The Gambler

by Denise Grover Swank

  Think of something, Libby thought. Think of something to keep your mind off throwing yourself at him. “I made you lose your testicle?”

  “What other reason could I give him for not wanting to sleep with my beautiful bride?” His voice was tight, but his hand remained on her back.

  That certainly didn’t take her mind off her hormones. Think of something else. “You forgot your bag,” she said.

  “I’ll get it once you’re settled in the room.”

  She looked up at him in surprise, but he kept his gaze on the elevator doors. Then the doors opened and he was ushering her out of the elevator and leading her down the hall to their room. She couldn’t help noticing how he’d taken charge tonight—she hadn’t seen him this focused once in the five months they’d known each other.

  He pushed the door open and waited for her to walk through.

  The first thing Libby noticed was the giant king-size bed, which didn’t seem so giant when she thought about sleeping in it with Noah. As she’d reminded him downstairs, he’d stayed overnight at her place multiple times, yet the closest they’d ever come to sleeping together was snoozing on opposite sides of her sofa. She wasn’t sure she could spend the night in that bed with him without acting on this . . . this whatever was happening to her tonight.

  If Noah was affected by the sight of the bed, he didn’t let on. “I’ll be back. Are you okay here?”

  His attentiveness made her smile. “I don’t need a babysitter. Go already.”

  He paused in the doorway and glanced back her, the warmth in his eyes catching her off guard. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. Part of the best friend gig, right?”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  He pulled the door shut, and she sat on the edge of the bed and heaved a loud sigh. She may have napped earlier, but she was weary. She laid back on the bed and covered her eyes with her arm.

  What was she supposed to do now?

  She’d believed in the curse hook, line, and sinker. What reason would she have had for doubt? Megan and Blair’s weddings had both gone according to the curse plan. But hers . . .

  If the curse was wrong, it threw everything else in her life into question.

  The only way she’d gotten through her childhood was by believing in magic and fate. That she was like Cinderella and some man would finally love her. But if magic didn’t exist and fate was coincidence, how was she supposed to find her happily ever after? What if she never found someone to love her, really love her? Her father had left when she was a baby. Her mother cared for her in her own way, but she was always too busy finding her next lay to spend much time with her. Maybe she was just unlovable.

  “Lib?”

  She moved her arm, surprised to see Noah was already back. “That was fast.”

  “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out there. I didn’t waste any time.” He sat on the bed, looking down at her. “You okay?”

  Sighing, she sat up.

  “I’m fine.”

  He grinned. “Liar.”

  “I am.”

  “Only a true narcissist could be fine after what you’ve been through. And I’ve always had you pegged as only half a narcissist. Don’t tell me I’ve had it all wrong.”

  She laughed, and then before she realized what was happening, she started crying.

  Noah pulled her to his chest, rubbing slow circles on her back. When she finally settled down, he said, “Let’s get you out of that dress.”

  “I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “I was about to suggest you wear nothing,” he teased, “but given the situation, how about you wear one of my T-shirts? Okay?”

  She nodded, hating that she’d broken down like that. She’d brought this on herself, which meant she didn’t deserve to cry. She sucked in a deep breath, then stood. “I need help getting my dress off.”

  His smile was a touch self-deprecating. “Lucky for you, getting women out of their clothes is my specialty.”

  “Save the tales of your exploits for another time.” She knew he’d undressed plenty of women, but for some reason the thought irritated her. She turned and presented her back to him. He tugged on the laces at the rise of her ass.

  “Good God. Is this a wedding dress or a chastity belt?” he groaned as he fought to work the laces loose.

  “Megan might have been overly aggressive in pulling them tight.”

  “I guess she didn’t want Mitch to have easy access.” His hands stilled as he groaned. “God, Lib. I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t be. It is what it is.” What would he think if he found out she’d never intended to marry Mitch at all? Would he judge her like Megan had? She couldn’t take the risk.

  Once he got the bottom strings free, the rest unlaced more quickly, loosening the dress enough for her to take it off.

  “Do you want to take a shower?” he asked. “I’ll pull a T-shirt out of my bag and leave it on the counter while you’re in there.”

  Holding the front of her dress to her chest, she turned and looked up at him. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she blurted out.

  Surprise washed over his face. “I thought we’d already been over that. You’ve had a shitty day and I’m being a good friend.” When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “Look, today and tomorrow are your days—”

  “You really plan to make tomorrow Libby St. Clair Day?”

  He grinned. “You bet your sweet ass I do, but before you think I’m being chivalrous, consider this: Maybe I’ll have a shitty day next week, and then I’ll expect you to wait on me hand and foot. Paybacks are awesome.”

  He was almost self-centered enough to make her believe his explanation. Almost. “So you’re like the ant in the ant and the grasshopper story.”

  He held up his hands in protest. “If I have to be a bug, I’d rather be a scorpion.”

  She shook her head and moved closer to him. “A scorpion is more like a spider than an insect, and even so, you’re not a spider.” She grinned. “More like a roly poly.”

  Mock anger filled his eyes. “You’re dead to me, woman. I guess you’ll be sleeping in the buff tonight.”

  She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  He pulled her into a hug. “Always, Lib,” he said. “I mean it.”

  And she could tell that he did, which made her feel bad for doubting him earlier at the church.

  Maybe there was hope for Noah McMillan yet.

  Chapter Seven

  Noah set his carry-on bag on the bed. When he heard the water in the shower turn on, he stopped unzipping the suitcase and took a deep breath. Libby was in the other room—naked—and his thoughts raced into dangerous territory.

  He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman.

  Part one of his plan had come to fruition without his involvement—the wedding had been aborted—but now what did he do? Libby had shot down his proposition a month ago. Could he really risk laying it on the line? The thought terrified him—what if she refused to give them a try?—but right now it didn’t matter. While he might be ready to give their relationship a shot, she’d only just broken up with Mitch. This was hardly the time to make his feelings known to her.

  He pulled out a T-shirt and cautiously pushed the bathroom door open. Her wedding dress lay in a giant puddle of fabric on the floor. “Lib, I’m putting my shirt on the counter.”

  “Thanks.”

  He set it next to her towel, then picked up her dress and carried it out with him, shutting the door behind him. Holding it up in front of him, he studied the silk gown. Based on what she’d told him about her football-centric disaster of a wedding, this was probably the only part of the whole affair that had truly been her. Unsure of what to do with it, he laid it across the back of the desk chair—the skirt billowing everywhere—then pulled out another T-shirt for himself.

  The bed loomed in the middle of the room, teasing him. He had no clue how they were going to handle sleeping tog
ether. For one thing, Noah usually slept in his briefs, which meant he had no pajama bottoms. He’d have to settle for wearing a T-shirt over them, but the feelings of protectiveness she’d stirred inside of him were also rousing other feelings that might not be so easy to hide if they were nearly naked and close together in bed.

  He’d think about that later. Right now he had to figure out where they were going for Libby St. Clair Day. What would make her the happiest?

  He gasped when the answer hit him, and he pulled out his laptop to search the Internet for wacky tourist attractions. He’d made a list and mapped a few out by the time she emerged from the bathroom, her damp hair hanging in loose waves over her shoulders and down her back. Her long sexy legs peeked out from under his shirt, which hung mere inches below the curve of her ass. Every nerve ending pinged at the sight of her and he resisted the urge to jump up and show her how much he wanted her. He forced himself to act natural.

  “Feel better?”

  “Yeah.”

  He slowly stood, trying to be nonchalant.

  She nodded to his laptop. “You working?”

  “Working?” he teased, even though the reminder that he was no longer employed made his stomach sink. “There’s no real work allowed on Libby St. Clair Day. Only play. I was planning it for us.”

  Her eyes lit up with excitement. “What did you come up with?”

  He shook his head and closed the lid. “It’s a surprise.”

  “That’s hardly fair.”

  “It’s perfectly fair.” He grabbed his T-shirt and toiletry bag. “I’m going to take a shower now.”

  “All right.”

  He grinned. There was a cute smirk on her face—the one she always got when she was up to something sneaky. “Feel free to try and figure out the password on my laptop. It’s unbreakable.”

  Her eyes widened in mock indignation, but she didn’t try to protest. She knew he had her figured out.

  When he emerged from the bathroom five minutes later, he found her on the bed, propped up against the headboard on a pile of pillows. The covers were pulled back, but her bare legs were tucked to the side and his computer was on her lap. She looked up, not even pretending to hide what she’d been doing.

  God, he loved that about her.

  “No luck, huh?” he asked smugly.

  She started to respond, then stopped, lifting her gaze up from his legs to his face. “No.”

  Was she bothered by his lack of pants? The shirt he’d picked covered all the essential parts in the front, but left his briefs-covered ass exposed in the back. Libby wasn’t the kind of woman to be offended by naked bodies. If anything, her art background made her appreciate the human form more than most people. So if it wasn’t his body in general, did that mean she was affected by him?

  Could she want him too?

  His pulse quickened at the thought, but he told himself that he had to take this slow. She needed time, and right now she needed him to be her friend. And while it was no secret that Noah had slept with more women than was respectable, Libby had her own more-than-healthy share of short-lived relationships.

  Lately he’d found himself in the strange situation of offering others advice in matters of the heart, so he made himself take a step back and fill that role for himself. What advice would he give another person in his situation? He’d encouraged Garrett to go for it, but Garrett had only had days to convince Blair to cancel her wedding. Libby had already run out of hers. He’d gotten to know Libby well enough to realize she was vulnerable now. It wouldn’t take much to convince her to sleep with him, but he also knew her well enough to realize that if she did sleep with him, it would be as a short-term emotional Band-Aid.

  Of course, a short-term fling could blossom into something more, but when they slept together, he wanted her fully committed to making this thing between them work. His thought process stunned him. He’d never before given any consideration to how a woman would feel about sleeping with him. Only that she did.

  What the hell had happened to him? Of course, the answer was simple, even if it had taken him months to figure it out: Libby St. Clair.

  “Noah?”

  She had to wonder why he was just standing there, gawking at her. What had they been talking about? Oh, yeah. His password.

  “My laptop is more secure than Fort Knox.” He moved to the other side of the bed and sat down, trying to act like sitting next to her on the bed they were going to sleep in together was no big deal.

  “Is that a challenge?” Her voice rose with excitement.

  “Sure, if that makes you happy. I’d prefer to call it a worthless endeavor.”

  She closed the computer and handed it to him. He set it on the nightstand, worried he’d stolen her playfulness, but while she wasn’t bursting with happiness, she wasn’t frowning either.

  He started to slide closer to her, but there was a knock at the door. Libby stiffened, her body tense with anxiety, and Noah slid off the bed. “I’ll check and see who it is.”

  He peered through the peephole, and was surprised to see a hotel employee with a room service tray. “You must have the wrong room,” he said, opening the door. “We didn’t order anything.”

  The older man dressed in black pants and a white long-sleeved shirt paired with a black bow tie cleared his throat. “Compliments of the hotel. For your wedding night.” His eyes shifted to Noah’s crotch, but he abruptly lifted his gaze and held out a tray with a bottle of champagne, two plastic cups, and a piece of shriveled angel food cake.

  Noah tried to hide his grin as he took the tray.

  “Is it true?” the man asked. “Did she . . . you know?”

  Noah gave a quick glance over his shoulder before turning back and lowering his voice. “Yeah, she’s vicious in bed. I can show you the foot-long scar if you like. It’s still pretty fresh.”

  The man’s eyes widened and he turned around, muttering, “No thank you, no thank you,” before hurrying down the hall to the elevator.

  Noah carried the tray into the room and kicked the door shut behind him.

  “A foot long?” Libby commented with raised brows. “I’m sure there’s some psychological delusion of grandeur there.”

  Noah grinned as he set the tray on the dresser, trying to think of things other than his exaggerated twelve inches and the woman on the bed. His T-shirt wouldn’t hide much. “How about some champagne?”

  Her smile fell. “Champagne is for celebrating and there is nothing to celebrate.”

  “I disagree.” Noah twisted off the cork and quickly filled the plastic cups, then carried them over to the bed and sat down, one leg still dangling off the side. “Here.”

  She refused to take it. “No. I told you we have nothing to celebrate.”

  “Of course we do. How about the fact you dodged a bullet today? You could have married a man you didn’t really love, but you came to your senses at the last minute.”

  He held it out to her again and she reluctantly took it this time. “That doesn’t seem like something to be proud of.”

  He looked her in the eyes. “It took guts, Lib. Do you know how many people would have just stood there and gone through with it?”

  Some emotion washed over her face, but it passed too quickly for him to register. She looked up with a smile. “How about we celebrate the fact I haven’t kicked you in the other ball . . . yet.”

  He burst out laughing. “I’ll drink to that, although I resent the tacked-on yet.”

  She clacked her glass against his, then took a healthy gulp.

  He took a sip of his own champagne and said, “Looks like we’ll need more of this.” He got up and grabbed the bottle and the cake, setting the bottle on the nightstand before sitting down again. “Do you want the cake?”

  “Angel food?” she asked. “Doesn’t sound appropriate for either one of us. You and I are more like devil’s food, don’t you think?” Her teasing tone removed the sting.

  “Maybe it’ll be a good influence on
us.” He picked it up off the plate and held it up to her mouth.

  Hesitation flickered in her eyes for a few seconds, but she leaned forward and took a bite. She grabbed the cake out of his hand and held it up to him, lifting her eyebrows playfully.

  As she held the cake in front of his face, he realized why she’d held back for a moment. Without realizing what he was doing, he’d reenacted the cake part of a wedding reception.

  She put the cake on the plate, then finished off her cup of champagne. He grabbed the bottle and poured more for her.

  “What do you want to do?” he asked. “Watch some TV? Go to sleep?”

  “TV. I don’t think I can sleep.”

  He reached for the remote and clicked on the TV, scrolling through the channels until he found an episode of Friends. The goal was to put her at ease. They’d watched plenty of movies together at her apartment, and sometime he’d sit behind her and rub her back. “I’ll rub your back if you like.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, turn around.”

  She drank the rest of her champagne and handed him the cup before scooting closer.

  “Why don’t you lay your head on my legs, close enough for me to reach your back.”

  “Okay.”

  She maneuvered so that she lay sideways, her head resting on his upper thighs. His hand rested on her back. It should have been no big deal; they’d watched TV on her sofa before, but never this intimately.

  He stayed still for a moment, letting her relax on him before he began to rub over her T-shirt, shifting slightly so she couldn’t see his arousal at the sight of her sexy legs and barely covered ass. She sighed with contentment and soon her breathing evened, her body sagged into his, and he realized she’d fallen asleep.

  To his surprise his arousal faded, shifting to something deeper—the need to make sure she felt protected and comforted. He realized even if she made a move, he would turn her down. That so wasn’t his style, but he didn’t want to blow their chance on what she could potentially see as a one-night fling.