Three of the four suits were nearly filled. The odds were the next few turns would be jacks and sevens, with a single three, a couple of fours, and a five mixed between. Wessix bet on the jack, and Daverson bet on the six.
Emerson placed a bet on the seven, his focus crackling with the sense that something was afoot. The bet that Daverson had placed was on a dead card.
Wessix pounced and claimed it, as was his due. The first player -- or banker -- who noticed the dead card could claim the bet.
The banker turned the losing card — a seven. Emerson lost, but Wessix won the turn. The game followed the same patteern for the next five hands, till the last turn happened.
Emerson lost all but one bet.
Daverson lost all — and had placed all but one bet on dead cards.
On the last turn, Wessix placed a bet on the jack, the final suit that needed to be filled.
He placed his bet on the seven, then, with a pause, drew out his hand and placed two more chips on the bet.
The banker turned the losing card.
Emerson lost his bet.
But the winning card was indeed, a seven.
Wessix won the hand and doubled his winnings. A momentary glance between the two men had the air crackling with the static of silent communication, and Emerson broke the silence with a huff and handshake directed at Daverson. “Good game, chap.”
Daverson nodded, the tension broken, and in turn shook the hand of Wessix.
“Indeed. One of my favorite games,” he added. He took a sip of his tankard and rose from the table,
It was then that Emerson realized the absent hand from his shoulder. Turning, he noted that Jaxsen was flickering her gaze from him to the door as Wessix made his way into the cool night air.
Emerson glanced down then up, a signal of understanding far less conspicuous than a nod, and made his way toward her. “I’m bored of Faro, but I can tell you whatdoessound enticing…” He grinned at her, drawing her into the lee of his body. His fingers tiptoed up her spine, lingering on the buttons there. He glanced from her to the door and back. “What say you to an… early evening?”
Rather than answer, she gave a wide and devilish grin then reached up, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down. Rising up on her tiptoes, she whispered in his ear, her breath tickling his neck and sending a shot of desire through his veins like adrenaline in a gunfight.
“We need to follow him. Stay close,” she whispered.
He chuckled and reached up, pulling her neck closer as he murmured against her fragrant skin. “Understood.”
He was sure it was just his own hot blood, but he could have sworn her skin prickled at his touch. But as he drew back and saw the suppressed desire in her gaze, he wondered if perhaps he wasn’t the only one playing with fire.
Now that was an interesting turn of events.
Interesting and perhaps deadly.
He wasn’t sure.
Or deterred by either.
Chapter Seven
The pull of attraction was far stronger than she remembered. It had been ages since she’d experienced the push and pull of need, the desire to get lost in a kiss, or to trust someone enough to even try. Pushing all her unwanted and unwarranted emotions aside, she followed Emerson into the night, her eyes catching the disappearing backs of Wessix and Daverson as they walked down the road.
Odd.
They’d come in the carriage, had they not? Hackney coaches abounded in this area, and this time of night, surely they could have hired one if they’d wished to return home.
Unless they weren’t returning home.
But someplace far closer.
