A smile played about his lips.
Game on.
He closed the distance between them.
She watched the man approach her table with her peripheral vision and pretended to be engaged in her hand. Is this him? Hell and damnation, the man is hot. Of course, she’d met many hot men in her travels. Most of them crumbled under the personality test, but something told her he’d hold his own. In fact, maybe he’d even surpass her.
Madame Evangeline might have scored a home run.
He was a mixture of George Clooney and Richard Gere, with short gray hair cut close to his scalp. A sexy, scruffy beard hugged a perfectly sculpted jaw and set off the sensual curve to his bottom lip. His eyes glimmered with a controlled strength and he moved with a predatory grace as he crossed the room. Was he former military? A shiver tingled down her spine. The thin white shirt and black pants did nothing to mask his rock hard body. She tried to control the dip in her tummy when he stood beside her. When was the last time a man excited her at first glance? His body heat and the delicious scent of lemon and spice rose to her nostrils. She kept her head down, gaze on the cards, and waited for his first move.
She tapped her finger on the table for a hit. Jack of spades smiled up at her. The dealer nodded and slid the chips toward her as she met the goal of twenty-one. Then she looked up.
He didn’t speak, but his gaze drilled into hers. The odd combination of blue and gray reminded her of rainy skies and stormy seas. He waited by her side as if enjoying the game of blackjack for pleasure. She knew from the 1Night Stand report that he worked as a dealer at the Castillo Resort. Would he have the balls to play a round with her?
She raised her hand to her dealer, Wayne, for a short pause then swiveled in her stool to face the man beside her.
“Were you ever going to introduce yourself?”
His bold appraisal stripped her naked and pumped her with pleasure. An amused smile touched his carved lips. “Didn’t want to break your concentration. Besides, it seems we have all night, Sloane Keller.”
She raised her brow. “Perhaps. And you are?”
He seemed even more pleased at her obstinacy. “Roman Steele. You can call me Rome.”
He looks like a Rome. She imagined him dressed in armor and chains, leading an army of men with no thought to being disobeyed. Imagined him standing over the bed of a naked woman, ready to enjoy his spoils.
As the only player at the table, Wayne waited patiently for her to decide whether or not she wanted to continue. She upped the stakes. “Do you play?”
“Of course.”
“What’s your pleasure?” She dropped her voice to a husky drawl.
He bumped a hip against her chair. “Poker, of course.”
She wondered how he’d handle her. Most men she met either fawned like a groupie or treated her like shit. Since he was bought and paid for, she figured she’d test him before she made her final decision. If she didn’t like him, she’d demand her money back before they even hit the elevators. “Funny, me too. But I like a good game of blackjack to relax.”
“Are you good?”
She smiled slowly. “I’m the best.”
“Cocky, huh?”
“Confident.” She leaned forward. Her lips stopped inches from his. The sizzling tension between them stretched in exquisite agony. “Not that I mind a little−cockiness.” Her gaze lingered on his lips then dropped slowly to the evident bulge in his pants. “As long as someone can back it up.”
Smoke gray eyes heated and sharpened like lightning. “Oh, I can back it up.”
“Care to play a hand with me?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” He slid onto the stool next to her and motioned to Wayne to deal him in. “So, you in Vegas for business or pleasure?”
She watched the cards fly and leaned back in her stool, automatically searching for clues in his face to find what type of player he was. “Pleasure tonight. Business tomorrow.”
“Big tournament, huh?”
She nodded. His casual reference held no adoration or resentment. In fact, he wasn’t the least bit intimidated. A thrill shot down her spine and right between her legs, leaving her hot and wet. As the Queen of the Cards, she hit the high stakes signature poker room at the Castillo regularly. At a minimum of $20,000 to grab a seat, she believed the play integral to honing her skill in the competition of the World Series of Poker.
Two wins placed her name at the top of the charts in Vegas. Unfortunately, most men couldn’t handle the intimidation. Her last relationship bombed so badly she’d teetered on switching teams and going full lesbo. Not only was she physically hard up, it had been so long since she enjoyed an honest, open relationship she worried she’d become one of those very rich spinsters who spent their life doing things for charity. She fought a shudder at the thought.
But Rome Steele didn’t seem too afraid of her.
And, God, she needed an orgasm.
How humiliating. The tabloids stalked and publicized her exotic hook-ups. Fortunately, the press had no idea they were mostly visual candy to throw people off track. Some of her most well known escorts were only good friends or gay. The ones she attempted to actually sleep with were...disappointing. Something must be wrong with her. Her climaxes gave her barely a hiccup of pleasure. She craved a man’s body under her hands and warming her bed, so when her friend told her about Madame Eve, she decided she had nothing to lose. She did not engage in one-night stands for the risk factor. She believed in controlling all details, from her work to her play.
Pushing away her thoughts, she concentrated on her hand. Ten of clubs for her. Deuce for her one-night stand. She kept her head down and watched from the corner of her eye for every nuance of expression, and dug deep into her gut. Yes, he wasn’t a safe player. Not stupid, but he liked risk. He’d ask for a hit fifty percent of the time when he should stay. She watched the dealer flip up an ace for himself.
She tapped her finger twice on the table. The solemn face of the Queen stared up at her. She hid a smile and put out her hand in the hold gesture. Rome’s card slid across the table. Eight of hearts. A slight hesitation did him in, and his next hit revealed a six. Done.
Wayne kept his expression neutral as he dealt himself a card. Five of spades. Without a flicker of an eyelash, he hit himself again. Ten. Done.
The chips slid into her pile to match her first mound. She waited for the fake expression of awe she usually received from her dates. Instead, he treated her to a wolfish grin that promised he’d eat her for breakfast and enjoy every last bite. He grasped her wrist in a firm grip and pulled her forward so their lips were inches away.
“Nice warm up. But can you do it again?”
She laughed with sheer pleasure. “Of course.”
“Fine. Do it again and you get me for the night to do whatever you want.”
She gazed at him with suspicion. “I already did.”
“Not yet.”
Admiration cut through her. This man was not led around by his cock. Curiosity teased the question from her. “What do you get if you win?”
Determination and promise gleamed from his blue-gray eyes in warning. His voice dropped to a growl. “You, of course. But you’ll listen to everything I say without any back talk.” He paused and deliberately stared at her with the look of a warrior issuing an order. “And obey.”
She gave him an icy glare. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Her thighs clenched and her panties grew damp. Why did his commanding tone turn her on? Her nipples tightened painfully, her body on full alert, practically begging him to make good on his threat. She forced the excitement down, knowing she’d win. She always won. Still, he never backed down, and she wanted him in her bed. She licked her lips and nodded.