High Stakes Seduction - Book 3 (3 page)

Disembarking is always so much easier than coming back onboard, and it didn't take us long to find a quaint little "local" bar in Scarborough. We each ordered the most exotic drink we could think of, chuckling at the tall glasses and tiny umbrellas decorating them, but enjoying the coconut and rum that seemed so prevalent here in the islands.

"Now, you have a refreshment in hand. So tell me about your "incident". Nothing unpleasant I hope? You seem to be in pretty good shape, so I don't suppose it was anything permanent?" He leaned back in his chair, enjoying the gentle fan overhead as it cooled the tiny bar.

God, where should I start? "Well, I took a small tour bus down to the drive-in volcano on St. Lucia."

"Small, as in private?"

"Yes, there were six of us—including our charming driver."

"Sounds good so far.

"Oh, it was great—volcano, waterfalls, mud baths, the Pitons, but they didn't mention the rockslide in the brochure."

His eyebrows shot up again as I took a deep sip of my delicious drink. Mango, lime and some other flavor competed with the coconut. Delish!

"Were you hurt?"

"Oh no. I mean the bus went off the road but we were just jostled around—some minor bruises, about what you'd expect with a fall. Unfortunately, there was no cell service so we were stranded for a couple of hours. Long enough to learn a couple of local songs, finish a bottle of rum, and miss the ship."

He laughed. "You seem to have a sense of humor about it, anyway. How'd you get back to the ship? I mean, obviously you're here now."

"The tour company put us up overnight and flew us to Trinidad. But honestly, as nice as the hotel was, not to mention my tour companions, I’m not anxious to go through that again. Especially not alone."

"My dear, you are far too charming to spend any time alone on this trip. Just say the word, and I’ll be your companion if you want to go on another excursion."

I'm sure I blushed. This man was very sweet. Why didn't Antonio say things like that? Well, he might have said something similar, but he wasn't exactly reliable at following through.

"Have you been enjoying the sights?" Thomas asked, pointing at my camera.

"I have," I said, switching it on. I leaned in to show him the photos still in the gallery.

"You have a good eye for balance," he said, admiring some of the shots I’d taken in St. Lucia. "Is this the waterfall?"

We fell into an easy chatter about our mutual love for art. The hour flew by so quickly, I was really glad I'd taken him up on the offer. But soon enough, we had to be back on the ship.

As we made our way towards the dock, Thomas suggested I capture some of the quaint shops in the city, explaining that the perspective of the tiny streets would be a good exercise for Maria and her painting, maybe even encouraging her to experiment a little more.

He was right, of course, and I found myself swallowed up in the charm of this part of the city with its small outdoor cafes. I captured several 'touristy' shots of people drinking and dining at tiny tables in an alley. Then I turned my attention to gathering longer views of the streets, including some creative perspective shots I thought Maria might like. I was particularly proud of one that managed to catch long banner-like flags flowing from the front of a restaurant.

"See," Thomas grinned approvingly as he looked over my shoulder at the images. "You're a good student. Your sister will appreciate these, trust me."

He was right again, of course. Now I was glad I'd ventured off the ship, especially in the company of this charming man.

Back onboard ship, Thomas walked me to the elevator. When it opened, I was surprised to find Antonio there. I noticed his eyes darkened when Thomas took my hand and raised it to his lips for a kiss.

"Thank you for an enchanting afternoon, Angela," he said cheerfully, oblivious of the tension suddenly rising between Antonio and me.

"We’ll definitely have to do it again," I said, giving him my most dazzling smile as the elevator closed before me.

***

"A friend of yours, obviously. I’m glad you’re making acquaintances and having a good time," Antonio said evenly.

I tried to gauge his tone, but as usual, he was unreadable, so I just accepted the comment at face value. "It’s nice to have the company." Okay, maybe that came out a little more snarky than I intended.

If he noticed, he didn’t rise to the comment. Instead, he just smiled and said, "Well, I hope you won’t mind my company for the rest of the evening?"

Ha! As if…

His arm tightened as he stopped for a moment. Before I could say anything, his lips brushed across my brow. I found his eyes then and gazed silently into them for a long moment. The expression on his face was soft, vulnerable. This wasn’t the businessman in control, or the appraising fashion mogul. There was no charming glint that promised mischief. Nor was there the smoldering darkness that sent my thoughts running to all sorts of naughty places.

This was the man who’d let me in for just a moment as we gazed over a moonlit ocean one night that seemed now to be ages ago.

"Stay with me tonight?" he said softly, almost tentatively.

"Of course," The moment was too perfect and I didn't want to lose it.

He smiled. "Good. Maybe you can be my lucky charm."

I frowned, not understanding. "Your what?" That’s when I looked around and realized where we were. "You’re going to the casino?" I asked, even though the answer was right there, staring at me from the end of the hall.

"Just for a little while," he sighed, patting my hand. "I know I've been busy most nights and it must frustrate you. Perhaps, if you spent a little time with me here, you’d find it interesting. Or at least entertaining. Tonight, I'd like to have you with me.

What could I say? I had little interest in gambling. And as a result, I knew next to nothing about it—except that it had helped to destroy Dad, and had ultimately brought me to Antonio. I just didn't understand this highly successful man's fascination with something that was stacked against him. Was that it? The challenge of trying to beat the odds?

I wracked my brain for some kind of excuse, but before I found one, he started maneuvering us toward the door. I teetered somewhere between bewilderment and anger—I guess "puzzled" was as good a description as any. We stepped inside and headed for the table in the corner where I’d first seen him playing poker.

"Tony!" said the cheerful gentleman I’d met the last time. "Back to challenge the Poker Gods? And this time with your gorgeous lady friend. Just make sure you don’t lose her again, okay?"

Lose me? Again? As the men at the table laughed at the joke, I realized they must know about my getting left behind in St. Lucia. I tried to laugh along with them as Antonio pulled out a chair for me, but I was still pretty upset with being rushed to the tables.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked, signaling the waiter over as the dealer deftly tossed cards his way.

Normally, I wasn't in the habit of using alcohol to cover up my emotions or drown my sorrows, but a drink definitely seemed what I needed right now to calm myself down. At least it would give me something to focus on as I sorted my thoughts.

My cold white wine arrived, and I twirled the glass in my fingers, sipping slowly. Antonio’s hand brushed against my knee. He looked up and smiled, resting his hand there temporarily before he turned back to his cards.

I enjoyed his touch. It set off sparks that traveled to my intimate core, as always. But as we sat there, his focus shifted, slowly, more and more toward the table and the game. I was still too dismayed to follow the banter among the players, or to fully understand their conversation. But I did notice the almost clique-like quality of the men, and that I was largely excluded.

"I’m going to get another drink," I said.

Antonio looked up then, as though I’d just appeared out of the air like magic. "I can call the waiter."

"No thanks," I said. "I want to stretch my legs."

At the bar, I considered ordering something a little stiffer than wine, then stopped myself. I was angry at Antonio about this—about this addiction. But what was the point of dealing with my anger by getting drunk? Then I'd be using the same crutch as my dad. Heaven knows that never helped anything.

So I ordered another glass of wine and turned to watch Tony at the table. He didn’t even look to see where I was. Where I'd been hopeful, and even a bit connected earlier, now I was feeling sorry for myself.

"Hello again," said Thomas Markus, taking a seat beside me. "It’s not as difficult as it looks."

"What's that?"

He nodded toward Antonio’s table. "Poker. You ever played?"

"No. I'm afraid I’ve never played anything more complex than Crazy Eights."

Thomas chuckled. "Well at least you have a sort of basis and I won't have to explain everything. Would you like to know more?"

Hm, did I? Not particularly. But then again, it might help me understand Antonio better or at least give us something to talk about. "Sure. Why not."

"OK. I'm guessing you already understand that, like any card game, the objective of poker is to win the game. But unlike other games, like Crazy Eights," he gave me a wink, "in poker the winner doesn't get points. He gets the money in the pot at the end of each "hand". In order to play, each player wagers money—that is, he makes a bet using those colored chips—that he's been dealt the best combination of the cards for that hand."

Okay, that made sense so far. It wasn't so different from Crazy Eights, except it had money involved.

"Sounds like there's a lot of luck in winning a hand."

He laughed. "Well, in some ways. But there are strategies also. Depending on which of the types of poker games you play. Some have a set number of cards, some get extra cards as the game progresses. So then, the odds change when cards are added to the hands. Some games even include wildcards. Usually it's the top five cards that count towards the winning hand."

"That seems like a lot to keep track of."

"At first, yes. But these guys have probably been playing for years, and by now most of it is second nature to them. And, regardless of the variation, the winning hands always rank in the same order, so you only have to learn that once."

I took a sip of the wine and leaned back against the bar, my eyes wandering over the other tables. "There are other games here, too? It isn't all poker?"

"Sure, some people really like Black Jack or 21. Sometimes you can find Pai Gow or Baccarat, but onboard here, there's just the poker and 21."

"So when does the game end?" I looked from Thomas to the table. They certainly seemed intent.

"Oh, technically, a poker game never really ends. If someone loses all their money, or there aren't enough players, then I suppose that could be considered an ending. Usually, though, the game breaks up when everyone seems to agree it's time to end."

No wonder he's out until all hours. At least that part made more sense to me now.

"See that guy on the end? I've been watching him. He's losing money, but he keeps playing." Thomas looked over at me. "Notice how he's fingering his mustache?"

I nodded. The guy looked nervous to me.

"Every time he starts playing with his mustache he increases his bets. A few times he's won, but most of the times he's ended up losing the hand. That mannerism is called a 'tell'. It's like a nervous twitch that gives away something a player's trying to keep hidden. Poker players watch for that kind of thing. After they watch long enough, it gives them clues about the cards in the person's hand."

"So there's a kind of strategy to playing poker? It isn't just about having the best cards?"

"Yes. And realistically, in a poker game, when you can save your money, that's just as valuable as winning money. In other words, knowing when to release a hand—to drop out or "fold" as they call it—can be just as important as knowing when to bet."

"Because having money is what keeps you in the game…"

"Exactly."

I shook my head. I still didn't understand the allure of poker.

Another round of drinks later, Thomas and I had abandoned the topic of poker, leaving the guys at the table to figure out the finer points. Instead, we were laughing about the last season of our favorite television show.

"I thought I was the only person in the world who watched that!" I exclaimed with a laugh. A reality show about practical jokers—well, "Impractical Jokers" actually. I’d stumbled onto it one night when I couldn’t sleep and had watched it fairly religiously any time I found myself tossing and turning. The guys were silly, stupid, and downright funny as they dared each other to do outrageous things.

"Our guilty secret," Thomas laughed, clinking his glass lightly against mine.

"What secrets are those?" Antonio's unnaturally quiet voice interjected as he stepped up behind me. His hands fell possessively onto my shoulders.