by Donya Lynne
Karma fidgeted on the high seat at the blackjack table and tugged the hem of her dress. She felt like an underdressed beacon, and, as in the ballroom earlier, men eyed her with barely veiled precision, as if they were trying to decide how best to get her out of her dress.
She picked up one of the round, plastic chips from her dwindling pile and worried the tip of her manicured nail in the grooves around the edge. Daniel had bought her five hundred dollars’ worth of chips—the lifetime debt continued to mount—and had joined her at blackjack for a while before venturing off to play poker. He was a virtuoso at Texas Hold’em while Karma’s knowledge of poker extended to knowing that a deck of cards was involved. Blackjack, on the other hand, she could manage. She had to be able to count to twenty-one, and that was about as much as she needed to know.
The dealer dealt her a pair of cards. Fourteen. She tapped the table for a hit. She was dealt an eight. Bust. Her stack of chips grew even smaller. She was losing more than she was winning, but it was all play money, anyway. No one would get rich in this casino. Chips were bought with money, which went to the charity, and winnings were cashed in for tickets to enter into the drawings for the prizes, one of which was a Caribbean cruise for two on a semi-private, luxury yacht.
Wouldn’t it be something if she won that?
But if she did, who would she take with her? She would probably just give the tickets to Daniel and Zach. Maybe that would be enough to ease her conscience over how much Daniel had bankrolled for her to come tonight.
* * *
Mark entered the Red Lacquer Ballroom, a glass of scotch in his hand. The evening had graduated from champagne to something stronger, despite his gastrointestinal overload an hour ago.
After losing control over his emotions—and his dinner—he had pulled himself together, washed up, rinsed out his mouth, changed his shirt, and donned his jacket and tie once more to continue his evening. Avoiding Carol was of utmost importance, though, which had led him to the makeshift casino. Carol wouldn’t dream of gambling and would stay firmly rooted in the main ballroom.
If only Abby had waited a few more days to break up with him, she would have been on his arm tonight. Her presence would have offered a buffer against Carol’s mental onslaught, and his feelings of vulnerability and exposure might not have surfaced. Being alone was like announcing to Carol that he hadn’t moved on, which he hadn’t, but he didn’t want to admit that…to her, himself, or anyone.
He killed the drink he had been nursing for the last half hour and fought to clear his head as he set his empty glass on the bar. “Scotch,” he told the bartender. “Double.” He scanned the room. He didn’t want to be alone. Not now. Not tonight. But he wasn’t one for casual flings and one-night stands, so where did that leave him?
Rob’s words came back to haunt him. There’s nothing stopping you from having a wild night with one of these fine ladies. That was Rob, not him, but right now, the temptation to let go of his control was almost overwhelming. He was beyond frayed, and the idea of female companionship appealed to him more than usual now that Carol had shocked his system.
He really needed to get his shit together. Come to his senses. Put aside this idea of finding a suitable woman and losing his loneliness inside an evening of unbridled passion. That wouldn’t do anyone any good, and he knew himself well enough to know if he did that, he would just feel worse in the morning. Maybe he should just leave before he did something stupid. Head home…call it a night…throw in the—
His gaze landed on her and every rational thought screeched to a halt.
Standing a little taller, he lifted his freshly filled glass to his lips as he took in her statuesque form. Even sitting, she held herself like a queen. Wait. Perhaps not a queen, but a princess meeting the public for the first time, with an air of insecurity over a layer of confidence. Or was that a show of confidence over a core of insecurity?
The way she smoothed her hand self-consciously down the skirt of her magnificent red dress, the way she nibbled the inside of her bottom lip as she hesitantly glanced over her shoulder, the way her fingers fidgeted over the chips stacked in front of her, and how her feet twitched in time to a silent beat…this was a woman not accustomed to her surroundings or her effect on men. But Mark’s sharp eye caught every revealing nuance in her body language. She wasn’t used to wearing such provocative clothing, such decadent high heels. She seemed completely unaware that she was the sexiest woman there, as if she held no understanding of her own appeal or how she drew men’s gazes the way strawberry blossoms drew bees. She had the eye of every man in the room—including his—and yet she sat alone.
What a crime.
Intensely intrigued, Mark’s innate desire to understand the unknown perked to life. Why was such a stunner alone?
No matter. He could remedy that.
Mark made his way across the room, watching her, studying her.
And that dress. Such a shimmering, vivid red should be illegal. Her auburn hair was pulled over one shoulder to expose the nape of her neck and shoulder blades. If he had been her date for the evening, he wouldn’t hesitate to walk up behind her and drop a kiss on that alluring expanse of skin. Everything about her, right down to her pretty feet in those strappy gold shoes, beckoned.
Mark didn’t know if it was the alcohol, his need to find companionship to dull the ache in his chest, his recent breakup with Abby, or if this woman was simply a mythological siren come to steal his heart. With just a glance, she had pushed his sorrow into the background and awakened his primordial need to explore.
The seat beside her became available, and he eased onto it before placing a hundred-dollar chip on the table, stealing a peek at her cards as she looked at them. The dealer dealt him in.
She didn’t seem to notice his presence as she tapped the green felt beside her pair of cards.
“I wouldn’t take a hit on that, if I were you.”
She turned and visibly caught her breath. Her pale green eyes widened briefly then her lashes fell as she looked away. “Why not?”
He shrugged. “Just wouldn’t.”
She bit her lip and smiled then turned toward the dealer and tapped the table with her delicate finger, anyway.
Such bravado. He licked his lips and fought back a smile as he glanced into his drink.
The card she received put her over twenty-one.
He collected his winnings from the dealer and sipped his scotch. “Told you.”
Her eyes sparkled when she looked at him again. “Well, it’s for a good cause, right?”
“That it is.” Mark recognized many faces here tonight, but not hers. “My name is Mark Strong,” he said as he accepted the next deal. “What’s yours?”
“Karma.” Once again, she smoothed her palm down her skirt then motioned as if out of habit to tuck her hair behind her ear, even though it was already draped over her other shoulder, giving him a peek at her elegant neck.
“Do I make you nervous, Karma?” He tapped the table for a hit.
Karma quickly dropped her hand back to the table with a slight flourish. “No.”
But Mark could tell she was as attracted to him as he was to her.
They played two more hands in silence. On the third, Mark said, “Want to make it interesting?”
She turned curious yet emboldened eyes toward him. “Interesting?”
“Yes.” He nodded toward the cards they had just been dealt. “If I end up with the better hand, you have to dance with me.” He dared to take her back into the main ballroom, to dance with this splendid woman in front of God and everyone. In front of Carol.
Her gaze caressed his face then dropped to his chest before meeting his eyes again. “And if I have the better hand?”
“What would the lady like?”
She took a moment, looked at her cards, and then met his gaze as she bit her lip. Daring and something else, something bordering on excitement, flickered in her eyes. “If I win, you have to buy me a drink.”
> “It’s an open bar.”
Her gold hoop earrings brushed against the smooth, flawless skin of her neck as she giggled bashfully and glanced away. “Well then…” She thought for a second. “If I win, you have to have a drink with me.”
“In that case, it sounds like a win-win all around.” He could barely take his eyes off her. She was like no woman he had ever seen. So striking. She was like a majestic greyhound, long and slender, with simple elegance and understated beauty that outshone even her attire. Yet, there was a vulnerability and innocence in her eyes that belied the dress, the shoes, the way her hair fell seductively to one side. Karma was a dichotomy, two extremes tied into one.
His lips twitched as she took a hit on her cards. He wouldn’t have asked for another if he had been dealt her hand, which he had peeked at, but so much the better for his odds.
He stayed. His hand was already a keeper. Queen of hearts alongside the ace of diamonds.
Her shoulders slumped momentarily after the dealer dropped her next card in front of her. King of spades.
“Bust.” She turned toward him. “I guess you win.”
“I guess I have.” He nodded toward the dealer, collected his chips as she did likewise, stood, and adjusted his jacket before holding out his arm. “Shall we?” He bobbed his head in the direction of the main ballroom.
She hesitated briefly then carefully dismounted the high chair and wrapped her arm around his. Her awkward mannerisms, and the way she bobbled on her—yes, those were Jimmy Choos—made her that much more intriguing.
Once she steadied herself, he led her back into the ballroom. Whether Karma ended up in his suite or not, the evening had just taken a turn for the better.
* * *
Karma couldn’t believe this was happening. A handsome man had really just asked her to dance.
Under his tuxedo, Mark’s arm felt strong, powerful, the arm of a man who took care of his body. He led her out of the casino to the dance floor in the main ballroom. A live band played easy jazz, and they began swaying back and forth in time to the music, another couple among many.
She really was Cinderella, this was her ball, and Mark stood in as a worthy prince.
“So, Karma, what do you do? Wait, let me guess. You’re a model.” One corner of his mouth rose as if he was only teasing. His dark green eyes bore into hers with such intensity that she couldn’t look away.
“How did you know?” Fine. He was teasing, but why not play a little? After all, she was someone else tonight, wasn’t she? Let Mark think she was a model if that’s what he wanted to believe. Besides, after tonight, she would never see him again. For a few hours, she could pretend she was someone exciting, someone important, someone worthy of a handsome, charismatic man.
His eyebrows lifted as his grin widened, and he looked away as if suppressing a thought. For a while, they merely danced. Mark’s subtle cologne infiltrated her senses, and the hard lines of his body beneath his jacket became impossible to ignore. He felt sturdy, rugged, like a man who got what he wanted and didn’t let go until he was finished.
She skimmed her left hand from his shoulder to his chest and studied her slender, pale fingers against the stark black of his tuxedo. Warmth emanated from under all that rich wool, and she brushed her hand back and forth across the firm swell of his pectoral, which felt solid and firm. She stilled her hand and pressed her fingers against the fabric, enjoying the subtle curve of his chest against her palm. What did Mark look like undressed? She could bet he looked as impressive as he felt.
His hold around her waist tightened, and he pulled her more firmly against him, snapping her from her fantasy. She glanced up at his face. He was watching her, eyes narrowed, his lips curled with amusement. Then his gaze dropped briefly to her hand.
Oh God! He had caught her feeling him up.
Heat flooded her cheeks, and she hastily returned her hand to his shoulder.
After several long, awkward moments, he said quietly, “You’re not a model.” His rich, deep voice smoldered.
Warmth spilled through her body like melted butter. It was a feeling she had never experienced, and it made her breathless. “What makes you say that?” She wasn’t ready to concede the game.
He held her fully against him now, his face only inches from hers, his eyes drilling holes into her soul.
He released her hand, and his gaze followed the tip of his finger as it trailed down the side of her neck to her shoulder. “Call it a feeling.”
Heat bloomed between her legs as he called her bluff, and she shifted uneasily at the foreign sensation. Part of her wanted to run, but the other part—the stranger inside her—desperately wanted to explore these new feelings Mark was awakening. Without a doubt, he was the sexiest, most attractive man she had ever laid eyes on. From the first moment she gazed into those dark eyes at the blackjack table, she knew she was in the presence of a man who knew pleasure and power.
Unbidden, her fingers curled against his shoulders. She wasn’t used to men touching her this way, speaking to her in hushed, intimate whispers.
The tip of his finger glided up her shoulder to her neck. “You’re not accustomed to wearing such provocative clothes, such scandalous shoes.” Not a question, but a statement of fact. He knew. He saw right through her. His fingertip grazed across her collarbones. “You’re not used to men looking at you.” His lips brushed against her cheek, right beside her ear. “And you have no idea how incredibly sexy you are, do you?”
Her breath actually hitched as tiny, warm explosions lit her belly. “I’m sexy?” The question whispered from her lips before she could think.
Mark pulled back, wearing a knowing grin. “A model wouldn’t even ask that question.” He paused then said, “And a model would be comfortable in the spotlight. You aren’t.”
She couldn’t answer, could hardly move. She was way out of her league but refused to surrender.
Mark let out a quiet breath, not quite a sigh, but not a full exhale, either. “I don’t know who you are, just your name. But what I do know is that you’re the most beautiful woman here, and you’re dancing with me, and every man in this room wishes he were in my shoes right now.” His eyes lifted and scanned the vicinity as if proving to himself that what he said was true. Then he met her eyes again. “That’s all I need to know.”
She was in deep. So very deep. He was a stranger, but he had called her beautiful. No one had ever called her beautiful before. And he implied that she had bolstered his ego by dancing with him and no one else. When had she ever boosted a man’s ego?
Tonight, this dress, and all that went with it, truly was magical. For a few hours, she was living a life she had only imagined.
She’d only just met Mark, and yet she was snared irrevocably and unapologetically in his web with no desire to free herself. Let her be caught. For tonight, just this once, let her be captured by the decadence of a glance, the thrill of a touch, and the scent of his cologne on her skin.
Chapter 4
Go for it now. The future is promised to no one.
-Wayne Dyer
Karma was everything Mark liked in a woman. Innocent. Sweet. Shy.
The moment he touched her and wrapped his arm around her slender waist, a spark had ignited. One that persisted and intensified the longer they danced. She smelled of wild flowers and fresh undertones, like petals floating down a mountain stream. And her skin. It was so smooth, so pristine. She really could be a model if she wanted, but he had only been joking when he asked if she was. He had already known she wasn’t.
Why had she lied about that?
Rather than make him angry, the deception deepened his curiosity.
“How about that drink?” he said when the song ended.
“Even though you won the wager?” Purity, as well as curious desire, shone from her luminous eyes. From the way she looked at him and tried to hold herself the way a worldly woman would—operative word being tried—Mark got the feeling it wasn’t just her outfit and a
ll the attention she wasn’t used to, but men showing their interest, as well.
“Yes, I did, but that doesn’t mean we can’t both get what we want.” He guided her from the dance floor, more intrigued by the second. Who was this splendid, naïve butterfly who seemed both eager and terrified to open her wings?
At the bar, he ordered another scotch on the rocks and champagne for her.
“Have you seen the exhibits?” He took her hand and scanned the room. Carol was nowhere to be seen, but the way Karma’s hand fit so nicely in his, he didn’t care. He studied their connection. Her French manicure gleamed in the soft lights, and her warm hand offered security.
Strange that she would make him feel safe. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?
“No, I haven’t.” Her delicate fingers squeezed his.
He nodded in the direction of the exhibit hall. “Then let me give you the tour.”
* * *
Karma felt like she’d stepped into a whirlwind and been carried off to Oz.
Mark knew his way around. Clearly, he was more deeply connected to this charity event than as a mere philanthropist. He knew the names of the artists, musicians, and dancers. In fact, he knew Sonya, a snippet of knowledge Karma didn’t reveal they shared.
Maybe she was being selfish, but something about sharing him with the normalcy of her life felt wrong. What she had with Mark was a fantasy, and fantasies weren’t meant to be shared with the real world. They were surreal, an illusion, private. Perfect. And that’s how she wanted to keep him.
Karma followed him from one display to the next, listened to him tell a personal story or provide an odd fact or two about the artists, watched his face light with a charming smile as he recalled a funny anecdote. Other guests stopped him periodically to say hello. Everyone seemed to know him. He always introduced her then smoothly moved them along as if working toward a destination.
