by Sarah Curtis
The taxi came to a stop under an overhang at the entrance of the Eden Resort. River got out and waited patiently while the driver took her bags from the trunk. A warm evening breeze played through her hair, and she couldn't wait to change out of her jeans and T-shirt and slip into a light sundress. It was almost fully dark yet still in the high eighties. She was used to the heat. Her home in Las Vegas reached temperatures well over a hundred in the middle of summer. But living in the high desert, the humid, tropical heat wasn't something she was used to, and she could already feel a layer of sticky sweat coating her skin.
She was equal parts hungry and tired from her long day of travel and decided after settling into her room, she'd find the closest restaurant, eat a light meal, and then head off for bed. Tomorrow would be soon enough to go exploring. She had two whole days and nights before the tournament started, where she'd be stuck at a poker table for long hours a day, and she planned to enjoy every minute of her free time.
After checking in, a hotel bellhop showed her to her room—a beautiful oceanfront suite. The open bedroom had a few steps leading down into a separate living space complete with a couch, coffee table, and big screen TV. She was in love. Spinning in a circle, arms flung wide, she came to a stop facing the bellhop with a big grin spreading her lips. "This place is amazing."
Trying to hide his amusement but failing—River noticed his broad smile as he set her luggage on a rack in the closet—he asked, "Anything else I can help you with, ma'am?"
River's eyes darted to the bed. "Is it possible to get a few extra pillows?" She was a restless sleeper and had a California king bed at home with two extra-large body pillows she used to trap herself between, which, unfortunately, couldn't travel with her. It had taken her many years to devise the strategy that prevented her from ending up in a heap on her bedroom floor every night and hated the thought of waking up with bruises.
With a nod, the bellhop said, "Of course, ma'am. I'll send housekeeping up right away."
After a tip and a few back-and-forth thank yous, he was gone, leaving her free to explore the room. She went straight to the sliding-glass door that led out to the balcony. Only on the third floor and not high enough to trigger her fear of heights, River leaned against the balcony's rail. Even at night, it was a beautiful view with the full, bright moon reflecting off the calm ocean water as gentle waves lapped at the clean, white sand. Such a contrast to the beaches on the west coast with their coarse sand and murky waters.
All the floor's balconies were connected with a waist-high wrought iron fence separating them, and she noticed she wasn't the only one enjoying the night. All up and down the row, couples stood or lounged, making her feel like the odd man out. Cigar smoke from four balconies over, reached her nostrils. She never enjoyed the smell but could usually tolerate it. Except now, with her empty stomach rebelling, the smell made her slightly nauseous, reminding her she needed food.
Not wanting to miss housekeeping, a full shower would have to wait. She unpacked, selecting a cute, floral-print sundress to change into then quickly wiped herself down with a wet washcloth. With perfect timing, she'd just slipped into her high-heel sandals when housekeeping arrived, delivering an additional six fluffy pillows, arming her for the night ahead.
With her cell phone and room key tucked safely in her clutch, she took the elevator down to the main floor. She'd flipped through the hotel's in-room directory and decided, from the many choices, the Terrace Café sounded like the best place for a quick and easy meal.
Although still early enough for the dinner rush, the restaurant was surprisingly quiet with most of its diners sitting at tables on the open terrace. A hostess dressed in a floral wrap sarong with a variety of exotic flowers in her long black hair stood at a podium, eyeing River with a wide smile as she stepped through the threshold.
"How many in your party?" she asked, reaching for the stack of menus.
"Just one." River held up a finger, feeling a bit uncomfortable. She hated eating alone and really should have ordered room service but hadn't wanted to wait the usual hour plus for her meal to arrive.
"Would you like to be seated inside or out?"
River did another scan of the room. The interior had a tropical feel with an abundance of flowering plants and potted trees dotting the areas between glass topped wicker tables. Green and brown bamboo-patterned cushions decorated the matching wicker dining room chairs. "Inside, please." There were only three tables occupied in the room, less prying eyes.
"Right this way."
River followed the hostess to a table for two set in front of a large, picture window, overlooking a small garden. "Your waiter will be with you shortly," she said, placing a menu in front of her.
"Thank you." The hostess walked away, and before River even had a chance to open her menu, a waiter arrived notepad in hand.
"Can I get you a cocktail while you're deciding?" he asked with a nod toward the menu.
"Oh, um..." She rarely drank. In fact, the last time she'd had any liquor was three months ago when she'd joined some colleagues from work for happy hour. But for two days until the tournament started, she was officially on vacation. Might as well live it up. "I'll have a piña colada," she said, wanting to blend in with the tropical theme.
She was still perusing the menu, debating between two salads by the time the waiter returned. Catching sight of him in her peripheral vision, she asked, "I can't decide whether to get the Caesar or the chef salad. Which do you suggest?"
"Personally, I always prefer a good Cobb."
She knew that voice, and it didn't belong to her waiter. Surprised, her eyes quickly shot up from her menu to be met with the icy blue ones of Alec Throne.
* * * * *
His eyes locked onto her as soon as she stepped into the restaurant. The woman from the airport. Alec sat with a group of fellow poker players at an outside terrace table with a clear view of the front entrance. Disheveled and travel weary, she was beautiful but done up, she was stunning. Although she wasn't tall, her legs were perfection under the hem of her short dress. And while the dress wasn't tight, it showcased all her curves. She was a vision that had his cock instantly hardening.
Slightly embarrassed by his teenaged reaction, he forced his eyes back to her face. She looked vaguely familiar but knew he'd never seen her before. A face like hers, he'd never forget. It was her eyes, such a bright shade of green he could discern their color from across the length of the room. They were an unmistakable shade that he knew he'd seen before but couldn't place where.
Tracking her movements as she followed the hostess to a table, he wondered if she were dining alone and found himself growing angry at the possibility that she wasn't. Again, he mentally chastised himself for his predatory thoughts. He wasn't sure what was wrong with him, only knew the thought of her with any man other than himself left him feeling extremely on edge.
He abruptly stood from the table and absentmindedly reached into his pocket, pulling out a few twenties, and tossing them on the table, his eyes never leaving his prey.
"Where the fuck you going?"
The voice sounded like Rick's, but he didn't bother looking to confirm nor did he bother answering as he walked away from the table.
"Where the fuck is he going?" he heard the same voice ask again and a lower reply from a different voice, "Blonde, nine o'clock."
Their voices trailed away as he stepped inside the restaurant and made a direct line to her table. She sat with her back straight and head slightly bowed, reading the menu. Her hair was longer than he'd imagined, reaching the middle of her back in thick, golden waves, and he found himself fascinated how she'd been able to pile so much hair atop her head.
She spoke, and it drew his attention to her lips. The nat
ural dusky rose hue and lack of shine, telling him they were bare and damn if that didn't make him want to run his tongue over them all the more. "I can't decide whether to get the Caesar or the chef salad. Which do you suggest?"
"Personally, I always prefer a good Cobb."
Her head whipped up, and her eyes collided with his. The lips he'd just been fantasizing about slightly parted as if she wanted to speak but was at a loss for words. He liked the idea he'd left her speechless. It didn't last long. Within seconds she'd composed herself, the same blank look he'd seen at the airport coating her face. After her brief initial reaction, he couldn't read what she was thinking. It was the best poker face he'd ever seen, and he'd seen plenty. She fascinated him. He wanted to get inside her head and learn all her secrets.
He held out his hand. "We didn't get a chance to properly introduce ourselves. Alec Throne."
Chapter Two
A tiny smirk played upon his lips, daring River to take his hand. A hand that was large and masculine with long fingers and neatly trimmed nails. A thick, gold watch flashed at his wrist. She hesitated before reaching out, and his hand engulfed hers, making it feel dainty. "River."
She watched his nostrils flare and knew it wouldn't take him long to make the connection. Her name was uncommon enough and the industry still relatively small. She knew the moment things clicked when the smirk he still held turned into a small smile. "Ah, that explains it."
His statement, too cryptic to prevent her own slight frown, she felt it slip before she righted her emotionless mask back into place. Curiosity overriding good sense, she asked, "Explains what?"
He took the seat across from her. His large frame dwarfed the wicker chair and a few loud creaks had her doubting its stability. He took a moment to get settled, adjusting his suit jacket, all the while studying her. Not answering her question, he said, "I didn't think you played professionally."
"I don't."
"So you're not here for the tournament?"
"I am." God, could her responses be any more stilted and unemotional?
She could see the wheels spinning as he tried to deduce why she would act out of character. Face impassive, he stated, "You need money."
"I do not." she said with more heat than intended.
His smirk was back, and her palm itched to smack it off his face. "So someone else does. Royal?"
Of course, he would know her brother. They ran in the same circles. Played in the same tournaments and cash games. Alec was just a little more successful in his endeavors.
Okay a lot more.
Two could play the non-answer game. "Is that why you're here? The tournament." She knew it was. It didn't take a brain surgeon to figure out that bit of logic. But River figured if she kept him talking about himself—which she was sure she wouldn't have a problem doing—he wouldn't ask any more probing questions about her.
Just her luck, she was talking with the only gorgeous man on the planet who wasn't self-absorbed. He smiled just broad enough to show a bit of white teeth. "Nice try, sweetheart, but I'm not that easily distracted."
The waiter arrived with her drink, setting it on the table in front of her before lifting a pen to his pad. "Are you ready to order?"
Before she could even take a breath to speak, Alec was ordering for them. "The lady will have the salmon, and I'll have the rib eye, medium rare."
"Very good, sir. Care for anything to drink?"
"Just water will be fine, thank you." He plucked the menu from her and handed it to the waiter.
River just sat there, totally mute, while her brain caught up with the events that had just occurred. After a few long seconds, she blurted, "I wanted a salad."
"No, you wanted something light. After a long day of travel, you're tired, you want to go to bed soon," he gave her a wicked smile, "to sleep."
How could he have possibly deduced all that?
"Fish is light," he went on, ignoring the opening and closing of her mouth, which she was sure made her look like a fish. "Salmon has twice the protein as any salad you would've chosen. Healthier."
River knew every emotion she was feeling—outrage, disbelief, offense—had to be plastered on her face but was so rattled, she didn't have the control to conceal it. That this man could do the unthinkable—make her lose control of her emotions—was unnerving. A small shiver of fear streaked down her spine, warning her of danger. Warning her that this man could do some serious damage to her emotionally if she weren't careful. And her instincts were rarely wrong.
Finally finding her voice, she leaned forward in her chair and whisper-hissed across the table, "I cannot believe you just did that. What, am I two? Unable to think and order for myself? That was by far the most overbearingly presumptuous thing anyone has ever done to me."
All he did was quirk an eyebrow at her outburst. God, what an arrogant ass. Amazing she'd ever had a crush on him. Thank goodness her adult self was a lot smarter than her teenage self had been.
He slouched back in his seat, shoulders slightly slumped, hands folded across his flat stomach. She could see his legs through the clear glass of the table. They were spread wide, feet firmly planted on the floor. He looked relaxed—casual. The complete opposite of herself.
"Tell me why you're playing in the tournament," he said not letting it go.
Her spine stiffened, and she had to really concentrate to keep her face blank. She didn't understand why he riled her so, other than he was an arrogant ass, of course. She gave him a small, tight smile, twirling the straw in her drink before taking a dainty sip. "Seems we both have questions we don't want to answer. You want to know why I'm here, and I want to know what you meant by your cryptic 'that explains it' when you first came over."
He studied her for long seconds before sitting straighter in his chair, seemingly coming to some sort of conclusion. "Is it a wager then?"
The thing about poker players, they will bet on anything—from the mundane, who could do the most push-ups to the unusual, who could go vegetarian the longest—and rarely does a bet go unchallenged. Poker was in her blood. She grew up in the life and though she'd never played professionally, she was, in all respects, a poker player.
Therefore, with a stiff nod, she said, "The winner gets one question of their choosing answered by the loser." And River didn't plan on losing.
"Agreed. What are we playing?"
She gave him a sly grin. "Why, poker, of course."
They decided on a neutral location—an outdoor terrace overlooking the hotel's swimming pool—and after a slight detour to the gift shop to purchase a deck of cards and a coffee kiosk for a couple of lattes, they positioned themselves at an umbrella-topped patio table.
River took a sip of her latte and sighed, closing her eyes to savor the rich coffee flavor as the sweet taste of vanilla danced along her tongue. She hated to admit, even to herself, but the salmon Alec had ordered her had been delicious, and her stomach found itself pleasantly content.
She opened her eyes to find Alec watching her, but she couldn't read what he was thinking. He had an exceptional poker face, and she found herself slightly unnerved by that. "What?" Okay, that may have come out more hostile than she'd intended. He seemed to bring out her inner-snark. Something she'd have to work on while in his presence.
He gave her a smirk and an inquisitive eyebrow raise but still refused to share his thoughts, instead, opening the deck of cards and fanning them to find the jokers. River watched carefully as he skillfully shuffled then handed her the cards to cut. Her father would've approved. One of his favorite things to say had been, trust no one... and always cut the deck. She studied Alec as she handed him back the deck. Like her father, she didn't trust anyone until the
y earned that trust. She'd seen her father and brother stabbed in the back too many times to give her faith to someone blindly.
She gestured to the cards in his hand. "What are the rules?"
His free hand disappeared inside his suit jacket, coming out holding a wallet. "How much money do you have?"
Shaking her head, she replied, "I don't carry any cash."
His brow furrowed and he looked... concerned? Or maybe... angry? She couldn't tell, but it was definitely an odd reaction.
"You should always carry some cash. A woman alone, you never know what kind of emergency you'll find yourself in." His words were spoken smoothly in a low, deep voice, but his tone was condescending as if he thought even a two-year-old were smarter. That was the second time tonight he'd made her feel juvenile.
She bristled, eyes narrowing, not even trying to hide her anger. Leaning in closer to him, speaking low and slowly to imply her own doubts to his inelegance, she said, "First of all, I'm quite capable of taking care of myself. I've been doing it a long time." Not only herself, but she'd taken care of her father and brother, as well, since the death of her mother when River had been twelve. "Second, who said anything about me being alone."
His gaze was penetrating as he analyzed her expression. A small tick quivered his brow, a tell she tucked away in the proper compartment of her brain for future use. "Touché." He watched her a moment longer before placing the cards on the table. "The rules are simple," he said, opening his wallet and pulling out a large stack of bills. "The game ends with the first person to win all the money." He started separating the bills into two piles. "For simplicity sake, all the bills will have the same value no matter the denomination printed on it."
River noted most of the bills were twenties and hundreds with a few fives and ones mixed in. For some reason, she found it fascinating he didn't keep his money organized by dollar amount.
