Though she had won more hands than most of the men at the table that night, she was not an accomplished player. However, she proved, at times, difficult to read, almost as if she were an actress slipping into a role, and while in character, she became charming, flirtatious, and daring. But every now and then a veil would slip over her eyes, and Max would catch a glimpse of insecurity. He had yet to decide whether that was from the cards she held or something else.
“I raise,” she said, her voice a warm, fluid honey. She arched a perfect eyebrow in his direction. “My lord,” she said.
Max glanced around the table. He knew from Chilton’s smug expression that the man had a good hand. The old man had already laid down his hand, as had the young one. But what cards did the pretty miss hold?
“Such a temptress,” Max said, never taking his eyes off her as he dropped his coins into the betting pool. “I’ll call your wager.”
Chilton’s brow furrowed, and he grumbled something incoherent, then backed out of the game. Evidently his hand, as good as it may have been, did not give the inebriated man enough confidence.
They had another quick round of betting before the dealer called for their hands, and Max flipped over his cards. Two pair to her three of a kind.
“The lady wins,” the man said.
With delicate gloved fingers, she scooped the coins in her direction, then stacked them neatly.
Chilton stood. “Enough of this foolish game for me.” He eyed the lady at the table, then looked at Max. “You’ve got a lovely playmate tonight, Lindberg. I believe I’ll retire for the evening,” he said as he slipped away, though Max spotted him finding a new chair at a different game four tables over.
Max collected his new hand and eyed the cards. As if they had been dealt by a deity, Max looked down on four kings.
Again, the other two gentlemen folded, leaving the hand down to Max and the lady, the mysterious and lovely woman with the caramel-colored eyes. This time, though, he could not lose. He had a brilliant hand.
She picked up a few coins, then paused over the center pot, glancing at her cards before slowly raising her gaze to his. “A different wager, perhaps.”
Intrigued, Max nodded. “What did you have in mind?” Immediately his mind conjured images of all the sinful acts he could do to her body upon this very table. It would take hours for him to explore every delectable curve. He’d start at that sweet spot directly below her ear along the column of her neck. Then he’d work his way down.
“Your map, Maxwell Barrett. I only want the map.” Her words came out slow and deliberate.
Ah, she knew who he was, and she knew about his map. It was no great secret that he hid away. Still, he’d never broadcast it across Society. What would have been the point?
It was popular to go in hunt of treasure or artifacts, but there was no scientific proof of the existence of Atlantis.
He’d once thought the map would be the ultimate proof, but no one except the men of Solomon’s had paid much attention to his discovery. So now the relic simply hung on his wall. Why the interest now? And how had she known?
Women talked, he knew that. And he’d had more than his fair share of women. And on occasion, he’d had one of them bent over his desk, though he wouldn’t have guessed many would give much thought to an old map. It would be quite the knock to his pride that one of those women might have noticed any element of his decor when he’d assumed they were more pleasantly engaged. The idea nearly made him chuckle.
It was on his tongue to inquire how she’d heard of his map, but more important was why she wanted it. “What does a beautiful woman such as yourself want with a dusty old map?” he asked.
She smiled, and it transformed her face from merely lovely into something much more. Her sheer beauty was like a kick in the gut.
She tugged on one of her satin gloves. “Perhaps I’m a scholar. Like yourself,” she said with a delicately arched eyebrow.
“I’m an adventurer, not a scholar.” If she legitimately knew anything about him, she’d know that. “And you don’t look any more like a scholar than I do.”
Her shoulders shifted so subtly, one could hardly consider the movement a shrug. “Then perhaps I’m merely curious. Do you accept the wager or not?” she asked.
Max looked back at his cards, then slowly slid his gaze up to her. “Tell me your name.”
She nodded. “Sabine Tobias,” she said.
Somehow in the midst of their exchange, a crowd had developed around their table. Low whispers flitted around, as well as the occasional jab directed at Max. If Max wasn’t mistaken, a side wager had been established on who was going to win their hand. That was the one thing you could be certain of in Rand’s Gaming, people were always looking for a wager.
“Well, Miss Tobias.” Max leaned forward and leveled his gaze on her tawny eyes. “What do I get if I win?”
“The pleasure of winning,” she said with a faint smile.
Max shook his head. “I’m not certain that’s enough.
How about a kiss?”
