Betrayed by a Kiss

by Kris Rafferty

  “Too bad we have someplace to go,” she said.

  Dane nudged her with his chin, searching for her lips. His hand cupped her bottom, keeping her hips cradling his. He kissed her again, lingering, gentle, cherishing her. She’d never wanted a man like she wanted MacLain. She’d never allowed herself to.

  This was a real problem.

  There was no future in it. If they survived the heist, he’d fade away into a white-picket-fence life, and she knew she wasn’t in the running to keep him company. Like attached to like. He’d find a new Alice. Someone normal.

  Dane rolled to the side, keeping her close. She hid her face against his chest, afraid of revealing her fear and ruining the moment. She didn’t want to move. She had him now. She’d try to make that enough.

  The hotel room’s phone rang. They turned as one, staring at it. She was the first to react as she reluctantly separated from Dane’s heat to answer. “Yeah?” It was David, the game’s facilitator, confirming their attendance.

  Hearing his voice rebooted everything, putting things into perspective with crystal clarity. She and Dane were embarking on a complicated grift, and the poker game wasn’t even the hardest part. It was time for Marnie to put her head back in the game.

  After brief good-byes, she hung up and lay back on the bed, glaring at the popcorn ceiling. “This is it.”

  MacLain cupped her breast and kissed the tip. It sent a wave of want through her that had her turning toward him, pressing herself against his side. “That’s what I’m beginning to think, too.”

  She had no idea what he was talking about, and there was no time or incentive to delve into it. “I’m a mess and I have to get dressed.” With great reluctance, she dragged herself off the bed and searched the floor for her dress. It lay in a heap.

  “Arrive looking like that and you’ll distract them.”

  Marnie allowed herself a moment to admire him, to log what she was seeing and feeling for those nights when she was alone with Netflix and ice cream. Those days were coming sooner than she cared to admit. If she survived…

  Giving his broad chest a lingering caress, she leaned in and kissed his glorious six-pack abs. The muscles tightened under her lips, making her smile. She’d miss them. Him. One more kiss for her memory vault couldn’t hurt anything. Marnie lowered herself over Dane, trembled when his hands cupped her breasts. She gave him a mind-bending kiss for courage and only stopped when her knees started buckling. When she straightened up, his hands moved to her ass. He was amused. She figured he must be feeling pretty good about himself right now. “Don’t judge. You’re gorgeous.”

  With a wink, he hopped off the bed and pulled her into his arms, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “I think you’re gorgeous, too.” Her butterflies fluttered, and she couldn’t stop smiling as she stepped away from him, gathered up her dress and headed for the bathroom to repair the damage.

  Fifteen minutes later, they took the elevator to the penthouse suite, holding hands as they walked through its foyer to a security door. She was uncomfortable holding his hand. It wasn’t something she did. Ever. But he seemed to think it’s what they should do, and she wanted to be normal, so she kept his hand. It was an added strain, but she wanted Dane to have all the moral support she could give for the game ahead. So holding his hand was an easy ask.

  When they reached the suite’s door, she lifted her hand to knock, but Dane stopped her, surprising her with a lingering kiss. When he ended it, she found herself wobbling on her four-inch heels. He steadied her. “Wish me luck,” he said.

  All she saw was his confidence. She didn’t know how he did it, but Dane had a way of making her think anything was possible. She feared it was part of this fantasy she was living out. Things were working out for them at every turn, but the other shoe would fall. It always did. “There’s no such thing as luck.”

  He winked. “I found you, didn’t I?”

  The door opened before she could knock, as if someone had been watching them through the peephole, waiting for their kiss to end. “Patrick!” It was a relief to see him. He was familiar, something she didn’t have to interpret. When he hugged her, she endured as she usually did, because it was expected, and sure, he was copping a feel, but it was good-natured and she liked the guy.

  “Marnie! Don’t you own a phone? Would it have been so hard to let an old friend know you’re in town?”

  Patrick was in his late thirties, five ten, balding, on the plump side, and strong as an ox. His hands were big enough to cover the whole of her ass cheek, and that’s exactly what he was doing. She slapped his hand and pushed him off her, glancing at Dane. He seemed annoyed but was checking his ego at the door. First impressions were important in a poker game. He needed to hide in plain sight.

  “Where’s Serena?” She looked around the penthouse, only casually noting the black Steinway, the lush furnishings, and heavy taupe and brown drapery.

  “She’s sick in the room. Caught a bug or something. She’s pissed she’s missing tonight’s game but didn’t want to risk the buy-in when she’s not a hundred percent. She’s going to be even more upset when she finds out you were here. I’d tell you to pop in to see her, but even I’m afraid to catch it. I arranged for separate rooms.”

  Patrick and Serena were a married couple whose sole source of income was playing poker. They traveled from one big game to the next, their lives controlled by the when and where of the next game. The lifestyle was a lot of West Coast–East Coast travel, and insular. Marnie hadn’t been a regular player since her early years in college.

  “David!” Patrick waved a man over, as Marnie assessed the other players.

  Her heart sank when she saw Ralph Young, a sixty-year-old veteran of traveling games, sipping bourbon over by the table. When she thought of him, which was frequently, this was how she thought of him. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the lenses so heavy he had to do it often. She suspected if he had a tell, it was somehow connected to pushing up those glasses, yet five years off and on playing cards with the man, learning from him, she never discovered a verifiable tell.

  He caught her eye and nodded. She hadn’t returned his call last week. Things had gotten hairy at work. There hadn’t been time. But Ralph wouldn’t care. He was pissed. Damn. She couldn’t beat him. And if she couldn’t beat him, someone who’d played poker with him for years, she doubted MacLain could.

  David approached. Charming, in his forties, good-looking in a slick sort of way, he kissed both her cheeks. David was the facilitator and arranged the game. He gathered enough players, located a comfortable site, acquired competent security, and kept the peace. All for a price, of course. A nice percentage off the top of the buy-ins. Today would earn David five thousand dollars for a few hours work. When this was done, he had another one scheduled to begin soon after it. She liked him, as much as you could like someone who saw you as a revenue stream.

  David gave her outfit the once-over, pausing at the hem of her dress. She shifted her weight, allowing it to skim higher on her thighs. David smiled a thank-you. Dane’s fingers bit into her elbow. Startled by his show of possession, Marnie nonetheless forced herself not to react. David noticed anyway. He frowned at Dane.

  “Marnie,” David said, “introduce me to your friend.”

  Marnie pulled her elbow from Dane’s grip, stepped toward David, and patted his chest. The facilitator was pumping himself up like a cock about to fight.

  She glared at Dane, silently telling him to behave. “Dane MacLain. This is David.”

  “I’m playing.” Dane lifted his brows, as if asking if that was an issue.

  David turned to Marnie. “But I thought—”

  “I’m eye candy tonight.” She ran her hand down David’s chest. “Dane’s good.” She stepped away from him, into Dane’s arms, teasing a kiss out of him, making a big show of consoling him for her touching another man. Dane was all too willing to be appeased and kissed her back. It wasn’t, however, the peck she’d expected. They
were working. They should be focused on the room. Dane kissed her until her toes curled, garnering everyone’s rapt attention by the time he was done, Marnie’s especially.

  Flustered and struggling not to reveal it, she took the satchel of money from Dane and handed it to David. “His buy-in.” Using her finger, she attempted discretion as she fixed her lip gloss.

  David took it without a word and handed it to his security man. With a flourish of his hand, he indicated the table. “Your timing is impeccable. We’re about to begin. Can I get either one of you a drink?”

  “I’m good.” Dane caught Marnie’s gaze and winked. “I promise. I’m very good.” Then he smiled and sat at his assigned chair.

  Marnie kept her expression clear and her eyes on the baize-topped table. “Thank you, David. Vodka tonic, twist of lime, please.” She trusted Dane, but she was still nervous. Sweat beaded on her upper lip as she silently listed the myriad ways that things could go south.

  Ralph was watching her. Marnie smiled and positioned herself behind Dane. Showtime.

  Chapter Twelve

  Every eye seemed on Marnie as she nodded a greeting to the dealer. The woman was gorgeous—bleached blonde, blue eyed, in her forties. Marnie, along with everyone else here, knew the woman most likely had a gun strapped to the underside of the table. It kept tempers in check when money was lost and won.

  There were five players seated tonight. Patrick’s wife, Serena, would have been the sixth, but illness and poker were not a good mix. They’d make do with five. Marnie knew another one of the players, a college kid. He wore headphones and smelled like he hadn’t bathed in days. She’d long wondered if this was a tactic or simply bad hygiene. He was good, which was why they put up with it. She’d lost to him in the past.

  The other player, a paunchy guy in black, was wearing sunglasses. He was new. Patrick acted as if he didn’t exist, so Marnie took the cue and ignored him. There’d be time enough to see what kind of player he was during the game.

  Ralph shifted in his seat, getting into the zone. Six four, sedentary, 350 pounds, and pale as paste, Ralph was bald as a cue ball and sported a gold incisor. He would die at a poker table. He was on his third marriage, had two kids in college, and was her favorite person in the entire world. A surrogate father—an angry surrogate father. Guilt had her cringing inside. It was wonderful to see him, even if he looked grumpy. She wished he wasn’t playing this particular game. She wished she’d returned his phone call.

  Ralph smiled at her, probably reading her thoughts. It didn’t take clairvoyance to read his. He was out to crush Dane, her proxy in the game. Teach her a lesson, lose her some money. Ralph believed in tough love.

  He was sizing up MacLain, wondering if he were gold or dross, while she was using a considerable amount of energy to appear composed. Her feet hurt in the heels, heels she’d chosen thinking she’d be sitting at the table, not breathing down MacLain’s neck for three hours. Everyone eyed him, wondering who he was. With everyone dropping ten grand to buy into the game, five grand for David, a grand each split between the security and dealer, there was forty-three grand up for grabs. The way David did it, the top three walked away with something, leaving only two empty-handed at the end of the night. So even if MacLain won, the most they’d win would be thirty grand, and they needed every penny of it to cover her order with the supplier. When she had the idea to play this game, it had seemed a simple solution for ready cash. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  David nodded to the dealer, indicating the game was starting. The chips were in place, and Patrick was left of the dealer, so he posted his blind. The pre-flop round commenced, and Marnie blocked out all thoughts of the target on their backs and what had to happen to destroy WE and get their lives back. Her world became Texas Hold’em.

  …

  Dane found himself counting the chips again, calculating how much cash they represented, so every time he bet, raised, or folded, he tallied the money won or lost. He knew that was stupid. Nothing was lost until the game was done. It was nerves, he supposed. A useless distraction he needed to beat if he were to play up to his potential. An hour into the gaming, his wins equaled his losses. It wasn’t bad, but he expected more from himself.

  He was parched, and Marnie had yet to touch her vodka tonic, though the ice had long since melted. More than once he’d thought a stiff drink sounded good but didn’t want to take the chance it would make him lose focus.

  It was his turn to bet the small blind. His cards sucked, and he would have folded if he’d had a choice, but instead he made use of his time to catalog tells. Headphones college kid liked to tap his right index finger three times just before he folded. Patrick shifted in his seat before he called. Sunglasses and Coke-bottle glasses hadn’t given up tells yet, but they seemed to have similar strategies—culling the weaker players from the game. And from their aggressive play, forcing folds, calling every hand quickly, Dane realized they thought he was a beginner. That was something he fully intended to exploit.

  As the rounds racked up, he was dealt better cards. Twice already he’d turned a shit hand into a win. It propped up his confidence, reminding him more than once if he had a superpower, it was his luck at poker. His job was to keep loose and not think too much.

  David had pulled up a stool for Marnie a while ago. A glance behind him revealed a long expanse of her sexy leg, which meant everyone in the room was seeing the same view. He almost told her to cover up but realized she was behind him. He could look away, but his opponents didn’t have that luxury. Let them gawk, he thought. It was enough to know she was going home with him.

  The thought had him smiling, and everyone at the table tensed up, as if he was revealing a tell. Let them think he had good cards.

  Sunglasses guy hadn’t said a word all night other than snapping out his plays. He reminded Dane of a Blues Brother, without the fedora. All he did was bet, call, raise, fold, check, but he had the interesting tell of bluffing almost exclusively when he had nothing to lose. Unlike the games Dane was used to, there was no smack talk going on around this table. Nothing was said that wasn’t necessary.

  Dane caught headphones college kid peeking at Marnie’s chest, midplay. The kid was decent, though clearly not the one to beat. Patrick, jovial at the door, was a dour player. He’d been drawing good cards. Sunglasses guy was better. Coke-bottle glasses on the end of the table showed serious skills. There were silent communications going on with him and Marnie. He’d have to ask for the backstory later.

  Once the blinds bet, everyone else put their bets in. Patrick raised, and everyone matched but headphones college kid. He folded, out of chips. Everyone waited while he nodded to the players, shook David’s hand, and stepped from the table. Then the game continued. Four players, and Patrick and Dane were not favored to win. He felt Marnie’s hand against his neck, caressing him with her thumb. He tilted his head, enjoying her delicate touch. All eyes were on her hand on his neck.

  Marnie was right. These guys were good. Coke-bottle glasses had the most wins, with sunglasses coming in second. He glanced at Marnie and saw serious game face. It made him want to play her in a real game someday, one player among many, to see her skill.

  Patrick was positively dour now. Maybe it was having a sick wife in another room, but then Dane decided, no, this was poker. No one at this table was thinking anything but Texas Hold’em. He’d bet headphones college kid regretted allowing Marnie’s body to distract him. Dane smiled again. Again, the table tensed.

  “River round.” The dealer flipped the seventh card face up on the table. Dane’s best hand was three of a kind, jacks. The pot was substantial. They were down a player, and things were going to move fast now.

  Sunglasses called, and everyone pushed their bets into the center of the table. The guy showed his hand, three tens, his face a blank canvas. Patrick used the last of his chips to participate in this round, showed his best hand—two pair, ace high. Not good enough. He was out. Patrick stood and made himself a drink.
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  At the two-hour mark, Dane was noticing the different levels of strain on the other players’ games and doubled down on not doing the same. When Coke-bottle glasses threw down a flush, five cards of the same suit—winning the hand—he smiled. First time ever in the game he showed any real emotion. He was getting cocky. Sunglasses couldn’t say the same. He pursed his lips and sat still for a moment, as if composing himself before admitting he was almost out, no more chips, and no added buy-ins were allowed, so he’d have to leave at the first raise. Sunglasses’ imminent loss surprised Dane almost as much as it surprised sunglasses. When he left the table minutes later, he gave an impersonal nod to all the other players. He was good and should have been a contender to win, but luck hadn’t been on his side.

  Two players remaining, and the purse was Dane’s or Coke-bottle glasses’ to lose. Marnie’s hand was hot on his neck, and she was leaning against him, her breast pressing against his arm. Coke-bottle glasses couldn’t take his eyes off Marnie. His disapproval was searing.

  Hell, Dane needed a drink. Marnie’s neglected vodka tonic called to him, so he downed it and held the empty glass up to David, silently asking for a refill. He must not have been subtle enough, because everyone’s attention was on him, each looking with varying degrees of horror.

  Coke-bottle glasses was angry. “That was her lucky drink, you asshole.” Dane hadn’t intended to freak everyone out, but a win was a win. He sat back, patiently waiting for the moment to play itself out. Watching. Waiting. He’d really upset the man.

  “It’s fine,” Marnie said. “I’m not playing, and you know I don’t believe in luck.” She cupped Dane’s cheeks and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. The blonde dealer took it as a sign to deal the cards, and soon Dane and still frowning Coke-bottle glasses were pushing their chips to the center of the table.