Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“This is the one,” I say as I put it around Corey’s neck. She doesn’t even get a say. I want her to wear my collar tonight, and she’s going to wear it.
She fingers one of the moonstones. “It’s beautiful.”
I kiss the place where shoulder meets neck. “You’re beautiful. Come on, we have plans.”
“Do you want me to box that up for you, Mr. Tacone?” the manager asks. Sue, according to her name tag.
I shake my head. “No, thanks, she’ll wear it out.” I guide Corey out of the shop and direct her toward the elevators.
“Is it another game?” Corey’s voice is tight, and it hits me like a two by four that she’s wound up. She has PTSD from the last game.
I stop and spin her to face me. “Baby, what happened last time? That’s never going to happen again. That was a one in a thousand chance—a problem I didn’t see coming. I’m sorry you had to see it. I’m sorry I put you in danger.”
She sucks on her cheek. She might believe me intellectually, but she’s still keyed up.
“There’s no private game tonight. Not here, anyway. And you’re not dealing.”
Surprise flickers over her face. “What are we doing, then?”
I wink and incline my head toward the elevators. “It’s a surprise. Come on, amore. I’m not going to last long with you in that dress wearing my collar.”
She allows me to lead her to the elevator and doesn’t say another word until we reach the parking garage. Then she touches the necklace. “I knew that’s why you picked this one.”
I tug the chain in back. “Of course you did.”
* * *
Corey
Stefano leads me to a black Mercedes and he drives to the Venetian. I shoot him a quizzical look as we get out of the car at the valet station, but he just smiles and escorts me in.
I’m still confused as hell when he takes me to the poker room, takes out a grand in chips and sits down at a no hold em table.
“What are we doing?” I lean over and whisper.
“I’m testing your poker skills,” he murmurs back, nodding to the dealer.
“Oh.” I sit up taller. I’m suddenly intrigued, challenged and revved up. This isn’t some scary mafia deal he’s pulling me into. He wants to see me play.
I’m not sure why that’s a turn-on, but it is. His interest in me is always a panty-soaker, but knowing it goes beyond my good looks and extends to my brains, my skill, sparks more than just my libido. It lights up my tattered soul.
Stefano orders himself a whiskey, and I get tonic water with lime. I need to stay sharp. Stefano’s a decent player, but he seems more interested in observing me. After a couple hands, he gives up his seat and stands over my shoulder.
It takes me a little while to settle into it. I lose fifty bucks (of Stefano’s money, so who cares?) on the first three games. Then I stop trying so hard and just go with my first instinct on everything.
Turns out I’m the gut gambler. Who knew? I thought I would’ve been the cerebral guy.
Five games later, I’m up three hundred.
“Come on,” Stefano touches my elbow. “Let’s get you into a bigger game.” He leads me to a hundred dollar minimum table where I promptly win the next two hands.
Now I feel the energy around me, the way I usually see it with the gut gamblers. It comes in waves: from the people around me, from the cards, from my opponents, from the dealer. I swear I even sense it coming up from the floor, from the cards, and especially, from Stefano. His waves are constant. The others, they have dips and valleys. That’s how I know when to bet. When to hold. The energy goes flat for me, I fold. It gets juicy, I bet high. And it works. Every. Fucking. Time.
The dealer pushes stacks of chips my way. I’m up three thousand dollars. I get the nudge to cash it in. I glance at Stefano. “Should we go?”
He nods and I push the chips to the dealer to change them for higher denomination. She pushes six $500 chips my way.
“This is dangerous, Tacone,” I say as we walk toward the money-changing station. I slip the chips in his suit pocket. He bankrolled me, after all, and I’m on the clock for him. I figure he keeps my earnings. Besides, he just dropped almost a grand on my necklace—which I absolutely love.
“How so, bella?”
“I like it way too damn much.”
“Kind of like me?”
I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. “Just like you—a bad bet.”
“Mmm.” He gets in the line to cash out, clinking the chips together in his pocket.
Once again, I have the sneaking suspicion I offended him. Stefano may be the bad boy, but he doesn’t embrace it.