One hour later, Damien knew with certainty that Charlotte Ramsey had chosen the tactic of guerrilla warfare. She hit only when he wasn’t betting on his cards. More times than not, she won the pot, so her foray into the gambling ring was not injudicious. She didn’t always move in when he withdrew, but she always stayed out when he put himself in the running to win, even when the cards she held were highly promising. At least that was definitely the case in one instance, because Damien caught Mark frowning over her decision to throw them in.

      The man hadn’t learnt to keep a poker face. Charlotte, on the other hand, revealed no expression whatsoever when she looked at her cards. It was impossible to tell if she was bluffing or not when she placed her bets, though she did bet aggressively, making the other players doubt the worth of what they held. If they hadn’t respected her skill before play started, they very quickly learnt respect as her pile of chips grew while others’ diminished.

      Damien was winning, too, but he derived little satisfaction from it. He wanted Charlotte to engage with him, not evade him. Finally frustration drove him to challenge her.

      “Are you afraid of losing to me, Charlotte?” he drawled sardonically, aiming to get under her armour-plated skin.

      Her eyes mocked his purpose. “Have I deprived you of the pleasure of winning against me, Damien?” she replied as though she hadn’t meant to. “Let’s see what the next hand brings. If I get cards which give me a high percentage chance and you think the same about yours…who’s to know until we see them?”

      Her smile got under his skin. It wasn’t a shrug-off smile. It was a smile of secret intent. Her actions did not depend on the luck of the draw. She knew precisely what she was doing and thwarting him was giving her pleasure.

      The cards were once more dealt around the table. Damien picked up the ace of hearts and the ace of diamonds—an unbeatable pair at this point. He pushed chips forward, declaring himself in on this hand and waited to see what Charlotte would do, his gaze fastened on her lowered lashes as she pondered her play.

      When her turn came she casually pushed chips forward, which instantly drew everyone’s attention. Damien’s direct challenge to her had titillated interest. The other players wanted to see them go head to head—the two biggest winners finally facing off.

      Was it simply a ploy to satisfy them that she wasn’t evading him? Would she pull out once the three flop cards were tabled? Damien’s heart pumped into a faster beat as his mind buzzed with possibilities. Never had a woman engaged him so totally.

      He glanced at Mark Freedman, hoping for some kind of signal from him as to what Charlotte’s hand was worth. A slight crease between his eyebrows indicated puzzlement. Was she bluffing or didn’t Mark understand the value of what she held?

      A couple of other players were up for contesting the hand. The rest folded. The dealer proceeded to lay out the three flop cards; the five of spades, the queen of hearts, the ace of spades. Excitement zinged through Damien. He now held three aces, which made him a very strong contender to win. Even if Charlotte now held three queens or three fives, she could not beat him.

      Yet without any hesitation she declared, “I’m all in,” and pushed every pile of chips she had into the pot.

      She lifted her gaze to his, shooting him a hot bolt of challenge, deliberately inciting his active participation in her gamble. Excitement coursed through his entire body, stirring more than his blood. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly he was getting an erection right here at the poker table where it was impossible to have any physical engagement with her. But the mind-game was on. Win or lose, he was going with her on this hand.

      The amount of chips she was wagering was an intimidating move. The other contenders immediately dropped out of the betting. To stay in, he had to match her bet and risk losing all he’d won and more.

      He studied the cards. There were two spades on the table. If she held another two and if the turn card or the river card, both of them still to be played, turned out to be another spade, she could beat him with a five spade flush. But the odds were against that. She could be gambling on getting a straight—ace through to the five if she held two of the intermediate cards and the third was turned up, but that was a low percentage play, too. Four queens or four fives were remote possibilities, as well.

      He looked at her.

      Her mouth curved into a taunting little smile.

      Loser, was the message she was telegraphing.

      He didn’t believe her—wouldn’t believe her—not on any count.

      “I’ll call,” he said, pushing in his chips, making it by far the biggest pot of the night and generating an air of electric tension around the table, everyone leaning forward to watch the outcome.

      Charlotte leaned back as though she didn’t have a care in the world. The smile was still tilting her mouth and her eyes glittered with some deep private satisfaction.

      Certainty flashed into Damien’s mind—I’ve made the wrong move, the move she wanted me to make. He was going to lose but it was too late to pull back. The dealer was already laying down the turn card.

      It was the eight of diamonds.

      No help to his hand.

      He couldn’t see how it could be to hers, either.

      Finally the river card was revealed—the six of hearts.

      Charlotte shrugged and threw down her cards—the two and four of spades. If the river card had been a spade, giving her a flush of five spades, or if it had been a three of any suit, making up a straight, she would have won. As it was, she had nothing.