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Not today, mobster.You may be the king of the jungle…and the occasional star of my fantasies, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you win.
“Call,” I say firmly, meeting his gaze with equal intensity. There’s an unspoken challenge growing between us, a silent battle of wills that has nothing to do with poker and everything to do with whatever is brewing beneath the surface.
“Very well,” Enzo murmurs, his voice barely audible above the soft clink of chips and the hum of conversation around us. He flicks his cards on the table as I lay mine down, confident in my hand.
“No wonder all the whales want to play with you.”
I give him a small smile. My hand beats the others, and I can’t help but wonder what kind of game I’ve gotten myself into – and whether winning is truly possible.
“You’re on quite the winning streak,” Enzo says quietly, leaning in so his warm breath brushes against my ear. The sensation sends shivers down my spine, but I refuse to acknowledge the effect he has on me.
“Something like that shouldn’t be said aloud,” I answer, feigning disinterest as I move the chips into equal stacks. “It could make Lady Luck change her mind.”
“I doubt luck has anything to do with your success.”
A wolflike hunger flickers in his gaze, and I wonder if being consumed by him would be such a bad thing. “Perhaps,” I concede, glancing up to meet his penetrating gaze.
Unable to make sense of his sudden interest, I lean forward. “Why tonight?”
“Why not?”
Unspoken words sit between us. He’s never bothered to offer more than a polite greeting. Yet tonight, he plays against me and loses fifty thousand dollars.
The tension shimmers and I feel a low magnetic pull in my core. “My plate is full, Mr. Bianchi.” A sentence that means nothing and absolutely everything at the same time.
The air between us crackles with electricity. “Understood.”
My heart pounds, and I know there are probably a hundred better ways to handle the situation. I need his goodwill to continue playing the tables. “And if I’ve misread the situation, just ignore everything I’ve just said.”
His gaze locks onto mine with such intensity that I can barely breathe. A bead of sweat trickles down my back, and I refuse to break eye contact, unwilling to show any signs of weakness.
“You didn’t misread anything,” he replies softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he leans in, ensuring his cologne will cling to my clothes.
“Curiosity. It’s sometimes impossible to resist.” His mouth lifts, and I wonder why he’s decided to step outside the lines. Men in his world don’t get involved with women like me.
Perhaps it’s boredom or a need to understand what makes me so adept at winning high-stakes games. The answer isn’t clear, and given my usual success at sizing up my opponent, it’s incredibly frustrating.
The poker table is a battlefield of strategy and deception, and my ability to analyze every move, calculate probabilities, and anticipate my adversaries’ actions has never failed me.
But this man…staring into my soul, has put me off my game.
“I should return to my duties.” He pushes himself to his feet, and I do the same. The table has gone cold, and I need to get rid of the adrenaline coursing through my veins. “Have a good evening, Mr. Bianchi.”
“You too, Sharky.”
Smiling at the nickname, I watch him stride through the doors and let out a long breath.
What the hell was that?
Looking around the room, I realize that our littletete-a-teteis the first time I’ve let my guard slip. He broke my spell of concentration with nothing more than a curve of his mouth.
I shake out my curls and vow not to succumb to the magnetic pull of the mobster again. After scooping up my chips, I head toward the cage and decide that a donut from Dunkin is the only answer. The oversized outpost in the food court has almost every flavor, and right now, I need about fifty of them to wipe away the picture of the most delicious man I have ever encountered.
CHAPTER FOUR
Enzo
The picture of Abby’s red-painted mouth lingers as I cut through the crowds surrounding the slot machines. Why didn’t I keep my fucking distance?
