Author: Roni Loren
He leaned back, releasing his hold and smirking. “You’re assuming I’m some poker whiz. Maybe they’ll beat me fair and square.”
She scoffed. “You have a genius mind for math and probabilities, and you have a poker face that would rival a dead man’s. Are you telling me you don’t know how to play cards?”
His smile was slow, lethal.
She smacked his chest. “You’ve never lost, have you?”
He grabbed her wrist and brought it to his mouth, kissing the inside of it. “I promise to lose—a little—today. God forbid I injure one of the monster-sized egos in the room.”
“Watch that glass house, stud.” She pushed up on her toes and kissed him again, then ducked out of his hold, giving him a pat on the ass as she moved past him. “I’ll see you after the big game. Go team!”
“Sure you don’t want to come by in a cheerleader outfit? Maybe with a big W on your T-shirt?” he asked, following her out of the bathroom and leaning against the doorjamb with a sex-on-the-rocks smile.
She cocked her head to the side and tapped a finger against her chin. “Hmm, I think I may still have one of those outfits at home in the dancer box. No W though.”
“Fuck me,” he said, carding a hand through his hair and looking like she’d told him she had the best tasting dessert ever but wasn’t going to share. “You kept the outfits?”
She shrugged. Truth was, she liked role play. She only hoped she’d never have to do it on a stage again. “Perhaps.”
“God, I hate that you had to do that job, but hell if you didn’t just make my brain explode a little.”
She laughed. “Maybe if you’re nice, I’ll let you see a few when we get back to town.”
The words were out before she had evaluated them, and she barely resisted a face-palm when she realized what they implied. Wasn’t she the one who’d called him out on the plane for alluding to future plans? Now she was doing the same. She opened her mouth to backpedal, but Wyatt didn’t give her a chance.
“Then I think I’m going to try to be very, very nice, Ms. LeBreck.” His gaze showed no fear or concern, only searing-hot purpose.
She smoothed her hair, the promise sending a streamer of anticipation through her. “I better get going.”
He pushed off the doorjamb. “Good idea, because you’re suddenly not doing a very good job of convincing me why I need to go spend the next two hours with a bunch of blowhards when I could be here doing unspeakable things to you.”
She blew him a kiss and gave a little wave. “Good-bye, Mr. Austin. Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”
“No, I’ll save that for you, love.”
At that, she slipped out of their cabana and down the steps to the path, smiling so wide her face hurt. She touched her mouth with her fingers, almost surprised to find the grin there. When had she ever felt this . . . light?
She looked to the wide blue sky, half-expecting a bolt of lightning to take her out.
But for once, there wasn’t a storm cloud in sight.
“All in.” Scott Redmond, one of Wyatt’s father’s biggest clients, pushed the rest of his stack of poker chips toward the pot and sent a challenging look Carmichael’s way.
Wyatt had already bowed out of this hand, though he’d had a pocket pair he would’ve normally played with. So, he sat back in his chair and sipped his drink as he observed the two men. Scott was bluffing. Even with his stone-cold stare, his thumb had rubbed the band of his wedding ring when he’d made the call, revealing his tell. But this was how Scott ran his business—posture and intimidate until the other side gave in.
Carmichael eyed Scott, turning and turning a poker chip between his fingers as he did, then flicked his cards toward the center of the table. “Fold.”
The older man grinned and raked the pot his way. He pushed his own cards toward the dealer, but didn’t flip them over, leaving Carmichael to wonder if he’d been had or not. “Smart move, son.”
“Keep it up at this rate and you’ll need to call Wyatt’s daddy to get advice on where to invest your newest fortune,” Andrew joked, tilting his head Wyatt’s way.
“Or you could just give that big stack of chips to me. I’ll make sure it gets to him,” Wyatt said with a wry smile.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Scott replied with a wheeze of a laugh. “There’s no one I trust more with my money than your father, but these winnings will go straight into a new boat I’ve had my eye on.”
The dealer dealt the next hand, and Wyatt peeked at his two cards, lifting just the corners and cupping his hand around them—queen, king, suited. He tossed in a few chips. Wallace and Cam Berthelot had already busted out and left, so it was only the three of them now.
Carmichael pushed in enough chips to match Wyatt’s bet and nodded his way. “Yeah, Scott here has been singing your father’s praises lately. Seems your firm’s making him a lot of money.”
“Damn straight,” Scott said, shoving his own chips in.
Wyatt swirled his drink, still not trusting Carmichael. The guy had been ridiculously cordial so far today. Not a Quiet Wyatt comment to be heard. But that didn’t mean Wyatt was letting his guard down. And if Andrew expected him to start begging for his business, he was going to be greatly disappointed. “We’re the best at what we do.”
“Not what Tony Merrill says,” Andrew replied, his eyes on the dealer as the older man turned the first card of the flop.
“Tony promises a lot of flash. If you want to be wined and dined and swept off on their annual Mediterranean cruise so that you feel important, you go with Merrill and Mead. If you want people who actually know the market and see what’s around the next curve before you get there, then you go with us.” Wyatt tossed more chips in.
“And what if I need someone who knows how to be discreet?” Andrew asked, his tone as casual as the god-awful tropical shirt he wore today. He pushed his cards in, folding.
The question was simple and not completely off the wall. People wanted ultimate privacy when it came to their finances, but the way Andrew had said it had raised Wyatt’s creep sensors. “Meaning?”
Andrew shrugged and glanced over at their poker partner. “Scott has told me your father has always been good at keeping things clean. You know, even when they may not start out that way.”
Wyatt’s attention snapped toward Scott, who only offered a ghost of a smile as he peeked at his cards to decide what his next move was. Keeping things clean? What the fuck? “I see.”
“Honestly,” Carmichael continued, “I wasn’t sure if you had the cajones to handle something like that. You’ve never been much of a . . . risk-taker. I mean, you didn’t even fuck that pretty girlfriend you had in high school. Shocked the hell out of me when she told me she was a virgin.”
Wyatt gripped his drink so hard, he was surprised it didn’t shatter in his fist. But there was no way he was going to make a scene in front of Scott, one of his father’s most important clients. Wyatt leveled a look at Carmichael, refusing to respond to the bait.
“But when I saw who you brought with you as a date for this week, I realized I must’ve misjudged you.” Carmichael tossed back the rest of his whiskey. “I mean, the Quiet Wyatt I knew would’ve never had the gall to take a stripper to something like this.”
“Don’t fucking call her that,” he growled.
Scott coughed.
Carmichael smiled, raising his palms. “Whoa, there. Sorry. Exotic dancer. Forgive me. Gwen used a much less complimentary term. But she was drunk and on the verge of an orgasm, so you know, what can you do? I got quite a chuckle out of it, though. Mr. Buttoned-up Genius with a girl like Kelsey. And hey, who could blame you? That girl is a looker. I mean, whenever your . . . contract with her is up, I might have to make a little investment myself.”
Wyatt was out of his seat before the next breath. He hauled Carmichael up from his seat by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the bank of windows overlooking the beach. The glass rattled and Wyatt vaguely registered the dealer calling for security and Scott calling his name.
“One more word about Kelsey and I will fucking throw you through this window,” he seethed, inches from Andrew’s smarmy face.
“Ah, just like old times,” Carmichael said, his tone bland. “You really should talk to someone about your anger problems.”
Wyatt’s grip tightened, and he pictured undoing all the plastic surgery Andrew had probably gotten done in the last ten years. But Scott was grabbing Wyatt’s shoulder, his voice calm and cajoling. “Come on, Wyatt. Let him go. This isn’t the place.”
“Don’t worry, Scott,” Carmichael said with a confident sneer. “He’s not going to hurt me. He needs my business, and he’s too smart not to know how much my money could mean to his company. All we need to do is agree to get this bullshit bad blood out of the way, so we can move on.”
The clopping feet of the two security guards jogging their way sounded in Wyatt’s ears. He punched Carmichael in the gut, sending the guy into a gasping front fold, and released him. Firm hands landed on Wyatt’s forearms, dragging him backward. “Arms behind you.”
Carmichael braced a hand on the window, still half-bent, and looked up at Wyatt. “Feel better now?”
“It’s a start,” Wyatt spat out.
“Let him go,” Andrew said, waving at the security guards. “We’re just handling an old matter. Nothing to worry about.”
The two hulking guards glanced at Wyatt, and the one on his right gave Andrew a perplexing look. “You sure, Mr. Carmichael? We could take him to the main island, you could press charges.”
Andrew finally stood upright again, though Wyatt could see the move was strained. He straightened his shirt. “No need. Just guys being guys.”
Reluctantly, the two men released their death grip on Wyatt. One stepped toward Andrew. “Do you want us to send the medic, sir?”
Wyatt barely resisted giving Andrew a real need for a medic, but he knew that would only end up with him in some dirty island prison overnight and Kelsey left on her own here. Not an option. Kelsey. Jesus. If Gwen had told Carmichael, who was to say she hadn’t told others or that Carmichael hadn’t spread the gossip. Now Kelsey was out with women who potentially knew her secret. He needed to get out of here and go to her.
Carmichael declined medical attention and dismissed both the guards and the poker dealer, then turned to Wyatt. “Let’s call us even now, all right? You got a free shot at me, and I resisted letting them throw you in a jail cell.”
Wyatt gritted his teeth. “I have no idea what you’re trying to accomplish—”
“A partnership,” Carmichael said with a snake-oil salesman smile. “Just like Scott has with your daddy. And I promise it will be more than beneficial to both of us. You don’t need to like me to make money off me. Don’t let your pride make you stupid.”
“Fuck you and your money.” Wyatt turned and headed toward the door.
Carmichael chuckled. “Go have a drink and cool off, old friend. Once you realize you’re letting adolescent emotions get in the way of a good business decision, we’ll talk.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Wyatt stormed into the cabana, slamming the door so hard behind him that the waterscape painting on the far wall tilted askew and almost fell off the nail. Kelsey froze at the side of the bed, her open suitcase lying in front of her.
“Un-fucking-believable! Goddamn it all. Why I fucking agreed to come to some party hosted by Satan himself—”
Kelsey shook her head, the tears she’d cried over the last half hour threatening to return. “I’m sorry, Wyatt. I’m so sorry . . .”