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My hands balled into fists, but I took a deep breath.
The felt is green and feels like velvet.
It smells like lemons in here.
I have a jack of hearts and a ten of spades in my hand.
“Call,” I finally said, tossing in my chip.
Asher’s brows raised as he shared a look with Weston before he dealt the flop.
“Holy shit,” Crossland said, giving voice to obviously what Ash and Wes were keeping silent. “She’s a magician.”
I laughed, thankful that Cross never tried to tip-toe around me. Not that my other friends did, but Cross had this way of never bullshitting me that I appreciated.
“Jedi is more like it,” I said. “I’ll be the first to tell you I thought her methods would be pointless for me to try, but I think she might have brainwashed me…in a healthy way,” I added.
My friends laughed at that, the entire table relaxing like we always did whenever Doyle left. It was a much-needed reprieve from his constant bullshit. Even Serenity seemed more at ease, sitting in her father’s seat, her shoulders less tense and a small, almost hidden smile shaping her lips.
“Gareth?” Asher asked, eyebrow arched. “You in or not?”
Gareth snapped his eyes away from Serenity, who was in his direct line of sight in Doyle’s seat.
“I’m in,” he said, tossing in the blinds. He hadn’t even looked at his hand.
Serenity hesitated, then folded her cards.
“Damn,” Cross said, taking a swig from his drink. “I was hoping we could see you two battle it out again.”
“Next time,” Serenity said, her voice soft as she looked at Gareth, not Cross, when she answered.
Gareth shifted in his seat, focusing harder on his cards.
Seems I wasn’t the only one who was struggling under the spell of a woman he wasn’t supposed to want.
I knocked on Alexandra’s door, my fucking heart in my throat. What the hell was this? We had sessions all the time, we texted constantly, and I’d taken her to at least three formal events since we’d met…so why was I anxious to see her?
Usually with the women I dated—not that I was dating her—there was a calm sense of formality with just a hint of shaking things up to keep the lonely weeks interesting. But with her? Fuck, it was like I was a teenager again, racing home from school to go to my favorite job—working at the stadium and watching the games.
“I’m almost ready!” she said, slightly breathless as she opened the door. “I’m sorry. This is the fanciest dress I’ve ever put on in my life,” she continued, backing up to let me inside. Her hands were behind her back and her face was scrunched in a clear struggle. “I can’t get the zipper,” she said, almost like an apology. “We’re going to be late because of me.”
I couldn’t fucking breathe.
She was stunning, the sapphire blue silk clinging to her sumptuous curves and shivering all the way past her ankles as she moved.
“You wore it,” I said.
“You sent it,” she said, still struggling with the zipper. “Of course, I wore it.” She looked up at me, dropping her hands. “I need help.”
My lips curved into a smirk. “That sounded like it was hard for you to admit,” I teased, twirling my finger for her to turn around.
She did, and the sight of the silk split at her shoulders, baring her back to me, was a test of fucking willpower. I reached for the zipper, but I was desperate to slide my finger along her spine, to see if she’d arch into my touch the way she did when my mouth was on hers.
“It was hard,” she said. “I normally can do everything on my own. I don’t like depending on people.”
I gently tugged the zipper upward and clasped the top of the dress to keep it in place. “Hence, your thirty-day rule,” I said as she spun back around. “It keeps you from getting used to someone being around.”
Her eyelids fluttered as she looked up at me, but she nodded. “It’s easier that way.”
“And yet, today marks thirty days I’ve known you and have been spending time with you.” I cocked a brow. “Are you ready to get rid of me?”
She visibly swallowed, her bright blue eyes never straying from mine. “It’s different with us,” she said. “You’re my—”
“Client,” I said, nodding. Tension heightened between us, her breath catching just slightly as I took a step away from her. “You look stunning,” I said.
“So do you,” she said, eying the dark suit I wore.
“Are you ready?”
She nodded and took my offered arm as I led her to the car I had waiting outside her apartment complex.
“A limousine?” she asked, eying me. “I didn’t think that was your style.”
“It’s not,” I said, nodding at the driver, who held the door open for us. “But Asher’s head of charity for the Carolina Reapers insisted she send one over for us.”
