Read Online Surrender to Temptation Part V: Tempted to Reveal by Lauren Jameson - Free Book Online
Authors: Lauren Jameson
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seem like much money to the fit fortysomething man on my left, the one whose well-cut suit can’t quite hide the softness of his gut, or to the predatory-looking woman to the left of him, the one wearing gold sequins and an expression of hawklike intensity.
The softness of the man’s belly, hanging over his black leather belt, draws my mind back to Alex, and the hardness of his frame beneath his expensive clothes. I must have looked drab in comparison, my floral skirt, black shell, and sandals all from Walmart.
I remind myself that it doesn’t matter. I will never see him again. I must focus on the game, or risk losing money that I really can’t afford to part with.
The dealer places my two cards in front of me. They are not good, a six and a seven compared to the dealer’s ten. Anxiety blossoms in my gut. The man to my left has a jack and an ace, and the woman a seven and an eight.
The woman wins the hand, and I watch my hundred dollars slide away across the green table.
I’ve played a hand now—I can go. I
should
go. But I’ve caught the bug . . . and I want to win.
Reluctantly I slide another black hundred-dollar chip across the table. I’ve purchased more tokens than I can really afford. I watch the woman slide forward two rounds of orange plastic, which I’ve learned are called “pumpkins”—each represents one thousand dollars. My knees quiver at the thought of losing so much money. The man offers up a pumpkin and a barney, a purple token worth five hundred.
I look at my lonely black chip. As if possessed by someone else, my hand slides four more little black pieces across the table. Five hundred dollars, and I’ve already lost a hundred.
I blanch when I realize what I’ve done, but it’s too late. And even though the idea of losing that much money makes me feel sick, the risk is . . . exciting. Yes, exciting.
It washes over everything else that I feel, tinting those thoughts a vivid, rosy pink.
The dealer places a card faceup in front of me, then repeats the gesture for the man, the woman, and himself, though his card faces down. The circuit goes around once more.
When he gestures to me, I’m distracted, looking at my cards. Is that . . .
I don’t immediately understand when the dealer says the magical word. “Blackjack.”
I very nearly groan aloud, thinking that he must mean one of the other two. But wait . . . the woman has a four and a seven. The man has a jack and a queen . . . a great hand, but not an automatic blackjack.
Slowly I look down at my cards. Lying on the felt before me are the glossy faces of a jack and an ace. A jack is ten, and an ace can be an eleven or a one.
Holy shit.
I’ve hit blackjack.
The dealer slides my five hundred in chips back to me, plus another five hundred. I’ve won four hundred dollars, on top of getting back the five hundred that I had bet to begin with. It’s not a large amount, not at all, but winning it feels absolutely glorious.
“Congratulations, sweetheart.” The health-club man grins at me salaciously. I smile back, too excited to care about his leer, and contemplate playing again, just once more.
And then, although I can’t explain why, my gaze is drawn up. Across the casino floor, up high, is an ornate balcony, almost like what I imagine you would see in an opera house. It offers an unfettered view of the entire casino floor.
Standing up there, his arms braced on the balcony, is Alex Fraser. He is watching me intently, and when my eyes connect with his I can feel my heart rate speed up to double time.
His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, his tie loosened. It’s like getting a look at the more casual side of him, the one who has let that controlling persona, the one with the answers, slip just a bit.
He nods at me solemnly, the whisper of a smile around his lips. Flustered, I look back the chips that I have clutched in my suddenly sweaty palms. Moments later my gaze is drawn back up. Alex winks at me,
The softness of the man’s belly, hanging over his black leather belt, draws my mind back to Alex, and the hardness of his frame beneath his expensive clothes. I must have looked drab in comparison, my floral skirt, black shell, and sandals all from Walmart.
I remind myself that it doesn’t matter. I will never see him again. I must focus on the game, or risk losing money that I really can’t afford to part with.
The dealer places my two cards in front of me. They are not good, a six and a seven compared to the dealer’s ten. Anxiety blossoms in my gut. The man to my left has a jack and an ace, and the woman a seven and an eight.
The woman wins the hand, and I watch my hundred dollars slide away across the green table.
I’ve played a hand now—I can go. I
should
go. But I’ve caught the bug . . . and I want to win.
Reluctantly I slide another black hundred-dollar chip across the table. I’ve purchased more tokens than I can really afford. I watch the woman slide forward two rounds of orange plastic, which I’ve learned are called “pumpkins”—each represents one thousand dollars. My knees quiver at the thought of losing so much money. The man offers up a pumpkin and a barney, a purple token worth five hundred.
I look at my lonely black chip. As if possessed by someone else, my hand slides four more little black pieces across the table. Five hundred dollars, and I’ve already lost a hundred.
I blanch when I realize what I’ve done, but it’s too late. And even though the idea of losing that much money makes me feel sick, the risk is . . . exciting. Yes, exciting.
It washes over everything else that I feel, tinting those thoughts a vivid, rosy pink.
The dealer places a card faceup in front of me, then repeats the gesture for the man, the woman, and himself, though his card faces down. The circuit goes around once more.
When he gestures to me, I’m distracted, looking at my cards. Is that . . .
I don’t immediately understand when the dealer says the magical word. “Blackjack.”
I very nearly groan aloud, thinking that he must mean one of the other two. But wait . . . the woman has a four and a seven. The man has a jack and a queen . . . a great hand, but not an automatic blackjack.
Slowly I look down at my cards. Lying on the felt before me are the glossy faces of a jack and an ace. A jack is ten, and an ace can be an eleven or a one.
Holy shit.
I’ve hit blackjack.
The dealer slides my five hundred in chips back to me, plus another five hundred. I’ve won four hundred dollars, on top of getting back the five hundred that I had bet to begin with. It’s not a large amount, not at all, but winning it feels absolutely glorious.
“Congratulations, sweetheart.” The health-club man grins at me salaciously. I smile back, too excited to care about his leer, and contemplate playing again, just once more.
And then, although I can’t explain why, my gaze is drawn up. Across the casino floor, up high, is an ornate balcony, almost like what I imagine you would see in an opera house. It offers an unfettered view of the entire casino floor.
Standing up there, his arms braced on the balcony, is Alex Fraser. He is watching me intently, and when my eyes connect with his I can feel my heart rate speed up to double time.
His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, his tie loosened. It’s like getting a look at the more casual side of him, the one who has let that controlling persona, the one with the answers, slip just a bit.
He nods at me solemnly, the whisper of a smile around his lips. Flustered, I look back the chips that I have clutched in my suddenly sweaty palms. Moments later my gaze is drawn back up. Alex winks at me,
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