The Nymph's Curse: The Collection (52 page)

The carpet seemed to reach up and clench her feet, making it hard for her to move. Chance was laughing again, looking much like he had in the picture — and once again she was oblivious to the joke.

Forcing her body to move, she stepped toward him. He looked up and for the first time she could see his strong, steely eyes. He was talking, but his ever-so-kissable pink lips turned up into a devilish grin. The deafening tweets and rings of the machines were muted by the thundering of her heart. Without thinking, her lips pulled into a coy smile, returning his affections.

She took another step and her foot connected with something, sending her into a free fall. Her face hit a barstool and she tumbled sideways until she landed on the floor. The pain in her chin, coupled with her embarrassment, brought tears to her eyes.

She mentally kicked herself. He was just a man, albeit a good-looking one, and she was a nymph — she should have been far above the fumbling of a love-struck teenager.

Her gaze was pinned to the floor as gasps, whispered insults, and mocking laughs echoed through the voiceless room.

Harper’s cheeks flamed and a thin veil of sweat rose to her skin. There was no playing off what she had done. She closed her eyes and willed her body to disappear, but she went nowhere.

Black cowboy boots appeared in front of her. “Excuse me, ma’am. Are you okay?” The man’s voice was a smooth lulling drawl of a man who, even in crisis, kept an even temper.

Not only was she hurt and lying on a dirty floor surrounded by professional gamblers, people who made it an art to hide their faults, but she also had the added humiliation of lying at the feet of a cowboy. Her body tingled with the urge to shift, to turn into her swan form and fly away from the scene she had caused. Yet now wasn’t the time to be a coward — she’d screwed up and had to face the firing squad of snickering bystanders.

The boots shuffled and a hand appeared in front of her face. “Let me help you up.”

Harper couldn’t avoid it any longer; she slipped her hand into the rough callused fingers. Stars filled her vision as he pulled her to standing — though she couldn’t be sure if it was the sudden motion or the strange charge of the touch that whispered through her body and spoke to her soul. It was Chance.

As the stars cleared, all she could see were his mesmerizing eyes. They were light gray with a dark gray ring — as if his eyes were made with the strength of steel and imbued with the power of the gods.

An onlooker cleared his throat, breaking the moment. She’d only hated Jenna’s killer more.

The man dropped her hand and turned to the crowd. “There’s nothing to see here. The lady’s fine. Go back to what you were doing.”

The crowd of people went back to their conversations, and Harper couldn’t help but notice the way some of the women kept glancing furtively over in Chance’s direction.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine, though I feel like an idiot.”

“You took one heck of a fall. You sure you’re okay?”

The warmth in her cheeks returned. “I swear. Just embarrassed.”

“Well there are only a few people that could have won a fight with a barstool.” The sound of Chance’s deep laugh brought a strange lurching motion to her core and drove deeper, to more explicit places.

“What can I say? I guess I’m not gifted at barstool handling.”

He gave her a grin. “That’s no great shame, just so long as you are good at handling other things.” His cheeks went ruddy and a thin sheen of sweat broke on his forehead. “I’m sorry … I didn’t mean it … not like that … I only meant … ” he stammered.

Even being inadvertently lewd, he was irresistibly cute and she couldn’t help the giggle that tumbled from her lips like an invitation for him to keep flirting.

Their little interlude couldn’t continue. Harper had to put a stop to the flirtation — she had no time or place in her life for a man and all the drama a relationship would encompass.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your game. I just saw you on television and … ”

“You saw us on TV? That’s great. They told me they’d put it up in time to draw more players.” He turned to a pudgy, balding man by the table. “Hey, Kodie, this lady here said she saw us on television. Good job, man!”

The man expanded like an excited puffer fish and made his way to the cowboy’s side. “See? I can pull a few strings.” The man jabbed his chubby thumbs in the small pockets of his buttoned vest. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Kodie and this famous guy here is my friend Chance Landon — the best poker player in the United States.”

“Kodie, please knock it off,” Chance said, embarrassed over the man’s gushing.

“It’s true, ain’t it? Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of as far as I’m concerned. I’m damn proud.” Kodie’s smile grew impossibly wider. “What’s your name? Did you come down to get his autograph? I have a feeling they’re going to be selling for quite a few bucks before long.”

Did the man ever stop talking?

“I’m Harper. I just wanted to stop by and talk to Chance really quick. If you don’t mind, I’m going to just steal him away for a sec and then you can have him right back.”

“Well, don’t steal him for too long, he has a game starting soon. He needs to keep up his strength.” Kodie gave her a suggestive wink.

“Oh hell, he just can’t stop, can he?” Chance took her gently by the arm and led her to a far corner where a few poker machines sat empty. “I’m sorry about him. He’s just excited about the game — we got on a good turn of the cards tonight.”

“Is he your manager?”

Chance laughed. “No, we just run together. Sometimes he helps wrangle up games for us when we come to town.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “Are you two hustlers or card sharks or something?”

“Nah, we’re just here to play a few hands and then we’ll be on our way again.” He gave her a pitying smile. “We’re leaving for Las Vegas in the next day or two.”

The air filled with the tinny sound of the slots and an awkward silence.

“You said you came here to tell me something?”

“I … ” She drifted off, troubled by the news that he’d be leaving soon.

“It’s alright if you don’t remember. You’re welcome to stick around until you do, but I need to get back to the tables.” He turned on the heel of his boot as he moved to walk away.

The action drew her out of her stupor. “Sorry … I just … It must have been the fall. I’m not feeling well,” she lied. “I just came to tell you that I ran into a woman who was looking for you.”

“What woman?”

“She said her name was Carey Jackson.”

“Who?” he asked, as if he hadn’t heard the name.

“Carey, Carey Jackson.”

“That’s what I thought you said.” His shoulders dropped. “Look, I don’t know what lies my ex-wife was telling, but I’m sorry she bothered you. She’s a whole heap of trouble that no one needs in their life — especially someone like you, the woman who trips over chairs.” There was a forced playful edge to his voice.

Jealousy crept up her back like bony fingers. Carey had been his wife?

“She seemed pretty upset over something. But you can make of it what you will.” Harper reached in her back pocket and took out a slip of paper with the phone number she had retrieved from the rental agreement, and the picture Carey had given her. “Here’s her number. She doesn’t live far from here. Plus, I think you should have this back,” she said, motioning to his picture.

Chance took the picture and paper, grazing her hand. He stuffed the papers into his shirt pocket. “Thanks. And hey, since I’m going to be in town for a few more days, maybe we could meet up? You could tell me a little bit more about what Carey told you.”

“If you want to see me again, my phone number is on the slip.”

Harper’s body shivered as his wanting eyes caressed her body. There was only so much a sex-starved nymph could handle before she crumbled.

The piece of paper Harper had given him was just that — a simple piece of paper. Nothing more. Yet Chance couldn’t understand what all it meant. It didn’t seem likely that she was picking him up, no … not a woman like her. Harper must have been trying to help Carey, but why? Why had Harper agreed to help his ex-wife in finding him? And why was Carey looking for him? It had been over seventeen years since he’d heard from her. Sure, he still thought of Carey and would have liked to have gone back in time and ended things differently, but there was no point in regret. They were done. Or so he had thought.

A pile of wrinkled clothes lay on the bed next to his rucksack and he rifled through them until his little black cell phone fell from the pocket of the shirt he had worn the day before. There was just enough battery life left to make a call or two — even if it was a call he didn’t want to make. He pressed the numbers, and the phone rang until it mercifully went to her voicemail.

“Hey, Carey. Just got a message you were looking for me. This’s my new number. Give me a call so I don’t worry.” He hung up the phone, but couldn’t help feeling like a bit of a dumbass — why did he say he would worry?

He dumped his phone into his bag and it landed on top of his checkbook. Carey was going to read a whole lot more into the message than what he wanted. Maybe he shouldn’t have called her. No. It would have bothered him. He had to call, but why did he have to say something so idiotic?

Dammit. He didn’t even want to open the door of possibility of them getting back together.

His mind wandered to the time they’d spent together. They’d both been in their early twenties when they’d married. For a while, things had been good. He thought she’d understood his lifestyle and how important the game was to him. He’d explained his past. How in every relationship he’d had, the women had wanted him to change — they loved the romance of a famous drifter, but when the novelty wore off they all wanted a man who was stable — a man who wanted to settle down, raise a family, the whole white-picket-fence thing.

He’d thought, with Carey being a nymph, that she could understand his traveling and inability to settle down. For a year, she had traveled with him, enjoying the perks of his lifestyle and fame. But that time had been enough for her to decide that the life he lived was too much, and she’d given him an ultimatum — give up poker, or she was gone.

It hadn’t been an easy decision.

As Harper’s handwriting stared up at him from the slip of paper still in his hand, Chance couldn’t help but wonder if she was a nymph like Carey. She was certainly beautiful enough to be one, but asking her if she was a supernatural being was out of the question. She’d think he was crazy if she wasn’t one, and if she was a nymph it was her secret to share — or not.

Nymph or not, he wondered if Harper was the kind of woman who would want him to change or if she was the kind who went with the flow — who took one day at a time. He flipped the paper over in his fingers. Her letters were tight and even, not the writing of a woman who was relaxed or spontaneous, but he could have had her all wrong.

Maybe he should call Harper and see if there was anything else she knew that could help him decipher Carey’s cloak-and-dagger request to find him. If nothing else, it would give him the chance to talk to Harper again. She had been so damn cute, even lying there on the red-checkered carpet of the casino floor.

He smiled as he recalled the way she had looked up at him, like she was a little fragile bird desperately in need of saving — and in a way she had been. The people who had surrounded her were ruthless, and the most successful of them seemed to be devoid of normal human emotion. It was what made them good at the game. He wished he could’ve been as unemotional as they were — but something about seeing the fallen bird had pulled at his heartstrings. There’d been no other choice but come to her aid.

There was a quick rap of knuckles against the hotel door followed by a click and beep of a keycard. The door opened and Kodie walked in. “What’re you doing? You ready to go?”

“If you mean go to get some coffee, yes.”

“Well, we can start with coffee, but don’t you think we should be hitting the road? Vegas awaits.”

Chance ran his fingers over the black-inked letters on the paper. “Why don’t we stay another night? It would give you a chance to win some money.”

“I thought you said you wanted to get out of this hell-hole.” Kodie leaned up against the cheap particleboard desk, which served as the shabby room’s catchall. “Or does our staying have something to do with that little brunette number I saw you talking to, little Miss Trips-A-Lot?”

Chance chuckled. “She told me Carey’s looking for me.”

“Damn. Sorry to hear it.” His friend grimaced. “Are you sure you don’t want to leave today?”

“Nah, I gotta see what she needs. Besides, after watching how you played last night, it looks like you are going to need another night to win your money back. ”

Kodie’s face puckered in response to the ribbing. “You just had a lucky turn of the cards and you and I both know why.”

“And you know that luck can only take you so far.”

“That’s true, man, but my table wasn’t running as hot. I could have used some of your luck last night.” The desk under Kodie squeaked as he shifted uncomfortably. “But no worries. I’ll get the money to pay that nut-buster, Nate, back. You know how it is.”

Actually, Chance didn’t. He never borrowed money and he had never been mixed up with the dirty dealings of Three-Eyed Nate — at least not until he’d been pulled into Kodie’s bullshit after his friend had lost everything at the World Poker Tournament and had turned to Nate for the two hundred thousand dollars he’d needed to buy back in.

“Kodie, why don’t I just give you the money to pay back Three-Eyed Nate? If I give you the money I was going to use for the tournament buy-in, you would have enough to pay him back.”

“There’s three million dollars or more at stake. I can’t have you walking away from that kind of money, especially not when I know you’re gonna win the tournament. And besides, I’m not borrowing any more money.” Kodie stepped closer. “I’ll just pick up a few games in Vegas while you are playing in the tournament. Hopefully I can pull enough money together to pay Nate back.”