by Em Petrova
“Of course. I’ll be just a minute.” She sashayed off to the bar, inviting him with her hips to turn and watch her go.
Circling the gaming tables, he kept on alert. Taking in the way people were dressed—from blazers and dress pants to button-down shirts with the sleeves rolled up. This definitely wasn’t a place for random gamblers to come and blow their weekly paychecks. This was much more elite.
Chaz hadn’t played cards in a while, but he was confident he could enjoy himself here tonight. The atmosphere, the purpose, was so out of his normal routine that it would be just the thing to help him unwind even if he was technically working.
His cell vibrated again, but this time the text came from a woman he’d spent some time with on his last day or two of free time. No words, just a nude selfie. Janine’s breasts were of the full variety that a man could cradle on his palms while he shoved his cock into her tight body. But not tonight.
He switched off his phone and pocketed it, settling his gaze on the blonde.
He edged his way toward the table where she sat. Watching her hands as she flipped through her cards, which she never looked away from. The man to her right said something and she shot him a sideways glance, accompanied by a small smile.
That smile had Chaz weaving through the room faster. There was something private about the expression, something tempting as hell.
Forbidden.
The word came to mind immediately. His brothers always joked he had a thing for the untouchable women. They claimed he liked the hunt but his mind didn’t work like that. Sure, he loved pursuing women and doing every naughty thing possible with them. But that wasn’t it.
He loved stripping down the layers of a woman’s mind and finding out what made her tick. Most women he slept with were vapid enough to figure them out within seconds of meeting them. As of yet, he hadn’t found one who kept him interested longer than a few weeks.
When he approached the table, he noted the poker round hadn’t yet fully begun and there was still time for them to deal him in.
He nudged the guy next to the blonde. “This is my seat now.”
He and several others, including blondie, looked up. Chaz stared down at the guy unwaveringly, using his presence alone to send him packing.
He pushed off the table and stood. “It’s time for me to wander into the dining room and get a bite to eat anyway.”
When Chaz sank to the chair and drew it closer to the table, he glanced at the blonde’s legs. Sleek black trousers and black high heels completed her look. Not a hint of jewelry on those toes, wrists or fingers. When he lifted his gaze to her face, he studied her profile and the way her dyed blonde hair was artfully tucked behind one small ear, which was also devoid of jewelry.
Unusual for a woman to forego her accessories. The women he knew, from his maman and sisters to his many lovers over the years, loved to add small touches that showcased their personalities.
Not this woman.
Her minimalist look drew him in even deeper.
He picked up the cards the last man had been dealt and the woman gave a soft snort.
“What was that?” Chaz leaned in and didn’t even catch a whiff of perfume. Damn, who was this woman besides the daughter of a rich, dangerous man?
She didn’t glance away from her cards. “Are you going to play another man’s hand?”
“You think it’s a bad idea?”
In profile, he could only see the corner of her lip but it curled upward slightly. “It’s bad luck, wouldn’t you say?”
So far she’d answered both of his questions with questions.
He picked up the cards and shifted a few in a different order. Feigning ignorance, he said, “I’m assuming this is poker.”
At that, she gave a throaty moan of a laugh. And goddamn if he didn’t have his cock stirring inside his own black pants.
“Yes, sir, it is poker. At least tell me you’ve played once in your life.”
He leaned in again. “What would you care if I’m shit? You have better odds of winning.”
She side-eyed him, her blue stare fleeting before she returned to looking at her cards. “I don’t need better odds.”
Her refreshing answer made him chuckle. Then the dealer started them off and Chaz fell silent as he studied his opponents. Two of the guys across from him were assholes—he could spot one a mile away and blindfolded. He didn’t need to catch them sneering at Blondie to know she’d probably burned them several times already and lightened their wallets.
“Your drink, sir.” The waitress set his shot at his elbow.
He thanked her and she hesitated a moment. “Would you like anything else?” she asked.
“No thank you.”
He didn’t look at the waitress but at the woman seated next to him. She sat upright, her focus solely on her hand.
“On second thought.” He looked at the waitress. “Get the lady a Ramos Gin Fizz.”
Blondie pivoted her head and fixed him fully in her blue gaze. “What would make you think I like gin fizzes?”
He leaned back against his seat. “They’re the original New Orleans drink for a New Orleans woman like you.”
“Like me?” He was rewarded with an arch of her brow, which wasn’t as perfectly plucked as many he’d seen but naturally shaped.
“Yes, a drink for the woman who loves this city and the history and culture behind it.”
She looked down at her hands, her only indication she might be thrown by his observation. He’d never gone at a woman this way before, using banter to break open her hard shell without seeming so obvious.
“New Orleans can be a serious city of business and industry but it’s full of playfulness and many thrills if you know where to go looking for them.”
She picked up on his comparison of her to the city he loved, judging by the pink in her high cheekbones.
He inhaled again and this time detected the faint scent of body wash, something warm that made him want to bury his nose against her neck.
“Is that so?” Her words came off with a hint of the amusement he was hoping to rouse in her.
“Mmm-hmm.” He curled his fingers around his shot glass and raised it to his lips, holding her stare. She was wearing blue contacts.
Which he’d known from the start, but the unnaturalness of them struck him.
She didn’t urge him to go on, but he did. “And what I hope is that the lady will enjoy the fruit flavors mixed with all the culture of strong gin and a nice spurt of protein.”
Her lips quirked up at his reference to the egg white in the alcoholic beverage, but it wasn’t yet a full smile. “Is this a porno or a cocktail recipe?”
The men around them listening in laughed, and she returned her attention to her hand.
“I’m simply trying to order the lady a drink,” Chaz said in his native drawl.
She raised the other brow to match the first. “Who do you think you’re trying to impress with this bullshit?”
A harsh laugh burst from him, unexpected. Oh yes, she was refreshing as hell and this didn’t feel at all like work.
He went on, “New Orleans is the city of a thousand diversions, the perfect place to lose yourself, to reinvent yourself.”
“I wish that were true,” she said and then clamped her lips shut. She slid her gaze to the waitress. “I’ll take a Sazerac.”
The woman nodded and left. Chaz tucked away every word and eye shift during their interaction into a mental folder and neatly tipped the shot of whiskey into his mouth. He swallowed the heated alcohol and set his glass on the edge of the table.
One of the men made his move.
“Could I have the pleasure of your name?” Chaz asked.
She didn’t look at him. “Rose.”
“Lovely name.”
He made his play and felt her gaze moving over his hands and then to his face. He looked into her fake blue eyes. Brown was so much prettier—espresso brown to match her hair.
“Aren’t you
going to ask my name?” he asked at the same moment she moved to make her play.
She was nonplussed by his question during her important move. In fact, he guessed she was going to win the whole fucking pot with her impenetrable poker face. He’d only seen her slip once, and the veil had only been dropped for that brief second when she told him she wished it was true that someone could reinvent herself.
“I don’t really care what your name is.” Her voice held some refinement but the note of Louisiana was unmistakable. At Rose shutting down Chaz so blatantly, a player laughed.
Chaz offered the gentleman a smile and went on questioning Rose. “You don’t even have the faintest interest in who I am?”
“No.”
The hand was going quickly. Two men folded. Chaz stared at his cards, wondering if he or Rose had the better hand. No doubt it would come down to a battle of wills, and he had a feeling she wouldn’t cave for anything.
The waitress brought her drink and Rose ignored her. The rest of the men gave up on the game and threw in their hands, leaving only him and the lovely woman who was rapidly drawing him in like a bee to honey.
What he wouldn’t give to wrap that blonde hair around his fist and plunge his stiff cock into her sweetness.
“Well, Mr. I-Don’t-Care-What-Your-Name-Is, it’s your move,” she said.
“You wound me. What have I ever done to bring on such treatment?”
More chuckles. The men were getting a kick out of him getting his balls handed to him. They would all be holding theirs already, knowing the enchanting Rose and her quick tongue.
She had all the skills it took to hide from somebody—fast-thinking, confident and prepared with her answers. That kind of thing wasn’t born into a person—it was learned, and it sounded like her father was the best.
She didn’t respond to his question, just patiently waited for him to make his move.
Which he did with a flick of his wrist, displaying one of the best hands he’d ever played. And pretty damn certain she wasn’t going to beat him.
A genuine smile covered her face, the first he’d seen. It lit up his gut with a fire he hadn’t felt in forever.
And when he looked down at the cards she laid out on the felt tabletop, his own grin spread across his face. Rose was everything he’d never guessed he’d find while on a mission—beautiful, enticing and alluring as hell.
She was also one hell of a card shark.
* * * * *
If she didn’t open her mouth, she didn’t even have to stick close to the truth. Maybe the guy was right—in New Orleans you could be anyone. And in the course of weeks, she’d gone from looking like a runaway street urchin to a woman hard enough to sit at this table among the best poker players in the city. Both of those were far from the woman she really was.
In fact, she’d already strayed from the truth twice since the man sat down next to her. First, Fleur never ordered Sazeracs and second was she didn’t give a damn what this man’s name was.
Part of her feared recognizing the name of a man who was entwined with her father but she’d never met. The other part of her was curious about the big, broad-shouldered hunk who looked as out of place here as she did as the only woman playing cards.
Everyone she’d seen in the week and a half since discovering the club were businessmen without enough brains to stop while they were still in the black. The only time she’d lost had been to a professional poker player who’d actually bowed to her after taking all her chips and thanked her for challenging him.
But men like this one didn’t frequent Nuit, and that had her on high alert.
She shifted in her seat, heels firmly planted on the floor in case she needed to run for it.
“Rose.”
She started as she realized he was speaking to her. Looking him directly in the eyes would only risk showing him her lie, so she stared at her cards. Ace of spades, along with the king and queen of matching suits. She was close to a royal flush and when she was able to lay down the cards, she’d get up and leave.
“Where did you learn to play poker?” he asked.
“My father and his friends taught me,” she answered truthfully.
He chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent trickles of warmth through her belly. Or maybe that was the alcohol. She never drank and she didn’t know why she’d ordered a drink now, except the man had thrown her off-balance. Why?
It could only be how broad his chest was, how dark and piercing his eyes were. As dark as her own, if she wasn’t wearing the contacts.
Beneath the table, his body heat waved across her own thigh, and no matter how tightly she clamped her legs together, she couldn’t get away from it.
“What do you say if we get out of here after this hand, go into the beautiful city and find a chicken and waffles joint?” His direct question startled her. She’d been hit on in the past few weeks, but never from a man who knew what he wanted. They all seemed so weak in comparison, hemming and hawing about calling her or taking her to a five-star restaurant.
When she hesitated, he reached across the table, hand poised for her to shake but she didn’t take it and he dropped it to his lap again. “I’m Chaz Knight. So now that you know my name, you won’t be going out with a complete stranger.”
Against her will, a small laugh bubbled up her throat. She didn’t give a response to his invitation but asked for another card from the dealer.
Then promptly went out with a flush. Small cheers went up as she drew the chips in her direction and waved to one of the men who regularly walked the room, counting up earnings and paying them out.
Chaz watched her as this took place, and she wondered how the hell she was going to shake the guy off. She couldn’t risk going out with him. What if she was recognized? And did she really want to get entangled with anyone right now? The last thing she needed in her life were more complications.
The man adding her winnings handed her a slip of paper with a sum on it. She didn’t look at the amount, just thanked him and started for the office to be paid.
The grinding noise of chair legs on the tile floor had the hair on her nape standing on end. Chaz was getting up to follow her.
Dammit, now she couldn’t return to Nuit, though it was her best chance at winning big money. If Chaz was interested in her, chances were he’d show up here again.
Now she’d need to find another haunt. Right now, getting enough money stashed away was essential. When she got enough cash, her plan was to find this bag Frankie had mentioned and make her getaway.
She wasn’t yet certain where she’d end up, but from what she understood, she had cousins in the French countryside who might welcome her. Whether or not that was a good idea was still up in the air. She didn’t want to bring hell from her daddy down onto anybody who didn’t deserve it. As it was, she’d been doing some fancy dodging to stay out of view of anybody her father sent, sticking to shadows, immersing herself with the homeless community and moving a lot.
Which led her to another burning question she’d been pondering for weeks—how to seek revenge for the murder of her friend?
She reached the office and the clerk looked up with a smile. Damn, she was really taking a risk in coming here, but the money was too good and she needed it too bad.
“Miss Rose. Not surprised to see you here tonight. It’s a packed house.” The man wearing the stodgy gray suit of an accountant liked to smile at her too long. She carefully glanced over her shoulder and saw Chaz wending his way toward her.
The waitress stopped him with a hand on his arm, and Fleur turned back around. “Just the winnings please, Michael,” she said to the clerk.
“Of course.” He took her slip of paper, and she saw the slight flare of appreciation in his eyes when he saw the sum. It must be good. When she got back to her motel, she’d count it up and hide it all away in her lockbox.
Just as Michael slid the thick envelope across the counter to her, Chaz reached her side. She knew by the extreme heat against
her back, along with the scent of his cologne.
If she was free to flirt with a man, Chaz would be it. He was too manly for her own sanity. She might be on the run, but she was still a woman with eyes to drink in all those hard muscles, after all.
A woman who could use a distraction from reality and a healthy scream or ten of bliss.
No, absolutely not. Things were too complicated.
Without looking his way, she turned for the exit.
“Let me walk with you. A woman carrying a sum of money in this city requires a bodyguard.” Chaz took her arm without asking, his warm grip closing around her elbow as he steered her out the door. Once they were in the alley, he looked down into her eyes. “Why don’t you even carry a handbag? What kind of woman are you?”
“A woman who doesn’t like handbags.” At least she was now—back on the plantation she had two whole shelves of designer bags in her closet. She stuffed the cash into her pocket and pulled free of Chaz’s hold.
“So,” he said, taking her arm again, “about that chicken and waffles.”
“I’m not hungry.” What if he tried more on her? What if he really did work for her father and was going to try to haul her in? She was unarmed—but wouldn’t know how to shoot a man anyway.
All she had was her wits and the will to rise out of this bullshit situation and find a new life for herself.
“Let’s walk a bit.”
“Mr. Knight, no. I’d just like to go home.”
He stopped walking and swung her around to face him. Looking deep into her eyes, he said, “I don’t like the thoughts of a single woman leaving a club like this with money in her pocket. Now please, let me take care of you.”
Warmth sliced through her, unbidden and unwanted. Or not unwanted at all, really—she refrained from admitting it to herself, but she hated being alone in this. Having someone to walk her through the scary new alleys of her life would be welcomed.
Except she couldn’t risk it.
She shook her head. Ignoring her, he headed across the street with her in tow.
“I know the perfect place with waffles so fluffy and light that you’ll feel like you’re eating them on a cloud. And the chicken…” He groaned, raising thoughts of anything but food in her.
