Rich Man's Revenge. Katherine Garbera
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Bree looked away before anyone noticed. Her eyes accidentally fell on Vladimir’s. His eyebrows lowered, and she gulped, looking back down at her cards, hastily making her expression blank. Had he seen? Could he guess?
The dealer turned to his left. “Your Highness?”
Because of his placement at the table, Vladimir was the first one required to add a bet to the pile of chips already in the middle of the table from the ante. “Raise.”
Raise? Bree looked up in surprise. He was looking straight at her as he said, “Five thousand.”
Texas Big-Hat cursed and threw his cards on the table. “Fold.”
“Call,” Silicon Valley said, matching Vladimir’s bet.
“Call,” Mr. Vanderwald puffed, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead.
“Call,” Greg Hudson said.
All eyes turned to Bree.
“She’s already all in,” Greg Hudson said dismissively. “There’s nothing more she can wager.”
He was right, she thought with a pang. She couldn’t match Vladimir’s raise, and that meant even if she won the hand, she couldn’t win anything beyond the twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of chips currently in the center. What a waste of three kings …
Bree suddenly smiled. “I call.”
“Call?” Greg Hudson hooted. “You have an extra five thousand dollars hidden in the back pocket of those jeans?”
She stretched back her shoulders and felt the eyes of the men linger on the shape of her breasts beneath her black T-shirt. “I can match the bet in other ways. Instead of just an hour in bed, I’ll offer an entire night.” She tilted back her head, allowing her long blond hair to tumble provocatively down her shoulders. “Many chances. Multiple positions. As fast or slow or hard as you like it, all night long, and each time better than the last. Against the wall. Bent over the bed. In my mouth.”
She felt like a total fool. She hoped she sounded like a woman who knew what she was talking about, not a scared virgin whose idea of lovemaking was vague at best, based only on movies and novels. But as she looked at each man at the table they seemed captivated. She exhaled. Her mask was holding. She was convincing them. Even Chris the dealer looked entranced.
Vladimir alone seemed completely unaffected. Bored, even. His lips twisted with scorn. And his eyes—
His blue eyes saw straight through her. A hot blush burned her cheeks as she said to him, “Do you agree my bet is commensurate with your five thousand dollar raise?”
“No,” Vladimir said coldly. “That is not a call.”
Her heart sank. “You …”
He gave her a calm smile. “That is an additional raise.”
“A … a raise?” she echoed uncertainly.
“Obviously. Let us say … your added services are equivalent to an additional five thousand dollars? Yes. A full night with you would surely be worth that.” He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Would you not agree?”
“Five thousand more?” Greg Hudson’s voice hit a false note. Catching himself, he shifted uncomfortably in his chair and snickered, “Fine with me. I’m half raised already.”
“Good,” Vladimir said softly, never looking away from Bree. “So we are in agreement.”
Bree’s brow furrowed as she tried to read his expression. What on earth was he doing?
Trying to help her? Or giving her more rope to hang herself with?
Repressing her inner tumult, she stared him down. In for a penny … She lifted her chin. “If it’s worth five more, then why not ten more?”
The corners of Vladimir’s mouth lifted. “Yes, indeed. Why not?” He looked around the table. “Miss Dalton has raised the wager by ten thousand dollars.”
To her shock, one by one the men agreed to her supposed “raise,” except for the Belgian, who folded with an unintelligible curse.
And just like that—oh, merciful heavens—there was suddenly a pile of chips at the center of the table worth seventy-five thousand dollars.
She looked at each man as they discarded cards and got new ones from the dealer.
Don’t play the hand, her father had always said. Play the man.
She forced herself to look across the table at Vladimir. His face was inscrutable as he discarded a card and got a new one. When she’d played him ten years ago, he’d had a tight style of play. He did not bluff, he did not overbet—the exact opposite of Bree’s strategy.
He lifted his eyes to hers, and against her will, her heart turned over in her chest. His handsome face revealed nothing. The poverty of his homesteading Alaskan childhood, so different from hers, had pushed him to create a billion-dollar business across the world, primarily in metals and diamonds. He was so ruthless he had cut his own younger brother out of their partnership right before a multimillion-dollar deal. It was said Vladimir Xendzov had molten gold in his veins and a flinty diamond instead of a heart. That he wasn’t flesh and blood.
But if Bree closed her eyes, she could still remember their last night together, when they’d almost made love on a bearskin rug beneath the Christmas tree. She could remember the heat and searing pleasure of his lips against her skin in the deep hush of that cold winter’s night.
I love you, Breanna. As I’ve never loved anyone.
No one else had ever called Bree by her full name. Not like that. Now, as they looked at each other across the poker table, they were two enemies with battle lines drawn. Everything she’d ever thought him to be was a dream. All that was left was a savagely handsome man with hard blue eyes and an emotionless face.
She turned away. Greg Hudson and the Silicon Valley tycoon were far easier to read. She watched her boss get three new cards, saw the sweat on his face and the way he licked his thick, rubbery lips as he stared down at his hand. Hudson had nothing. A pair of twos, maybe.
She looked at Silicon Valley. His lips were tight, his eyes irritated as he stared down moodily at his cards. He was probably already thinking about the twenty thousand dollars he’d wagered in the pot. She hid a smile.
“Miss Dalton?” Chris the dealer said. Stone-faced, she handed in the four of spades. Waited. And got back …
A queen.
She forced herself not to react, not even to breathe. Three kings and two queens. A full house.
It was an almost unbeatable hand. Careful not to meet Vladimir’s eyes, she placed her cards facedown on the table. How she wished she could raise again! If only she had more to offer, she could have finished off her sister’s debt right now—with a single hand!
Don’t be greedy, she ordered herself. Seventy-five thousand dollars was plenty. Once she had it safely in her possession, the offer of her body—and unbeknownst to the men, her virginity—would be off the table.
But still. A full house. Her heart filled with regret.
“Raise,” Vladimir said.
She looked up with a frown. Why would he raise now?
His eyes met hers. “Fifteen thousand.”
“Fold.” With a growl, Silicon Valley tossed his cards on the table. “Damn you.”
Greg Hudson nervously wiped his forehead. For several seconds, he stared at his cards. Then he said in a small voice, “Call.”
They all looked at her. Bree hesitated. She wanted to match Vladimir’s raise. Yearned to. She had an amazing hand, and the amount now in the pot was even more than her sister’s debt. But without anything more to offer, she