Betting the Moon: Cannon Pack, Book 4

Dedication

Love comes in many different forms. I hope, dear reader, that you accept love in whatever form you find it.

Chapter One

Let the Games Begin

“Good call, Mari.”

Mari Thornton tossed a smile at veteran player, Jack Braith, then concentrated on stacking her chips. She glanced at the other players hoping to win big at the annual Las Vegas Poker Extravaganza Tournament and recalled seeing a few of them throughout the previous days as they moved in and out of the conference rooms housing the large tournament. At last, the remaining players had come together for the final elimination games.

She checked for any tells, noticed the weariness in the lines surrounding their eyes, then scooped up the cards the dealer slid to her. Five long days of fierce competition showed on the faces of the less experienced players, but she felt as fresh as she had on the first day.

Letting her magic guide her, she searched for last year’s tournament winner and found him at a table on the farthest side of the room. Although she competed in a variety of tournaments each year, she’d never competed directly against him. He didn’t play many tournaments, but when he entered, he always won.

Although she made a habit of getting to know her competitors, she’d never wanted to get close enough to meet the man. Was that because he never socialized with the other players, appearing elusive and unapproachable? Or because his presence had always made her uneasy, even repulsed, so that she unconsciously stayed away?

She shook the ill sensation off. Never mind. If he made it to the final table along with her, she’d give him his first loss.

The lights of the chandeliers in the huge ballroom of the new Bellissimo Hotel and Casino sparkled on the mahogany edge of the poker table, and for a second, she imagined the room filled with handsome men and beautiful women moving gracefully to the sounds of orchestral music. Instead, the
click
of poker chips and the voices of the predominantly male players were her only music. But it was music she loved to hear as long as the stacks in front of her continued to grow. She sighed, envisioning her future once she’d won enough money to build a nice nest egg. Then she’d have time to dream of wearing a gorgeous gown and gliding around a ballroom with a handsome tuxedoed man. Until then, she’d better keep her mind on the cards.

Mari calculated her odds of drawing the ace she needed and the possible moves of her opponents. Aside from Jack, she doubted the other players would pose major obstacles in her advancement toward the final playoff table.

She adopted a poker face and reminded herself not to get overconfident. After all, Lady Luck could throw her fortune to any player at any time. She studied the youngest player at the table, taking note that he swallowed right before making a bet. He didn’t hide his tell well, but nothing was impossible in poker, not even having a rookie win the big pot.

Competitors sat at the numerous tables as the games started whittling down the number of players and sending the losers to the hotel’s bar to drown their disappointment. Pulling out of the hand, she tossed in her cards and let the two rookie players battle it out. The men, each sexy in his own way, could tempt any woman to forget about business in favor of a night of pleasure. When was the last time she’d had two men in her bed? A flicker of lust fluttered in her stomach. Forget that. When was the last time she’d even had a man in her bed?

Poker and pussy don’t mix.

Although her mentor, legendary poker champion Tommy Wilson, had originated the phrase with male players in mind, she appreciated the warning. The warm glow that came whenever she thought about him faded as a familiar twist in her gut reminded her of his recent passing. Tommy’s warning was sound advice, but being one of a handful of female players on the circuit made for a lonely life.

A girl’s gotta have a little fun, Tommy.

Mari took a sip of water, using the gesture to glance around the room again. Several men tried to catch her eye, but she moved on, not acknowledging their interest. Adding a little pleasure after her business was finished was one thing, but she tried not to mess around while working. Besides, why risk it with any man she deemed less than a solid ten?

The next few hands came and went without much work on Mari’s part. After the two rookies risked too much and paid the ultimate price, she found herself pitted in a heads-up game with Bruce Tarlinger.

Good ole Bruce. She wondered if he still had an eye for a good-looking woman.

Mari leaned forward, letting Bruce get an eyeful of her cleavage, and was rewarded with a blink of his focused stare. The tell was clear enough from the man whose nickname was The Stare. He’d earned his handle by staring down less experienced players, making them nervous and prone to mistakes. She leaned forward a bit more, pretending to stretch her back.

“I guess it’s just you and me, Mari.”

She shot him a sultry look that didn’t extend to any other part of her body. “Uh-huh. Just us, Bruce. But try and take it easy.” She bit off the “on little ole me” part. After all, she didn’t want to overplay her hand.

Bruce blinked again, his gaze falling back to her breasts. The dealer started the next hand, however, and jerked him out of the fantasy showing on his hungry expression. Mari checked her cards again and made the opening bid. Bruce blinked yet again, then kept the ball rolling, tossing chips to the center of the table with a shaky hand.

Damn, who knew the girls would rattle him so much? Could he be overdoing the male enhancement drug?
She shook her head, hoping Bruce would mistake it for a slip in confidence.

Mari took a big breath, covering her gasp when Bruce dropped his cards, then hurriedly picked them up again. The dealer glanced at her, her surprise noted in her raised eyebrows, but Mari ignored her.
Holy hell, Bruce. Get a hold of yourself.
He was making this way too easy.

Bruce was off his game, and a few minutes later, Mari won big and pulled in the chips. Bruce’s discomfort at being short-stacked showed on his face, and Mari couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. But not sorry enough to lose.

One more quick hand came and went, and the game was finished. Like the pro he was, Bruce rose and gave her a congratulatory nod. “Well played, Mari.”

“Thanks, Bruce. Praise means a lot coming from you.” Although her impulse was to give him a comforting hug, she resisted. He might misinterpret her gesture, then she’d have to shoot him down and risk embarrassing him.

Mari nodded her thanks to the dealer and located her next table. Four players already waited for her to take a seat, but she was in no hurry and intended to use the break between games to her advantage. Instead of grabbing another bottle of water or conversing with anyone, she used the walk across the room to size up her opponents and give them a show of her sexy sway.

Games aren’t won just by what you do at the table.
She tossed her hair and thrust out her chest. Tommy had been so right.

The biggest man was the only one she recognized. “Raider” Murdock, a corporate raider-turned-pro poker player known for his sexist attitude, would get impatient—and careless—the longer she made him wait. Not that he wouldn’t enjoy watching her. In fact, his attention was already centered on her—or at least on her long legs, which she’d shown off by wearing a short skirt and hooker heels. According to Tommy, she gave the phrase “dress for success” a whole new meaning.

The other men’s gazes traveled the length of her, then back to her face, but she didn’t give them the satisfaction of letting them know she noticed. Instead, Mari fluffed her hair and casually checked out the rest of the room. She scanned from one table to the next, taking stock of each participant before moving on. Familiar faces stood out in the crowd and she silently ticked off their stats, checking her memory for their weaknesses and strengths. The sound of a big win, however, caught her attention and she turned to see what had happened.

Two men squared off in a head-to-head standoff. The middle-aged man, a veteran who had more than one championship bracelet to his credit, kept his face unreadable as he studied his opponent. But she knew Ben Watkins wasn’t happy. How could anyone be happy when they held so few chips?

The other player had his back to her, and she paused to admire the broad muscled shoulders beneath the black denim shirt. Shiny white-blond hair tickled the collar of his shirt, and Mari fought the strong urge to run her fingers through the strands. Instead, she clenched her fists and kept her arms at her sides. He shifted sideways in his seat, a deliberate move she’d bet was done to show casual confidence. Like a pro, he accepted his fellow players’ congratulations with grace.

Mari narrowed her eyes and examined his profile. Was that Tucker Manning? She’d seen a grainy photo of the rising star in Poker Hand magazine. If that was him, the picture hadn’t done him justice and certainly hadn’t caught the overwhelming appeal of the man. He radiated sexuality along with a friendly persona Mari suspected was unaffected and unrehearsed yet used with purpose and precision.

The tow-blond hair curved around his ears and led her attention to the square jaw covered in a perfect GQ stubble. She imagined skimming her fingertips along the virile jaw to slide over his lips. Full lips, almost too full for a man, drew back in a grin highlighted by a dimple. A dimple that had to have a mate on the other side. Without warning, he turned to look at her, proving her correct about his dimples. Startling pale blue eyes sparkled with interest as he took his time studying her.

He was more than merely handsome. He was undeniably the best-looking man she’d ever seen. No movie star could put his looks to shame. The intensity of her yearning ripped through her, making her weak in the knees.

Heat flared in those captivating orbs, contradicting the easy language of his body and lighting an answering burn inside her. Her breath shortened as though his internal fire had sucked the air from the room. She swallowed, her heart thudding against her chest, and she had no option but to dive carelessly into those amazing eyes, forgetting where she was. Until she sensed the energy within him.

Oh my God. He has power.

But what kind of power? Was he a male witch, a warlock or maybe even a sorcerer? Although she didn’t detect magic like her own, she was sure he had a force lingering just below the surface of his skin. A force contradicting his easygoing manner and setting her nerves on edge.

Does he sense my magic? Is that why he’s staring at me?

Suddenly, he sent her a “how the hell are ya?” grin, disarming her and making her smile in return.

Shit, don’t smile back!

She frowned, sure she’d made a huge and possibly costly mistake. What next? Would she wiggle her fingers at him like a silly schoolgirl?

She had to be careful. Instinctively, she knew he was no ordinary player in either life or poker. No, he was the kind of man who could tear a woman’s heart out and have her thank him for taking it. Unnerved more than she wanted to admit even to herself, Mari whirled around and strode to her table.

Tucker had arrived late, positioned himself outside the ballroom’s open double doors, and waited until most of the players had settled at their tables. He’d scanned the room as he always did, looking for past tournament winners and current frontrunners on the circuit and noted those who had already been eliminated. So far, so good. Five days of play in the biggest tournament he’d ever entered, and he was still standing.

After he won this thing, he’d have enough to repay the seed money Daniel had loaned him. Then he’d be free to start his own pack. Plus, he’d be the first werewolf to ever win a poker championship.
He smirked.
Yeah, right. Like he could announce that to the world.

He imagined the expression on Daniel Cannon’s face when he repaid the money the pack leader had fronted him. Downing the drink he’d brought in from the bar, he tossed the empty glass to a passing hotel employee and sauntered into the room.

The prickling sensation on the back of Tucker’s neck broke his good mood and sent him into high alert. He stood taller, stiffening at the underlying current of… What the hell was that? A darker energy permeated the air. Something familiar, yet it was a force he couldn’t identify. He scanned the interior of the room again. Where was it coming from?

At last his gaze fell on last year’s champion, Ty Bascom. Although he’d never met the man, he’d seen his photograph in gambling magazines and on poker websites. Bascom entered very few tournaments, but always came out on top, giving him the best track record on the circuit.