Buch lesen: «Reese's Wild Wager»

“You Show Me Yours,
I’ll Show You Mine.”

Sydney laid her cards on the table without even looking at them. Without any expression at all, Reese laid his hand down, too. She slowly lowered her gaze.

Three tens. And a one-eyed jack. Four of a kind.

She’d lost. Dear Lord. Two weeks. She had to work for Reese Sinclair for two entire weeks. Under his “personal supervision,” as he’d put it.

Reese shook his head and chuckled. “You don’t think I’m serious about this bet, do you? I was just having some fun.”

She lifted her chin and narrowed a cold look at him. “I said I’d be here at eight, and I will.”

A muscle jumped in Reese’s jaw, and she watched as his eyes darkened. “Just remember, if it gets too rough for you, that I gave you an out.”

“I can handle whatever you dish out,” she said in a voice so serene it surprised even her. “What remains to be seen is if you can handle me.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the world of Silhouette Desire, where you can indulge yourself every month with romances that can only be described as passionate, powerful and provocative!

Popular author Cait London offers you Gabriel’s Gift, this April’s MAN OF THE MONTH. We’re sure you’ll love this tale of lovers once separated who reunite eighteen years later and must overcome the past before they can begin their future together.

The riveting Desire miniseries TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: LONE STAR JEWELS continues with Her Ardent Sheikh by Kristi Gold, in which a dashing sheikh must protect a free-spirited American woman from danger.

In Wife with Amnesia by Metsy Hingle, the estranged husband of an amnesiac woman seeks to win back her love…and to save her from a mysterious assailant. Watch for Metsy Hingle’s debut MIRA title, The Wager, in August 2001. Barbara McCauley’s hero “wins” a woman in a poker game in Reese’s Wild Wager, another tantalizing addition to her SECRETS! miniseries. Enjoy a contemporary “beauty and the beast” story with Amy J. Fetzer’s Taming the Beast. And Ryanne Corey brings you a runaway heiress who takes a walk on the wild side with the bodyguard who’s fallen head over heels for her in The Heiress & the Bodyguard.

Be sure to treat yourself this month, and read all six of these exhilarating Desire novels!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Reese’s Wild Wager
Barbara McCauley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BARBARA MCCAULEY

was born and raised in California and has spent a good portion of her life exploring the mountains, beaches and deserts so abundant there. The youngest of five children, she grew up in a small house, and her only chance for a moment alone was to sneak into the backyard with a book and quietly hide away.

With two children of her own now and a busy household, she still finds herself slipping away to enjoy a good novel. A daydreamer and incurable romantic, she says writing has fulfilled her most incredible dream of all—breathing life into the people in her mind and making them real. She has one loud and demanding Amazon parrot named Fred and a German shepherd named Max. When she can manage the time, she loves to sink her hands into freshly turned soil and make things grow.

To Cris Grace, the Queen of Cuisine—

this one’s for you!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

One

Cigar smoke lay like a heavy hand in the small back office of Squire’s Tavern and Inn. Four men, brothers, sat around the table, cards in hand, their dark gazes intent on the current deal. Gabe Sinclair, the eldest of the four, frowned at his luck while Callan, brother number two in order of birth, considered the possibility of drawing another king for a pair. Beside him, Lucian, brother number three, smiled inwardly at a pair of jacks and deuce wild, while Reese, the proprietor of the inn and the youngest Sinclair at thirty-two, all but did mental backflips over the three queens in his hand.

They were a handsome lot, the Sinclair men. Each of them, with their thick, dark hair and rugged good looks, had broken more than their share of hearts in Bloomfield County.

Some said that Reese held the record, though. He had eyes that made women forget to breathe. Deep green, like a forest, and curtained with heavy, dark lashes. And his smile. Lord, that smile of his could charm the stripes off a zebra.

It also didn’t hurt that he was six foot three, solid muscle and had won the honorary award of “Best Butt in a Pair of Blue Jeans” three years running by the females in Bloomfield. Reese proudly displayed his silver-framed certificate on the wall right beside his plaque from the Bloomfield County Chamber of Commerce for “Top Restaurant of the Year.”

How sweet life is, Reese thought as he clamped his cigar between his teeth. Three queens, a ten-dollar stogie and two fingers of Patron Gold tequila. He grabbed a handful of chips from his winnings stack and tossed them onto the table. He was on a date with Lady Luck and about to score.

“Five dollars says that pot is mine.” Reese grinned at his brothers. “Again.”

Lucian glanced up from his hand of cards and bit down on his own cigar. “You close that mouth of yours long enough and you won’t have to put your foot in it. I’ll see your five and double it.”

“Too steep for me.” Gabe threw his cards down and pushed away from the table. “Gotta go, kids. Kevin and I have a fishing date at the crack of dawn.”

“I’m out, too. Abby’s waiting up for me.” Callan stood, and wiggled his brow. “Far be it from me to keep a lady waiting.”

Reese stared at his brothers and shook his head. The Saturday night games were getting shorter and fewer since Callan had married Abby six months earlier and then Gabe got engaged to Melanie a few weeks ago. When they’d all been unattached, these games had lasted until three or four in the morning. Abby and Melanie were great, Reese thought, and he knew he couldn’t ask for better sisters-in-law. He was happy for his brothers, but now the Sinclair reputation of devout bachelor-hood lay in the hands of himself and Lucian.

And speaking for himself, Reese thought, it was a reputation he was proud to uphold.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, Bro.” Reese tipped his chair back on two legs while Gabe and Callan pulled on their jackets. “I see you…” he tossed a few more chips into the pile “…and I—”

The door to the office flew open.

“Reese Sinclair, this has got to stop immediately!”

Reese swiveled to look at the woman standing in the doorway.

Sydney Taylor.

Uh-oh.

Sydney’s pale blond hair tumbled around her flushed face and fell in wild waves over the shoulders of the red-plaid cotton bathrobe she wore. She brought the crisp early November night air in with her, and the earthy scent of autumn leaves. In her arms she held Boomer, Reese’s Border collie-terrier-Lab. Boomer was covered with mud. So was Sydney. All the way down to her fluffy brown slippers.

Mud on Sydney Taylor? Definitely a Kodak moment, Reese thought. He wanted to laugh, desperately, but the look of ice-cold fury on Sydney’s face stopped him. She’d murder him if he so much as smiled. Everyone knew that Sydney Taylor could cut a man off at the knees with just a glance. She might be pretty, but she was so damn bossy everyone called her Sydney the Hun. Not to her face, of course. After all, she was the granddaughter of the Honorable Judge Randolph Howland, and that did deserve a certain amount of respect.

Reese glanced at his brothers. Based on their slack jaws, they were obviously just as shocked as he was to see the impeccable Sydney Taylor in her bathrobe, covered with mud, holding a dog in her arms. Somehow, even in her disheveled state, she had an air of royalty.

“Well, if it bothers you that much, Syd—” Reese brought his chair back down on four legs “—the game’s just about over.”

Narrowing eyes the color of blue ice at Reese, Sydney lifted one finely arched eyebrow and pressed her lips tightly together. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. Your dog was in my flower bed again.”

Sydney had recently moved into the upstairs apartment of the historic brick building directly across the street from Squire’s Tavern. She’d also rented the store downstairs and had been renovating to open a restaurant. She’d installed a deep-blue awning over beveled glass French doors and created a garden-like entrance. Hence the flowers which Boomer had become so attracted to.

“Are you sure it was my dog?” Reese asked innocently. “I could have sworn I saw Madge Evans’s poodle out earlier.”

“Madge is a responsible pet owner,” Sydney said irritably. “You, on the other hand, are not. This is the fourth time in three weeks I’ve caught Boomer in my flowers. He’s all but ruined my pansies, dug up my bulbs twice and chewed up my chrysanthemums.”

Boomer barked, his guilt sealed when bright yellow petals fell from his jaw. Sydney stalked across the room and dumped the dog on top of the table. Boomer danced excitedly; chips and cards flew. Then Boomer gave a fierce shake of his long black-and-white coat and mud flew, as well. With an oath, Lucian jumped up, wiping at the splattered mud on the front of his white shirt.

Miss Lady Luck had suddenly been replaced by Miss Fortune, alias Sydney Taylor. Reese glanced forlornly at the queens in his hand, sighed, then threw his cards down and swiped at the dirt on his face. Boomer jumped off the table, sat at Reese’s feet and looked up at his master expectantly. The dog’s nose was covered with damp mud.

Reese knew he should be repentant, he really did. But there was just something about Sydney. Something about that haughty, patronizing air of hers that made him want to puff up his chest and bring that cute little chin of hers down a notch or two. Reese glanced at his brothers for a little moral support, but based on the gleam of amusement in their eyes, he was obviously on his own.

Reese stood and looked down at Sydney, considered telling her that she had a slash of dirt across her temple, then thought better of it. “I’ll buy you some more flowers and bulbs.”

Folding her arms tightly, she met his gaze. “What good will it do if your dog keeps digging them up? Need I remind you that my grand opening for Le Petit Bistro is in four weeks?”

Hardly. There was very little in Bloomfield County that everybody didn’t know about everybody else, some of which was even true. Since Sydney had returned three months ago from culinary school in France, the whole town had been talking. Not about the restaurant she was planning to open as much as the reason why she’d left town over a year ago: Sydney had been left high and dry at the altar by Bobby Williams, Head Coach at Bloomfield High School. Bobby had been offered a position at NYU, only he’d neglected to mention the job to Sydney, along with the fact that he’d decided not to get married. At least, not to her. Bobby and Lorna Green, a cocktail waitress from Reese’s tavern, had eloped on their way to New York.

No one had seen Bobby or Lorna since, but there had been talk that Lorna had been looking rather plump around the middle at the time she and Bobby had taken off together.

Reese had certainly never missed Bobby; he’d never liked the egotistical jerk, anyway. But Lorna, though a little dim-witted, had been a good employee, a rare commodity these days. Especially at the moment. With one waitress out on maternity leave, another on vacation, and a new girl who was sweet but couldn’t remember what time to show up for work, the tavern had been in chaos for the past two weeks.

And now Hurricane Sydney had blown in.

Nothing I can’t handle, Reese told himself and gave her his best smile. “I’m really sorry, Syd. It won’t happen again.”

“Spare me the charm.” Sydney rolled her eyes. “I realize that works on most of the women in this town, but it’s wasted on me.”

From any other woman, Reese would have wholeheartedly risen to the challenge. But this was Sydney, for Heaven’s sake. Sydney was starched stiff as a nun’s habit. Going up against Sydney would be sort of like the Titanic taking on the iceberg. And those were icy waters he’d rather not swim in.

Except, at the moment, with her hair all rumpled, dressed in her robe and slippers, Sydney didn’t look quite so starched or quite so stiff. She looked kind of…soft. Soft and cute.

Startled by his thoughts, he looked at her again, saw the rigid lift of her shoulders and tight press of her lips. Geez, what had he been thinking? Sydney Taylor might be an attractive woman, but soft and cute? And those frumpy robe and slippers she had on were not exactly Victoria’s Secret.

“Reese Sinclair, are you listening to me?” Sydney narrowed her eyes. “I’m not leaving here until we settle this once and for all.”

“You could have him destroyed,” Callan offered from the sidelines.

Boomer jumped up and barked shrilly.

With a gasp, Sydney whirled. “I would never harm an animal.”

“Not the dog.” Callan looked offended that Sydney would think such a thing. “I meant Reese.”

The look Sydney gave Callan could have wiped out spring crops. Reese glared at his brothers. He knew they were having a good laugh at his expense. He didn’t even blame them. If the situation were reversed, he’d want a front row seat. With popcorn. But if he was going to go one-on-one with Sydney Taylor, he sure as hell didn’t want an audience. “Weren’t you all just leaving?”

“Not me.” Lucian glanced at the cards still in his hand.

“No hurry.” Gabe started to take his coat back off and Callan followed suit. “We could squeeze in a couple more rounds.”

“Game’s over.” And so’s the show. Reese snatched the cards out of Lucian’s hands, helped Gabe put his coat back on, then shoved all three of his brothers out the door and closed it behind them.

“Okay.” Reese turned and faced Sydney. “Now, where were we?”

“You were about to tell me how you intend to keep your dog inside your own yard and out of my flowers.”

“Oh. Right. Well, here’s the thing.” Reese glanced at the dog, then moved beside Sydney, lowering his voice as he bent his head close to hers. The scent of lavender mixed with something else he couldn’t identify drifted from her skin. He hesitated, not only to appreciate the smell, but because he was surprised. He’d never thought about Sydney smelling so…nice.

Brow furrowed, she frowned at him. “What thing?”

“What? Oh, well, you see, Boomer’s sensitive about being locked up. Ever since I found him out on the highway and brought him home with me, he gets depressed if I try to keep him in.”

Boomer, who heard his name and seemed to understand he was the topic of conversation, lifted his head and thumped his tail on the floor.

“Depressed?” The tilt of Sydney’s head signified her skepticism. “Maybe he requires more attention than you can give him.”

“Shoot, Boomer gets more attention than a baby with a bonnet. He just can’t stand to be fenced in. He needs to…stretch his legs a little.”

“Gabe just bought the Witherspoon house,” Sydney said matter-of-factly. “That’s five acres of farmland, surrounded by several more acres. Plenty of room for a dog to ‘stretch his legs.’ I’m sure Boomer would be extremely happy there. He can dig to his heart’s content.”

“I couldn’t do that to Boomer. He was already abandoned once when he was a pup. If I just gave him away like that, he wouldn’t understand. He’d think I deserted him.”

She stiffened, then took a step back from him and lifted cool blue eyes to his. “Like Bobby deserted me? Left me standing in my wedding dress to face a crowded church on my own, is that what you’re trying to say?”

Dammit, dammit. That wasn’t what he’d meant at all. “No, Syd, really, I—”

“Forget it, Sinclair. You think you can soften me up with that killer smile of yours and make me feel sorry for your dog, and I’ll just go away. Well, I’m not going away.” She folded her arms. “Life is just one big lark to you, isn’t it, including this bar you run.”

“Hey, now, this is a tavern, not a bar. There’s a big—”

“Maybe you think I’m being petty, or that a few chewed up flowers are irrelevant, but your lack of respect for my property is irresponsible and insensitive.”

“Hey, I’m as sensitive as the next guy,” Reese protested.

“If that next guy happens to be Bobby Williams,” Sydney said, and pointed her chin at him.

That did it. Reese clenched his jaw. He wasn’t anything like Bobby Williams. He’d had enough of Sydney’s insults for one night. He glanced at Boomer. This is the thanks I get for saving your sorry butt. He looked at the table where cards and chips were scattered.

Irresponsible, was he? Life was one big lark, huh?

Well, fine, then.

“Tell you what, Syd,” he said slowly, turning back to her. “What say we let a friendly card game settle this for us?”

Her head came up, and her brow came down. “What?”

“A card game. Go Fish, Crazy Eights. Maybe a couple hands of Old Maid?”

His jab struck home. She straightened; her eyes shot blue daggers at him. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“A game of chance to settle this once and for all. If you win, I’ll keep Boomer fenced in, and if I win…” What did he need? Something to not only shut Sydney up, but put her in her place. Think, Sinclair, what do you need?

He grinned suddenly. She’d never go for it. He knew she wouldn’t. He just wanted to see the expression on her face, wanted to see her back down from a challenge.

“…if I win,” he continued, “you have to come work at the tavern for a week. I’m short two servers right now. Wages included, of course, plus tips.”

Sydney’s jaw went slack; she was silent for all of fifteen seconds. “You expect us to settle this with a card game? That’s preposterous!”

He grinned at her. “That’s my middle name.”

“You’re serious. You’re really serious.”

“Yep.” She’d back out now, Reese thought with smug satisfaction. No way she’d go through with anything as foolhardy as this. And since he had her attention, he’d up the ante till she squeaked. “Under my direct supervision, of course. You have to do what I say.”

“What!”

“Don’t go looking so hopeful, Sydney,” Reese said, thoroughly enjoying the flush on her face. “I’m only referring to business here, though we could certainly discuss job perks and options, if you like.”

“Let me get this straight.” She blew a wisp of hair from her cheek. “If I win, you promise to take care of Boomer and keep him out of my flowers. If I lose, I have to work for you, here, for a week.”

“Just three hours a day. Someone as tidy and organized as you could surely work three hours into your schedule.”

Sydney’s laugh was dry and short. “Even coming from Reese Sinclair, this is the most absurd proposal I’ve ever heard.”

He knew she wouldn’t go for it, but it had been fun, anyway. Still, he couldn’t resist giving her pride one more tug. “If you’re afraid to lose…”

“Afraid?” Her eyes narrowed sharply, and she stepped closer to him. “I’m not afraid.”

“Okay.” He shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Syd.”

“All right, Sinclair.” That chin of hers went up again. “What do you say we make it more interesting? If I lose, Boomer’s not only free as a bird, I’ll come work for you for two weeks. If I win, though, Boomer not only gets kept in…” she leaned in close “…you have to come work for me for two weeks after my restaurant opens.”

He gave a bark of laughter. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Afraid you’ll lose?” she asked sweetly.

“You mean it.” He stared at her incredulously. “You’ll actually go through with it?”

“I’ll not only go through with it, I’ll honor my bet, win or lose. Will you, Sinclair?”

A muscle jumped in Reese’s jaw. “You’re on.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

They marched to the table and sat down opposite one another. Reese scooped up the scattered cards and started to shuffle them. It had been a long time since he’d played Go Fish or Crazy Eights. He hoped like hell he could remember.

“So what’s it gonna be, Syd?”

She sat straight in her chair, her hands laced primly on the table. “How ’bout five card stud, one-eyed jacks wild?”

Reese nearly dropped the deck of cards in his hand. “You want to play poker?”

“What did you think we’d play? Gin rummy?” She lifted one brow. “My father taught me to count with a deck of cards when I was two. When the other kids were playing Chutes and Ladders, I learned how to double down with an eleven in blackjack.” She smiled, held her cool eyes steady with his. “Now deal the cards, Sinclair. I’m about to kick your behind.”

One hour and ten hands later, to Sydney’s delight—and Reese’s annoyance—her stack of chips was twice the size of his. It was a glorious sight, Sydney thought. Each tall, neat column of red, white and blue signifying her victory.

And Reese’s defeat.

Of course, she hadn’t officially won yet, but it was just a matter of time—a short matter of time, based on the past three hands. At the rate he was losing, she should be able to put him out of his misery in the next hand or two.

She still couldn’t believe she’d let him goad her into this. At twenty-six, she liked to pride herself on being a mature woman, in control at all times, one who had a solid handle on her emotions. A woman who used logic and practicality to make decisions, not childish grammar-school antics of one-upmanship.

But he’d looked at her with such arrogance, such smug amusement, she’d simply accepted the challenge, as much to her surprise as his.

Glancing over the cards she held, she watched him study the hand she’d dealt him. Those incredible eyes of his were narrowed with concentration, and one shock of thick, dark hair tumbled over his furrowed forehead. Absently, he brushed his thumb back and forth over the strong line of his chiseled jaw; the quiet rasp of thumbnail against the shadow of his beard was the only sound in the office.

She’d never had the opportunity to stare so openly at a man before. It was not only rude, it was extremely forward. In this situation, though, she considered it a necessity. After all, this was poker. The most important rule of the game, her father had taught her when she was a child, was to closely assess an opponent. Every movement, every blink, every twitch, was to be noted, then analyzed. If her father had taught her nothing else before he’d left when she was twelve, she had learned to be observant. If she ever saw him again, she just might have to thank him for that one thing. But seeing her father again was one bet she’d never take. He’d called a few times, sent a couple of birthday cards, but he’d never come back once to see her after he’d walked out fourteen years ago.

Knowing what an extremely difficult woman her mother had been to live with, Sydney could understand the lack of visits. What she couldn’t understand, what she couldn’t forgive, was him leaving her alone with her mother, who had no one else to take out her bitterness on except her daughter.

But that was water under the bridge, Sydney thought with a sigh. She was twenty-six now and in a few short weeks she’d have the business she’d dreamed of for so many years. The past would be behind her, including the humiliation of Bobby and Lorna.

Sydney Taylor was going to be a new woman. She was going to be the woman everyone thought she was: confident, self-assured, poised. A woman who didn’t give a damn what anyone thought or said about her.

All the things she wasn’t, but desperately wanted to be.

Realizing that she’d lost focus of the game while her mind wandered, Sydney snapped her attention back to Reese. She’d learned that when he touched his finger to the cleft in his chin he had at least a pair, when he scratched his neck just under his left ear, he probably had three of a kind or better. When he brushed his jaw with his thumb, as he was doing now, odds were he was bluffing.

And so she watched him. Closely. Strictly for the game, of course.

She’d never noticed the scar just under that firm mouth of his, or the slight bump at the bridge of what she would consider an otherwise perfect nose. He wore his hair combed back, and the ends just brushed the collar of his blue flannel shirt. The sleeves were rolled to his elbows, his forearms muscled and sprinkled lightly with the same dark hair that peeked from the vee of his shirt.

No question about it, he was an amazing specimen of masculinity. He wasn’t her type, of course. After Bobby, she’d sworn off smooth-talking, shallow playboys who had more muscle than brain. While she could certainly appreciate Reese Sinclair’s blatant maleness, she had no intention of being a victim of it, as were most of the women in town.

But then, Sydney knew she wasn’t Reese’s type, either. He went for the bubbleheads, the women who giggled at every joke and endlessly batted their eyelashes. She’d seen Heather Wilkins hanging on his arm last month at the pumpkin festival in town, then Laurie Bomgarden had been snuggling with him a week ago at the Women’s Auxiliary’s annual fall charity drive. Sydney doubted that Heather and Laurie’s IQs combined was equal to the current outside temperature. And considering it was only the beginning of November, she was being generous.

But who Reese Sinclair spent his free time with was of no concern to her. Her only concern was beating the pants off that arrogant butt of his that the women of Bloomfield were so crazy about.

She glanced at the “Best Butt in a Pair of Blue Jeans” award he’d hung on the wall in his office. The conceit of the man, she thought with a sniff. Maybe they’d give her an award when she kicked that butt in poker.

“You vote for me, Syd?”

“What?” Realizing that she’d been caught staring at the award, Sydney snapped her gaze back to the table. Reese was watching her, and the amusement she saw in his eyes made her stiffen.

With a grin, he nodded toward the wall. “Did you vote for me?”

“Certainly not.”

It was a bald-faced lie. She’d considered it her civic duty to vote when the ballot box went around for the annual “best butt” election. The contest had been close this year, between Lucian and Reese and the sheriff, Matt Stoker. It had been a difficult choice, but in the end—she almost smiled at her own pun—she’d voted for Reese.

And she’d die before she told him that.

“Who’d you vote for, then?”

She straightened the cards in her hand, lining them up perfectly. “What makes you think I voted for anyone?”

“Sydney Taylor miss an opportunity to express her opinion on something?” He settled back in his chair and regarded her with a curious gaze. “So why didn’t you vote for me? Don’t you think I deserved it?”

She was becoming increasingly flustered by this rather personal topic of conversation. “I wouldn’t know if you deserved it or not. I’ve never noticed.”

“You’ve never noticed?” He looked slightly wounded. “You come over to the tavern every Wednesday night for the book review club. How could you not notice?”

“Reese Sinclair!” She slammed her cards down on the table. “In spite of your high opinion of yourself, I do not go to the book review meeting to stare at your butt!”

He looked at her for a long moment, then blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I said, I do not—”

“I heard what you said, I just don’t under— Oh.” He glanced at the wall, then back at her. “I was talking about the restaurant award. You are a member of the Chamber of Commerce, aren’t you? And you did vote for the top restaurant in Bloomfield County, didn’t you?”

The restaurant award. She felt her cheeks burn. He was talking about the restaurant award.

He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Sydney Taylor, shame on you. Where is your mind tonight?”

Her entire face was on fire now, the heat spreading down her neck. “I…well…I—”

“I’ve never seen you stutter and blush, Syd.” Reese gave her a lopsided grin. “You were thinking about my—”

“I was not!” She scooped up her cards again and stared at them. “The sun will be up in a few hours and you can crow all you want, Sinclair. Right now, this game is gathering moss. Could we get on with it, or do you need some ice for that swelling in your head?”

“You know, darlin’—” Reese picked up the cigar he’d put out an hour ago and bit on it “—that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble one of these days. You need to learn to lighten up and have some fun.”

“I am having fun.” She smiled sweetly at him. “I have twice as many chips as you do. Bet’s to you, darlin’.”

Reese grabbed a large handful of chips and tossed them on the table, then grinned at her. “Five dollars.”

It was a steep bet, the largest he’d made since they started playing. He was bluffing, she thought. She’d seen him brush his thumb over his jaw a few moments ago. Sydney matched the bet, then slid another column across the table. “And I raise you.”

And then he scratched his neck under his left ear.

Oh, dear.

Now she wasn’t sure.

She stared at her own cards. She had three jacks, ace high. A good hand, but not great.

His thumb brushed his jaw again. She chewed on her bottom lip.

“Let’s have some real fun,” Reese said casually and glanced up from his cards. “Let’s bet it all.”

Bet it all? Her throat went dry. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” He shifted the cigar from one side of his mouth to the other and leveled his gaze at her. “Winner take all.”

She knew enough not to look away, not to so much as glance at her cards. Confidence was everything in this game. Never sweat, never falter. Absolute self-assurance.