by Mari Carr, Red Phoenix, Angel Payne, Sierra Cartwright, Jenna Jacob, Victoria Blue
He petted her small furry frame. “Missed me, huh?”
In answer, she touched her cold nose against his.
Brad chuckled. “Not sure what I would do without your impish ways, Cayenne. I’m grateful Brie brought us together. Everyone should have a companion like you in their life.”
The kitten purred even louder, closing her eyes in ecstasy when he rubbed his finger under her chin.
He lay there enjoying the soothing sound of the unique waterfall wall and his cat’s audible joy. Finally, after glancing at the clock, he groaned and reluctantly picked her up, placing her on the feather pillow.
“I shouldn’t be long,” he assured the kitten as he stripped out of his sweats and donned the gray suit. He pulled down the cuffs of the starched white shirt after he put on the jacket and stood in front of the mirror. “What do you think, girl?”
The tabby jumped off the bed to rub against his pant leg, leaving strands of fur behind. Brad stooped down and did his best to brush them off. “Marking your territory, I see.”
He stood back up and stared at his reflection. Saying goodbye to Colorado hadn’t been easy, and it was reflected in his face. Straightening his tie, Brad decided tonight was exactly what he needed.
“Life should not be full of regret…”
A Little Bet
Shey was standing at the bar with her back to him. Her long black dress caressed her curves beautifully, but it was the cutouts at the shoulders showing off her freckled skin that about did him in.
Damn! That girl wasn’t making this easy.
Brad walked up without Shey noticing and looked over the drink menu before telling the bartender, “I’ll take a Royal Fuck, and why not make one for the pretty lady?”
Shey turned to him, ready to protest, and then giggled when she saw he was the one who’d ordered it. “No need to buy me a drink, Mr. Anderson.”
“Nonsense, Miss Allen. I don’t care to fuck alone.”
She laughed and cordially accepted the drink he handed to her. “Although life has a way of doing a fine job of it on its own, here’s to being royally bleeped together, Mr. Anderson.”
He was grateful to see she had a sense of humor. “Please call me Brad.”
“Oh, no! That’s much too informal. I couldn’t…”
“Why?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. “Do you have a boyfriend, Miss Allen?”
“I do,” she answered, blushing deeply when she admitted it.
“Ah…” Brad took a sip of his drink, actually grateful that was the case. It made tonight so much easier and less complicated.
Until the vixen added…
“It’s my cat, Troy.”
Brad did a spit take, and grunted as he wiped his mouth. “Did I hear you right? You have a cat named Troy?”
She shrugged. “Yep, been with me for over ten years. My best friend and confidant.”
“Who names a cat Troy?” he asked in disgust.
Shey lifted her chin. “What’s wrong with the name Troy?”
“Everything…” he mumbled to himself.
“Would you have preferred I called him Garfield?”
“Is he a fat, orange tabby?”
“Orange, yes; fat, no. However, he does have a thing for lasagna,” she answered with a grin.
“Interesting, Miss Allen. I happen to have an orange tabby myself.”
Her eyes lit up. “You do?”
“Yes, but she’s just a little thing.”
“And her name?”
“Cayenne.”
Shey cooed out loud. “Oh, that’s an adorable name.”
“She’s quite the character, too.”
“Wouldn’t it be fun to see the two of them together?”
Brad frowned. “Sorry, Cayenne has zero tolerance for cats named Troy.”
“Hey! What’s your issue with my cat’s name?” Shey demanded, sounding a tad ticked off.
Brad only laughed, lifting his glass and clinking it against hers. “No sense going into that tonight. I’d like to enjoy our evening together.”
“Fair enough.” Shey took a small sip of her drink, leaving red lipstick on the rim of the glass. Brad found the feminine shape on the clear glass appealing. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Is that Royal Fuck living up to your expectations?”
Shey only nodded, her cheeks turning an attractive shade of red.
Brad downed his drink quickly and stood up, holding out his arm to her. “Shall we head out then, darlin’?”
She looked him up and down, checking out his outfit before taking his arm. “The suit suits you, Mr. Anderson.”
He chuckled. “You’re looking mighty dapper yourself, Miss Allen. However, I insist you call me Brad the rest of the evening.” He forced himself to ignore the increase in blood pressure when she wrapped her arm around his.
When they were seated at the table, he casually asked her, “So, what looks good on the menu?”
She perused it and purred. “Everything!”
Brad let out a sigh of relief. “Good, I was afraid you might be one of those women who only nibble on rabbit food.”
She put down her menu and laughed. “Not at all. I love good food, I just don’t have the opportunity to go out much.”
Rather than asking why, and sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, Brad said, “Order anything on the menu. I dare you to splurge.”
He watched Shey intently as they dined together, noting her subtle body language—the dilated pupils, the licking of her lips, the casual caress of her neck, and the way she leaned in every time he spoke. Every action betrayed her attraction to him, even though she refrained from blatantly flirting.
It was her unconscious flirtation that made her that much more captivating. With those enchanting blue eyes, and that light sprinkling of freckles across her nose, he was completely taken by her—and the girl didn’t even know it.
After he paid the check, Brad found he wasn’t ready to part ways just yet. “Are you a betting woman, Miss Allen?”
She grinned but shook her head. “No, I’m not much of a gambler but I like to play cards.”
“Want to have a little fun?”
She looked into his eyes, as if she were trying to read his intentions before she answered, “Sure.”
“Ever play stud poker? I personally believe you don’t really know people until you play poker against them.”
Her smile broadened. “That would be lovely. You see, my daddy taught me how to play when I was a little kid.”
Brad rubbed his hands together. “Then this should be fun…”
He pressed his hand against the small of her back as he guided her into the casino. He enjoyed the attention as every head turned to take in the gorgeous redhead by his side. When they approached an open table, Shey suddenly stopped and whispered, “Brad, I don’t have the money to bet.”
“No worries,” he assured her. “This is my treat.”
She shook her head. “As kind as your offer is, I wouldn’t enjoy gambling with your money. It’s not the same.”
Brad nodded in understanding. “I see your point. Just a moment, I’ll be right back.” He went to speak to the pit boss. After making the necessary arrangements, he came back to her and explained, “Ms. Browne has agreed to secure us a private table where money won’t be used as collateral.”
Shey tilted her head. “What do you mean, ‘money won’t be the collateral’?”
“To make it interesting, I thought we’d bet requests rather than cash, and whoever wins the hand gets their bid fulfilled by the other player.”
Shey looked at him suspiciously. “Although I respect you, Brad, I hardly know you. Why would I ever put myself in that position?”
“I’ve already considered that. For your peace of mind, we’ll have a third party at the table. Ms. Browne suggested Wesley Tate. Are you familiar with the man?”
Shey giggled. “Mr. Tate? He’s the front desk manager, and is a perfect choice.”
“Excellent. I
’ll order up a couple of drinks while Ms. Browne gets things set up.” He slipped a twenty into the nearest slot machine—an animated game called the Red Phoenix, complete with flaming birds and catchy music. “Why don’t you try your luck while I get our cocktails? Consider it a gift to me. I want to see the level of natural luck you possess.”
Shey shook her head as she sat down at the machine, mumbling, “Based on my luck these days, I’m sure to have it all lost before you return.”
Brad patted her on the shoulder. “I’m actually hoping that’s the case, Miss Allen. It will make beating you at poker that much easier.”
He’d already thought of a few requests for her, and was looking forward to having them fulfilled. While he was paying for the drinks, Ms. Browne walked over and informed him the private room was ready. He thanked her with a generous tip before heading back to the slots.
To his chagrin, Shey’s machine was lit up with fiery phoenixes filling the screen. She jumped up in excitement when she saw him, and pointed at it. “I’m the jackpot winner! Can you believe it? That’s two hundred and forty-two green bills, my friend.”
Brad took her hand and kissed it formally. “Congrats, Miss Allen. Why don’t we cash in your prize before we begin our private game?”
Shey quickly picked up her purse and followed him. “Of course the winnings are yours—it was your twenty after all.”
“Oh, no, the jackpot is yours to keep.”
“Please—I can’t accept your winnings.”
“You can, and you will,” he stated kindly. “Seeing the excitement on your face when I walked up was worth the price of admission.”
“Does that mean we’ll be playing for real money at the table then?” she asked as the cash was counted out and handed to her.
“Absolutely not.”
Shey stuffed the bills in her small purse and looked up at him with a gleam in her eye. “I’m glad to hear it. My luck seems to have changed, and there are a few things I’m hoping to win from you tonight.”
His laughter filled the air as he escorted her to the private room. “Oh, no, darlin’. I’ll be the one beating your cute little panties off this evening.”
A stylish young man wearing a black suit, red tie and bright red Superman socks greeted them at the private table.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Anderson. I see you’ve already met the spa siren.”
“You mean Miss Allen?”
“Yes, sir. She has the most talented fingers in the business.”
Brad gave Shey a sideways glance but refrained from commenting. “I assume Ms. Browne explained the game I’ve requested tonight?”
Wesley put his hands behind his back and clicked his heels. “I was, and I plan to beat your pants off, Mr. Anderson—literally.”
Brad raised his eyebrows. “Really? Only if you have the luck of the Irish, Mr. Tate. You see, I have quite the reputation as a player back in Denver.”
Wesley quipped, “I bet you do, Master Anderson.”
Chuckling as he pulled out the chair for Shey, Brad held out his other hand to greet the man who would be their dealer for the evening. “Thank you for taking on this unusual game of poker. I assure you it won’t get too shocking.”
The man smiled politely. “Trust me, Mr. Anderson, at the Nyte we’ve seen it all.”
“And some of us have done it all…” Wesley murmured wickedly.
The dealer asked, “So, Mr. Anderson, what type of poker game are we playing tonight?”
“Stud poker,” Brad stated as he took off his jacket and slowly rolled up his sleeves before taking a seat.
“Stud Poker is it?” Wesley looked him over with approval as he took a seat on the other side of Shey. “But of course! What else would a man of your considerable looks play?”
He then turned to Shey and asked, “I trust I’m allowed to bet in this game?”
Shey shrugged her shoulders, deferring to Brad.
It was with amusement that Brad delivered the bad news. “You’re simply here to provide a third hand and to act as referee if either of us objects to a bet that’s been placed.”
“Damn…” Wesley pouted. “I was hoping to have a few wishes of my own fulfilled tonight.”
Brad placed his hand over his heart. “Although I don’t swing on that branch, I’m truly honored, Mr. Tate.”
Wesley grinned charmingly. “You may call me Wes.” He turned to Shey and shook his index finger at her. “As I am your superior, you must continue to address me as Mr. Tate—even if you are off the clock.”
She bowed her head slightly. “I would never consider calling you anything else, Mr. Tate.”
Brad admired her grace—a true lady.
And an easy mark…he thought with a smirk.
The dealer handed Shey a stack of notecards and two pens while Brad explained to Shey, “You and I will write down our requests and fold them into fourths. If you think you have a winning hand, you put the request in the middle. After the dealer reveals the other three cards, you have a choice to leave your bet or fold. Whoever has the winning hand wins their bet, unless Wesley’s hand beats ours. In that case, you and I will each be required to remove an article of clothing.”
Shey protested, “A game of strip poker when you’re wearing more clothes than I am?”
“I’m allowing your jewelry to count, Miss Allen.”
Shey settled back into her seat, a grin spreading across her face. “Well, fine, then. Let the games begin…”
The dealer handed out two cards to each player. Brad watched Shey closely as she took a peek at her hand. He didn’t miss the twinkle in her eye as she set them back down. “What are the rules about our bets?”
“Keep them simple and something that can be done tonight.”
“Okay. But for the record, intercourse is not on the table.”
“As you wish…” Brad replied with a mischievous grin.
She looked at him momentarily before scribbling down her request, folding it, and gleefully placing it in the middle of the table.
Brad slowly turned up the edges of his cards, keeping a straight face.
Two deuces.
A pair of any sort wasn’t bad, considering only three of them were playing. He wrote down his bet and casually tossed it in the center.
There was no need to bet as each card was revealed, like in a normal hand of poker, so the dealer spread out all three at once after both bets had been placed.
Shey bit her bottom lip as she looked at the cards on the table and then announced confidently, “I’m still in!”
Brad looked the three cards over. They were all the same suit, but there was nothing there to help his hand. Curious to see what Shey was holding, he stated, “I call.”
Shey blushed as she flipped over her cards to reveal she had absolutely nothing.
“You little minx,” he said in admiration, as he turned over his winning deuces.
All her telltale signs had simply been an act. Clever girl…
Brad was about to hand her his request when Wesley stopped him. “Not so fast, Mr. Anderson.” With a dramatic flair, he revealed his hand, which only consisted of a four and seven of hearts. That, however, gave him the winning flush.
Wesley raised his eyebrow suggestively. “And you both know what that means…”
Shey immediately removed her earrings and placed them on the table, chuckling to herself.
Brad loosened his tie and slid it off, placing it next to her jewelry. He liked the fact she’d tried to bluff right out of the gate. Now that he knew she was a bluffer, he was certain to win the next hand.
What he hadn’t counted on was Wesley’s impressive winning streak. The next three hands left Brad shirtless and barefoot, while Shey was free of all jewelry and her heels.
“Either you or I need to win the next hand, Miss Allen.”
“You aren’t kidding,” she laughed nervously, staring hard at the cards that had just been dealt.
When Brad lifted hi
s cards and saw a pair of kings, he knew victory was his. He placed his request on the table and tilted his head. “Are you feeling lucky, Miss Allen?”
Shey glanced at her cards again and nodded. “I am.”
The dealer laid out the remaining cards and looked to Brad first. He stared at the six of hearts, the jack of diamonds, and the ten of spades on the table. Nothing posed a threat to his hand. “I’m in,” he declared.
Shey stared at the three cards, nervously biting her lip again. She stared at Brad for several seconds, studying his face before proclaiming, “I call.”
Brad flipped his cards over.
Wesley threw his hand to the center in disgust, while Shey sat back silently watching them both.
Brad grinned as he handed her his request. “Don’t feel bad, darlin’. Someone had to lose.”
“Agreed, so I hope you aren’t too hard on yourself.” She turned her cards over with a triumphant grin. “I believe three of a kind beats a pair.”
He stared down at her cards in disbelief. Had she really just played him—again?
Damn…
Brad graciously took her request and unfolded it, frowning when he read what was written.
Tell me who Troy is and why the name still upsets you.
“This is supposed to be a fun evening of gambling, Miss Allen, not a therapy session.”
Shey shrugged. “I find it entertaining to learn little-known facts about the men I date.”
Brad sighed as he put her bet back on the table. “Because I am a man of my word, I will accept this request, but I’m not happy about it.” To the dealer he barked, “Keep dealing.”
“But what about my request?” Shey protested.
“It’ll be honored after the game.”
“Great! That gives me another idea…” she told him, writing down her next one.
Brad was impressed—but exasperated—that she’d manipulated him twice. He snuck a peek at his hand and smiled at her. “The gloves are officially off, missy.”
Her delighted giggles filled the room.
It was with immense satisfaction he handed her his first request the very next hand. Brad watched her eyes grow wide when she read it out loud. “A kiss?”
