"Cards?" Libby perked up. "What kind of cards?"
"Regular deck. For gin rummy, usually."
"Oh, you're going down, D'Arcy. I destroy at cards."
Liam raised an eyebrow. "That's a lot of confidence for someone who just drooled on me."
"That was exhaustion. This is strategy. Prepare to be humiliated."
Three hours later, they were sprawled on the floor beside the coffee table, room service trays pushed aside, engaged in the most competitive game of gin rummy in hotel history.
"You're counting cards," Liam accused, watching her lay down another winning hand.
"I'm using strategy. There's a difference."
"The difference being?"
"I'm better at it than you."
Liam laughed—an unguarded sound that transformed his entire face. "You know what's worse than a poor loser, Bennet? A smug winner."
"That's exactly what a loser would say," Libby suggested sweetly, shuffling the deck with unnecessary flourish.
"I let you win the first three hands."
"You let me—" Libby threw a pillow at him. "You absolutely did not!"
He caught the pillow easily, his reflexes still sharp despite the late hour and the glass of wine they'd shared. "Prove it."
"Deal again. Right now. Loser admits the other is superior at cards."
"Stakes?" Liam asked, his competitive nature fully engaged.
"Loser picks their side of the bed?" she suggested, trying to sound casual.
"You can have whatever side you want," Liam said immediately.
"I thought the gentleman was supposed to sleep between the lady and the door?" Libby said innocently. "For protection?"
Liam paused, clearly realizing he'd been outmaneuvered. "That would be the left side, then."
"Which happens to be the side with the better view of the TV," she added with a small smile.
"You planned this."
"I'm strategic. There's a difference."
"Deal," he said, shaking his head with amusement.
Twenty minutes later, Liam stared at his losing hand in genuine bewilderment. "You hustled me."
"I strategized effectively," Libby corrected primly.
"You knew exactly what cards I had."
"You have tells."
"I do not have tells."
