The Gambler

by Denise Grover Swank

  “You keep your shirt on, Ruby O’Donnell,” Gram said. Then she burst out laughing at her pun.

  “You look amazing, Nana Ruby. Honestly,” Libby assured her. “I’m just not used to seeing you look so . . . colorful. And sparkly.”

  “Maude said if we went to see The Crooners, I had to wear this shirt.” The gray-headed woman scowled as she sat back down. “At least only three people know me here.”

  “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” Gram said with an over-exaggerated wink. “Ain’t that right, kids?”

  Noah laughed. “I promise not to spread word of your exploits once we get home, Gram.”

  Her eyes widened. “What? I was counting on it. Especially if I get you drunk enough to drop your drawers. I bet your hiney’s as firm as the sculptures all over this hotel.” She turned her sharp gaze to Libby. “Am I right?”

  Libby gasped in shock and sent an embarrassed look to Noah, but her mind was now preoccupied with wondering how firm his ass actually was. No. Don’t go there. “I wouldn’t know, Gram. Noah and I aren’t like that.”

  She shook her head, her lips pursed. “Well that’s a damn shame.”

  Libby’s face flushed and she forced herself not to glance at Noah to gauge his reaction. He moved up beside her, and she was very aware of the warmth and nearness of him when he settled a hand on her shoulder. “You said you brought Libby more than her license?”

  “Yeah.” Gram picked up a black carry-on bag and set it on the bed. “I went to your place with Megan to pick up some clothes.”

  “Oh, God,” Libby mumbled under her breath. “Please tell me Megan picked them out.”

  Gram laughed as she patted the bag. “I took some liberties.”

  Noah’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. “I can’t wait to see what you chose, Gram.”

  She started to unzip the bag and then pointed at him. “You wait in the bathroom.”

  “Why?” He sounded defensive, like a chastised little boy. Libby found it adorable.

  “This isn’t for your eyes.” She pointed to the door. “Go.”

  Noah waggled his eyebrows, pleading with Libby to let him stay, but she shrugged and smirked. “You heard the woman.” Ordinarily, nothing in that bag could have embarrassed Libby, but with her out-of-control hormones or whatever was going on with her, she’d rather not have Noah around if Gram was about to pull out something risqué.

  Noah grumbled about missing all the fun, but he winked at Libby as he shut the door. “Make sure to talk really loud so I don’t miss anything,” he said from the bathroom.

  Gram lifted the lid and Libby sighed with relief when she saw perfectly ordinary items—rolled jeans, some rolled T-shirts, a cosmetic bag. It was far neater than she usually packed. It had Megan’s touch all over it. “Megan grabbed your makeup bag and some shampoo and shower gel.”

  Libby broke into a huge grin. She didn’t usually mind going so au naturel, but she had a sudden urge to look her best for Noah tonight, which would require her full arsenal. “What else did you bring?”

  Gram gave her a mischievous glance as she pulled out several slinky cocktail dresses. “For you to go out with Noah.”

  Libby’s pulse picked up at the thought of wearing the black beaded dress with its neckline that plunged farther south than an Antarctic expedition. “Gram.”

  Nana Ruby shook her head and mumbled something about pneumonia under her breath.

  Next Gram pulled out the lingerie Megan and Blair had given her for her honeymoon—a black lace bra and panties and an ivory babydoll with a lace bra, a sheer lace skirt, and matching G-string panties. They were French—and quite expensive. But she reminded herself that she had no business wearing them here in Vegas, even if the thought of Noah’s reaction made her skin flush.

  She had to pull herself together.

  She feigned a sigh of impatience. “In case you’ve turned senile since Saturday—and I know you haven’t—you know as well as I do that this is a road trip, not a honeymoon.”

  The older woman shrugged and tossed a pair of red lacy panties onto the bed. “Then there’s this.” She held up a sexy, silver, barely-there negligee.

  “Um . . . Gram. That’s not mine.”

  She winked. “I know. It was my wedding gift to you. I hope you don’t mind that I unwrapped it and put it in with your things.”

  “Since there was technically no wedding, you don’t need to give me anything at all. You should return it.”

  Gram waved her off. “You need this.”

  Need it? No. That nightie would get her into trouble faster than she could charge up her Visa in an art store. “I’ve sworn off men for the next year. I won’t be needing that anytime soon.”

  “Sworn off men?” Gram asked in dismay.

  “Leave the poor girl alone, Maude,” Nana Ruby muttered, shaking her head. “She doesn’t need a man. A year off might be good for her.”

  “Poppycock!” Gram exclaimed, waving her hand around as if she were physically batting away nonsense. She turned to Libby. “Why would you give up men? Have your ovaries shriveled up? Are you having hot flashes?”

  She was having hot flashes all right, but not the kind Gram was talking about. “No, Gram. Let’s just say I keep making stupid choices with men. Maybe it would be best if I took some time off to focus on me. Then I can figure out what kind of guy I want.”

  It was far easier to figure out what she didn’t want—some version of Josh, Garrett, or Mitch. She’d be bored in ten minutes if she married a responsible, rule-following, white-collar guy. And that was the problem. The men who weren’t like that were the ones she’d wasted the last twelve years—okay, fifteen years if she included high school—of her life on. Men like that didn’t stick around.

  And she couldn’t begin to untangle the knot of complicated feelings she had when she thought about Noah.

  But Gram was like a bulldog with a peanut-butter-filled treat. “A year? That’s ridiculous. What if you meet the perfect man for you? Your soul mate?”

  Gram’s words sobered her. “I don’t think I have a soul mate.”

  “Pfft.” Gram waved her hand. “I know for a fact you have a soul mate.”

  Libby needed to change the subject fast. There was no way she wanted to spend this entire trip in some existential funk. “What else is in there?”

  Gram put everything back except the black dress. “Oh, you know. This and that.” She leaned toward the bathroom door and shouted, “Noah, you can come out now.”

  Dammit. How much had he heard? Why hadn’t she taken into consideration that he could probably hear every word? Of course, she’d already told him about her celibacy plan, but she still didn’t like the thought of him overhearing their conversation.

  He emerged from the bathroom grinning ear-to-ear and looked around the room. “What? No Chippendale dancers? No collapsible stripper poles?”

  Libby couldn’t suppress her giggle. Given that it was Gram, those things were entirely too possible.

  “This girl doesn’t need Chippendales when she has you,” Gram said.

  Nana Ruby made a sound like she’d started to choke. If only Libby could get Gram to choke her words down.

  “I’ve seen her dance,” Gram said, holding up the dress. “She doesn’t need a stripper pole. But this is a lucky dress. If you want to win at the tables tonight, you should make sure she wears it.”

  “Gram!” Libby protested. The dress wasn’t much better than the lingerie. Probably worse. At least if Noah saw the lingerie, it would likely be with the purpose of removing it. The dress was pure provocation. She had one way out of this. “Noah isn’t superstitious, Gram. He doesn’t need luck.”

  “That’s not exactly true.” Noah wrapped his arm around her back and rested his hand on her upper arm. “Libby’s my lucky charm. But if the dress makes her even luckier, then it’s a deal.”

  Gram smiled like she’d just stolen the crown jewels. Nana Ruby muttered under her breath. But Libby bar
ely even noticed because Noah’s hand slid down her arm, sending flutters through her insides.

  This was bad, bad, bad. He wasn’t even touching her bare skin, yet his touch was igniting a fire inside her that refused to be doused with a blanket of common sense.

  But Noah seemed totally oblivious to her struggle and his hand continued to make a lazy trail up and down her forearm. “If you and Ruby are going to the show, you better get going. According to the signs downstairs, it starts at seven-thirty, and this place is huge.”

  Given the state of her surging hormones, Libby wasn’t sure losing her chaperones was a good idea, but it gave her an excuse to escape Noah’s hold without looking suspicious. She bolted for the door and jerked it open, her hand slipping on the handle in her haste.

  Gram chuckled as she closed the suitcase and started to zip it. “That eager to ditch us, huh? I get it.”

  She’d forgotten all about the suitcase. And she’d never even asked about her license. Good God, Libby. Get it together. “Gram, did you bring my wallet too?”

  The older woman snickered as she patted the case. “It’s all in here, Libby, my girl.”

  She started to lift it off the bed, but Noah slid over and pulled it from her. “I’ll take it from here.”

  Gram pointed a finger at him. “You owe me a drink later. And I plan to collect.”

  Mischievousness filled Noah’s eyes. “Just text me and I’ll tell you where we are.”

  She gave him a brisk nod and then tilted her head toward the door. “Come on, Ruby. Let’s go see some old fogies spit their dentures into the audience. But I’m warning you, I’m not throwing my Depends up on that stage.”

  “You don’t even wear Depends,” Nana Ruby grumbled as she walked into the hall.

  “Damn straight, I don’t,” Gram said as she grabbed her purse and followed her friend out of the room. “I’ve got on a black piece of cloth that looks like dental floss riding up the crack of my ass, and nobody wants to see that flying anywhere.”

  Gram was wearing a G-string. Libby couldn’t let herself picture that.

  Noah burst out laughing and his eyes were twinkling when he glanced at Libby on his way out of the room, rolling both bags and carrying the dress.

  Tonight was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Noah paced the room, waiting for Libby to emerge from the bathroom. She’d been in there for forty minutes. And while she’d taken a shower, she didn’t usually spend much time on makeup or fixing her hair. She didn’t need to. Libby was a natural beauty—inside and out.

  He hated that most of the men she’d known hadn’t looked much beyond her beautiful face and body. Had he done the same thing at first? He gave himself a serious self-examination and concluded that while her physical appearance had grabbed his attention, it was her personality that had made him want to see her again.

  He’d never met a woman like Libby St. Clair, and he was positive he never would again.

  He sure as hell hoped this plan to make her see him in a different light worked.

  “Lib,” he called through the door. “How much longer are you going to be?”

  “I’m not feeling well. I think I should stay in tonight. You go ahead without me.”

  A momentary twinge of concern seized his stomach, but he pushed it away when he took into account that she’d protested vehemently about wearing the black dress. He had no idea what it looked like, Gram had held it in a wadded-up ball, but Libby—who was never embarrassed about anything she wore, wedding dress in a steak house aside—didn’t want him to see her wearing it.

  There was no way in hell she would get away without showing him.

  “You’re a terrible liar,” he answered. “Get out here. The blackjack tables are calling our names.”

  She didn’t answer but the door cracked open an inch.

  “Come on, Lib. How bad could it be? If you look like a clown, you can change. I promise.”

  “It might make me look like I’ve made an unwise career choice, but I don’t think it’s a clown you have to worry about.” The door opened more and she stepped out into the doorway.

  She stood still, shifting self-consciously. Something in his brain registered that she was acting out of character—other than the wedding dress, he’d never seen her self-conscious—but all the blood that usually went to the reasoning part of his brain had rushed to his crotch.

  She grimaced. “That bad?”

  He still couldn’t answer. He couldn’t do anything at all except stare at her. From Libby’s reaction to Gram’s demand, he’d suspected it was a sexy cocktail dress, but nothing could have prepared him for this—a sleeveless black dress that clung to every sexy curve, the hem hitting her mid-thigh. And the neckline . . . oh, God. The neckline. The V dipped below her breastbone, cradling the sides of her breasts like he longed to do with his hands. Something in his head signaled him to lift his eyes from her cleavage to her face, but that view was just as enthralling. She’d put on more makeup than usual and had made her eyes smoky and her lips red and shiny. Her hair was in a loose up-do, similar to the one she’d worn on her wedding day, but a few tendrils hung next to her cheeks, showing off the small diamond solitaire earrings she always wore.

  A groan escaped her parted red lips. “I’ll change.”

  “No!” he barked without thinking. The only way the dress was coming off was if he stripped it off her himself.

  “But I look like a hooker.” She put her hand on the doorjamb and jutted her hip to the side. If anything, she looked even sexier.

  Get your shit together, McMillan.

  He didn’t trust himself near her, yet his feet propelled him forward anyway. “No, Lib. You definitely do not look like a hooker.”

  “But—” Any further protest died on those gorgeous full lips as she stared up at him.

  He stood directly in front of her now and it took every bit of self-control he possessed to keep from pulling her into his arms and kissing her. But it wasn’t time for that. He still needed to prove himself.

  “You’re wearing the tux,” she murmured. Her gaze locked with his as her fingers played with his lapels. It was a delicate, fluid gesture—like they’d been together for years and placing her hands on his chest was the most natural thing in the world.

  He let a slow, lazy smile spread across his face. “I might as well get my money’s worth out of it.” He winked. “Thanks for picking black instead of powder blue.”

  She cringed, but then a grin lifted the corners of her mouth. “I wanted mauve.” Her shoulder lifted in a delicate motion that held him captive. “But I did let Mitch pick out everything.”

  “Well, thank you, Mitch,” he murmured, trying unsuccessfully to keep his voice light.

  Her gaze dropped to her hands and she stiffened slightly, as though realizing what she’d done. He expected her to jerk her hands away, but she kept them in place, her palms flat and her fingers splayed. “I think I should change.” Her words were soft and uncertain.

  “No, Lib. You should definitely not change.” Dammit all to hell. His body was resisting this untested concept of self-control and his voice had taken on a sultry tone.

  To his surprise, she pressed herself against him—only slightly—but enough to tell him that she was ready and willing.

  God help him, so was he.

  Don’t fuck this up, McMillan.

  He took a step back. “So now that we’ve settled that, let’s go play some blackjack.”

  Confusion swept over her face, and perhaps a bit of hurt, but she gave him a wavering smile. “Okay.”

  Gram hadn’t thought to pack Libby a purse to go with her dress, so she left her faded Indian print bag in the room. Noah stuck her license in his wallet in case she needed it and reached out a hand to her. “Let’s go.”

  She hesitated before taking it, but then she let him thread his fingers with hers. He knew he was sending her a confusing mix of signals. Part of him needed to know that she wan
ted him physically as much as he wanted her, but his gut told him the time wasn’t quite right yet. Not if he wanted his plan to work.

  They walked to the elevator hand in hand, and when the doors opened, he released her and followed her into the car, moving his hand to the side of her hip.

  She gave him an inquisitive glance, but the seven other people in the elevator stopped her from asking questions. She was taller tonight, wearing shiny, black, fuck-me heels that spiked his lust even higher.

  Libby St. Clair was the sexiest woman he had ever known and he had no idea how he was going to keep his hands to himself all night. Let alone sleep with her in the king-size bed in their room.

  God help him.

  The door opened and a well-dressed middle-aged man stood in the entrance. His gaze landed on Libby’s face and quickly zoomed down to her cleavage. Noah’s hand tightened on her hip and he locked eyes with the asshole as the guy made a move toward Libby. The look in Noah’s eyes made him hesitate and alter his course.

  Libby’s body sank into Noah’s side, and he glanced down to see if she’d noticed the silent exchange between him the fucker who was now sneaking glances at her ass. If she had, she didn’t let on.

  The top of her head hit right under his chin and the smell of her shampoo filled his nose—jasmine and a faint hint of apples. It was her scent and he realized now that he’d missed it the last couple of days. The complimentary hotel toiletries she’d been using smelled fine, but this . . . well, this was the essence of Libby St. Clair.

  The elevator reached the first floor and Noah kept his arm around her as the doors opened, then ushered her into the hall and toward the gambling area. Several people from the elevator followed them, including the guy.

  The fucker was still checking out her ass.

  Noah tensed, about to turn around and confront the bastard, but Libby looked up at him, her mouth pursed in disapproval. “I have no idea what’s gotten into you tonight. Just ignore him.”

  His eyes widened in surprise.

  “Yes, I know when guys are checking me out. It’s a survival skill,” she teased. “Ignore him.”