Love in the Cards (Whole Lotta Love #1) (2 page)

“Sir, there’s a fifty dollar minimum here.” The tall, skinny dealer looked down his nose at Deuce with a glare that seriously bugged him.

Motioning to a waitress, Deuce put a twenty on her tray. “Sweetheart, can you get me a rum and Coke?” He turned back to the table and tossed down a handful of bills. “Gimme three one-thousand-dollar chips. This’ll be quick.”

The dealer slid the chips over and then began to deal.

Deuce sat two chips on one square, and one chip on another, playing two hands at once. As the cards were dealt face down he peeked at the ones on his right.

Ten and a king.
That’s good.

He pushed the cards under the one chip. When he peeled up his second hand under the two chips he smiled. The dealer had an eight showing and as the other gamblers made their plays, he studied them. He watched their gestures, the way they held cards. Deuce lived up to his slightly strange name—he knew cards. He knew how to read the players who held them and note their little “tells” when the hand was good—or not, as the case might be.

“I’ll stand.” Deuce stared impassively at the dealer’s sly smirk, which got even bigger when the guy flipped over his second card, revealing an ace. “Dealer has nineteen.”

The other people groaned, paying the dealer for their nineteens and under. Deuce sat patiently, waiting his turn. He flipped over the ten followed by the king, then turned up the ace of spades to go with his jack for a twenty-one.

“Pay up, buddy.”

The dealer grudgingly stacked the appropriate number of chips as Deuce took a twenty-dollar chip and held it loosely in his hand. The dealer reached politely across the table for it, but Deuce pulled it back. “Whoops, I forgot. There’s a fifty-dollar minimum.
Asshole.
” He took his winnings and headed for the bar.

He saw her coming back into the main casino as his gaze roamed across the large room. It wasn’t so much the way she dressed or the way the light caught some red highlights in her dark hair, although both were a definite plus. It was the way she carried herself along with her calm confidence that attracted Deuce. And her nice rack. He was a sucker for a well-stacked pair and this woman was high on his list of best pairs ever, right behind the queens he’d been holding one momentous night. Of course, he’d had
two
pairs of queens in the card game. But the pair Maggie was blessed with worked just fine right at this moment.

When their eyes met, his vision blurred for a second or two. Distracted, he paid no attention to where he was going, with the result that an elderly man accidentally rammed the arm of his wheelchair hard into Deuce’s balls.

Deuce cringed in pain and crumpled over, wheezing and trying to catch his breath.

Completely blind for a second or two, he bumped into a waitress holding a tray with drinks on it—and they inevitably spilled all over the leg of his pants. Trying to steady himself, his hand caught on her uniform and ripped the front, revealing a splendid pair of 44DD enhanced breasts that popped out as she tripped over Deuce.

She toppled forward into the old man in the wheelchair, surrounding his face with her silicon twins. The wrinkled eyes widened, he mumbled “Momm
y
”, and seized the chance to suck her nipple with his toothless gums.

The bouncer ran over to help the waitress, pushing the old man’s head away from her breast. Unfortunately for the bouncer, this was the wrong senior citizen to pick on, since he was enjoying himself more than he had in the last twenty years. Once more, the old man rammed the arm of his wheelchair into a set of balls, but this time he sped off as fast as his battery-operated cart would take him. The bouncer was a tad too big for a senior to take on.

Deuce finally caught his breath and staggered up to the bar where he could see Maggie holding back a laugh.

“That was graceful.”

Deuce winced. “Bartender?

Chapter Two

“Margarita, please.” Maggie nodded at the bartender. “The dealer over there said to give you this.” She pushed the slip of paper across the bar.

“Yep. That’s good. Donnie likes to make his guests happy.”

“His guests?” Maggie raised her eyebrows.

“He’s the owner. Donnie Cartwright. This place belongs to him, lock, stock and slot machines.” The man mixed things and worked magic with salt around the rim of a glass. “Says it’s his dream come true.”

“Ex-Marine?” Maggie glanced back at the large man with the short hair and military bearing.

“Lady, there’s no such thing as an ex-Marine.”

Maggie noticed the broad shoulders of the bartender, the ironic gaze he was giving her and a tattoo barely hidden by his sleeve.

She nodded in acknowledgement and raised her glass. “Semper Fi.”

Deuce slid onto the stool beside her with a muffled groan and she turned to look at him. “So what brings you here besides the urge to get neutered by a handicapped senior citizen?” Maggie sipped her drink.

“Beaver. I’m just a sucker for this place—anyplace that’s on a road named Beaver Canyon. I love Beaver. Been a fan of Beaver for most of my life. In fact, if it wasn’t for Beaver…I wouldn’t be here today.”

“Cute, real cute.” She laughed, she couldn’t help it. It was funny and the margarita was going down very smoothly.

“I’m just here to try my luck. What the hell, it’s a nice place. How about you?” Deuce asked the question casually.

“Pretty much the same.” She looked at his leg. “You’re wet.”

He followed her glance. “Yeah. I feel like a fire hydrant outside a dog show.” He shook his leg and a few drops splashed free. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll dry off.” She sipped some more and licked the salt from the rim of the glass, enjoying the bite on her tongue. “You live in this area?”

“Hell, no. Does anyone? It’s a long way out of anything resembling a town.” Deuce looked around the casino at the gamblers. “I doubt there’s too many locals playing. Gotta be tourists. Let’s take you, for example…”

Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Let’s not and say we did.”

A small trio struck up some music at the rear of the room, and a few couples moved to the tiny dance floor. Deuce smiled. “Okay. But I’ll bet you’re a good dancer.”

“Bet, huh?” Maggie smiled back. “What’s the bet?”

“Hmm. I’ll bet you another drink that if we dance you won’t step on my toes once.”

Maggie snorted. Some gambler. She could win that one with her eyes closed. “You’re on.”

He slid from his stool and held out his hand and Maggie hesitated for only a moment before putting hers into it. “Just to make it formal, I’m Maggie French.”

His fingers tightened around hers. “Deuce Wiley.”

“You’re kidding.” She followed him to the small square of parquet flooring.

“Nope. Daddy played cards. Mom lost a bet. I’m stuck with the result.”

Maggie giggled. The little sound hid the rather breathless feeling that came over her as Deuce swept her into his arms.

Instead of holding her hand in the usual position, he tucked it into his palm and pulled it close to his chest, letting his other hand heat the small of her back. She felt surrounded, protected and strangely content. She let her own hand rest comfortably on his shoulder and snuggled in to enjoy the dance.

And win the bet while she was at it.

Maggie
always
won her bets or she didn’t take them.

They swayed to the music, and she let herself relax, closing her eyes, allowing her head to rest lightly against Deuce. He smelled good, all man and aftershave with a dash of “Eau de Cocktail” seeping in from his damp jeans.

Their thighs brushed as they moved, and he leaned forward, just touching her head with his lips. “Looks like I’m gonna owe you that drink.”

Maggie nodded a little, feeling her hair rub over his shirt. “You
did
bet.”

“True. And you didn’t say no.”

“I like to win.” She swallowed. “Can’t help it.”

His chest rumbled beneath her ear as he laughed. “Me too. I won first place at a belching contest last weekend. The trick is the beer and eggs. If the beer doesn’t make you belch loud enough, the smell of the eggs makes the other guy—well, you can guess.” He smiled. “Sorry. Too much info, but yeah. I like to win too.”

Deuce thought about those words as he cuddled this delicious armful of woman, letting the music flow over them. He
did
like to win. At
everything
. Especially cards, and that was the main reason he was here at the Last Resort.

He’d been quite honest with Maggie up to a point, since he was the child of a confirmed card player, and had cut his teeth on a short deck instead of a teething ring. Poker was as natural to him as breathing, and the soft whoosh of cards being dealt across a green baize table had orchestrated most of his life.

He hadn’t mentioned the tournament. Or the fact that he knew, just
knew
, he’d be heading out after the big game with half a million or so, less taxes, tucked in his wallet.

But that was for tomorrow—tonight was for him. And
her
, if things went according to the plans his cock was busy making right at this moment. The mission was simple. In the room—naked, fucking until morning, a thank you and a kiss goodbye—leave. Oh, and remember to take a leak before the tournament.

Like a well-used deck of cards their bodies melded together, shuffling into one tidy package with scarcely a ripple. Her soft spots nuzzled his hard spots, one of which was getting harder by the minute. She was warm, smelled good, liked blackjack and had a pair of the most awesome breasts squished against him.

What more could he ask?

If she had a sixty-inch plasma TV and a dash of nymphomania, he’d propose right now. And she was a gambler too, responding to the challenge of a bet and the excitement of winning. Yep. His kind of woman all around. Her butt was “all around” he noticed, as his hand slid a little lower and splayed across her nicely shaped ass.
Hubba, hubba.

She sighed as the music ended and it was time to peel herself from his chest.
Shit.

“You owe me a drink.”

He looked into her eyes and a little tingle of anticipation ran up his spine. Or maybe it was the dampness from his wet pants leg. He didn’t know and didn’t care. “Did you think I wouldn’t pay up?”

She grinned. “Nope. I’d make your life a misery if you welshed.”

“I don’t think
anything
you could do to me would make my life a misery.” He still held her in his arms, even though the music had stopped and the dance floor was emptying.

“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out,” she whispered. Her gaze lowered to his lips and she absently licked her own.

Fuck.
She had a nice tongue. Perfect for licking all those tender areas. Like his ear or his groin or the base of his ever-growing cock.

He was lost. He leaned forward and kissed her. Like the consummate professional he moved directly… and banged his nose into her eye.

Maggie blinked a few times as he moved in to try again. She braced herself for his mouth, but was surprised when he just brushed her lips with his. His light touch sizzled on her skin and she wanted more. Wanted to taste him. She moaned a little, then opened her mouth, inviting him inside.

He responded, tugging her close and quickly burying his tongue deep against hers, his tart sweetness mixing with the remnants of her margarita, salt and him. It was really coooool…

But
crap
, they were in the middle of an almost empty dance floor.

With regret, she pulled back. “Umm. Nice. Thank you.”

He chuckled. “Thank you? That’s a first. Women don’t usually thank me for kissing them.”

“They should,” she muttered. Shivers still ran through her. Damn, the guy knew how to kiss.

“Huh?”

“I was thanking you for the dance, idiot.” She choked down what seemed a bad case of lust, forcing a grin. “And I think I could use that drink you promised.”

Deuce nodded. “Yeah.” She saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed too. “C’mon. I have a bet to pay up. Is it hot in here or is it just me?”

No comment.

They made their way back to the bar, which was getting busier by the minute as the evening wore on. Several busloads of tourists had arrived, to judge by the incredible amount of high-tech camera equipment dangling round the necks of a lot of the customers. The noise was incredible and Deuce had a tough time getting the order for their drinks over to the bartender.

He did his best sign language effort. “I figure I’ve either ordered us drinks or asked for a hand job.”

Maggie grinned. “Either way you’ll be getting something.”

Waitresses rushed about laden with trays, looking harassed and being harassed, and handling it all with their usual efficient dignity.

“Wouldn’t catch me doing that.” Maggie watched as one woman neatly removed her breast from the grasping range of an overweight man in a large cowboy hat while serving him and his buddies another round of beers.

“Me neither.” Deuce nodded.

“I don’t think it’s quite the same,” laughed Maggie.

“Oh no?” Deuce looked toward to a handsome croupier who was barely avoiding getting his ass grabbed by several women standing near the bar. “I don’t think I could do that kind of dancing for long.”

“I take it back.” Maggie shook her head.

A loud cheer from the nearby roulette table made everyone’s head turn, including some of the people heading that way. A crowded bar, loaded trays and a cheering distraction—it was a recipe for disaster and, once again, Deuce took the brunt of it.

Two men, eager to see what the fuss was about at wheel, shoved past a waitress. She stumbled, tripped on a camera strap that a tourist had left sticking out from under his chair and her tray of beers went flying.

The resultant cascading shower of liquid caught Deuce fair and square in the middle of the chest. This was no dampened jeans leg, this was a full-on dousing. He sputtered and gasped as his shirt soaked up some of Milwaukee’s best.