Walker Clayton, William’s daughter and apparent heir to his publishing empire. He could have fired her then and there, along with his head of human resources, because she had to be in on whatever Miranda was up to. He hadn’t, though. He’d heard his father’s voice in his head.

  “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, boys,” Caleb constantly told the three of them. It was his go-to explanation for everything from a competing ranch buying the bull Caleb wanted for the ranch to befriending a few of the pit bosses on Las Vegas Boulevard. The pit bosses didn’t stop Connor’s mother from gambling, but they did call Caleb when her actions got out of hand.

  The elevator arrived on the second floor, and Connor started for his office. He’d kept Miranda around hoping to figure out William Clayton’s interest in Reeves Pub, and so far he’d come up blank. There was the obvious: take over the paper or shut it down. Connor refused to allow either to take place.

  Miranda followed him into his office and shut the door. “If you’re not going to let me do any kind of job here, just why did you hire me?” She folded her arms over her chest but didn’t sit. Fine by him.

  “It isn’t the job of the VP of marketing to come up with health plans. That falls under human resources.”

  “Neither is fetching coffee or making copies. To be clear, though, Lila in HR worked with me to find the right plan.”

  “How much is this costing my employees?”

  “Nothing.”

  Connor snorted. “Health plans always cost, and adding massage therapy as an option can’t be cheap.”

  “It’s a one percent increase, and the company is paying the difference, which we’ve already recouped. Before Callie was hired, several employees missed work each week. Since the addition, we’ve had three call-outs, and all of them were for sick children rather than sore bodies.” Her voice pitched a bit lower even though they were in his office, behind a closed door. No one could overhear the conversation. “Your employees are happier. The press workers don’t hurt after a long day in the basement. Your reporters and bloggers are more relaxed, and so are the office workers. It’s a good addition.”