Luke strolls right up to the table, the scent of liquor radiating from him, and takes a seat in the empty chair next to me. “Hey, stranger. Where’s your guard dog tonight?”
I turn, meeting his gaze, and the cocky smirk plastered on his face. My brow furrows as I take him in. Up close, in this light, he’s not even handsome. He just looks expensive.
Tailored suit, diamond cufflinks, the faint gloss of sweat at his temple, and a million-dollar smile. Underneath it all, he has another look that I know all too well. The hollow, frantic glow of a man chasing something he’ll never catch. The look of an addict. And judging by the way he’s standing here, eyeing me, he doesn’t have just one vice.
“Excuse me?” I tilt my head, letting confusion lace my words as I give him a slow once-over. Whatever magic or charm he has on screen, it doesn’t follow him off set.
“Locke,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I saw you two at the gala, remember? And my party.” He looks at me expectantly, his brow furrowed in a way that says he’s waiting for me to remember, but he keeps talking. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know. The way he looked at you? Like he was ready to kill me just for breathing in your direction.”
Well, well, well… Even with all that alcohol in his system, his memory is crystal clear. I laugh lightly, swirling my drink. “We’re not together,” I say with a practiced edge that suggests he’s a distant memory, “and he’s certainly not here.”
Then, I see something else take over his expression. Dark isn’t even the word. This look is absolutely menacing. It might have made me flinch at one point, before I learned better. I don’t flinch now. I let a smile spread slowly over my lips and tilt my head toward the blackjack table.
“Want to play?” I keep my voice light, even as the adrenaline sharpens my focus to a razor’s edge.
He studies me for a long moment, then nods and pushes a small stack of chips toward the dealer. “Of course.”
The dealer slides two cards to each of us. I flip mine over: a seven and a queen. Seventeen. Decent, but not perfect. I glance sideways. Luke’s eyes are on me, not his cards. Always on me.
He turns over a six and a ten. Sixteen. He hits, but the jack sends him over the edge to twenty-six. Bust.
“Tough luck,” I say lightly, waving a hand to stay with my seventeen.
The dealer flips her last card: a nine. She busts too. My pile of chips doubles as the winnings are pushed my way.
Luke’s grin falters for just a second, the tell of a man who’s not used to losing. He drums his fingers against the table. “I guess tonight’s your lucky night,” he says. His voice is quiet and threaded with something poisonous.
“Maybe.” I meet his gaze again; his eyes look almost black.
He smiles, but it’s hollow. There’s something hungry in his gaze, a calculated interest that makes my stomach twist. Maybe it’s because I already know what kind of man he is, maybe it’s just the anticipation.
I keep my focus on the game, watching the dealer slide another hand across the felt. Every sound fades except for the soft snap of the cards and the rhythmic tap of Luke’s ring against the table.
He wins the round by a hair, closing the distance between us until I’m breathing in the scent of his cologne. “You’re good,” he says, voice dropping to a near whisper. “Too good for someone just out here having fun.”
I offer him a practiced smile. “I like to win.”
His grin is sharp. “I know the feeling.”
“Let’s make things a little more interesting,” he says, pushing a larger stack of chips forward. “Loser buys the next round?”
I meet his challenge with a smirk. “Sure. But, like I said, I don’t lose.”
He chuckles. It’s a dark sound, and for a moment, the mask slips. I catch a flash of something vindictive beneath the charm. He knowsI’m baiting him, and I get the feeling that he doesn’t enjoy being played with.
The next hand is quick. I pull a king and an ace. Blackjack. His smile falters, but he covers it with a swallow of his drink.
“Well,” I say, my voice steady and laced with just enough charm to keep him hooked, “I guess the next one’s on you.” I lift my nearly empty glass for him to see.
Luke stands, downing what’s left of the drink in his glass, eyes still fixed on me. “Then let’s not waste time. There’s a private bar upstairs. Better drinks, because I’m making them.”
There it is. The opening. This is the invitation I’ve been waiting for.
I don’t skip a beat, my expression remaining perfectly level as I set my glass down. “Lead the way.”
Luke offers me his arm, and I take it, letting him guide me toward the elevator at the back of the lounge. The mirrored doors slide open, reflecting our faces side by side. He’s the perfect image of a man who thinks he’s won. It’s almost funny; he has no idea I’m just getting started.
We step in, and the doors close. Game on.
