Gambling with Gabriella (Menage MfM Romance Novel) (Playing For Love Book 2)

by Tara Crescent

  A hundred grand, just like that. It must be nice to be that rich.

  Yet I don’t really know Dominic and Carter and it takes the kind of trust in men that I don’t have any more to take what they are saying at face value. Why would this Ed Wagner guy kidnap his own son? “You think I can reach him at the poker game?”

  “Noah’s only five, Gabriella,” Carter breaks in bleakly. “He’s just a kid.”

  And just like that, looking into his eyes, my hesitation vanishes. Carter can’t fake the depth of pain in his eyes and the heartbreak in his voice. No one can. They don’t think I’m going to help, but they are wrong. I’d do it for free, if only to erase the desperate worry in their gazes.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Nothing dangerous,” Dominic assures me. “Infiltrate the game. See if you can get Ed to reveal where he lives.”

  Why would a perfect stranger tell me where he lives, especially if he’s hiding from someone? If I were Ed Wagner, I’d be very, very careful. I’d be terrified of the shimmering anger in Carter’s eyes.

  Then I get what they haven’t spelled out. “You want me to seduce Ed and get him to take me home.”

  “We’ll be right behind you,” Carter says. There’s reluctance in his voice, and his eyes won’t meet mine. I can tell he doesn’t want to get me involved. He doesn’t like this plan.

  Yet he has no choice, and neither do I. Carter needs to find his nephew and I need money to pay off Sammy’s goons. I’ve already made up my mind that I’m on board. “I’ll do it,” I say. “Of course I’ll help.”

  4

  Dominic:

  The next hour is all about nailing down the details.

  Gabriella gets on the office phone and calls her dealer in New York. I’ve heard of the guy. Sammy D, he calls himself. As sharks go, he isn’t the worst one in the ocean. He’ll still beat you up if you don’t pay, but he won’t mess with you if you don’t mess with him.

  We’ve put her call on speaker phone. When the guy answers, her shoulders tense, but her voice stays calm. “Sammy,” she greets him. “It’s Gabriella.”

  “You’ve left town, dollface,” the voice on the other end says flatly. “You aren’t planning on running on me, are you?”

  Her eyes flash with irritation and I bite back my grin. In the last thirty minutes, I’ve learned that Gabriella has a temper. Well, that and she gave us a fake name at the bar we met.

  “Would I be calling you if I was running?” she says pertly. “I’ve got to play somewhere, Sammy. No one in New York will give me credit.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Atlantic City,” she says. “I need to get in on a game here. Can you help?”

  We’ve discussed this. Sammy has no reason not to help her. As far as he knows, she has no other way of getting the money he needs. Since he’s a consummate businessman, he’d much rather help her if it means he’ll get paid without needing to resort to violence.

  Besides, beating up women, especially ones as lovely as Gabriella, never plays well in the press. Sammy’ll do it, but he’d much rather not. We’ve gambled on this.

  “Okay,” he says. “I’ll give my friend Bulldog a call. He runs the games in Atlantic City.” His voice turns suspicious. “Where are you calling me from? This isn't your number.”

  “The Grand River,” she says. “I thought I’d play the high-stakes tables here, but the assholes won’t let me get on it. Then my phone battery died. I’m charging it now.”

  Carter glares at her at the assholes comment, but she ignores him. Again, my lips twitch. She was beautiful that night, and she was sexy, warm, and very memorable. Now, she’s all of that, and more. She’s interesting and brave, and really quite reckless.

  My cock stirs in my trousers as the memories crash back to the forefront. Her beautiful olive skin against the white sheets of the Plaza. Her chestnut brown hair, spread on the pillow. Her plump breasts, firm and round. Her erect nipples, broadcasting her desire. That pretty cunt, those parted legs. The way she’d tasted, like sweetness and sin. The breathy moans, the whispered pleas. Those lips around my cock, sucking, sucking until I was fighting to hold back my climax. The sight of her body, wedged between the two of us.

  Fuck me. I’m rock hard thinking of her. And even though I’m consumed with worry about Noah, I can’t lie to myself. I’m dying to touch her again.

  * * *

  “Dinner?” I ask her when she’s off the phone. There’s nothing to do now but wait. Sammy needs to contact Bulldog - seriously, the fucker has the most ridiculous name in the world - and until he does so, we don’t know where the poker games are. You’d think I would know, but I’m persona non grata in the underground gaming industry. My venture is strictly legit and people like Bulldog don’t trust me at all. To these guys, I might as well be the feds.

  Apart from the underground poker angle, Carter and I have teams of people looking for Ed Wagner right now. It doesn’t sit well with either of us to sit back and stay out of the action, but we have no choice. Noah’s safety is far too important for us to act like gung-ho cowboys.

  “Isn’t it rather late for a meal? It’s nearly ten.”

  “Have you eaten?” Carter asks. I’m glad he’s engaging in this conversation. He hadn’t said a word all through Gabriella’s phone call with Sammy. As worried as I am about Noah, I know that what Carter’s going through is far worse. We both took it hard when Chloe died. For a long time, the only way that Carter could function was to care for his nephew. Noah is everything to him.

  “It won’t kill me to miss a meal,” she says wryly. “A diet might be good for me.”

  “What are you talking about?” Carter growls. “Your body is fucking perfection, Ella. Don’t ever suggest otherwise.”

  I couldn’t agree more with him. She’s lush and curvy and her hips made for a man’s hands to grab on to, her generous breasts designed for a man to suck. Perfection.

  “Let’s go eat,” I insist. “Come on. I know a place.”

  * * *

  When the three of us are settled into a tiny booth in my favorite restaurant in Atlantic City, a bistro that makes Sicilian food so authentic you’d swear you were in the old country, I turn to her. “Ella or Gabriella?” I ask.

  She’s sitting next to me, and Carter has slid into the seat opposite her. She’s trapped by the two of us, but if she’s nervous, she doesn’t display it. “My friends call me Gabby,” she responds, blushing faintly.

  “Are we your friends, Gabby?” The waiter brings us a bottle of my favorite Chianti without prompting, pouring generous portions into three wine glasses.

  “You called me Gabby just now,” she says with a small smile. A non-answer. She takes a gulp of the wine, and I can see that her fingers are trembling slightly.

  Carter notices too. “Are we making you nervous?” he asks, his brows furrowed. “Are you afraid of us?”

  “Yes,” she says simply. “And no. Yes, you are making me nervous. No, I’m not afraid of you.” Her eyes flash fire again, and my lips twitch. “I’m not afraid of anyone,” she adds defiantly.

  Carter’s feeling it. I’m feeling it. And though Gabriella will deny it till she’s blue in the face, she’s feeling it too. Energy crackles between the three of us. It was like this in that bar in Midtown. There was the same sense of anticipation. The same bated breath, the same threads of desire drawing us nearer…

  “Why did you run away that night?” My fingers trace a path up her bare arms, and I watch as goosebumps break out on her soft skin. “Why did you leave without saying goodbye?”

  She doesn’t pull her arm away from my touch. Carter notices, and he pushes, just a little. He pats his thighs. “Put your legs here,” he orders.

  “I’m not your toy,” she snaps. “I’m not going to be your distraction.”

  “Is that what you think?” His voice is soft and dangerous. “Do you know how hard I’m fighting this feeling, Gabby? I’m so afraid I’m going to drown in your swe
etness, and right now, Noah needs all my attention.” He fixes his gaze squarely on her. “Put your legs on my lap, honey. I’m not going to ask again.”

  Her teeth nibble at her lower lip, a move that sends a sharp shard of lust straight to my groin. God, she’s beautiful. A sultry temptress.

  Then she kicks off her high heels and obeys Carter, putting her feet on his thighs. My cock hardens to steel. I want this woman.

  I move closer to her, and my fingers caress her skin. My thumb moves in slow circles at the nape of her neck, and she sighs in pleasure. I look over - Carter’s giving her a foot massage at the same time.

  “You guys are too dangerous,” she whimpers. “That’s why I left that night.”

  “Huh?” Carter’s looking just as confused as I feel.

  “You will affect my peace of mind,” she clarifies, though her body softens at my side. Her words tell us to stay away, yet she doesn’t make any move to pull free. “Then the moment you are important to me, you’ll become assholes.”

  I’m even more confused now. “Huh?” I say again. It’s not the most articulate of responses, but in my defense, all the blood in my body has pooled in my dick. I’m almost light-headed with desire.

  “That’s what happens,” she whimpers as I find a tense spot on her neck. “Dominic, please,” she moans. “Don’t stop.” She bites her lip again. “It’s what I do. The moment they get involved with me, good guys go bad. Guys will lie about being single. Guys who would have never thought about cheating will fuck other women on my bed. They’ll promise me anything. Say anything. Until they’ve slept with me, until I begin to care. Then, their true colors go on display. I’m done with men. No more. I don’t date.”

  “I’ve never heard anything stupider,” Carter says bluntly. He’s normally slightly more tactful, but he is very worried about Noah.

  She flips him off, and I choke back my surprised laughter. Oh, I like this girl. She’s a little spitfire.

  “No promises. No lies,” I hear myself say. “But we want you, Gabriella.” My fingers wrap around a strand of her hair, and I tug her close. My mouth descends on her lips, those soft pink lips that she’s been biting all night. My kiss is brief but possessive. Carter was right earlier. A man can drown in her sweetness if he’s not too careful. “And if I’m not mistaken, you want us too. Come back with us tonight?”

  She’s about to open her mouth to say something when her phone beeps. She fumbles for it in her bag and she gazes at the screen for a long minute. “That’s Bulldog,” she says finally. “I’m in. There’s a game in an hour and a half.”

  5

  Carter:

  All evening long, I’ve pushed the nagging sense of guilt I feel to the back of my mind, but as soon as she gets that text message, it comes surging back. I shouldn’t involve her in this. Though I tell myself that the situation isn’t dangerous, Ed’s like a cornered beast right now. He’s hard to predict. Anything can happen.

  Not to mention that the idea of that fucker laying a finger on her is having me see red.

  The waiter places steaming plates of lasagna in front of us. Gabriella has argued that we should leave, but Dominic and I overrule her. The address Bulldog has texted her is only ten minutes away from the restaurant. There’s plenty of time to eat.

  “What does Ed Wagner look like?” she asks, once she’s swallowed the first, steaming bite. Her eyes close in bliss, and she moans softly. “God, this is good.”

  Moan like that around my cock, Gabby.

  Then I get angry with myself. My nephew is in danger, and I’m thinking of her giving me head. I’m so distracted by her that I’ve forgotten to tell her how to identify Ed when she gets to Bulldog’s poker room. I’m an idiot. I need my head in the game. Thoughts of making love to Gabriella can wait.

  I pull up a surveillance photo taken seven months ago, right before Ed was arrested, and hand her my phone. “This is him.”

  She stares at the image. “Got it,” she says finally.

  “Bulldog runs three kinds of tables,” Dominic says. “One low stakes, one medium, one high. Wagner’s a grinder. He makes rent playing poker. Or, he used to before he was arrested. He’ll be playing on the medium stakes table.”

  “If you know so much about him, how come you can’t find him?”

  My voice is rueful. “Neither of us can get anywhere near Bulldog,” I say. “Not without a gunfight. Bulldog hates Dominic’s guts.”

  “He’s not a fan of you either,” Dominic says dryly. “To answer your question, Gabby, Ed’s keeping a very low profile this time around. He’s not at his usual haunts. His credit card hasn’t been used. And now that he has Noah, he’ll be even more careful. He knows we’re searching for him.”

  “Take this.” I give Gabby a small tracker, the size of a button. “Put it in your purse, don’t leave the poker game without it. We can’t get too close to this address without tipping off Bulldog, but we’ll be close, and we’ll follow you.”

  She nods. She hasn’t said very much since that text came through. She’s also taken her legs off my lap. Pity.

  We finish our meals in silence, and we drive her to her car, in the parking lot of the Grand River. “We’ll be right behind you,” I tell her reassuringly. I’m not sure who I’m trying harder to convince. Her, or myself.

  “Okay,” she says softly.

  “I almost forgot,” Dominic interjects. “You’ll need money to play. Here.” He hands her an envelope, and she opens it. Inside, there’s a thick wad of hundred dollar bills.

  “How much money is in here?”

  “Ten grand,” he replies. “Enough to keep you in the game till the end.”

  She grimaces slightly. I can tell she doesn’t like taking Dominic’s money, but she tucks the envelope into her handbag without protest. “The winnings are yours, of course.”

  Dominic wisely shuts up and doesn’t say anything to contradict her. On impulse, I pull her into a hug and hold her tight. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” I promise her. “I wouldn’t involve you unless I was desperate.”

  She tenses at first, then she relaxes. Her arms snake around my waist, and she clings to me. For a few seconds, my worries recede and all that remains is the feel of her body in my arms. “Don’t worry, Carter,” she says when we finally separate. “I’ve got this.”

  Think about Noah, I tell myself fiercely, as I watch her get into her car and pull away. Think about tucking him back in his own bed tonight, safe and sound, with his teddy bear Graham, and the floor of his room covered in little sharp Lego pieces.

  Yet no matter how many times I try to persuade myself, I can’t shake my sense of wrongness. “I don’t like this,” I say aloud to Dominic. “I can’t help feeling that we’ve placed her in danger.”

  He doesn’t reply. What can he say? Like I told Gabriella, it’s not like we have a choice.

  6

  Gabriella:

  The underground poker halls in Atlantic City look very much like the ones in New York. Same cheap furniture, same too-bright lighting. This room is in the back room of a non-descript Chinese restaurant. Every time someone opens the door, I smell fried rice.

  Bulldog is huge. His bushy eyebrows come together in a frown as his gaze rests on me. “You’re the girl Sammy spoke of?” he asks suspiciously.

  I nod.

  “Can’t be too careful,” he grumbles. “The cops, the casino owners, everyone wants to shut me down.”

  Ah. That explains the bad blood between Dominic and Bulldog. In New York City, there's no legal gambling, and for those of us that want to play, the only competition to the underground rooms are the online poker websites headquartered in the Caribbean. Here in Atlantic City, there’s a third option, and the casino owners will fight to protect their territory.

  No wonder Dominic and Carter can’t come close.

  I look around as unobtrusively as possible, my job in public relations helping me here. When you manage world famous soccer players, you get good at blen
ding into the background. But my search is in vain. Ed Wagner is nowhere to be seen.

  Bulldog’s eyes fall on my handbag and he bristles. “No personal effects,” he says. “No phones. No cameras. There’s a closet you can put it all in.”

  “Certainly.” What else can I say? I can’t rely on Carter’s tracker, and I can’t call Dominic for help. I’m on my own.

  Strangely, I’m not flustered. I’ve spent many years in rooms like this. Here, I feel at home. Here, I belong.

  * * *

  Only the most hardcore of players are out on a Tuesday evening. There’s fewer than twenty people clustered around four tables. Bulldog gestures hopefully to the sparsely populated high stakes tables when I exchange my ten grand for chips, but I shake my head. “I should warm up first,” I tell him. Hiding his disappointment, he leads me to the medium stakes table.

  The four guys occupying it look up at our approach. “Guys,” Bulldog says, “this is Gabriella from New York. She’s going to be playing with us tonight.”

  “Hi,” I say, surveying my competition for the night. It’s the typical assortment. One of them looks straight out of Wall Street. He’s wearing the investment banking uniform - Armani suit, expensive watch and handmade Italian leather shoes. The two spots next to him are occupied by two geeky looking guys who nod shyly at me. I smother a grimace and nod back. I know I’m typecasting, but these two are probably going to outplay everyone because they are math geniuses. And even though I’m playing with Dominic’s money and have no real skin in the game, I’m still competitive enough to want to win.

  The last guy is a wildcard. He’s wearing a plaid shirt and faded jeans, and unlike the others, he’s completely relaxed. He’s either a professional, or he’s got money to burn. Neither scenario is particularly good.

  Most importantly, there’s no sign of Ed Wagner. I wonder if he’s even going to show up, or if this entire thing is a gigantic waste of time.