by Lynda Chance
He chuckled. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I was only joking. We'll play for matchsticks."
"Matchsticks?"
"Is that an acceptable thing to wager?" He watched the blood slowly recede from her face and decided to rile her just one more time. "We could go back to the idea of kisses."
She glared at him. "No, matchsticks will be fine."
He stood up again, went to a drawer and pulled out an almost full box of matchsticks. He sat back down, shook them out on the table and divided them in half. "Is that acceptable or do you want me to count them out?"
Emma warily looked at the two piles of matchsticks. She couldn't help but think she was playing into his hands, following a lead he wanted her to take. "Do I get to choose my pile?"
"Sure."
His answer was casual and she looked closely to see how he might be tricking her but couldn't come up with anything. "Fine."
She studied the two piles while he waited, grinning like a cat that was about to get the cream. She frowned at him as she pulled one pile directly in front of her and pushed the other toward him.
He looked at the stiff way she was holding herself and decided to do something about it. He stood up again, opened a cabinet door and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He plunked them down on the table between them.
"I can't drink spirits!" she wailed.
"Sure, you can." His tone was even as he poured a small measure of whiskey into each glass.
"Mr. Butler--"
He laughed and her eyes moved from the whiskey glass in front of her to land on his face. She looked as if she'd never imagined he would be capable of laughter. "We back to Mr. Butler again, sweetheart?"
She cleared her throat. "Luke, I can't drink that. It's whiskey." Her voice was adamant.
"You want to play by the rules, don't you?"
"Yes, but I don't believe one of the rules of the game is that one must be inebriated."
Her eyes watched him warily, and he felt no guilt whatsoever, only amusement and the low hum of arousal. "You don't think I'd mislead you, do you?"
Her eyes narrowed on him in a frown. "Yes and lickety-split!"
He burst out laughing and lifted his glass and took a drink before pushing her glass toward her. "Take a sip and let's get this game started."
He watched as she looked at the glass like it contained poison. He continued to smile and realized he hadn't had this kind of fun in a long, long time.
Slowly, she reached out and pulled the glass of whiskey across the hard planking of the table until it rested in front of her. Her hand shook as she hesitated and he almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
"Don't take a big gulp. Whiskey is an acquired taste. Hold it to your nose and take a sniff." He watched her as she did as he said and her nose wrinkled and she jerked her face back from the glass. "You've never had whiskey before, Emma?"
"No, of course not!" She was back to that starchy tone.
"Wine?"
"Yes, I've had wine a few times," she agreed in a somewhat milder voice.
"It's about the same but a mite stronger." He reached down and dipped his finger into his glass and moved his hand close to her face and offered it to her. "Have a taste, Emma."
Emma looked at the hand in front of her and she had the sudden feeling that he wasn't offering her a taste of whiskey or a lesson in poker. His eyes were hot on hers, and she carefully and slowly opened her lips and held her mouth slightly opened. His nostrils flared, but he didn't move his hand closer.
"Taste it." His voice was deeper than usual.
His brown eyes hypnotized her, and she leaned in until she was close enough to his finger to reach out and touch it with her tongue. He waited, and she knew for whatever reason, he wanted her to come all the way to him.
She moved another tiny degree toward him and her tongue darted out as she delicately licked his finger. His eyes closed when her wet tongue touched him and the twin shot of the alcohol hitting her bloodstream and the searing taste of his finger on her tongue twisted her stomach into knots.
Her tongue darted back into her mouth but he opened his eyes and left his finger on her bottom lip for a second before dipping it back into his cup and then moving that long, tempting finger back to her lips where he dipped it into her mouth again for a second taste.
His eyes watched her closely. "It's good, isn't it, baby?" His voice sounded hoarse.
His words seduced her into thinking they were talking about something other than the whiskey. "It's strong," she managed to answer as the sound of him calling her baby washed through her in a heated rush.
He dipped his finger and brought it to her lips again. "Sometimes strong is good."
Her lips stroked his finger softly, and Emma was shocked when she realized she was kissing him. She pulled back and he lifted her glass up to her mouth. "Take a sip. A small one," he cautioned her.
Emma did as she was told and raised the glass and took a minute sip, barely more than she had received from his finger.
The alcohol continued to hit her bloodstream in waves of heat.
"That's right, baby."
Her eyes flew to his and held them.
He took another sip of his whiskey and reached down, picked up the deck of cards and began shuffling them again with a speed that almost made her dizzy.
"Where did you learn to do that?" She was amazed at the lightning quick movement of his fingers on the cards.
"I don't remember, I've known most of my life, I guess."
"Will you teach me?" Her eyes lifted from the cards and her gaze clashed with his.
His eyes held hers for a moment too long before dropping to her chest, slowly returning to her eyes and them answering in a slow, raspy voice, "I'll teach you."
His chair scraped back as he stood up, walked behind her and wrapped his arms around her.
"What are you doing?" She whispered as his scent enveloped her. The hot, spicy aroma of man, tobacco and leather wrapped around her and blended with the hot sensuality spreading in a delicious stream of molten lava through her blood.
His hands landed on her shoulders and gripped her. His thumbs dug into her shoulder blades, his warm fingers sank into the skin above her collarbone. "Teaching you to shuffle. You want to learn, right?"
Emma closed her eyes and bolstered herself not to pass out in a pool of mush at his feet. She bit her lip and decided that whatever form of sensual torture he was teasing her with would be one she would give back to him.
"I do want to learn, Luke." She reached her hand out and took another tiny sip of the fiery liquid in her glass. For some reason, it sent warmth running through her veins and gave her a courage she'd never had before.
He took the glass from her and set it firmly out of her reach.
With his arms wrapped around her from behind, he broke the deck in two halves. He held his arms stiff at the elbows and with his thumbs controlling the top half of the two set of cards, he held his fingers firmly on the bottom. "You have to have a firm hand, Emma."
The words were whispered so close to her ear that she felt the slide of his hot breath on her neck. She felt her body begin shaking as he continued his lesson. "That's the secret, sweetheart. If you hold them tight enough, in just the right place--" His words stalled as he began to let the cards join together in a slow shuffle that made a clicking noise as each card hit the next. "You see what I mean?"
"Yes," she whispered. Her eyes were closed, but he couldn't know that. Her senses were attuned to his voice, the whispered directions he gave her, and the hot breath that moved from her ear to her neck and back again.
"You want to try it?" His voice was hot, the meaning of his question not entirely known to her.
But she was in a daze and all she could do was agree. "Yes."
Luke felt his guts clench in swirls of pure lust as Emma whispered the word 'yes' twice in a row. He knew she was somewhere past thinking about shuffling cards, and the erection pushing against his jeans wasn't going to g
o away without some kind of relief.
He knew what kind of relief he wanted.
The kind her slim, naked body in his bed would bring.
He pulled himself away from the sensual edge by moving away from the smooth, delicate line of her spine and walking back around to his chair.
"Are you ready to play?" His voice was still rough from arousal, and he concentrated on the cards to try to take his mind from it.
"I don't know the first thing about playing poker."
"There's one thing about poker, and gambling in general, that you always need to remember."
Her eyes clung to his and urged him to continue.
"Never, ever--and I mean ever, gamble what you can't afford to lose."
She let that bit of advice sink in. "All right," she agreed mildly and watched as he counted out five cards to each of them.
"This is called five-card draw."
Emma tried to concentrate on the cards and not his hands but it was almost impossible. His fingers were long and lean, tanned from the sun and undeniably masculine.
"There are lots of variations of the game, sometimes the cards are up, sometimes hidden, sometimes a mix of both," he continued as he watched her, "but usually they're hidden and we're going to start with the basics of that. We'll look at each other's hands as you learn so I can explain it better."
Emma nodded her head in agreement.
"The object of the game is to have the best hand, and therefore win the pot."
"I thought there was supposed to be skill to poker. If the best hand dealt wins, where does skill come into it?"
"Nice question, sweetheart. There is skill involved and you'll learn the hows and whys of it as we go."
She looked at him with suspicion as if he were holding something back she needed to know.
"Don't look at me that way. I'm not trying to pull the wool over your eyes."
"Go on."
He turned over the five cards in front of her and the five cards in front of him. She had a pair of three's and nothing else. He had nothing. "If you didn't have that pair of three's, I would win with a single high card. My jack is higher than your highest card which is a ten. But since you do have a pair, you win. A pair of anything beats any single high card." He looked up to see if she was following him. "Understand?"
"Yes," she answered with a roll of her eyes.
He chuckled and moved her glass of whiskey in front of her. He picked up his glass and took a sip, savoring the flavor of the aged bourbon on his palate. "Take a sip and we'll keep going."
She picked up the glass and took a tiny sip.
She looked back at him to find him silently studying her lips. Each time he looked at her in that way, Emma felt the pull between them grow stronger. She didn't know if it was his nearness or the whiskey, or both, but her senses were in such a spin she was almost dizzy with it.
They watched each other in silence until he seemed to shake himself and he looked back at the cards. "Right. So, two pair of anything beats one pair."
Her eyes landed on his index finger tapping one of the cards. The sip of whiskey was warming her insides and she smiled at him. "Yes, sir." Emma was shocked to hear the tease in her voice.
"Three of a kind beats two pair, pretty girl."
Her eyes flew to his.
"Don't look at me like that. You know you're pretty."
Her stomach jangled with excitement and a tiny glow of warmth from his compliment seared through her, but her eyes nervously dropped from his.
His hand shot to her face and lifted her chin and her eyes flew to his. "You're pretty." His eyes ran over her face. "From your pink lips to your silky hair, everything about you is pretty. I can't believe your husband didn't tell you so all the time."
Luke felt her creamy skin under his fingers and knew a moment of guilt for being glad the other man was dead. But that's the way it was and nothing he could do could change it. He was glad the other man didn't walk the earth anymore. If he had, Emma wouldn't be sitting in his kitchen, blushing like fire, and about to lose badly at poker. His eyes fastened on her lips. "A straight beats three of a kind." He ran his fingers over her lips. "You know what a straight is?"
When she shook her head, her skin moved over his fingers and heat slid down his spine. He forced himself to concentrate. "A straight is five cards in a row in numerical order, doesn't matter what suit."
He continued speaking at her silence. "A flush beats a straight. A flush is five cards, same suit, doesn't matter the numbers." She had a faraway look in her eye and Luke dropped his hand from her face and picked up her glass and she took a sip at his bidding.
He tried to hurry to get through the basics of the hands. "Full house comes next. Three of a kind and a pair."
She remained silent and he knew the alcohol was burning through her system and she probably hadn't retained anything since three of a kind. "You following?"
She nodded her head in agreement.
"Four of a kind beats a full house. Straight flush comes next and is five cards in sequence, same suit. The royal straight flush is the highest, five cards all in the same suit." He ran through the remaining hands and knew there wasn't a chance in hell of her remembering even half of it.
Chapter Eight
Emma sat on her chair, a tiny, euphoric warmth beating in her veins as she listened to the slow cadence of Luke's deep voice. The whiskey tasted like the nastiest stuff on earth, but the heady feeling it generated seemed well worth the disgusting taste.
She'd lost the gist of the rules a long time ago, but she'd pretended to pay attention and refused to admit she had not a single clue how to play this complicated game.
She kept repeating in her head the one rule that she did understand. Don't bet what you can't stand to lose. That should be simple enough. If she followed that axiom, she should get through this without a scrape.
She watched as Luke dealt them each a new hand, face down. He picked his cards up, and glanced at them, but didn't move them around.
"Go on," he told her.
Emma picked up the hand she'd been dealt and tried to concentrate on what he had told her. She had a pair of fives. One was black and one was red. Did that matter? She moved the red five and slipped it beside the black five so they would be together.
She looked up at him and waited to see what came next.
He laid down his cards. "I don't have squat. You?"
She smiled and showed him her fives.
"Very good."
He dealt several more hands in that manner until she became a little more familiar with the game.
Then the game started for real, he shuffled the deck, and told her to ante up.
"Ante up?" She was sure she hadn't heard him use that term as of yet.
"Twenty-five matchsticks." He quickly counted out the matchsticks from his pile and she did the same. "That's your ante." He took what was left of the matchsticks from both their piles and put them back in the box.
"Of course," she played along.
Next, he dealt her five cards again. Likewise, he dealt himself the same. "Take a look at your cards, without me seeing them this time, and make your bet."
She took a peak at her cards. "I don't have much."
"Then don't bet all your matchsticks."
She pushed out five and he moved them to the center and pushed his five matchsticks out to meet hers. "I just called your bet."
As Emma studied her cards, he explained about drawing more cards, and he could almost see her concentrating on trying to make the best hand she could. She threw away two cards and he dealt her two more. Almost immediately, she began wriggling on her seat as she looked up at him. This was going to be like taking candy from a baby.
Luke threw down three cards and dealt himself three more. "Your bet," he said to her. "You can either bet five more or double it to ten more, but since we only have so many matchsticks, I'd stick with five if I were you."
Emma pushed out five more and so did Luke.
They flipped their cards over and Emma won that round handily.
They played several more and each time, Luke let her win almost every hand. He came out on top just enough so she wouldn't get suspicious.
And then he went in for the kill.
He systematically won enough hands in a row that he held almost all the matchsticks, and dealt the cards once again. Emma anted up, and he could tell she thought she had him.
"It's not fair! Why do I have to be out of matchsticks now?" she wailed.
Luke rubbed his chin thoughtfully and pretended to think it through. "When you're playing this game, at a time like this, you have to figure your options and know how good your hand is."
"My options?"
"Well, usually in poker, an IOU is acceptable tender. But you gotta be really certain you have a winning hand, or else you'll find yourself in the hole and owing more than you can pay, or betting something you never should have."
Emma looked at her hand again and tried to concentrate. "I know my hand is a winner."
"You know it, sweetheart?" he asked her with a gleam in his eye and a half-smile on his lips.
Emma stuck her tongue out at him in playful retaliation. "I know it, Luke."
"Well, you have to come up with something else for the wager, sweetheart, because you're out of matchsticks."
"I don't have anything else." She looked deep in thought for a moment and then straightened in her seat. "How about if I lose the hand, I'll bake you cookies tomorrow? I bake the best cookies!"
"Do you?" He couldn't keep his eyes off her. She was flushed and excited from the game, and there was a glitter of happiness coming from her eyes.
"I do indeed," she boasted softly.
"If you say so," he drawled. "But I'm too fat already. Think of something else."
Emma looked at him with skepticism. He didn't have an ounce of fat on him. His body was lean and muscular, his sinewy strength a beacon that had been calling her continually for days. Maybe he just didn't like sweets. She'd never seen him eat any cake or pie or the like.
