Playing The Odds Read online

  tenacity. When applied together, Serena considered them an unbeatable combination—not unlike the formula she used to handle her father.

  Her assistant, Nero, was a big, quiet black man, who had taken the news of Serena’s interest in the hotel with a silent shrug. She learned that he had worked in Justin’s first casino as a bouncer, and in one capacity or another, he had worked in all of Justin’s properties. With as few words as possible he took Serena through the casino, gave her the basic routine, then left her alone. He was one man, she concluded, who wouldn’t be won over easily.

  Catching a signal from one of the dealers, Serena crossed the room. Before she was halfway to the table she heard the angry raised voice. It took only a glance to determine the man in question was very unlucky and more than a little unhappy about it.

  “Excuse me.” Giving the players at the table a general smile, Serena moved to stand beside the croupier. “Is there a problem?”

  “You bet there is, sweetheart.” The man on the end leaned over and took her wrist. “Who are you?”

  Serena allowed her eyes to lower to his hand, then brought them slowly back to his face. “I’m the owner.”

  He gave a quick laugh before he drained his glass. “I’ve seen the owner, lady. He doesn’t look anything like you.”

  “My partner,” Serena informed him with an icy smile. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Nero’s movement toward her and imperceptibly shook her head. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “I’ve dropped a bundle at this table tonight,” he told her. “My friends here’ll vouch for that.”

  The other players ran the gamut between looking bored or annoyed. All of them ignored him.

  “Would you care to cash in the rest of your chips?” she asked politely.

  “I want a chance to make some back,” he countered, setting down his empty glass. “This joker won’t raise the limit.”

  Serena glanced at the poker-faced croupier and saw the dregs of fury in his eyes. “Our dealers aren’t authorized to raise the table limit, Mr … ?”

  “Carson, Mick Carson, and I’d like to know what kind of operation this is where a man can’t have a chance of getting even.”

  “As I said,” Serena returned calmly, “the dealers aren’t authorized to up the limit, but I am. How much did you have in mind, Mr. Carson?”

  “That’s more like it,” he said, and signaled for another drink. Serena gave a small shake of her head to the roaming cocktail waitress. “Five thousand on the hand.” He sent Serena a hard grin. “That should balance things out. I’ll sign for it.”

  “All right. Bring Mr. Carson his tab, Nero,” she ordered, sensing he stood within earshot. “You can play the single hand for five thousand, Mr. Carson.” Serena shot him a level look. “And if you lose, you call it a night.”

  “All right, honey.” He took her wrist again, letting his eyes travel down the length of the sleek ruby dress. “And if I win, why don’t you and I go and have a quiet drink somewhere?”

  “Don’t press your luck, Mr. Carson,” Serena warned him with a smile on her face.

  Chuckling, he took the clipboard Nero brought to him, then scrawled his name. “Never any harm in trying, honey. Oh, no,” he added when Serena stepped aside. “You deal.”

  Without a word Serena took the croupier’s place. It was then she caught sight of Justin standing to the side, watching her. Damn! She met his eyes briefly, wondering if she had let her annoyance get in the way of judgment. With another glance at Carson she told herself it would be worth the five thousand to get rid of him peacefully.

  “Bets?” she asked, letting her eyes skim the other players as she counted out Carson’s chips. By unanimous consent the others at the table abstained.

  “Just you and me,” Carson said, sliding his chips forward. “Deal.”

  Silently, Serena dealt him a seven and a two. A glance at her hole card revealed twelve with nine showing.

  “Hit,” Carson ordered, reaching absently for his empty glass. She turned up a queen. “Stand,” he said, and sent her a wide, mirthless smile.

  “Stand on nineteen.” Serena turned up her hole card. “Twelve … fifteen,” she continued as she turned up a three. Without pausing she drew out a five. “Twenty.” Carson let out his breath in an oath. “Come back again, Mr. Carson,” she said coolly, and waited for him to stand.

  He eyed her a moment as she calmly raked in his chips, then rising, he walked out of the casino without a word.

  “I apologize for the inconvenience.” Serena smiled at the other players before she nodded to the dealer.

  “You did that real smooth, Miss MacGregor,” Nero mumbled as she walked past him.

  Stopping, Serena turned back. “Thank you, Nero. And it’s Rena.” She had the pleasure of seeing him flash her a smile before she walked to Justin. “Were you ready to have me committed?” she asked him quietly.

  Justin looked down at her, then idly twirled the end of a lock of hair around his finger. “You know, I wanted you here for a variety of reasons. That was one of them.”

  Pleased, she laughed. “What if I’d lost?”

  Justin shrugged. “Then you’d’ve lost. You’d still have handled a potentially uncomfortable situation with the minimum of fuss. And with style,” he murmured, scanning her face. “I do admire your style, Serena MacGregor.”

  “Strange.” She could feel the change inside her even as it happened—the softening, the heating. The wanting. “I’ve always admired yours.”

  “You’re tired.” Justin ran a thumb lightly under her eyes where the faintest of shadows was forming.

  “A little,” she admitted. “What time is it?”

  “Around four.”

  “No wonder. The trouble with these places is that you lose track of day and night.”

  “You’ve already put in more than your share,” he told her as he began to lead her through the casino. “What you need is some breakfast.”

  “Mmm.”

  “I take it that means you’re hungry.”

  “I hadn’t noticed, but since you mention it, I think I’m starving.” Serena looked back over her shoulder as he nudged her through the doors of his outer office. “But isn’t the restaurant the other way?”

  “We’ll have breakfast up in my suite.”

  “Oh, wait a minute.” With another laugh she pulled up short. “I think the restaurant’ll be a lot smarter.”

  Justin studied her a moment, then reached into his pocket.

  “Oh, Justin—”

  “Heads, my suite, tails the restaurant.”

  With lowered brows she held out her hand. “Let me see that coin.” Taking it from him, Serena examined both sides. “All right, I’m too hungry to argue. Flip it.”

  With a deft movement of his thumb, he did. Serena waited until it lay on the back of his hand, then let out a sigh. “We’ll take the elevator up,” Justin said blandly.

  Chapter 8

  “I’m still going to beat you one of these days,” Serena said with a yawn as Justin pressed the button for the penthouse. “And when I do, it’s going to be worth more than breakfast.” She glanced around at the smoky mirrored walls. “You know, I hardly noticed the elevator when I was in your office.”

  “It’s an escape route,” he said, then gave her a small smile when she looked at him. “We all need one occasionally.”

  “I don’t suppose I thought you would.” She remembered the two-way glass in his office and sighed. “Do they crowd you at times, Justin? All those people only a thin wall away?”

  “More lately than they used to,” he admitted. “I suppose you felt the same way on the boat occasionally. Isn’t that why you went out on deck when everyone else was asleep?”

  She answered by lifting her shoulders. “Well, I’ll have to get used to it if I’m going to be living here. In any case, I’ve always seemed to live in a crowd.” When the doors slid open, Serena stepped through. “Justin, this is really lov
ely.”

  He’d used bolder colors in his personal rooms, slashes of indigo in the cushions of a low, spreading sofa, the flash of chartreuse in the shade of a glass lamp. For balance there were sketches in pastel chalks and a beveled mirror in a gilt frame.

  “You can relax here,” Serena decided, picking up a carved figure of a hawk in mid-dive. “It hardly seems like a hotel at all with your personal things around.”

  Oddly, when he saw her with her hands on what was his, Justin felt his first intimacy with the room. To him, it had always been a living arrangement, nothing more, nothing less. A place to go when he wasn’t working. He had similar rooms in other hotels. They were comfortable, private and, he realized suddenly, empty. Until now.

  “Of course, my suite is very nice,” Serena went on, roaming at will to touch or examine whatever came to hand. “But I’ll feel more settled in once I spread some of my own things around. I think I’ll have my mother ship me my writing desk and a few other pieces.” Turning, she found him watching her in the still, silent manner he could so easily slip into. Suddenly nervous, Serena set down a small glass bowl of cobalt blue.

  “What sort of view do you have?” Serena moved toward the window and had taken the first step up onto the small raised platform in front of it before she noticed that the glass table was already set. Lifting the cover from one of the plates, Serena saw a hearty Mexican omelet, a rasher of bacon and a corn muffin. With a tilt of the lid on a silver serving pot, the aroma of fresh coffee filled the room. Beside the table was an ice bucket of champagne.

  “Well, imagine that,” Serena murmured as she slipped the single rosebud from its crystal vase. “Look what the good fairy left, Justin. Amazing!”

  “And they say miracles are a thing of the past.”

  “You want to hear a miracle?” Serena asked him, passing the bud under her nose. “It’s a miracle I don’t dump this coffee over your head.”

  “I prefer to take it internally,” he murmured as he crossed the room to join her. “Do you like your rose?”

  “This is the second time you’ve made my eating arrangements before consulting me,” she began.

  “You were hungry last time, too,” he reminded her.

  “That’s not the point.”

  “What is?”

  Serena took a deep, frustrated breath and was assaulted by the aroma of hot food. “I knew what it was a minute ago,” she muttered. “How did you manage to have it here, all hot and ready?”

  “I called room service before I came out to the casino to see if you needed rescuing.” Draping a cloth over the bottle, he deftly removed the champagne cork.

  “Very clever.” Surrendering to hunger, Serena sat. Propping her elbows on the table, she set her chin on her folded hands. “Champagne for breakfast?”

  “It’s the best time for it.” Justin filled two glasses before he joined her.

  “If I decide to overlook your arrogance,” Serena considered as she cut into the omelet, “this is really very nice of you—in an underhanded fashion.”

  “You’re welcome,” he murmured, lifting his glass.

  After the first bite, Serena closed her eyes in silent appreciation. “And it’s easy to overlook arrogance on an empty stomach. Either I’m starving, Justin, or this is the best omelet every made.”

  “I’ll give the chef your approval.”

  “Mmm. I’ll have to take a look at the kitchen tomorrow, and the nightclub,” she added over another mouthful. “I noticed you have Chuck Rosen for a week run. There shouldn’t be an empty seat.”

  “I have him signed for an exclusive two-year contract.” Justin broke a muffin in half. “He’s a guaranteed sellout in all the hotels.”

  “That was a wise investment,” Serena mused. “You know …” Lifting her wine, she studied him over the rim. “You’re exactly what I thought you were when you sat down at my table the first time, and yet, you’re nothing like I thought you were.”

  Sipping, Justin returned her gaze. “What did you think I was?”

  “A professional gambler—which, of course, was accurate. But …” Serena trailed off and drank again. Justin was right, she mused. Champagne had never tasted better. “I didn’t see you as a man who could build up and run a chain of places like this.”

  “No?” Amused, he toyed with his meal as he watched her. “What, then?”

  “I think I saw you as sort of a nomad. Which again is partially accurate because of your heritage, but I didn’t consider you as a man who’d want the sort of responsibility hotels like these require. You’re an interesting mix, Justin, of the ruthless and the responsible; the hard and”—she picked up the rosebud again—“the sweet.”

  “No one’s ever accused me of being that before,” Justin murmured as he filled her glass again.

  “Of what?”

  “Of being sweet.”

  “Well, it’s not one of your dominating virtues,” she mumbled into her wine. “I suppose that’s why it throws me off when it comes through.”

  “It gives me great pleasure to throw you off.” His finger trailed down the back of her hand to her wrist. “I’ve found a certain … weakness for vulnerability.”

  Determinedly, she took another swallow of wine. “I’m not vulnerable as a rule.”

  “No,” he agreed. “Perhaps that’s why it’s all the more rewarding that I can cause you to be. Your pulse jumps when I touch you here,” he whispered, grazing a finger over the inside of her wrist.

  A bit unsteadily, Serena set down her glass. “I should go.”

  But he rose with her, and now his fingers were laced with hers. His eyes, when hers met them, were very calm and very confident. “I made myself a promise this afternoon, Serena,” he told her quietly. “That I’d make love with you before the night was over.” Taking a step closer, Justin captured her other hand. “We still have an hour before sunrise.”

  It was what she wanted. Every pore of her body seemed to be crying out with need. Yet if his hands hadn’t held hers so firmly, she would have backed away. “Justin, I won’t deny that I want you, but I think it would be best if we gave it some more time.”

  “Reasonable,” he agreed as he drew her into his arms. “Time’s up.” He stopped her protesting laugh with his lips.

  There was no food to stop this hunger. His mouth was hard, devouring, before Serena could respond or struggle away. Yet she knew as he crushed her body to his that this time he would permit no struggle. She tasted his lips and tasted urgency. She felt the firm, long lines of his body and felt need.

  When his tongue sought hers, there was no easy teasing, no gentle testing, but a desperate demand for intimacy. Now, he seemed to say to her. There’s no turning back. What had begun weeks before with a long, cool meeting of eyes would reach its culmination. It would happen, Serena thought dizzily, because neither of them wanted any other answer.

  Through those first urgent stirrings of passion, she felt a quiet joy. She loved. And love, she realized, was the ultimate adventure. Placing her hands on either side of his face, she carefully drew her lips away from his, then looked into his eyes, warmer now with need for her. She wanted a moment, only a moment, to clear her head, to say what she wanted to say without the heat of passion racing through her. Gently, she traced her fingers over the long, strong bones of his face. His heart thudded against her breast as hers began to calm. A smile touched the lips that were warm and aching from his.

  “This,” she told him quietly, “is what I want, what I choose.”

  Justin said nothing as he stared down at her. The simple words were more seductive than her soft summer scent, than the hot pulsing taste. They weakened him, exposing vulnerabilities he’d never considered. Suddenly, there was more than passion raging through him. Bringing his hand to hers, he slid it to his mouth, pressing his lips against the palm.

  “I’ve thought of nothing but you for weeks,” he said. “Wanted no one but you.” He ran a hand down the length of her hair before his fingers
closed over it in a fist. Need—good God, when had he ever felt such need? “Come to bed, Serena, I can’t do without you any longer.”

  Her eyes were calm as she offered him her hand. Without words, they walked to the bedroom. The room was in shadows, accented by the faint light that signals the end of night. And it was silent, so silent that Serena could hear her own breath as it began to quicken. When she felt Justin move away from her, she stood resolute, suddenly tingling with nerves.

  He wouldn’t be gentle, she thought as she remembered the feel of his mouth and hands on her. As a lover, he would be equally thrilling and terrifying. She heard a sharp scrape, then saw the flare of a match as he held it to the wick of a candle. The shadows danced.

  Her eyes were drawn to him. In the flickering yellow light his face held a dangerous beauty. He seemed to belong more to his Indian ancestors now than to the world she understood. And she knew at that instant why the captive woman had fought against, then remained willingly with her captor.

  “I want to see you,” Justin murmured, reaching out to bring her into the candlelight. With surprise he felt the quiver run through her. Only moments before she had seemed so strong, so sure. “You’re trembling.”

  “I know.” She took a deep breath and exhaled quickly. “It’s silly.”

  “No.” He felt a streak of power, sharp and clean. Serena MacGregor wasn’t a woman to tremble for any man. But for him, even as the fire lit in her eyes, her body shuddered. Taking her hair in his hand, Justin drew her head back. In the shifting light his eyes glistened with fierce, almost savage, desire. “No,” he said again, then crushed her mouth to his.

  She seemed to melt into him. Justin thought he could feel her bones soften, liquefy, until she was totally pliant in his arms. For the moment he would accept surrender, but soon he would have more, much more. With his mouth still avid on hers he began to undress her. Forgetting the fragile material, he tugged, pausing only to mold, inch by inch, the flesh he uncovered. She was shuddering now, pulling at the buttons of his shirt as her dress slid down to pool at her feet.

  He’d known she would wear something soft and filmy. With a fingertip Justin nudged the thin straps of her camisole off her shoulders. But he didn’t remove it—not yet. He wanted the pleasure of feeling silk between them. He tormented her, running hot, nibbling kisses over her face as she struggled to undress him. Her fingers touching his flesh wrenched a groan from him that he muffled against her throat.

  Then she was beneath him on the bed, with only a fragile wisp of material separating them. He felt a madness, a driving need to take her swiftly that he had to fight back. Her breasts were small and firm in his hand, straining against the silk as he rained kiss after savage kiss on her lips. Consumed by her, Justin drove her mercilessly to the first peak with only his hands and mouth. Swallowing her gasps, he pressed his body down on hers so that her frantic movements blended into him. Then ruthlessly, he slid down to capture her silk-clad breast in his mouth.

  Struggling for air, Serena arched against him. Her body shuddered from a hundred unexpected sensations. She was trapped in a world of silk and fire. At her every movement, the bedspread caressed her naked back and legs, whispering of dark promises. Her flesh was seared wherever he had touched, as though he’d carried the tiny gold flame of the candle in his fingers. As he wet the silk above her straining nipple with his tongue, she felt the fire leap into her. Like a voice from a distance she heard him murmuring her name, and more she couldn’t understand.

  As if he’d lost patience with any barrier, Justin drew the chemise down to her waist so that he could feast on her naked skin. Serena pressed him closer, her hands now as demanding as his. Though her mouth ached for the taste of him, her body thrilled to the desperate race of his lips over her skin. She knew only pleasure now, the steamy pleasure of unrelenting passion. Gone were restrictions and rules; here was the abandonment she had glimpsed briefly in a dream.

  It was only now that she realized there was so much she didn’t know, so much she’d never felt. Second by second there were new discoveries. As his mouth tarried just above the line of silk, she felt a hunger deeper than any she’d ever experienced. Her imagination ran wild, thoughts of him inside her, filling her, dreams of a pleasure so acute they brought a tug of pain between her thighs. Delirious, she clutched at his shoulders.

  “Take me,” she demanded on a ragged breath. “Justin, take me now.”

  But he continued driving her higher, as if he hadn’t heard her plea. He drew the silk down, caressing the newly exposed flesh with his lips—over the flat, quivering stomach, over the smooth curve of hip, to the taut, arching muscles of her inner thigh.

  She arched, crying out, thrown swiftly into the river of passion. He was relentless, as terrifying a lover as she had feared, as thrilling as she’d dreamed. She was all that he wanted—soft and moist and out of control. Desperate, demanding, she clutched at him, scraping his flesh with those sleek, elegant nails. He could hear her moans, her incoherent words rasping out of her throat as he drove her further and further toward madness. Her skin was damp, beaded with passion, while her hips thrust her need toward him again and again. Now she was his, mindlessly his. And he knew, somehow, that no one had ever taken her more completely. Fighting to hold the power a moment longer, he ranged himself above her. Serena gripped his hips, urging him on.

  In the first touch of daylight her face was like porcelain. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted as each breath trembled through them. Half crazed with need, he vowed no man would ever see her as he saw her at that moment.

  “Look at me,” Justin demanded in a voice harsh with passion. “Look at me, Serena.”