The Winning Hand (12 page)

She nodded, signing her name to the last form. Under her lashes, she watched Mac go to the door to let in the room-service waiter.

Mac wore black trousers and a white shirt. Both looked soft, almost fluid, and she wondered about the texture, wished she could run her fingertips over them. Over him.

“You’re going to need financial advice.”

“What?” Flushing, berating herself for not paying attention, she looked over at Caine. “I’m sorry.”

“Tomorrow morning, you’re going to have a great deal of money. You’ll need a financial advisor.”

“You can’t do that?”

“I can give you some basic and initial guidance. After that, you’re going to want someone who specializes. I can give you some names.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“That’s pretty much it.” He leaned back. “We’ll open you an account, the money will be transferred. And you’re set.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Oh.” She pressed a hand to her suddenly jittery stomach. “God.” Once again she searched out Mac’s face, hoping he’d tell her what to do, what to say. But he only watched her, his eyes steady and unreadable.

With an impatient huff for her son, Serena rose. “I’d say this calls for a celebration. Mac, darling, open the champagne. Darcy, you get the first glass.”

“It’s so nice of you, all of you, but—” She jolted when the cork popped.

“I’ve never lost a million to anyone more appealing.” Justin took the glass from his son and carried it to Darcy. “Enjoy it.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek.

Warmth spread in her stomach, pressure weighed on her chest. “Thank you.”

“Congratulations.” Caine took her hand, covered it with both of his.

Then everyone was lifting glasses, and talking. She was hugged, kissed by everyone, with the notable exception of Mac. He only lifted a hand to her cheek, skimmed a finger down it.

There was laughing, and arguments over the time and place for a family dinner, which, she realized with shock, included her. Serena draped an arm casually around her shoulder while telling Caine he was an idiot if he thought she’d settle for pizza for such an occasion.

Emotions were clawing at her, rising up to squeeze her heart, to close her throat and burn her eyes. She heard her own breath begin to hitch and clamped down hard.

“Excuse me.” She managed to mumble it before turning quickly for the stairs. Horribly aware the laughter had stopped, she rushed up, closed herself in the bathroom. She held on, carefully turning the water on full in the sink so the sound would cover her sobs.

She sat on the floor, curled up into herself and wept like a baby.

The suite was quiet when Darcy came out again. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or mortified to realize they’d left her alone. She would have to fumble her way through apologies and explanations, she told herself. But for now she could settle her nerves and emotions.

She glanced around the bedroom, scanning the shopping bags, the boxes. The right thing to do, she told herself, was to put everything away, to tidy up, to put at least this part of her life in order.

She was just unwrapping a new blouse when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Clutching the blouse, she stared at Mac as he stopped at the top of the suite.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. I thought everyone had gone.”

“I stayed,” he said simply, then crossed to her. He glanced down at the blouse she continued to hold in white-knuckled fingers. “Nice color.”

“Oh. Yes. Your mother picked it out.” Feeling foolish, Darcy relaxed her fingers and turned away to hang the blouse in the closet. “I was so rude, leaving that way. I’ll apologize to everyone.”

“There’s no need for that.”

“Of course there is.” She spent several seconds adjusting the shoulders of the blouse on the padded hanger as if their evenness was of monumental importance. “It’s just that everything seemed to hit me all at once.” She went back to unfold slacks, then repeated the procedure, lining up the edges of the hem perfectly.

“That’s understandable, Darcy. It’s a lot of money. It’ll change your life.”

“The money?” Distracted, she glanced back, then fluttered her hands. “Well, yes, I suppose the money’s part of it.”

He angled his head. “What else?”

She started to pick up a box, then set it back on the bed and wandered to the window. It still felt odd to stand there against the glass, with a world she’d only begun to touch spread like a banquet at her feet.

“Your family’s so … beautiful. You have no idea what you have. You couldn’t. They’ve always been yours, you see, so how could you know.”

She watched the signs of the casino across the street, beckoning, daring, inviting.
Win, Win, Win.

It wasn’t so terribly hard to win, she thought. But it was much, much trickier to keep the prize.

“I’m a watcher,” she told him. “I’m good at it. That’s why I want to write. I want to write about things I see, or want to see. Things I’d like to feel or experience.” She lifted her hands to rub her arms, then made herself turn back to him. “I watched your family.”

She looked so lovely, he thought. And so lost. “And what did you see?”

“Your father playing with your mother’s hair when they sat together in the lounge last night.” She saw the confusion in his eyes and smiled. “You’re used to seeing them touch each other—casually, affectionately, so you don’t notice when it happens. Why would you?” she murmured, swamped with envy. “He put his arm around her, and she leaned into him, sort of …” Eyes half-closed, she moved her body as if yearning for another. “Settled into the curve because she knew exactly how she’d fit there.”

Darcy closed her eyes, laid a hand over her own heart as she brought the scene back into focus. “And while he talked to me, he toyed with the ends of her hair. Tangled them, combed them through, wound the strands around his finger. It was lovely. She knew he was doing it, because there was a little light in her eyes. I wonder if it takes another woman to recognize that.”

She opened her eyes again and smiled. “I never saw my parents touch that way. I think they loved each other, but they never touched that way, that easy and wonderful way. Some people don’t. Or they
can’t.”

She sighed and shook her head. “I’m not making sense.”

He could see it himself, now that she’d painted it for him. And she was right, he realized. It was so much a part of his life, a part of his family, he didn’t notice it.

“Yes, you are.”

“It’s more—it’s all of it. Everyone piling in here a little while ago. You were part of it again, so you couldn’t have really seen it. The way your grandfather hugged your mother. So strong and tight. For that instant she was the center of his world, and he of hers. And more, when she sat on the arm of his chair. He laid his hand on her knee. Just put it there, to touch. It was so lovely,” she said quietly. “The way she and your uncle argued about where to have dinner, and laughed at each other. All the little looks and pats and the shorthand of people who know each other, and like each other.”

“They do like each other.” He could see that her eyes were overbright again, and reached out to touch her hair. “What is it, Darcy?”

“They were so kind to me. I’m taking money from them, a lot of money, but everyone’s drinking champagne and laughing and congratulating me. Your mother put her arm around my shoulders.” It made her voice break, forced her to fight to steady it. “It sounds ridiculous, I know it, but if I hadn’t gone up right then, I would have grabbed on to her. Just grabbed on and held. She would have thought I was crazy.”

Lonely? Had he thought she was lonely? He understood now the word didn’t come close. “She would have thought you wanted a hug.” He slipped his arms around her, felt her tremble lightly. “Go ahead, grab on to me. It’s all right.”

He eased her closer, pressed his cheek to her hair. He could feel her hesitation, the battle of emotions that had her standing very still. Then her arms came around him, wrapped tight. Her breath came out on a long, broken sigh.

“We’re big on grabbing in my family,” he told her. “You won’t shock any of us if you take hold.”

It felt so good to press up against the strong wall of his chest, to hear the steady beat of his heart, to smell the warmth of his skin. Closing her eyes, she let herself absorb the comfort of his hand stroking gently over her back.

“It’s just so foreign to me. All of this. All of them. You. Especially you.”

Her voice was husky and low. Her hair was soft under his cheek and fragrant as a meadow. Affection, he reminded himself as her slender little body molded to his, not lust. Friendship, not passion.

Then she turned her head as if to sniff his neck and need stirred restlessly.

“Better now?” He started to ease away, but she clung. His lips brushed her temple, lingered. He held her, let her hold him and told himself it was only because she needed it.

“Mmm.”

The dress had thin straps crossing over the smooth flesh of her back. His fingers began to trace along them, under them. She moved in a long, catlike stretch under the caress, jangling his brain.

It was the only excuse he had for the fact that his lips trailed down her face, found hers and plundered.

He forgot to be gentle. She was pressed against him in the stream of sunlight, all gold and soft and willing. The kiss demanded surrender, and she gave it, flowing into his arms like heated wine, her mouth yielding under the assault of his as if it had only been waiting. Had always been waiting.

Her mind was spinning in slow, expanding circles that spiraled up toward something desperately wanted. The strength of him, the power of those arms that wrapped possessively around her was desperately exciting. Knowing she was helpless against him made her quiver, yet she gloried in the power of him.

This was need, she thought wildly. This, finally this. A wild burst of light and energy and raw nerves. The thumping heart, the racing pulse, the explosion of heat.

Thrilled, she gave herself to it, to him.

In one strong stroke, his hands slid down her back, over the curve of her bottom, lifting her,
pressing heat desperately to heat. His mouth swallowed her gasps, greedily, ravenously. He could imagine himself filling her, buried in her, taking her where they stood and driving into her until the hot ball of frustration broke free and gave him peace.

He caught himself as his hands gripped those delicate straps over her back, at the point of rending. He looked down into her eyes, wide, unseeing and still swollen from tears.

He set her aside so abruptly she staggered, scalded her with a look when she crossed her hands over her heart as if to hold it in place.

“You’re too damn trusting.” The words whipped out at her, but the lash was for himself. “It’s a miracle you survived a day on your own.”

God, my God, was all she could think. Was the blood supposed to burn like this? It was a wonder her skin didn’t burst into flame. She lifted her fingers to her mouth where her lips continued to tingle and ache. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

He’d come close, dangerously close, to ripping off her clothes, shoving her against the wall and taking her without thought or care. Now, he thought, she was standing there, staring at him out of eyes filled with arousal and—worse, much worse—trust.

“The hell I won’t.” He said it roughly, hoping to save them both. “You don’t know me, and you don’t know the game, so I’ll tell you, don’t bet against the house. The house always wins in the end. Always.”

She couldn’t catch her breath. “I won.”

His eyes flashed. “Stick around,” he challenged. “I’ll get it back. And more. More than you’ll want to lose. So be smart.”

His hand whipped out, cupped the back of her neck firmly. He wanted her to cringe. If she did he’d be able to resist all the things he wanted to do. “Run away. Take the money and run far and fast. Buy yourself a house with a picket fence and a hatchback in the driveway and shade trees in the yard. Because my world isn’t yours.”

She almost shuddered at his words. But if she did, she’d prove everything he said was true. “I like it here.”

His lips curved into something between a smile and a sneer. “Honey, you don’t even know where you are.”

“I’m with you.” And that, she realized with a fresh and towering thrill, was all she really wanted.

“You think you want to play with me?” He angled his hand at the back of her neck to bring her to her toes. “Little Darcy from Kansas? First raise and you’ll fold your cards and scramble.”

“You don’t scare me.”

“Don’t I?” He damn well should, he thought. And he damn well would, for her own good. “You haven’t even got the guts to risk having some jerk back home find out where you are. You’d rather sneak out of your own town like a thief instead of taking a stand. Now you think you can play with the high rollers?” With another short laugh, he released her and turned to leave. “Not bloody likely.”

His words were a sharp slap of shame to an exposed cheek. She winced from the blow but steadied herself. “You’re right.”

He stopped at the top of the stairs and turned back. She was still standing by the window with her arms wrapped tight around her body, her eyes lit with a passion that contrasted sharply with the defensive stance.

He wanted, quite desperately, to go back, gather her close again and just hold. Not simply because she needed it, he realized with something akin to panic. Because he did. Outrageously.

Her breath came out in one explosive puff. “You’re absolutely right. How do we do it?”

The images that careened through his mind had him taking careful hold of the banister. “Excuse me?”

“How do we inform the press? Do you just give out my name, or do we have to do something like a release or a press conference?”

The combination of shame and irritation he felt was lethal. He took a moment, rubbing a hand over
his face as he searched for control. “Darcy, there’s no point in rushing into that.”

“Why wait?” She stiffened her spine. “You said that it was going to leak shortly anyway. I’d prefer to have some control. And I can hardly expect you to have any respect for me if I continue to hide this way.”