Lucky Streak (9 page)

She matched him thrust for thrust, grinding into him. She moaned and the sexy sound brought him higher, closer. Somehow he held off until she came—her body milking him for all it was worth, her soft cries triggering his release.

But it was the sound of his name on her lips that caused everything inside him to burst open. Taking him up and over with the strongest, sweetest climax he'd ever experienced.

They lay in silence, the only sound his heart pounding in his ears. He rose and headed for the bathroom. When he returned, he climbed back into bed. Amber curled around him as if she'd been sleeping beside him for a lifetime.

“Mike?” she asked sleepily.

“Yeah?”

“Next time you're on top,” she said, tossing one leg over his, and immediately falling asleep.

His wife locked him in for the night. In his bed, in his apartment, in his
home.

What the hell was he going to do with her?

M
IKE AWOKE
to the smell of coffee. He knew immediately where he was and what he'd done. A quick glance told him the bag with the money remained in the corner of the room, but was his wife here, too?

If so, they needed to have a talk about their divorce, something he had no choice but to pursue. He couldn't remain with a woman he didn't trust enough to be certain she'd be around in the morning.

He climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans before walking to the kitchen. The sound of pots and pans clattering told him Amber hadn't bailed on him and sure enough, she padded barefoot around his kitchen, humming as she cracked eggs into a bowl. An overwhelming sense of relief mixed with pleasure as he watched her work in his kitchen, once again wearing nothing but his shirt.

Considering the conclusion he'd come to moments before, he pushed away the fact that he liked
having her here, chalking it up to good sex the night before.

Not just good sex. Great sex. His body jolted alive at the memory.

He cleared his throat.

She turned to him with a big smile on her face. “Good morning!”

“You're still here.”

The light dimmed in her eyes, but she kept the smile. “I told you I would be. So how do you like your eggs?”

Now that he was sure she was here, he was suddenly in no rush to have the divorce conversation. But the longer he stalled the more difficult it would be. “Surprise me.”

“Why don't you go shower,” she said, waving a fork in the air as she spoke. “Breakfast will be ready when you're through.”

He paused, torn about when to discuss their future. She looked so pleased with herself that he couldn't hurt her again by bringing it up just yet.

“Don't worry. All the silverware will be here when you return,” she said, turning away from him. “Now go.”

He winced. Still, all through his shower, he reminded himself she was feeling bad because of something
she'd
done, not him. It didn't help his guilt.

A short while later, they shared fluffy Spanish omelets made with ingredients she'd obviously found in his refrigerator and delicious hot coffee.

“You make a mean omelet,” he said, complimenting her while shoveling the last of his breakfast into his mouth. “It's delicious.”

“Thanks. I used to cook breakfast for my dad when I was growing up. He liked my Spanish omelet so I thought you might, too.”

Conversation remained light, topics like Boston weather and what time he had to leave for work flowing easily between them.

Mike waited until they'd finished eating to bring up the discussion he knew they had to have. And when he couldn't stall anymore, he decided it was time. “Amber…”

“Mike…”

He chuckled at their timing. “You first.”

She met his gaze. “Well, I came here on the spur of the moment and I didn't pack my things. I don't have a suitcase or clothes…” She studied him with doe eyes, making him feel responsible for her yet again.

And damned if despite it all, he didn't like it. He exhaled a slow groan and weighed the possibilities. He could give her his credit card and be taken for a fool again or he could hand her limited cash and hope she was telling the truth.

“I'll give you some money and you can pick up what you need for a couple of days.” He saw the opening for a serious conversation and took it. “As soon as I have some free time, I'm going to look into
a quick divorce.” That had been to the point, he thought, disgusted with his lack of tact.

He wiped his mouth with a napkin and rose to clear his plates off the table. Maybe if he kept busy, he wouldn't see the hurt in her expression or shock in her eyes. He sure as hell had the bitter taste of the words on his tongue.

Amber wasn't surprised by Mike's declaration, but despite his intentions, she wasn't letting him go that easily. In order for her to see if she and her husband had a future, she needed some time being his wife.

While making breakfast, she'd formulated a plan that would put herself in the center of his life and give him a chance to get to know the real Amber.

With a little Las Vegas luck, by the time she was finished, he wouldn't be able to let her go. “Let me know what you find out,” she said, not using the word
divorce.

“I will.”

“Can I borrow your car?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “What for? You're in the middle of the city. You can take a cab or the subway anywhere you want to go.”

“Even to visit your father?” she asked. Edward had seemed like a man in need of family or a friend. She understood Mike didn't have the time during the day, but she did.

He shook his head. “Oh, no. There's no reason for you to go stirring up things at home.”

“Okay.” She let out a forced sigh. She'd comply with his request. For now. “Let me have the keys in case. I'm used to having a car and I don't want to feel trapped.” She raised an eyebrow and held out one hand.

It was a test. She only wanted to see how far he'd extend his faith in her. She was perfectly willing to take public transportation wherever she needed to go. She just wanted some little indication of trust between them.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth, handing her his car keys.

“Thank you!” She jumped up and without thinking, kissed him on the cheek.

The spicy scent of soap from his recent shower and his delicious aftershave seeped into her pores. A warm, fuzzy feeling overcame her and she let her lips linger against his freshly shaven skin.

He didn't move, remaining frozen in place. She heard her heart beating inside her chest and with everything inside her, she wished he'd turn his face so their lips could meet and break the emotional barrier he'd so obviously erected between them.

Not even sex last night, which had been incredible, had thawed him out this morning. He was attracted to her and enjoyed things between them when he let himself, but he was angry at himself because of it. And, of course, he was still furious with her.

She'd been trying hard to ignore the deliberate distance, but now she admitted to herself how much it hurt. How badly she wanted his forgiveness.

Instead of kissing her, he cleared his throat. “I have to call my partner and tell him to pick me up on his way to work.” He rose, breaking the connection that had been way too short.

She forced a nod. “Have a good day.”

“Thanks.”

“And Mike?”

“Yes?” He gripped the back of the chair tight with one hand.

“I
will
be here when you get home.”

 

T
HE FIRST THING
Amber did after Mike left for work was to call Paul and check on her father.

She discovered that Paul had made arrangements to have Sam moved to a new nursing home as soon as a room became available in the place Amber had chosen. In the meantime, he'd taken Marshall's name off the visitors' list. He'd also made certain the staff understood Marshall was no longer allowed to see Sam, and that the older man was not to be taken out of the building without his or Amber's consent.

Amber called the nursing home herself and made certain her father was calm and doing okay after his outing yesterday. The staff had assured her Sam was fine. His condition allowed him the serenity of not worrying about his daughter's predicaments, for
which Amber was grateful—at least for the moment, while her life was such a mess.

Her dad might have been a professional cheater, but to Amber, he'd had a heart. He'd also had an understanding of the human condition. He realized the men involved in those high-stakes poker games, men like King Bobby, were, typically, extremely wealthy people who viewed life as Sam did—as a gamble and a risk. Or the competitors were cons like Sam himself. He'd never knowingly stolen from someone who was risking their mortgage payment or child's education. Odd morals, but they existed.

And Amber had based her own beliefs on his. Her father had taught Amber how to recognize a chronic gambler and steer clear. Even at her most desperate, when she'd first needed money for her father's care, she made sure the competition in the poker games she'd played met her father's criteria—filthy rich and stupid, or bored. Easy marks or fellow cheaters.

Which might explain how this last game had gone sour, Amber thought. Maybe King Bobby recognized a fellow cheater in Marshall because he was one himself. Maybe King Bobby was smarter than he appeared. Maybe he really
was
connected with people who could hurt her if he didn't get back the money he'd lost. Amber had always known she could only live the life with people like Marshall for so long before she got bit by her actions.

She trembled before catching herself. She'd made her bed, so to speak. Now she had to fix things, but first she had to understand what exactly was going on. Her next phone call was to check the messages back at her apartment. There was a flurry of normal calls, friends and other things that were part of her life.

And then there was one last unnerving message—another old contact, Robyn Lane, a concierge at the Beverly Wilshire in California, spoke in detail.

Amber hit Replay. She needed to make sure she'd understood her friend correctly. “Hi, Amber, hon, it's Robyn Lane from the Beverly Wilshire. Long time! Hope Vegas is treating you right. I thought you'd want to know three dudes from Texas were asking around here last night for a concierge named Amber. They didn't have a last name, but they described your funky blond curls and paired with your not-so-common first name, I thought they might be looking for you, even though they had the wrong hotel. Of course, I didn't give them any information. Just took their card to pass along to you in case you're interested in contacting them. Gotta go. Call me.” A loud beep indicated the end of the call.

Karma was a bitch.

Just ask Earl. But Amber wasn't a TV character. She was real and she just wanted to put her old life behind her. So far King Bobby hadn't found her, but she couldn't afford to go back to Vegas until he was
finished looking. But if Mike was successful in his bid for a quick divorce, she'd have nowhere else to go. She'd already determined she had her reasons for wanting to stay with him that had nothing to with avoiding King Bobby. And she planned to do her best to make certain Mike had no time to think about wanting her to leave.

Still, she couldn't discount the possibility that King Bobby would track her via the Crown Chandler Hotels. He was certainly rich enough to buy the information he needed.

She placed a call to the Chandler in Beverly Hills to speak to Sydney London, the day head concierge. Sydney hadn't heard that anyone had been looking for her, but she promised to ask the other employees and get back to Amber as soon as possible.

Her nerves were raw. But the irony was, Amber still didn't know why King Bobby was after her. Did he know she was involved with cheating? Did he just want to use her to get to Marshall? Was he just out to regain his money, which she didn't have? Or equally frightening, did he want plain old revenge?

Amber really liked her legs in one piece and didn't want them broken, something a
connected
man like King Bobby could have done with ease. Drawing a deep breath, she sat down with her cell phone, a pad and pen, and began calling all Marshall's old hangouts to discover if anyone had
heard from him in the last twenty-four hours or so. After twenty minutes, she knew that no one who was a friend or acquaintance had seen or spoken to him. Still, she figured he couldn't lay low forever and left messages for him everywhere. She didn't leave her phone number. She just said to tell Marshall to get in touch with her immediately. He knew how. She wasn't going to provide any more of a trail than she had to.

By the time she finished making calls, her hands were shaking and she was no closer to solving her problem than when she'd started. But she'd been as proactive as possible, keeping up that Vegas spirit, that luck combined with hard work would achieve the best results. All she could do now was hope Marshall heard she was looking for him and chose to get in touch.

After a refreshing shower that calmed her down, she redressed in yesterday's clothes, took the money Mike had given her, adding it to the tally of what she already owed him, and headed out shopping.

She filled the morning buying inexpensive but chic outfits to impress her husband and make him drool.

On her travels, she'd passed Mike's police station. She'd noted the address of his precinct from papers in his apartment, and she noticed on the corner by the station was a beautiful restaurant. She wanted to do something nice for Mike, but she didn't want to use his money to do it. The one thing a concierge did
was to learn the lay of the land where she'd work—the hotels, restaurants, shops, et cetera. Amber didn't have a job in town—yet—but if she intended to remain here, she might as well start making contacts right away. And with the right schmoozing, she could pull off a surprise for her husband.