by Diana Duncan
"Whoa, we lost a transformer." He lit the candles over the mantel, grabbed two and carried them to the table. He studied her somber face. "The storm bothering you?"
"No. The noise just startled me when the transformer blew."
He slanted an assessing glance in her direction, wanting to bring back the carefree, laughing woman from a few minutes ago. "Since I can't win at Monopoly, how about a game of poker?"
"I guess I could try it. Can you explain the game to me?"
"No problem." He fetched a deck of cards. "We'll practice with a dummy hand to give you the idea."
She listened with rapt attention to his explanation of the rules, and studiously wrote down the ranking. They played out the practice round, which she lost by risking everything on a pair of fours.
"I think I've got the idea. What shall we bet?"
An irresistible spark of mischief goaded him into a grin. He couldn't pass up the chance to bait her. "How about our clothes? Unless you're too chicken?"
Instead of huffily shooting him down as he expected, she appeared to consider the idea. His groin tightened. "I was kidding."
She tilted her head. "Backing out on me?"
Oh, hell. "You seriously want to play strip poker?"
"Why not? I'm open to new experiences these days. Strip poker might be fun. Unless you don't think you can handle it?"
Oh, hell on a Popsicle stick. He gulped. "I can handle it." How well could he play with his eyes shut? Because that's the only way he'd keep from jumping her if she took off her clothes. Maybe he should lose instead. How would she react if he got naked?
He dealt with unsteady fingers. As he reached to pick up his cards, she put her hand on his, stopping him. "How about altering the stakes?"
Uh-oh. "To what?"
"If I lose, I'll take off my clothes. But if you lose, you have to answer any question I ask. Truthfully. No waffling."
He'd rather stroll through Times Square at midnight, wearing only a pink tutu and lipstick. Sweat beaded on his forehead. "No."
"You're not afraid to bare your body but you're scared to bare your soul?" She slanted an inscrutable look from under her lashes. "I understand. If you're not up to the challenge…"
Damn it, the most conservative woman he'd ever met was witling to strip in front of him. He couldn't back out without looking like an idiot. Besides, he'd been playing poker for years, and with men who would sever his jugular without a second thought. How tough could beating her be? "Okay, I'm game."
He scooped up his cards, barely able to suppress a smile when he saw a pair of tens. He kept those, took three more and drew another ten.
She asked for four cards. She consulted her written sheet of rankings, and with a big smile produced a pair of aces.
"Nice, sweetheart, but not enough." He showed his triple.
With good humor, she removed a boot and tossed it aside.
His next hand produced a flush which beat her two pair. She tugged off the other boot, sending it to join the first. Man, this was like stealing Tootsie Rolls from a toddler.
The third round brought him a straight to her three jacks. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the dismay on her face as she unbuttoned her sweater, leaving her in the filmy blouse and green skirt. The image of her climbing down the drainpipe in her sexy purple skivvies burned across his mind. All the blood from his brain rushed to his groin, and his jeans grew uncomfortably tight. The urge to laugh died. He shifted.
She frowned. "I'm not doing very well. Maybe we should quit."
A wise man would agree. He had never been mistaken for a wise man. Besides, he wanted to linger in her bright, warm glow a little longer before walking away, into the dark. Into the cold. Alone. "No quitting now."
She chewed her lower lip. "All right. Then let's up the ante."
A very bad feeling crept over him. "Up the ante?"
"One final hand, winner take all. If you win, I take off everything. But if I win—" She fixed him with a calculating look that started his stomach churning. "You answer three questions, no holds barred."
He shook his head. "I don't—"
She smiled smugly. "Now who's the chicken? Baak-baak-baak," she taunted.
No red-blooded male could cave in to that and keep his self-respect. "Okay, Houdini. Go for broke."
She suddenly began shuffling the cards with the smooth expertise of a Vegas croupier. "My deal. The game is five card stud. One down, three up, one down. Nothing wild."
He swallowed down the lump lodged in his throat. "You said you didn't know how to play."
"I never said that." Her lips quirked into that smug smile again. "I asked you to explain the game."
"You little scammer." The urge to laugh warred with the desire to strangle her. He drummed his fingers. "I've been hustled."
She shrugged. "This was your idea, remember? You in or out, Henry Chicken Hawk?"
Yeah, great idea, Bubba. He clenched his jaw. "In."
She dealt a facedown card to each of them.
He lifted the edge of his card. A king, not bad. Next cards face-up. A second king for him, she got a queen. Then he received a third king and Tessa a two. His mood lightened and he grinned. "Better quit while you're ahead."
She calmly dealt the next cards face-up. He snagged an ace and she dealt herself another queen. Even if she managed a third queen, his triple would outrank her. "Last chance to bail."
She shook her head and dealt the last cards facedown.
He slowly lifted the corner of his final card. Another ace. Hot damn, a full house, aces high! His heart raced. Even if she got a full house too, he still outranked her. Unless she pulled off a miracle, she'd be naked in a few minutes. What then? Don't kid yourself. You know what's gonna happen. She deserved so much more than a meaningless tumble in the sack. But that's all he had to offer her. His suddenly queasy stomach rolled, and the game lost its appeal.
"Look, Tessie, this has been fun and all, but let's call it even. It's a draw, nobody loses face, and we'll switch to Gin Rummy."
"I'm not a quitter. Are you?"
"No, but—"
"Let's see what you're so worried about losing with, then."
Why was she pursuing this? Sensible, ready-to-compromise Tessa was showing a rare ruthless streak she'd only exhibited once before—and he'd had to cuff her to the bed that time. He hated to admit it, but he was getting a kick out of her stubborn persistence in seeing this through. However, that didn't mean he'd let it go any further than it already had.
Reluctantly, he flipped his cards face up. "Full house. No I way your queens can beat that. Hell, even if you have another queen under there, you lose. But you don't have to strip."
"True, I'd lose with three queens." She nibbled at her lip again. "I'm not a welsher, though. Are you a welsher, Gabe?"
The bad feeling he'd had earlier rushed back double time. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. "No."
"Glad to hear it." She turned up the third queen. "Never underestimate the power of a lady." With a flourish, she produced her final card. "Especially the queen of hearts."
Stunned, he stared at the four queens splayed on the table. "Exactly how much poker expertise do you have?"
"We played constantly at school. And don't forget, I was a math major. Statistics and probability are right up my alley. I hardly ever lose." She grinned. "Unless I want to."
Suddenly finding it hard to breathe, he shot her an accusing glare. "I need a drink."
"I'll put some water on the fire for cocoa. We can toast marshmallows, too." Deadly serious, her golden eyes locked with his. "Then, Mr. Colton, you will spill your deep, dark secrets."
Sweating like a galley slave, he sank to the carpet in front of the fire. What would she ask? His pounding heart tripped into a frantic beat. Thirty lashes with a cat-o'-nine-tails sounded like a picnic compared to the touchy-feely talk women always wanted.
Tessa set a pan of water in the coals. She handed him a straightened
coat hanger and a bag of marshmallows and sat down beside him. Her brows arched. "Don't look so scared. I'm not going to draw and quarter you with a rusty pocketknife."
Another viable substitute. Damn, his guts hadn't jittered this bad when he'd made his first nighttime skydive. "Let's get this over with," he growled.
* * *
Chapter 16
« ^ »
"Question one," Tessa intoned. Gabe braced himself. Holding his breath, he stared into the fireplace, at eager, hungry flames devouring the logs. "Have you ever been in love?"
His breath whooshed out. Easy. And so typical. Women always wanted to know about relationships. "Yes. But we were torn apart."
Her eyes widened. "How?"
"Her mom caught us playing doctor in her tree house, told my mom, and I was never allowed over there again."
She huffed out an exasperated sigh. "Answer seriously!"
"I'm a hundred percent serious. We were four, her name was Susie and she had the biggest blue eyes you've ever seen."
"And you've never loved another woman since?"
That was before he'd learned how risky loving was. Before he learned how much it hurt. Before an unbearable, searing abandonment had literally robbed him of speech for an entire year. He swallowed hard. "Nope."
She speared a marshmallow on her coat hanger and held the candy over the glowing embers. The sweet smell of melting sugar mingled with tangy wood smoke. "Why did you quit the Navy? The truth."
A sharp arrow of pain. This question wasn't as simple. "Half my team got killed, the rest wounded. Nothing would have been the same."
Her eyes shimmered with sympathy. "Were you hurt?"
Not badly. Physically anyway. And he preferred a fractured ankle over the emotional wounds he'd received. His throat tightened. "We were ambushed during a covert op. I got off easy with a busted ankle. The other guys weren't so lucky. Banks lost an eye, Stevens, a leg. We hiked through the jungle to an alternate rendezvous point."
He didn't mention he'd charged into the middle of a firefight to rescue Stevens, then carried him thirty miles. Or that he'd realized, too late, how attached he'd become to his team, how much it hurt when they'd died. A realization that had caused him to have his ankle casted in the infirmary and then hobble out without looking back. He'd resigned the next day.
She touched his arm. "Is that what causes your nightmares?"
"No." He gritted his teeth against a backlash of pain. "Bet or no, I won't talk about the nightmares. Drop it."
"Okay." Her voice was low, soft. "Last question. Why did you grow up in foster care? What happened to your parents?"
"I never knew my father. I lived with my mother until I was five." He sucked in a shaky breath. "Then I went to a foster home."
"Did she abuse you? Is that why you were taken away?"
He shook his head. "Not technically. It was neglect. She was into partying, not taking care of a little boy." He'd learned from a very early age to take care of himself, rely only on himself. His stomach rolled again. Obviously, he hadn't learned enough, or he'd have been prepared for the crushing blow that followed. Maybe he could have stopped it. Maybe if he'd tried harder, done more. Been better.
"You said your foster parents loved you?" Tessa's gentle inquiry ripped his thoughts out of that miserable track. He'd been there, done that, agonized over the "what ifs" too many times. The past was best left in the past, dead and buried. Forget it. Live for now. Live in the moment.
"Jim and Elizabeth Sinclair. They were great. I lived with them until I was ten." His insides twisted. "Then I was bounced from home to home until I turned fourteen, when I said the hell with it and took off on my own."
"You lived on the streets?"
The pity in her voice made him wince. He couldn't bear for her to pity him. "On the beach. San Diego never gets all that cold—I loved the freedom. I worked odd jobs and stayed in school, because even then, I knew I wanted to go Navy SEALs and needed a diploma." He surged to his feet. "Interrogation over. I'll get the mugs."
Tessa watched Gabe stalk to the kitchen. Now she knew. No one had ever really loved him. At least not long enough for him to depend on. Maybe with time, he would learn to trust his heart to her.
Except she didn't have time. He'd told Peter he expected to catch Leo within days. Then he'd leave.
His face intent and shuttered, he returned with mugs half-full of dry cocoa mix. He poured boiling water from the pan simmering on the hearth, and handed her a steaming cup. "That's the one and only time we're cruising down memory lane. I hope you got what you wanted."
She accepted the mug, inhaling the dark, chocolate fragrance. The storm howled, slamming into walls, rattling windows. The fire popped and crackled, a warm counterpart to the strained silence between them.
What did she want? She mulled it over as she toasted a marshmallow to golden brown. She slid the gooey sweetness into her mouth, then took a sip of rich chocolate. She studied Gabe. Golden firelight danced off his black hair and tinted his strong, solemn profile to bronze. He was quiet, lost in his thoughts.
I love you. Her heart ached to say the words. But she couldn't tell him. He wouldn't be able to accept it. Maybe she could comfort him instead. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted to know you better."
He blinked rapidly. As if awakening from a dream, his glazed eyes refocused. "It's okay." His soft smile didn't hide the lingering sadness. "You have melted marshmallow right…" He reached out and brushed his thumb across her lower lip. "There."
On impulse, she closed her mouth over his thumb and tasted his warm, salty skin.
He inhaled sharply. His eyes darkened to emerald. "Tessie," he groaned. "Don't." He snatched his hand free and edged away.
She followed, crawling across the rug toward him as he back-pedaled. "Running away from me, Gabe?"
"Baby, you're playing with a live grenade." He held up his hands. "And you're gonna get hurt. Bad. Don't start something I might not be able to stop."
"That's what I'm counting on." She leaned forward, pushed his hands aside and touched his lips with her own.
He froze.
She cupped his face, slipped her tongue into his mouth and stroked, mimicking the way he'd kissed her when they were lying on the kitchen floor. Slow. Sensual. Persuasive. He tasted of marshmallow, chocolate and Gabe.
He stayed completely still for too many long, shattering heartbeats. Then he groaned. He thrust his fingers into her curls and pulled her into his embrace, deepening the kiss.
More at peace, more complete than she'd ever been, she slid her arms around him and tangled her fingers in his silky hair. Pressing close, she snuggled against his chest. She ran her hands over the soft cotton shirt stretched across his shoulders, then trailed her fingers down his wide back.
He broke the kiss. His breathing ragged, he rested his forehead against hers. "It's not right. I can't do this."
Keep things light. Otherwise, he'd feel threatened. Amazed at her own boldness, she reached down and lightly brushed the front of his jeans. "Seems to me you're up for the job."
A shaky laugh escaped him. "I want you so bad my teeth ache. But I won't make promises I can't keep. I can't stay—"
She stopped his words by placing two fingers on his lips. "I know. But I refuse to live the rest of my life wondering what could have been. I want you as much as you want me."
He groaned again before hugging her close. He lowered his mouth to hers. "You could tempt a saint, and believe me, I don't qualify for sainthood," he murmured against her lips. "I've been fighting this for too long." His tongue making, then keeping exquisite sensual promises, he made love to her mouth until she was panting for air. His warm breath feathered across her cheek, and he nibbled on her earlobe. "If you're going to stop me, Tessa," he whispered in her ear. "Do it now."
She answered by unbuttoning his shirt and gliding her hands across the hard, smooth expanse of his chest. The raspy dark hair tickled her palms. "Your skin is so hot."
He laughed shakily. "I'm hot all over, honey. Inside and out."
She smiled in return, sliding his sleeves down and tossing his shirt on the rug. "In that case, maybe you'd better get rid of these clothes." She drank in the beautiful play of firelight over the bronzed, rippled muscles on his chest and abdomen. Her eyes followed the dusky trail of hair down toward the waistband of his jeans. The tight denim revealed how much he wanted her. A lot. A whole lot. Her eyes widened.
"Tessie?" At the husky question in his voice, she raised her gaze to his.
"I suspect you don't have much experience. Are you sure about this?"
Being in his arms felt so right. She needed him. And he needed her, even though he didn't realize it. She nodded. "I want to live. Really live, instead of merely exist. No regrets allowed." Her cheeks heated. "But you're right. I have minimal experience. Zero experience, in fact. You might have to, ah, instruct me. I know the mechanics, but it's quite different in practice than in theory—" She broke off with a nervous laugh. "I sound like an imbecile."
"In case you can't tell from my response—which you'd have to be blind to miss—" A playful grin danced across his mouth. "You're doing great."
Her flush deepened and spread to her entire body. "Um, thanks."
He sobered, reaching out to cup her face. "But I don't want to take something precious from you, then leave. And I will leave, sweetheart. Staying is impossible."
"I know. I've held back all my life. No man was ever right before. Until you. You won't be taking from me, you'll be giving. And I want to give in return. I promise, no regrets."
"As long as you're sure." He smiled. His nimble fingers worked open her buttons one by one. He smoothed the blouse off her shoulders, leaving her in a mint-green lace bra.
"Gabe?" she asked, her cheeks heating again. "Before things go too far, do you … have protection?"
He chuckled. "A Boy Scout is always prepared."
