The Grand Opening

by Ava Miles

  “Absolutely.” She turned them face up and smiled. Ah, victory.

  “The lady’s got a nice hand. Mac?”

  He laid one card down. A Jack of Diamonds. Then a seven of clubs. Seventeen.

  He had to have busted with the third card. She put her hands on her hips, feeling the urge to rock back on her heels.

  Then he put down a three of spades.

  Her lungs stopped functioning. The woman deep inside cried, Yes, a date!

  “Twenty, Mac. Whew!” Rhett breathed out. “Risky, taking another card.”

  “I knew Peggy had a good hand, and I always play to win—especially when the pot is something I want so badly.”

  Her throat stopped working. She couldn’t swallow for a minute.

  Rhett slapped him on the back. “Damn, this guy likes to take risks. That’s why he’s building and running hotels, while I’m still a poor gambler trying to cobble together a stake for each tourney.”

  “You are so full of it. I’ll give you a call about dinner, Peggy. And I’ll send Dustin over after the tournament. I drove by your house earlier, and I think the lawn can wait a few more days. It looked incredibly well attended.”

  So that hadn’t slipped by him, huh? She looked away for a minute. That’s because she’d mowed it herself at the crack of dawn. If she took care of it, they wouldn’t need to come by. Did he think she didn’t have a strategy?

  His smile transformed his face into charming again. “When we go out, I’d be happy to find a sitter for Keith, or I’m sure my sister would love to watch him.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. He wasn’t boxing her into a corner. “I’ll take care of things.”

  He sauntered around Rhett, who was watching the scene like some demented bulldog. Animal Control needed to be alerted.

  Leaning over her desk, Maven tapped her nose before she could react.

  “Don’t do that,” Peg said.

  “I couldn’t help myself. Rhett’s right. You are cute. That green shirt brings out the creaminess of your skin.”

  “I’m always right about women, Mac. When are you going to realize that?” He threw his arms around Mac’s shoulder. “Time for us to head out. Unless you’ve changed your mind about giving me a tour?” he asked Peggy.

  She simply gave him the fish eye.

  He lifted his hands. “See, this is why the law and me don’t get along. They see this outfit and assume it comes with trouble.”

  “It does,” Maven confirmed, winking at Peggy. “She might be the most mistrustful woman I’ve ever met, but she’s smart.”

  “Well, I still think Abbie might be more wary, but at least she doesn’t pack a gun. If she did, she might have shot me by now. By the way, isn’t a 9 mm a more standard weapon for a female officer?”

  She caressed her 45 mm Glock and gave him a Cheshire–cat smile. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  His hand dropped to his chest, making the heart–beats–for–you motion. “My God, if it weren’t for your profession, we’d be soul mates.”

  Maven snorted, opening the door to her office. “I’ll see you soon.”

  She mimed a fake smile and went back to work, sending a message of her own. He was dismissed.

  Rhett didn’t take the hint. He walked back to her desk. “I’d kiss your hand, but I expect you’d kick me in the nuts. Since I like my family jewels, I’ll simply do like the cowboys of old.” He put a finger to his gallon–size hat in a salute. “Good afternoon, ma’am.” He followed a grinning Maven out of her office.

  Good afternoon, indeed.

  She’d just been swindled.

  Chapter 15

  The bark of bawdy laughter made Abbie clench the frying pan. So, he was here in their new home. She checked her watch. For once, Rhett was on time. She whipped off her polka–dot apron and smoothed the lapels of her yellow jacket. Funny, she’d thought wearing something sunny might improve her disposition.

  “Mom! Uncle Rhett’s here,” Dustin called, laughing riotously amidst a scuffle. “Tell me you brought Rye Crenshaw with you.”

  She froze, praying he hadn’t brought any extra guests without asking, especially ones who excelled at getting him into trouble.

  “Nope. He had some big Nashville call this morning, but I got him to autograph his newest CD for you.”

  “Sweet!” her son yelled.

  Her summer heels clicked on the tiles as she walked to the doorway. Rhett had Dustin in a barrel hug, lifting him completely off the ground. Her stomach flip–flopped, remembering how he used to do that to her—right before he kissed her senseless. Or threw her on the bed.

  Oh heavens.

  She firmed a smile on her face instead of fanning herself. “Rhett. Welcome.” She couldn’t bring herself to say, It’s good to see you.

  His infernal grin made her think he’d read her mind. “Abbie. Don’t you look like a drop of sunshine.”

  She didn’t roll her eyes, but she wanted to. Leave it to Rhett to come up with a compliment bordering on poetic. Most men couldn’t pull it off, but somehow Rhett got under women’s skin with his old–world troubadour act. Well, she wasn’t falling for it anymore.

  “You exaggerate, as usual. Cince, could you help me in the kitchen?”

  “I’ll help you,” Rhett announced, making her spine straighten.

  “No, you catch up with Dustin.”

  Mac shot her a glance. The more she struggled, the worse it looked.

  Rhett squeezed Dustin’s shoulders. “I’ve got something in my car for you, kid. Why don’t you run and get it? And maybe after breakfast, you can show me what you can do behind the wheel.”

  Dustin hugged Rhett one–armed. “Awesome. See! Someone trusts me with his car.”

  “That’s because someone’s sponsoring his car, so he won’t be paying for it if anything happens,” Mac replied. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re not driving for another month.”

  Rhett ruffled Dustin’s hair and then fished out car keys from his tight jeans. She tried and failed not to look at his inseam. Did he have to flaunt…his family jewels to everybody?

  Not her business.

  “Cince, let’s go check out his Bentley, too,” Mac said.

  She gave her brother her best glare for leaving her alone with Rhett. Cince tipped his finger to his forehead. So he knew about them too? Gosh, and she thought they had been so discreet. Why couldn’t she have gotten the Poker Face gene?

  After they filed out, Mac closing the door behind them, Rhett came forward with his arms spread, a lop–sided grin on his face. “Great. Now I can say hello to you proper.”

  His tone shot sheer lust up her thighs. He was about to kiss her senseless if she didn’t stop him. She wanted to turn tail and run, but Rhett would just chase her. She’d fled before. He’d always caught her.

  And again, thrown her onto the bed.

  Why couldn’t she stop thinking about that?

  She crossed her arms like she imagined a prim aunt might do—not that she’d had one. “You must have had an accident and become brain damaged on your trip overseas to think I’m ever going to let you greet me ‘proper’ again.”

  He didn’t stop moving until his snakeskin cowboy boots touched the tips of her jonquil sandals. His white leather jacket had beads on it, which drew her attention to his massive chest. She remembered the rippling muscles, the heat, the sweat. Part of her wanted to lock herself in the bathroom. The other part wanted to step into his arms and never leave.

  He tipped up her chin. His golden eyes studied her with an intensity he usually only gave to the table at the end of the tourney when the pressure was bone–crushing.

  “I missed you, Abbie.”

  Her heart tore in two. She fought for air, but wouldn’t let herself take a deep breath. She clenched her arms tighter around herself. “Don’t say that.”

  He caressed her cheek with one finger. “I always tell the truth. It’s how I was raised.”

  “Bull,” she ground out.


  His hand dropped. “You know what happens when someone says I’m bluffing.”

  Her throat went dry, knowing exactly what he was about to say. He put his hand on her arm as if sensing she might dart off.

  “I go all in.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

  Her bracelets rattled as she trembled.

  “I know it will take some time for you to get used to it, and since I know the kind of woman you are, I’m going to give you the words without the contact—for a while.”

  Her chest constricted. “I don’t understand.”

  “I told Mac I’m in love with you. I went overseas to be as far away from you as I could, so I wouldn’t be tempted to come back on a dime and beg.” His tense face formed a rigid smile.

  She gasped. “What did you say?”

  His face clenched from brow to jaw. “I said, ‘I love you,’ and I’m not leaving here until you agree to marry me. There’s nothing you can do to make me walk away again. I don’t figure it can hurt any worse than it already has. After living without you for a year, I’ll take anything you dish out. All I care about is being close to you.”

  She’d hurt him? She knew her mouth had fallen open, but she couldn’t help it. She had thought she’d only wounded his pride. Believing he loved her was like dark, treacherous waters, and she was wary of drowning.

  “You’re insane.”

  He took a deep breath, expanding his massive chest. “Yes, I am. God knows there are easier women out there, but I don’t want them. I want you. I’ve rented a house here, and I plan to stay until you say yes. Then we’ll build one or buy one wherever you want to live. I’ll even let you take me shopping for some new clothes, but no polo shirts or Dockers—I couldn’t take it.”

  The change–up was like an earthquake under her feet. “No, I’m—”

  “Be quiet and listen for once.” He drilled her with a gaze she recognized from when he won the World Series of Poker two years ago after losing half his chips. It was his determined look. “I’m not leaving you, Abbie. Ever again. I won’t hurt you or abandon you.”

  Wetness shot into her eyes. She blinked rapidly, praying she wouldn’t cry.

  His face gentled. “I intend to prove I can be a good husband to you and father to Dustin.”

  “You’re…you’re…”

  He kissed her hand again, his warm lips lingering, making goosebumps trail up her arms. “Take your time. I know you don’t think I can change, but I can. There are no other women, Abbie. There haven’t been for nearly ten months—a record. I realized I couldn’t get you out of my system and hated myself for even trying.”

  She reeled in her shoes. He’d been celibate? Rhett Butler Blaylock?

  “Until you decide to marry me, I’m not going to touch you. I’m going to court you like a gentleman. If you want me to kiss you or make love to you, you’ll have to ask for it.”

  She finally shoved at his chest. “Stop this! Stop this madness right now.”

  He was unraveling years of carefully imposed self–control.

  “I’ve asked Mac for his blessing. I won’t do anything in secret anymore. What’s between us is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “This isn’t only for you to decide.”

  “No, but I won’t hide what I feel for you. You can tell Dustin or let him find out for himself. You’re his mama, so you know best, but that boy loves me, and I love him!”

  She stayed quiet, shaking from the emotional overload.

  “Dammit, Abbie, you know this whole getup of mine is mostly an act. My poker girls have fancy degrees from Harvard.”

  She stepped back, sucking in air, needing space. “That’s not the point.”

  He stretched out his arms, reminding her of the bald eagle she’d seen soaring over their house earlier that morning. “Then what is?”

  “I don’t…” She couldn’t lie—not to him. “I can’t love you!”

  Silence poured into the room like sand. He titled his head to the side, watching her. His mouth tipped up. “You already do. I’m gambling my life on it.” He walked around her, heading into the kitchen. “Now, what did you need help with?”

  She bit her lip, fighting the urge to come undone.

  Instead, she drew herself up to her full height. Pulled on her jacket. Smoothed it into place. When she turned and followed him, she pasted a smile on her face. “I need that bread buttered for French toast.”

  He fiddled with the knife on the counter and then cleanly cut the bread in half, just like he’d done to her sense of peace and security. She didn’t bother to tell him he’d cut it the wrong way.

  “I’m a pro in the kitchen if you recall.”

  She did and kicked herself for remembering what else he was good at in the kitchen—laying her on granite countertops and making her scream with pleasure.

  No one could ever say butter didn’t melt in Rhett’s mouth.

  Chapter 16

  Poker tournaments had a way of testing everyone’s mettle. Mac savored the kalick, kalick, kalick as he raked in another stack of chips. It wasn’t simply the winning. There was something primal about pitting yourself against another man—or woman, if the rare occasion surfaced. The constant vigilance of a tournament exhausted most people. The need to continually assess opponents and weigh various betting strategies against each other, the constant draining drive to win.

  He wasn’t most people.

  The physical side of the game could be taxing too, he thought, as he sipped a health drink at the front of the room, watching everyone set up. Grueling days of intense play in eight– to twelve–hour blocks with few breaks in between brought out the body’s weaknesses.

  Mac liked to think the survivor of the fittest principle was alive and well at the poker table, and he planned to survive like he always did—one hand at a time.

  In this world, he’d found his bliss, and all from a quirk of fate. If Abbie and Dustin hadn’t had complications at birth, he never would have stepped into the Taj Mahal in Atlantic City with the desperate notion of making the money he needed for their medical bills. He’d done more than provide for their needs. He’d discovered he wasn’t like his father, who’d lost money in casinos all his life, sucking their family dry right along with his card–dealing wife.

  The boy hadn’t understood the draw of the deck. He’d hated it because of his parents.

  The man could be grateful for the training he’d received at their knees without condoning their mistakes. Redemption came in surprising places. He wasn’t one to spit in fate’s face.

  “You about ready, boy?” Rhett drawled, putting a huge hand on his shoulder, surveying the room with him.

  Mac elbowed him in the chest. “Always.”

  Rhett stuck out his hand—their ritual. “Good luck. Like I just told Rye, for the next few hours, we’re no longer friends.”

  “Why you always insist…” Mac trailed off when he shrugged. Rhett needed a friends’ release clause every time they played. Mac grabbed his hand. “Good luck to you, too, Rhett.”

  “See you at the final table,” Rhett called over his shoulder, Raven and Vixen swirling around him in low–cut gowns.

  “You can bet on it,” he murmured, rubbing his lucky piece, and went to find his seat number, waving to Rye and his buddies as they headed to their tables.

  Mac’s first table summed up his afternoon. The eight guys sitting around it all watched him approach. He liked watching their reactions. Half lost their poker faces instantly. One muttered, “Oh, shit.” A few grinned, probably imagining the dinner party story they’d be able to tell about losing to Mac Maven. The remaining few eyed him with fiery determination, ready to prove they could beat him. He nodded to them and pulled out his card protector—a nineteenth–century poker chip from a Mississippi Riverboat.

  Then he started to build his stack of chips.

  His world narrowed to the table. The wisp the cards made as they were dealt. His intuitive sense for others’ cards. The sma
ll prayer he sometimes offered up when the dealer presented the last card of the hand. “The River” could make grown men cry like the timeless song. It changed fates and broke hearts.

  He lost a few hands early on, but not many.

  Built his stack. Watched his opponents. Upped the pressure by raising the bets. Milked the players of their chips, forcing them to bust or cut out in an hour.

  Then he moved on to the next table and did it again, only taking a break for the prescribed thirty minutes for every two hours of play.

  He played for ten hours, amassing a solid stack. When he stopped for the day, he went over to join his family, who was watching from the sidelines with the rest of the crowd. He kissed Abbie on the cheek. Grabbed Dustin in a bear hug he resisted. The whole community service thing had jacked up his pissiness. Mac was a convenient target.

  “You played fierce,” Abbie commented.

  “You were awesome!” Jill cried, throwing her arms around him as she scooted over. “I’ve never watched poker before, so it was all totally new. I mean, you don’t move a muscle. It’s incredible.”

  Jill continued to gush as Mac nodded to a passing Rhett, who was sandwiched between his poker babes, talking to a reporter who was filming for some news station. She excused herself and rushed over to congratulate him, her mouth dropping when Rye came up and gave Rhett a bear hug. The camera flashes were blinding.

  His sister’s frown almost made Mac smile. When Rhett put his arms back around his poker babes, he wasn’t looking at them. He was looking directly at Abbie, who stared back without blinking.

  “How did Rhett do today?” he asked his sister quietly.

  She moistened her lips, breaking eye contact with Rhett. “Okay, but he seemed…distracted.”

  “He kept looking at Mom when she went by,” Dustin added, elbowing Mac.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied primly, yanking on her jacket. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Dustin snickered. “He’s always had a thing for you.”