Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
There’s a new VIP section in this place with high-stakes blackjack. Since I’m here to have some fun of my own, I beeline for the table, dragging her along.
“Oh my God, Chris, you have to let me play! I’ve always wanted to try cards.”
“Not till you’ve burned off some poison in your system, princess. Trust me, you’ll be throwing away your money if you’re piss-drunk. Let me show you the ropes for a bit. Hang back and look cute. Pretend you’re my date for moral support.”
She rolls those eyes like molasses so sweetly.
At least she hasn’t gotten pissy about my not-so-subtle flattery since we left the hotel. I’m sure it’s the booze and my intuition that puts me on edge.
She’s so warm, almost clammy when I hold her hand.
Fuck.
Drunk or not, she’s pure smokeshow in her cocoa-black cocktail dress, this dark-chocolate shade that compliments her eyes.
I take a seat at the nearest high-stakes table, grateful I’ve been pacing myself with drinks. Delia Burr is distraction enough—and staring at her too long makes my dick feel like hot lead.
I fish some cash from my wallet and trade it for chips.
Four thousand bucks.
Let’s fucking go.
There’s one other guy at the table, a tired-looking older Asian man in a suit. Delia watches excitedly next to me, clasping her little hands together.
The first few hands are dog shit.
I’m down fifteen hundred before I start to get so pissed it heightens my focus.
Thank God for SEAL instincts. They take control when you need them the most.
I study every card, remembering the counting tricks my old buddy Joe loved to show us on lazy nights at base camps after wolfing down MRE chili that tasted like grease and sawdust.
Another hand.
Another sly look from the dealer.
Another bored, glassy glance from our friend in the suit.
The guy loses big when the dealer lays down more cards and he goes bust.
I’m up, down, and even, but the trend starts flipping my way.
Now, it’s time to go all in.
“Show me what you’re made of, big brother. You can do better,” Delia purrs in my ear, rubbing my arm. “Go big. All or nothing. We’ll get drinks to drown out the loss or celebrate at the fanciest place in town tonight.”
Ridiculous.
I side-eye her and snort.
I’m not made of money like her father, even if I agree with the sentiment. And I’ve never felt right about pulling too much from my trust fund either, and have Ma hold it over my head until hell freezes over.
With money, I had to get smart and fast, growing up and witnessing her slow-motion self-destruction.
Delia knows how to push my buttons, though.
I’m a sucker for a high-stakes challenge—especially when it’s coming from my playful, off-limits, and dangerously fuckable step-brat.
I look at the dealer and split my hands, pushing the chips evenly on all of them.
The businessman starts to sweat, his pile of chips thinning down to dregs.
He stares at me suspiciously like I’ve lost my mind, and ups his own bet, while the dealer just throws the same cryptic smile at everyone.
The first cards are Aces, one in each hand.
Fucking great.
I quickly survey the scene, do some math, and tap the table for another hit.
Fuck this.
I’m not falling for the wishful thinking that Lady Luck might actually give a damn about me tonight.
Five more seconds.
The dealer finishes dealing and winds up with a queen and a seven.
Feels like it’s too good to be true.
Mr. Businessman goes bust, swearing under his breath—and then Mr. Dealer comes up short.
I’m staring at a king and an ace in both hands.
Perfect twenty-one.
Delia bolts up in her seat and squeals, pulling on my shoulder with both hands, her little nails digging into my skin like the cat who broke into the catnip jar.
With a placating look, the dealer passes me my winnings, and I throw a single chip back for a tip.
I’m smart enough to know when to walk away.
The winnings piling up in crisp Benjamins when I cash in are like half a mission’s hazard pay. Delia laughs as I struggle to fit it all in my wallet.
I can’t, so I stuff the excess into both pockets.
We head to the nearest ATM to deposit what I can’t carry.
It’s never wise to wander around here openly, flush with cash, especially after dark.
“Holy shit! Holy shit, Chris, what will you do with all that moolah?”
“Thank my lucky charm, first and foremost,” I tell her with a wink.
It takes her a second to understand I’m talking about her.
And maybe it’s the humid air in the casino, but there’s a light, sexy glow to her under the lights, this gentle halo of sweat on her brow that makes her skin shimmer.
Fuck it, why resist?
It’s a lonely spot next to the cash machines where I corner her, push her against the wall, and swipe my lips over hers.