Slave to Love (51 page)

Kit reached out to turn over her kings, but his hand shot up in a gesture to halt. "I'm not quite finished yet."

Frowning, she opened her mouth to protest. Her jaw nearly dropped off when he oh-so-casually reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the red chip the bimbo had placed there.

"And I'll raise you five."

Outraged, she leaped to her feet. "That's not fair!"

"Why not? You saw her put it there yourself. And if looks could kill, she'd be six feet under right now." He gave her an impudent wink.

Oh, the nerve of the man!" Don't flatter yourself."

"Now, me, I don't need to. You're doin' a fine job all by your lonesome."

She gasped at the sheer audacity of his statement. The fact that it was true just made it all the more annoying. Damn, it was going to be a pure pleasure to toss his butt in jail.

She struggled to regain a semblance of composure. "All right. I have matching earrings. They'll cover the five hundred."

She didn't like this. It was not part of her plan. But what choice did she have? It would look incredibly suspicious if she folded now over a mere five hundred dollars. He'd never trust her. Besides, she'd have the earrings back in no time, together with the necklace.

In a supple movement, he pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. Her breath caught. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, lean hips, powerful thighs—all were encased in perfectly tailored black evening clothes. His jet-black hair fell disarmingly over one eye. She nearly sighed out loud. The women of the world would be losing a prime piece of real estate when he got sent down.

With deliberate ease he sauntered around the table, coming to a halt beside her. She grasped the edge of the table. He was way too close. So close, the heat and the scent of him, smoky from the cheroot, a hint of spice-and-sandalwood cologne, surrounded her. Her pulse tripped madly.

What was with her? She didn't do men anymore. They were demanding, selfish, shallow creatures.

With an unsteady hand she reached up and pushed her blond hair behind her ear so he could examine one of her earrings. They were emerald-cut studs, matching the sapphires in the necklace.

"Exquisite," he murmured. His fingers softly collided with hers, then moved on to brush the outer shell of her ear. His warm breath fanned her cheek, causing stray hairs to tickle her neck. A finger traced around her earlobe.

"They're worth—"

"I'm not interested in the earrings."

Her eyes flew open and she turned her head, alarmed. His face was so close, their noses practically touched. The angled slash of his cheekbones and square strength of his jaw should have made his expression forbidding, or at least severe. Instead, he looked sensual and provocative.

"But I've got nothing else to offer."

As she watched, his whiskey-colored eyes darkened to a deep mahogany. "Darlin', you've got plenty to offer."

Oh, Lord.
This was not in the plan, either. No way was this in the plan.

"What—"Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. "What is it you want?"

She knew what
she
wanted. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her so badly her knees were shaking and she could hardly stand in her high heels.

She swallowed heavily.

For a moment he stared at her mouth, then his gaze dropped to her throat, her collarbone, and lower, until it settled on her breasts. His eyes lifted to hers, filled with lambent invitation. There was little doubt what he wanted, either.

"Your dress."

She stepped back, confusion addling her brain even further. "My dress?"

"It must be worth five hundred."

She choked. It was worth ten times that. More, in fact. And it was borrowed. She shook her head. "Impossible."

He shrugged. "You forfeit, then?"

"No!" For crying out loud, this was ridiculous. She could not lose the dress. Her boss would kill her in addition to firing her. "It-it's worth much more than five hundred," she stammered.

He gave her a level look. "I have only your word on that."

"You took my word about the necklace."

"I know a lot more about jewelry than fancy dresses."

No kidding.

"Five hundred. That's my offer."

The man was a menace. Now she'd have to get the dress back, too. She gritted her teeth. "Okay. I'll wager the dress." His eyes glittered with anticipation. "On one condition."

"And what would that be?"

"If I lose—not that I will, mind you—but if I do, I want a chance to win it back."

He looked more than pleased. "That can be arranged."

She took another step back, eyeing him suspiciously. "Let's finish this, then. What cards do you have?"

Slowly, he shook his head. "First the dress."

Shock nearly knocked her over. She didn't know exactly what she had expected, but this wasn't it. "What? Now?
Here?"

"You are wagering it, aren't you? Turn around."

She froze in panic at the thought of standing before him in nothing but blue silk panties, push-up bra and black thigh-high stockings. "Yes, but … I'm going to win."

"Then you can put it back on. Turn around, Kit."

Gathering her badly scattered wits, she realized she had no choice. To keep her job, not only did she have to go through with the game, but he had to want to keep her around after it was over so she could lure him into stealing more jewels, catch him in the act, then have him arrested.

Besides, the lingerie she had on wasn't so different from a bikini. Right? She turned around and felt him draw near.

Touching nothing but the tab, he leisurely teased the zipper down the back of her dress. A shiver tingled along her spine at the slight contact of metal on skin.

"And what happens if I lose?" she asked, suddenly breathless.

"I did promise you a rematch." Hooking a fingertip under each side of the neckline, he pushed the dress off her shoulders. "Say…at breakfast." Goose bumps shimmered down her arms along with the dress, which landed in a puddle around her feet. "We can cut for it. High card you win, low card I lose."

Tempting.
So tempting, she had the irrational urge to accept his scandalous proposition.

Man, oh, man, she had it bad. She'd better get this guy behind bars quick, before he could do some serious damage to her life-style. She didn't do stuff like this. She didn't even
think
stuff like this. She wasn't interested in romance, or affairs, or one-night stands. She wasn't interested in having anything to do with a man.
Any
man, let alone a thief. Especially the thief who was going to get her her job back.

Pretend it's a bikini, she repeated over and over in her mind as she did a deep knee bend to retrieve the dress from the floor—deliberately ignoring the fact that she'd never dared to wear one of
those
in public, either—and turned to confront him.

One look at his face gave her renewed strength. He hadn't moved a millimeter—in fact, he seemed incapable of movement at the moment. His eyes had turned the color of bitter chocolate, roaming the front of her body with the hungry look of a man who hadn't eaten in a year.

Ha.
Served him right, the scoundrel. Now she had him just where she wanted him. Success was as good as hers.

She gave him an innocent smile, dropping the dress on the table and leaning back against the edge. "Sorry, I don't eat breakfast," she said, idly adjusting one lace-top stocking. "So, are you finished betting?"

He studied her, his expression subtly shifting.

"Beau?"

He turned on a heel and ambled back to his chair. "I'll pass," he said, easing his tall frame down onto the velvet plush.

"All right. I guess that means I call." She leaned over and flipped her down cards faceup. "A pair of kings."

Beaulieux gave a nod of approval. "Impressive."

Though obviously not impressive
enough.
Kit released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Better luck next time, sugar." She reached for the dress.

"Not so fast,
chère."
With a barely discernible glimmer of triumph in his eyes, he turned over the queen of spades and laid it next to the queen of hearts already sitting on the table.

Pretending to be worried, she dropped into her chair. He topped the pair with the queen of diamonds and she let out a low whistle.
Damn, she was good.
Dad would be proud.

"Not bad, Beaulieux."

He leaned back and smiled. A cat-and-canary kind of predatory male smile. The kind that usually put her back way up, but in this case made her quiver in a hot-cold tremor of awareness that had her head spinning.

She blew out a steadying breath. "How did you do that?"

Driving her fingers through the hair at her temples, she squeezed her eyes shut, praying he wouldn't notice her trembling hands. "You'll keep your promise, won't you?"

"Why don't we play for it now?"

She opened her eyes and licked her lips. "I don't think—"

"One night, kitten." His gaze mesmerized her. "What's left of it. And I'll give you the dress in the morning."

She forced herself to shake her head. "I, um—"

"You find the thought of being with me … unappealing?"

"No."
Lord, no.
"More like unwise."

A little smile broke through the masculine pique that had momentarily threatened his urbane facade. "Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?"

Unfortunately, she could think of any number of things. "No. Nothing," she said quickly.

He lit up another cheroot, considering her carefully. "All right. When would you like your rematch?"

"I'm not sure," she said, hedging. She needed to meet with him alone, just not quite as alone as he had in mind. "Where are you staying? I'll give you a call."

"Here, in this hotel."

"Fine. I'll talk to you tomorrow." Rising, she glanced at the door, steeling her nerves.

His brows shot up. "You can't really mean to leave dressed like that."

If she could pull this off, it might just convince him she was bold, daring, unafraid to take risks. That she'd be a worthy partner in his illegal activities. So she could spring her trap.

She shrugged, putting into the gesture all the sangfroid she wasn't at all feeling. "Why not?" Picking up her purse, she winked. "They'll just think I'm part of the show."

"Sorry to disillusion you," he said as he stood and walked behind her to the door, "but that outfit's much too classy to be mistaken for a showgirl's costume."

"Funny." She reached for the doorknob and suddenly his hand covered hers. The heat of his body whispered against her back. She could feel the edges of his jacket brush her hips through the film of silk that covered them. Instantly, the air crackled with electricity.
Oh, no. Please, no.

"You don't have to do this. Take the dress," he murmured.

"I can't."

"Just put it on, Kit. No strings."

She turned and her breath caught at the look on his face. He regarded her with liquid, half-lidded eyes, his full lips poised in a sensual suggestion. It was all she could do to resist taking it. "If I do that, I'll have no excuse to see you tomorrow, will I?"

With that, she opened the door and swept through it.

She kept her chin high and her eyes straight ahead, walking the gauntlet of the casino as nonchalantly as she could, clad only in a few wisps of blue satin and black thigh-highs. Chanting "bikini"under her breath, she ignored the astonished looks she garnered along the way.