Slave Gamble

SLAVE GAMBLE

An Ellora’s Cave Publication, March 2004

Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

PO Box 787

Hudson, OH 44236-0787

ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-826-X

Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC)
& HTML

SLAVE GAMBLE © 2004 CLAIRE THOMPSON

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be
reproduced in whole or in part without permission.

This book is a work of fiction and any
resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely
coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used
fictitiously.

Edited by
Sheri Ross Carucci.

Cover art by
Syneca
.

Slave Gamble

Claire Thompson

He won me in a
card game.

I know, that
sounds crazy. It sounded crazy to me, too. If I hadn’t had more than my share
of fine champagne, I might have even slapped him in the face when he told me.
But instead I stood there like an idiot, letting a stranger tell me things that
should have made me blush. The odd thing was, though I’d never met him, I knew
him instantly.

My stupid
boyfriend, Jim, had been betting at poker, as usual. He’d been drinking copious
amounts of beer too, as usual. But instead of the regular poker night with his
friends from work, where the stakes involved rarely went over twenty dollars,
tonight he’d found himself in a ‘real’ game, and was in way beyond his ken.

Amelia, my one and
only truly rich friend, was throwing one of her gala bashes, complete with a
veritable Who’s Who list of local celebrities, wealthy business people and
movers and shakers in the community. As a reporter who covered the local scene,
I was familiar with a lot of them, if not personally, at least by face and
name.

Amelia favored
‘themes’ and tonight apparently the theme was roses. Inside her lovely spacious
home, everything was draped in reds, pinks, yellows and whites. There was a
huge ball made entirely of roses hanging from the chandelier. The scent of the
lush flowers was overpowering, rising from vases all throughout the large
living and dining rooms. All the ‘beautiful people’ were either draped
attractively over the furniture, or out in back swimming in the huge pool or
soaking in the hot tub.

Jim was somewhere
in the bowels of the house, at his card game, and Amelia was busy being a hostess.
I had stepped out by the pool to get away from the crowd, wondering, as I
usually ended up wondering when I went to these shindigs, what I was doing
there.

I was smoking a
cigarette and thinking about what I’d tell Amelia as I made my early ‘graceful’
exit. I was deciding if I felt sober enough to drive, and decided that I did.
Jim, who had come with me, could find his own way home. To his own apartment. I
suddenly realized, or more accurately, admitted, something which was already
clearly written on the proverbial wall. Jim and I were history. We were just
about to figure it out, if we hadn’t already.

A deep sexy voice
shook me out of my reverie.

“Nauseating habit,
that.”

I looked around
and saw a GQ kind of guy, with dark hair and eyes. He was wearing a silk shirt,
casually open at the neck, tucked into black jeans over black boots. His skin
was tan, offset nicely against the pale lemon color of his shirt. He was in
good shape, but not from a gym. It was the kind of long lean sinuousness that
comes from skiing and playing tennis; from steering your sailboat or hiking in
the Himalayas. He looked sleek and as if something was coiled inside of him.
Something sexy and possibly dangerous.

In a word – he was
gorgeous.

I was probably
staring at him like an idiot. Pointedly, I took a long drag on my cigarette,
trying to look cool and bored. It was so passé of him to criticize my smoking.

“Excuse me?” I
said slowly, in my best freeze-them-in-their-tracks voice, daring him to
continue.

“Smoking. It makes
me sick. You’ll have to quit now, you know.”

“And why is that?”
I asked, annoyed that this stranger, no matter how drop dead gorgeous, was
harassing me about smoking; my mom and Jim did it enough.

“Because I just
won you in a poker game, and I like my girls to taste sweet.”

I laughed then,
realizing he was just having me on. Using a very creative pickup line, I
supposed. Still, I found myself intrigued, and as I mentioned, a little lacking
in the judgment department, courtesy of alcohol.

“Sounds like Jim
really got desperate, huh?”

“He sure did,
sweetheart. And I’m here to collect on his debt.” He came near and leaned in
close to me. I could smell his scent, something between cinnamon, lemon and
musk, as he bent down and kissed me lightly on the cheek. “You’re mine, Zoë,”
he whispered in my ear.

This was too much.
I backed away from him, ignoring the whoosh of electricity that had whipped
through me when his lips touched my face. Just then I saw Jim coming outside.
He was looking around, probably for me. With relief I rushed over to him. “Jim,
what have you been telling this guy? He claims he won me in a poker game! What
is going on?” Jim came over and hugged me. He smelled of beer and sweat.
Nervous sweat.

“I know this is
nuts, Zoë. I didn’t think he’d win! I swear, I had the perfect hand. And I was
going to win back the $2,500 I’d lost and then some—”

“$2,500! What, are
you out of your fucking mind? You don’t have that kind of money! Don’t you
know, Jim, you don’t bet more than you can cover! Now you’re telling me you
lost $2,500? Because if you think you’re going to borrow it from me, you’ve got
another thing coming—”

Mr. Tall Dark and
Handsome had come up to us. He intervened, his voice smooth and suave. I wanted
to smack him; to tell him to mind his own business. Jim stepped back slightly,
as the man said, “No, Jim doesn’t owe me $2,500. I forgave him the debt,
conditionally of course. I don’t need his money. I want something else he has.”
He looked at me, a slow smile curving up his face, his eyes sparkling in the
torches set along the poolside.

I turned to him,
and said, suddenly engaging in the game, “Oh, what might that be?”

He held out his
hand, smiling, and answered, “My name is David. David Turner. Jim here made a
very unusual bet. He bet you, my dear. And I’m here to claim my prize.”

I didn’t take his
hand. Instead, I pulled Jim by the arm and got him out of earshot. Any trace of
a champagne high was gone, and I felt a curious knot in my stomach. “Jim, what
the hell is going on? Who is this guy, and how dare you
bet
me in a card
game! You can’t bet something that doesn’t belong to you! And, in case you
haven’t noticed, I’m not property! I’m a person!”

Jim was sweating,
more than the warm summer night would warrant. He looked anxiously over at that
David fellow, who was looking out over the pool, where several very scantily
clad sweet little things were romping in the water.

I turned back to
Jim, waiting for his explanation. “God, Zoë, I had too much to drink, and I
wasn’t thinking very clearly. He kept harping on you. Like, how gorgeous you
were, and how hot, and wondering who had come in with such a babe. I was so
fucking sure I had it made! I was so sure I had the winning hand, I swear to
god.”

“But I was $2,500
in the hole, and even if I won the hand, I’d still be out some serious bucks.
So when he said, I’ll see your hundred, but I have a better idea. How about a
night with your gorgeous girlfriend, and we’ll call it even? Well, how could I
refuse? I was so sure I’d win, that it was just academic. It was a joke! I had
no idea he was serious!”

Jim went on, his
expression pleading, “I know it’s nuts, but maybe you could humor him a little
or something? Let him buy you a drink, maybe? I don’t know.” I didn’t answer. I
just stood there fuming at him. The man had tried to sell me in a card game!

He went on, his
voice now a whine. “Please, Zoë. I know I’m a total jerk, but to tell you the
truth, I don’t know what to do! I don’t have $2,500, and somehow he doesn’t
look like the kind of guy who will say to forget it.

“Listen, all you’d
have to do is spend a couple of hours with him. What do you say? Please? I’ll
never ask anything of you again after this, I swear!” Then Jim did the one
thing that got to me. He started to cry! The poor pathetic boy started to tear
up, and he was wringing his hands. I remembered that once I had actually
thought I loved the guy, and he did look so miserable standing there.

And it wasn’t as
if this David fellow was disgusting. He was obviously rich, and totally
handsome, and apparently found me attractive! It was kind of flattering, in a
sick way. I said, “All right, Jim. I’ll let the man buy me a drink. But just
for the record, this is the last thing you’ll ask of me, because as of now,
we’re through.”

It was as if he
didn’t hear the last part, or didn’t care. At any rate, all he focused on was
that I said I’d do it. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” he cried,
catching me up in a big bear hug. “Just an evening. And you have my cell
number. Just call me if you need me.”

Yeah, like he’d
come running to save me while I was being raped. I would say, ‘Excuse me,
please stop raping me a minute so I can call my useless ex-boyfriend, Jim.’ I
glanced over at my would-be rapist. He was looking at us now, and he smiled
that slow smile again. He didn’t look like a rapist. He looked like a serious
babe.

Jim faded away,
and I walked slowly over to the man who had won me in a bet.

“You handled that
well,” he remarked, grinning. “Got out of the relationship without all the
usual tears and fights. And now, instead of staying at this lavish, but between
us, rather dull party, you get to spend an evening with me.”

“I get to, eh?
Well, no offense, but you are awfully sure of yourself.”

He cocked his head
at me, and gave me a look that sent shivers right to my core. I hoped he hadn’t
noticed. Who
was
this guy? Instead of responding directly to my taunt,
he said, “Have you got a car, or would you like to ride with me?”

Like I would
really get into this stranger’s car! “I have my own car. What did you have in
mind?”

“You can follow
me.”

“To where? I don’t
really want another drink, to tell you the truth.” My head was starting to ache
slightly, as the champagne worked its poison through my system.

“My house. It’s
not far from here, actually.”

“Sorry. I don’t go
to strange men’s houses.”

He gave me that
look again; the one that seemed to bypass my brain and go right to my soul.
“You know me already, Zoë. And I know you. I know what you want, and what you
need. Poor Jim hadn’t a clue. And I imagine none of your other boyfriends did
either. That’s why such a lovely sexy woman is still unattached at the ripe old
age of twenty-eight. Am I right?”

“I’m sure I have
no idea what you mean,” I said haughtily, though something inside me was
responding to whatever secret language he was speaking. He looked at me again,
saying nothing.

Instead he began
to walk away. Confused I called out, “Hey! Where’re you going?”

“To my car. It’s
out front. You can follow me. Say your goodbyes to our lovely hostess, and meet
me in the driveway. Take your time; I’ll wait.” I considered protesting again;
refusing, but it was no contest. The man, if nothing else, had me very
intrigued. And truth to tell, I didn’t really think he was dangerous or would
harm me if I went to his house. Something in his eyes told me I was safe.

Besides, I had
Jim’s cell phone number.

* * * * *

His house was
every bit as imposing as Amelia’s. I found my hostess, and after being forced
into a few minutes of small talk with some foreign dignitary, I was able to
pull her aside. “Listen, Amelia! The craziest thing has happened! My stupid
boyfriend. That is, my ex-boyfriend as of tonight, made a $2,500 bet he
couldn’t honor, and so he told this guy he’d let him spend the evening with
me
in payment!”

“What?” Amelia, a
large but beautiful woman, looked down at me in surprise. “And who is this who
is so taken with you? Who would pay $2,500 for an evening with Zoë Lennon? I
mean, you’re a cute kid, but that seems a bit steep!” She was grinning, as if
she thought I was joking.

“I’m serious,
Amelia! The guy in question is someone named David Turner—”

She interrupted,
her eyes growing round, “David Turner! Do you have any idea who he is? Oh my
god! He wants to spend the evening with you? You are
so
lucky! I
couldn’t believe it when he said he’d come to my party! He always turns down my
invitations. Oh, very politely of course, and always with an airtight excuse,
like he’s jetting off to Italy, or he has a huge merger to close, and can’t get
away. Very posh; very proper. Very unavailable.”

She stopped a
moment to take a large gulp of her wine. I was able to get in a word edgewise.
“So who
is
this guy? How come I haven’t heard of him? I know everybody
in this town, at least by name!”

“He just moved
here, from Seattle. He started his own little software company, and apparently
whatever he was selling was of interest to Microsoft, because they bought him
out to the tune of millions and millions of dollars!

“He doesn’t like
attention or publicity. It was all very hush hush when he bought the old Quimby
mansion. I only know about it because I live in the neighborhood! I couldn’t
even get him over for a cup of tea till tonight!”

“Well,” I said,
impressed and further intrigued, despite myself. “That’s all well and good, but
this guy thinks he can just ‘buy’ me for the evening and—”

“Oh, lighten up,
Zoë! You have no idea how lucky you are! If this guy wants to take you out, and
this is his way of doing it, go for it! $2,500 is like chump change to this
guy. He probably spends that much on his dry cleaning bill.”