Page 10 of A Dangerous Game

“No,” Derek whispered. “I suppose I do not.”

A shiver raced down Jonas’ spine at what Derek said with his eyes instead of his lips. He felt that dark stare traveling over the features of his face, the column of his neck, the breadth of his shoulders. He knew very well what Derek insinuated, but ruthlessly pushed that realization aside. He had made his decision years ago and would stand by it. The fear that wrapped about his heart was no less real now than it had been in the past. Nothing had changed about the world they lived in or the repercussions of such recklessness. It did not matter what either of them wanted; Jonas could not put them at risk.

Jonas cleared his throat and tapped the tabletop to shatter the silence that had stretched between them. “None of it matters, as you will not marry my sister.”

That teasing smile of Derek’s was back as he crossed his arms over his chest. “We shall see.”

Jonas snatched up the cards and dealt two to Derek—one faceup and one facedown. Then, he did the same for himself. Vingt-et-un was an interesting choice. Jonas would have expected Derek to select a game that relied more on skill than chance. He had walked into this room knowing he was not as proficient at cards as Derek but hoping to win all the same. He would do anything to stop this wedding from taking place, including trying his hand at cards against Derek.

However, ving-et-un was simple luck of the draw, and if Jonas kept his wits about him, he could end the game with points totaling less than twenty-one and clinch the victory. Derek was a daring player, known to draw even when his cards totaled as much as seventeen—a risky gambit that failed more often than it succeeded. But that was simply Derek’s nature, daring to the point of recklessness. Jonas hoped it would prove his downfall tonight.

Hope buoyed Jonas as he studied their revealed cards. His was a five of clubs, Derek’s a twelve of diamonds. Lifting the corner of his hidden card, Jonas fought not to show his relief. Beside his revealed card lay an eight of spades, which kept him safe for the time being. Now, he must decide whether to draw or stay, a decision that could place him the closest to twenty-one or push him right over the edge.

“You’re in your own head,” Derek said with a soft chuckle. His second card remained on its face, untouched. “You think too much. Just make a bloody decision. Draw or stay?”

Jonas reached toward the deck with a roll of his eyes. “And you do not think enough. That was always the trouble with you. If it weren’t for me, you would probably be languishing in some French gaol on charges of indecency.”

Derek laughed. “Oh, but what times we had. Come now, don’t be such a stick. We had fun.”

Jonas’ mind filled with memories of Paris against his will. Their final destination of the Tour had been his favorite, and not just because of the food or the architecture. Derek was a more vivid part of his recollections, so much that Jonas could hardly think of France without thinking of him, too. They had become constant companions after that night in the brothel, trading lingering looks and covert intimacies when they were safe to do so. Jonas, who had not been kissed since he’d been a boy, had been starving for more of the pleasure. Throwing caution to the wind, he sneaked into hidden alleys and tavern rooms for even five minutes of time in Derek’s arms, their mouths and bodies grinding together with the promise of more.

Derek’s soft murmur drew him out of his thoughts. “Jo.”

Jonas’ hand felt heavy as he reached toward the deck, deciding to take the risky move. “I will draw.”

Derek’s gaze remained locked with Jonas,’ and he still had not looked at his second card. Nevertheless, he offered a knowing smirk and nodded. “Good man. I, too, will draw.”

Jonas’ hand shook as he slipped the top card off the deck and laid it facedown beside the others. He could not understand this churning feeling in his belly, a foreboding that sent a tremor rolling down his spine. For reasons he could not comprehend, he was more concerned with Derek’s cards than his own. Just what was he about, drawing when he had no idea what his hand totaled?

It did not matter. Itshould notmatter. One either drew winning cards in vingt-et-un, or he didn’t. The only strategy was that of maths, and in true fashion Derek had neglected to take that into account.

“I will stay,” Jonas said, his voice hoarse through the tightness of his throat.

“As will I,” Derek replied. Then, when Jonas hesitated to reveal his cards, he added, “Shall we get on with it?”

Jonas bit the inside of his cheek as he overturned his third card. He released a harsh exhale when beside he found a queen of clubs. His hand totaled twenty-three. Twenty-fucking-three. He could have kicked himself for the decision to draw. This hand was proof that nothing good could come from throwing caution to the wind. He ought to have stayed.

“Bad bit of luck, that,” Derek remarked. “Shall we see if mine proves any better than yours?”

Jonas’ throat burned as he found himself leaning forward and intently watching Derek’s cards. Derek slowly overturned his second card to reveal a seven of hearts, bringing his total to nineteen. Jonas’ eyes went wide as he glanced to the third card, still turned facedown. If the fool had looked at the second card, he might have decided to stay and win the game. Jonas could only hope the third card would push Derek beyond twenty-three so that he could flee from this room without a look back.

Derek took up the third card and time seemed suspended as he turned it over. Jonas’ mouth fell open as an ace of spades was revealed.

Twenty. Derek’s cards totaled twenty, as the ace could be either a one or an eleven, and Jonas highly doubted he would choose for it to be an eleven.

“Bollocks,” Jonas grumbled, pushing his chair away from the table. He was not a gambling man for many reasons, chief among them being his strong aversion to losing. His temper roiled but he compressed it, determined to handle the loss like a gentleman. Derek had beaten him fairly, the bounder.

A catlike smile stretched across Derek’s annoyingly handsome face. He unfolded his lean body from the chair with his gaze locked on Jonas, the muscles in his forearms stretching and bunching as he clenched and then unclenched his hands. Jonas nearly choked on air; such was the effect of such an innocuous show of sensuality. The man dripped with potency as he approached with slow, careful steps as if Jonas were a wild animal he did not wish to scare away.

Truth be told, Jonas was absolutely terrified. He had put himself completely at Derek’s mercy, and honor demanded he give the winner what he was owed. But just what Derek would demand, Jonas could not say. His mind overwhelmed him with the most lurid thoughts of what Derek would claim from him as a prize.

Derek stood far too close, his scent invading Jonas’ senses and flooding his mind with memories he would rather not dwell on. Recollections of brothel rooms in Paris, crackling hearths mingling with the sounds of breathless pants and moans, strong hands touching him in places that made him hard and yearning.

“Will you honor our agreement?” Derek asked as if having read his thoughts. He now stood right before Jonas, so close they were nearly chest-to-chest. “Or will you renege?”

Jonas squared his shoulders, grappling with both outrage over his honor being questioned and the urge to run. But, he could not flee when there was so much at stake. Besides, this was only a momentary setback. There were still two more games to be played; two more chances for him to put a stop to a potential wedding.

“I gave my word,” Jonas grumbled.

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