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His vivid blue gaze flickered over my face—and one dark eyebrow raised a fraction of a centimetre. The tiny tell vanished as soon as it had appeared. His intense gaze took a quick tour down my body. The provocative dress became instantly transparent while at the same time squeezing the air out of my lungs, as if the thin satin had turned to cast iron and was tightening around my ribs like a piece of medieval torture equipment.
Unlike the looks I had experienced from Carsoni and his men over the last year though, Dante Allegri’s perusal didn’t cause revulsion but something much more disturbing. A heavy weight sunk low into my abdomen and sensation prickled over my skin as if I were being stroked by an electric current. His attention was exhilarating and enervating, pleasurable and painful all at the same time. My reaction shocked me, because I couldn’t seem to control it. My thighs trembled, my breasts swelled against the bodice of my medieval torture equipment and it took an effort of titanic proportions to stop my breathing from speeding up.
‘That’s correct, Dante,’ Joseph Donnelly replied to his boss. ‘This is Edie Spencer,’ he added, wrenching me out of the trance Allegri’s presence had caused. ‘She’s just arrived and is hoping to play you tonight.’
I winced at the amusement in Donnelly’s tone, my panic increasing to go with the inexplicable aches all over my body. As if it wasn’t bad enough that I had tossed myself into the lion’s den tonight, I had decided to poke the lion with that foolish boast.
Allegri didn’t look particularly impressed as his intense gaze roamed over my face.
‘Exactly how old are you, Miss Spencer?’ he asked, addressing me directly for the first time. His English was perfect, the accent a mid-Atlantic hybrid of American and British with barely a hint of his native Italian. ‘Are you even legally allowed to be here?’ he added, and I bristled at the condescension. It was a long time since I’d felt like a child, let alone been treated like one.
‘Of course—I’m twenty-one,’ I said in a show of defiance that probably wasn’t wise, but something about the way he was looking at me—as if he actually saw me—and the disturbing conflagration of sensation that look was setting off all over my body made me bold.
He continued to stare at me, as if he were trying to see into my soul, and I forced myself not to break eye contact.
The noise from the main floor of the casino, as Europe’s billionaire elite tried their luck at roulette and vingt-et-un, faded to a distant hum under his intense scrutiny—until all I could hear was the thunder of my own heartbeat thumping my ribs.
‘How long have you been playing Texas Hold ’Em, Miss Spencer?’ he asked at last, mentioning the variety of poker all professional players favoured.
With five ‘community’ cards turned face up in the middle of the table, and two ‘hole’ cards dealt face down to each player, Texas Hold ’Em required the greatest amount of skill in calculating probabilities and assessing risk as you formed your hand from your two ‘hole’ cards and the five ‘community’ cards, and the least amount of dumb luck. And that’s where my system came in. I had developed a mathematical formula to assess the betting behaviour of the other players, which would give me an advantage as the game went on. But if I was spotted using the formula I would be in trouble, just like players who were caught counting cards when playing Black Jack.
Once the casinos figured out how to spot those players they were banned for life, their winnings forfeit—even though what they were doing wasn’t strictly speaking cheating. I couldn’t risk either of those scenarios.
‘Long enough,’ I answered, forcing myself to pretend a confidence I didn’t feel.
My mother had been right about one thing. Appearances were everything now. If I wanted to win, I couldn’t show this man a single weakness. Appearing confident and in control was as important as being confident and in control. In fact, letting him believe I was over-confident would also work to my advantage—the ultimate double bluff, because then he would underestimate me.
His devastating face remained impassive, but the glitter of heat in his irises and the tiny tensing of his jaw, which drew my eyes to a scar on his upper lip, suggested that my cocky statement had hit its mark. I would have felt more triumphant about his reaction if that quickly masked tell hadn’t increased the weight in the pit of my abdomen by several hundred pounds—and the prickle of awareness coasting over my skin by several thousand volts.
What was happening to me? I had never had a response like this to any man.
‘I guess we’ll see about that, Miss Spencer,’ he said, then turned to his casino manager. ‘Escort Miss Spencer up to the Salon, Joe. Introduce her to tonight’s other Millionaire Club players.’ He glanced at his watch, all business again, even though the vibes coming off him—of heat and animosity—were turning my legs to jelly.
‘I need to speak to Renfrew but I’ll be up in thirty minutes,’ he added. ‘We can kick off then.’
‘You’re joining the table tonight?’ Donnelly asked, sounding mildly surprised.
‘Yes,’ he said, that deep voice stroking the hot spot which had started to throb at my core. ‘I never back down from a challenge, especially one issued by a beautiful woman.’
It took me a moment to realise I was the beautiful woman, probably because the glare he sent me before he walked away suggested he didn’t consider it a compliment.
But as I was led away by the casino manager towards a bank of elevators, I couldn’t take my eyes off Allegri’s retreating back. His broad shoulders looked indomitable, and yet terrifyingly alluring in the expertly tailored designer evening suit. The crowd parted to allow his dark figure to stride through the room.
I had to win tonight, no matter what the cost—my family’s future depended on it. But as the inexplicable heat continued to throb at my core, my senses thrown into turmoil by that one brief encounter, I had the agonising suspicion I had already lost.
CHAPTER TWO (#u84c86fd4-a7fe-5ee5-8d89-053c48de2407)
EDIE SPENCER WAS an enigma I couldn’t solve, and it was driving me nuts.
We’d been playing for over three hours now and I couldn’t figure out her system. I was even finding it hard to read her tells—those insignificant physical responses every player had which they were unaware of, but which made them an open book when it came to assessing their next move. And the reason why I couldn’t figure out her tells was as simple as it was surprising. I couldn’t concentrate on the game—because I was too busy concentrating on her.
While her winnings had been modest so far, they had been building steadily, unlike every other player at the table, who had the inevitable troughs that came with a game of chance. I’d managed to dispose of all but one of the other players, so there were only three of us left at the table. But while my friend Alexi Galanti, the Formula One owner who sat beside her, was down to his last million, Edie Spencer was sitting with a tidy pile of chips in front of her that matched my own.
I knew she had to be using a system which was even more ingenious than mine. But my desire to figure it out was a great deal less urgent than my desire to peel her out of the provocative dress she wore. The lace that covered her cleavage was doing nothing to distract me from the tempting display of soft female flesh beneath.
‘Raise, two hundred,’ Alexi said as he tossed a couple of hundred thousand euro chips on the table, raising the stake after the blind bids.
I stifled my frustration as I watched Edie’s slim fingers lift her hole cards on the table to study them again.
I wanted Alexi out of the game so I could play Miss Spencer alone. But Alexi was a good player. So I needed to concentrate on the play, and not the provocative display of cleavage across the table.
I stifled the visceral tug of anticipation, and the swift tug of arousal, at the prospect of having her all to myself. Mixing sex with poker was never a good strategy. But as I watched her I had to admit it wasn’t just her beauty that had been driving me nuts for hours.
I’d seen a spark of fire downstairs, when I’d questioned her about her age, and it had excited me. For the first time in a long time, I’d found myself relishing the challenge of playing a stimulating game with a stimulating woman. But ever since that moment downstairs, I hadn’t been able to tempt that spark out of hiding again.
Her skin had remained pale and unflushed, her hands folded demurely in her lap when she wasn’t betting or checking her cards, her breathing even. Her bright green gaze, which had captivated me downstairs, hadn’t connected with mine since.
And while that lack of eye contact was frustrating enough when it came to reading her play, what was a great deal more frustrating was that I was becoming even more turned on. Not less so. And even more desperate to see that flash of green fire again.
I didn’t like it. I never let physical desire distract me at the table, but what I liked even less was the fact I didn’t understand what it was about her I found so hot.
For starters, she was only twenty-one years old. And she looked even younger. When I had first seen her, I would have placed her as nineteen, twenty at the most, the revealing dress and heavy eye make-up making her wide emerald eyes and slim coltish figure look for a moment like a child playing dress up.
Young women were not to my taste. I preferred women older than me as a rule, women with lots of experience, who could match my appetites in bed, provide stimulating conversation out of it—and didn’t get over-invested in the relationship, or over-emotional when I gave them an expensive bauble to send them on their way.
I had also never had the desire before to pursue a woman who was not sending me clear signals she was interested in a little bed sport too. The truth was, when younger women bought into the high stakes game they were usually looking for a little of both—the chance to test their skill at the table and test their skills in my bed. A temptation I had found it very easy to resist up till now.
But not this time.
Of course it was more than possible Miss Spencer’s demure behaviour was all an act, intended to intrigue and entice me. If that were the case, I had to give her credit for trying a new tactic. But that still didn’t answer the question of why it was working so effectively.
Was it simply the enigma of her? Or that momentary spark of defiance? Or maybe it was the challenge she represented? How long had it been since I had found a woman this hard to read?
As I studied her debating her play, unable to detach my gaze from her, I forced myself to focus.
This girl was no different from the many other heiresses I had met over the years while I was setting up my business. The spoilt, entitled daughters of millionaire businessmen and aristocrats, European royalty and Arab sheikhs, who had never had to work a day in their lives and didn’t know the meaning of want. They played the tables to imbue their lives with the excitement their pointless existences lacked—without realising that if money had no value, the risk and the pay-off of gambling with it would have no value too.
But despite my determination to dismiss and rationalise her unprecedented effect on me, my gaze continued to roam over her, the embers of my fascination burning in my abdomen.
Her skin glowed with youth in the subtle lighting, the plunging V of her gown beneath the lace highlighting full firm breasts flushed with an alabaster softness. The ruched peaks of her nipples, outlined through the satin, were the only response she seemed unable to control.
I would have taken some satisfaction from that... But the increasingly relentless desire to ease the edge of her gown down, expose those peaks and feel them swell and elongate against my tongue wasn’t making me feel particularly impressed with my own control.
‘Fold,’ she said, passing her hole cards to Alexi, who was dealing—and eluding my attempts to force her to break cover, again.
I bit down on my tongue to stop the curse coming out of my mouth, like a damn rookie. But, as if she had sensed my frustration, her gaze flicked to mine.
It flicked away again almost immediately. But in that moment, as our gazes locked, I saw that flash of fire. A jolt of heat eddied through my system.
Her chest rose and fell and then stilled as she regained her composure. But the pebbled outline of her nipples became more prominent against the satin.
Desire flared in my abdomen like a meteor shower, as I finally solved at least some of the puzzle. The veneer of composure was just that—a veneer.
Whatever system Edie had devised, she had just exposed one major weakness.
Maybe she was still an enigma in some ways. But one thing I knew now with complete certainty—she was as hungry for me as I was for her. And for some reason she wanted to hide it. Which gave me the upper hand, because it was a weakness I could exploit.
Hot blood surged in my groin.
In fact, it was a weakness I was going to take great pleasure in exploiting.
Game on, bella.
CHAPTER THREE (#u84c86fd4-a7fe-5ee5-8d89-053c48de2407)
HE KNOWS.
I had made a terrible mistake. I knew it as soon as my gaze met Allegri’s and held for a nanosecond too long.
I’d been avoiding eye contact all night, that penetrating blue gaze turning my stomach to molten lava and making my nipples tighten every time it caught mine.
I didn’t understand my reaction to him. The only thing I did know was that I couldn’t let him see it—or I would be completely at the mercy of it, and him. But the more I tried to control my physical responses, the harder they became to hide. And the more difficult I found it to keep my mind on the game.
I should have bet on that hand. I knew the probability he had a better one was fractionally greater than mine, given the way he had betted during the blinds, but if I never tested him, never lost, he would begin to suspect I had a system. The problem was, I had been avoiding going head to head with him all night, the fear of exposing the strange currents gripping my body too great to risk it.
But as soon as I’d folded again, and saw his jaw tense, the rush of exhilaration at frustrating him was like a drug, intoxicating me. As a result I had been incapable of stopping myself from lifting my head and staring directly at him.
He remained calm, the tensing of his jaw easing, and then his lips curved in a sensual smile that fed the rush of adrenaline.
I ripped my gaze away before he could see more. But I knew it was already too late. The giddy longing must have been written all over my face.
My breathing stopped. It just stopped. I had to fight for the next breath, but as I forced my lungs to function in an even rhythm again, my nipples became so hard they felt as if they were going to poke right through my dress.
I listened to the play continue around me, as Allegri finished off Galanti. The motor-racing entrepreneur subsided with good grace, throwing his pair of aces down with a hollow laugh when Allegri turned over his winning hand—a two to match the pair of twos already on the table.
‘Damn it, Dante, one of these days, I swear your luck will run out,’ Galanti said.
‘Keep dreaming, Alexi,’ Allegri said as he began methodically stacking the pile of chips he’d won.
Galanti cast a look my way as he knocked back the last of his whisky. ‘Maybe Miss Spencer has your number?’ Standing to leave the table, he offered me his hand. ‘You’ve been an impressive and beautiful opponent, Edie,’ he said with deliberate familiarity, the look in his eyes flirtatious.
‘Thank you, Mr Galanti,’ I said. As we shook hands, I tried to figure out why I had no reaction to this man and yet was finding it so hard to control the one I had to Allegri.
‘Good luck,’ Galanti said. ‘Maybe we could meet afterwards for a drink?’ he added. ‘I’m going to try my luck at the roulette table next, so I’ll be around to celebrate with you when you beat this bastard.’
The vote of confidence surprised me, but the invitation surprised me more—I made an effort to make myself invisible whenever I was around men. Both Jude and I had learned instinctively to shy away from male attention, thanks to the endless stream of lovers my mother had brought into our lives as teenagers.
The decision to decline Galanti’s invitation was instant and unequivocal. But as I opened my mouth to cry off, Allegri spoke.
‘Get lost, Alexi. Miss Spencer is out of bounds—she’s all mine now.’
Galanti laughed and left, apparently unaware of the subtle edge in Allegri’s voice. But I’d heard it, along with the hint of possessiveness.
She’s all mine now.
What was that supposed to mean?
I made the mistake of looking at him again, and my blood pressure spiked on cue. He was watching me, the way he had been all night. But, instead of frustration, all I saw now was satisfaction, and challenge, daring me to react to his outrageous remark.
He finished shuffling the cards, his strong wrists and capable fingers flexing in practised motion, never taking his gaze off me.
The tension in the room increased as the door closed behind Galanti, leaving us alone in the plush salon. The huge mullioned window gave us a spectacular view of the bay, the boats moored in the marina adding a sprinkle of lights to the dark sea, but the overwhelmingly masculine space, luxuriously furnished in leather and mahogany in accents of green and brown, suddenly seemed dangerous... And exciting.
Allegri had dismissed the serving staff over an hour ago. At the time it had seemed a generous gesture—it had been past midnight. But now we were alone together I was wondering if he had planned it.
For the first time, the strange melting sensation at my core and the panic it caused was joined by a spark of anger at his proprietary comment to Galanti.
I’d spent the last year of my life being bullied and belittled by Carsoni and his hired muscle—I didn’t like it.
‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t make decisions for me, Mr Allegri,’ I said, in as placid a voice as I could muster while I was burning up with indignation.
‘And what decision would that be?’ he asked, cutting the pack one-handed.
‘The decision to have a drink with Mr Galanti,’ I huffed, indignation getting the better of me.
‘As you had already decided to give him the brush-off,’ he said, ‘I hardly think I took the decision away from you.’
He cut the cards again, and smiled that sensual smile—which did diabolical things to my heart rate. The arrogant comment rattled me, but it infuriated me more, loosening my tongue.
‘Actually, I hadn’t decided to give him the brush-off,’ I lied.
‘Yes, you had,’ he said with complete confidence. The slight curve of his lip unsettled and confused me—was he amused by my futile attempt to misdirect him?
And how the heck did he know I had been planning to give Galanti the brush-off?
‘How could you possibly know that?’ I blurted out.
His blue gaze darkened and, to my horror, an answering heat hit my chest and spread across my collarbone like a rash.
‘Because he’s not your type, bella,’ he said. The gruff tone, and his easy use of the endearment, made the rash spread up my neck and hit my cheeks. ‘I am.’
CHAPTER FOUR (#u84c86fd4-a7fe-5ee5-8d89-053c48de2407)
THE DESIRE I had been trying and failing to control for hours shot through my system like a fine wine, but I was through caring about it as Edie Spencer’s gaze finally flashed the green fire I had witnessed downstairs.
Welcome back, bella.
Satisfaction joined with the intoxicating jolt of power and passion as I saw indignation flush her pale skin. The challenging light heated her eyes to a sparkling emerald. She really was exquisite. Provocative, fearless and, from the system I had yet to fully fathom, also wildly intelligent. Whatever game she was playing, she was proving to be a worthy opponent. Not something I was used to when it came to the spoilt children of the rich.
