The One-Night Wife. Sandra Marton
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Sean lifted an eyebrow. Was this the whole thing? Had she flirted with him just to convince him to take a seat at the same poker table? Anything was possible. Novices approached him all the time. In his own tight little world, he was a celebrity of sorts.
Except, he didn’t buy it.
All this subterfuge, so he could beat her pretty tail off in a game of cards? So she could go home and say she’d played Sean O’Connell?
No way.
“I’d be thrilled if you’d let me sit at a table with you, Sean. I could go home and tell everyone—”
“Anybody can sit at any table. You must know that.”
“Well—well, of course I know that. But I’m not that forward. I know you think I am, after all that’s happened, but the truth is, I wouldn’t have the courage to take a seat at a table you were at unless I cleared it with you first.”
He still didn’t buy it. She wouldn’t have the courage? This woman who’d done everything but jump his bones?
“And that’s it?”
Savannah nodded. “That’s it.”
He moved fast, closed the distance between them before she could even draw a breath. All at once, her back was to the wall and his hands were flattened against it on either side of her.
“You took a big risk, sugar,” he said softly. “Coming on to me as hard as you did without knowing a damned thing about me except that I play cards. You got me going a few minutes ago. If your luck had gone bad, you might have gotten hurt.”
He saw her throat constrict as she swallowed, but her eyes stayed right on his.
“I told you that I knew you were Sean O’Connell. And Sean O’Connell isn’t known for hurting women.”
“No.” His gaze fell to her mouth. He looked up and smiled. “He’s known for liking them, though.”
“Sean. About what I’ve asked…”
“Why did you panic?”
“I didn’t. I—”
Sean put one finger gently over her lips. “Yeah, you did. I kissed you, you kissed me back, and then you got scared.” His finger slid across the fullness of her mouth. “How come? What frightened you?”
“Nothing frightened me.”
She was lying. He could sense it. There was something going on he still didn’t understand and, all at once, he wanted to.
“Savannah.” Sean cupped her face. “What’s the matter? Tell me what it is. Let me help you.”
Her eyes glittered. Was it because of the moonlight, or were those tears?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sean smoothed back her hair. “Just as long as you’re not afraid of me,” he said gruffly, and kissed her.
She let it happen, let herself drown in the heat of his kiss. She told herself it was what she had to do but when he drew back, she had to grasp his shoulders for support.
“Tell me what you want,” he said softly.
Savannah willed her heart to stop racing. Then she took a deep breath and said the only thing she could.
“I told you. I want to play cards. Then I can go home and tell everybody that I played against the great Sean O’Connell.”
“And that’s it? That’s all you need from me?”
His eyes were steady on hers, his body strong under her hands. For one endless moment, she thought of telling him the truth. That she was here to destroy him. That she was in trouble and had no one to turn to for help but herself.
Then she remembered that he was a thief, and she forced a smile to her lips.
“That’s it,” she said lightly. “That’s all I need.”
CHAPTER FOUR
TWO HOURS LATER, Sean was sitting across from Savannah at a poker table in the high-stakes area of the casino and the warning bells in his head were clamoring like bells inside a firehouse.
The game was draw poker. She was still playing. He’d already folded, just as he’d done half a dozen times since they’d started. His fault, he knew. He’d played with lazy disinterest, underestimated the lady’s skill.
And her skill was considerable.
The realization had caught him by surprise. Once it had, he’d played a couple of hands as he should have from the start. She’d folded. He’d won.
That had led to another realization. Goldilocks wasn’t a good loser.
Oh, she said all the right things, the clever patter card-players used to defuse tension. She flashed that megawatt smile across the table straight at him. But her eyes didn’t smile. They were dark with distress. What she’d said about simply wanting to play him wasn’t true.
Just-Savannah needed to win. He decided to let her. There were all kinds of ways to up the ante.
And if she was new to the game, he was Mighty Mouse.
She played with the cool concentration of someone who’d had years to hone her talent. Her instincts were good, her judgment sharp, and by now he’d determined that the cute little things she did when she played, things he’d at first thought were unconscious habits, were deliberate shticks meant to distract him.
A little tug at a curl as it kissed the curve of her cheek. A brush of her tongue across her mouth. A winsome smile accompanied by a look from under the thick sweep of her gold-tipped lashes.
Most effective of all, a sigh that lifted her breasts.
The air-conditioned chill in the casino was cooperating. Each time her breasts rose, the nipples pressed like pearls against the red silk that covered them.
Forget about the odds, she all but purred. Forget about the game. Just think about me. What I have to offer, you’ll never get by winning this silly game of cards.
It was hard not to do exactly that. The man in him wanted what she was selling with every beat of his heart. The gambler in him knew it was all a lie. And there it was again. The smile, just oozing with little-girl amazement that she was actually winning.
Bull.
Savannah wasn’t a novice, she was an expert. Playing without using any of those distractions, she’d beat every man at the table on ability alone.
Every man but him.
She was good, but he was better. And once he knew what in hell was happening, he’d prove it to her.
Meanwhile, the action was fascinating to watch. Not just her moves but the moves of the rest of the players. Two—a German industrialist and a Texas oil billionaire—were good. The others—a prince from some godforsaken principality, a Spanish banker, a has-been American movie star and an Italian who had something to do with designing shoes—weren’t. It didn’t matter. The men were all happy to be losing.
Sean didn’t think Savannah gave a damn. He’d have bet everything he owned that she was putting on this little show solely for him.
Why? No way was it so she could go home and boast about having played against him. That story leaked like a sieve, especially because he could see past the smile, the cleavage, the performance art.
Under all that clever artifice, she was playing with a determination so grim it chilled him straight down to the marrow of his bones.
So he’d decided to lay back. Win a couple of hands, lose a couple. Fold early. Look as if he was as taken in as the others while he tried to figure out what was going on.
Right