around her.
“You’re quite a dancer,” Cilla murmured.
“You inspire me.”
“It’s the least I can do.” Then lights came up abruptly, bleaching the club from dim intimacy to hard reality. Was it really that late, she wondered in surprise, and straightened.
“Cinderella time, I guess,” Rand said.
“I’m not ready to call it a night,” Cilla objected. “It’s too soon.” Whether it was the wee hours of morning or not, she wasn’t the least bit sleepy. Instead, breathless anticipation ran through her.
“You could go get your cards and we could play poker,” Rand suggested.
“There’s an idea. We can be like Vegas, all night, all right.”
“There you go.”
They walked out into the lobby of the resort, with its soaring ceilings and marble arches. Terraces ran around the edges of the atrium, the overhead lattices wound with vines to give the illusion that they were outdoors instead of in air-conditioned comfort. Rand stopped in front of a pillow-strewn brocade couch. “Go get your cards. I can wait here.”
Chivalrous, perhaps, but she didn’t want chivalry. She wanted much more. “How about if you just come on up, instead? That way we’ll get some quiet and we’ve got the minibar if we get thirsty.”
“From a tire iron on the highway to an invitation to your room? I think I’m making points.” His voice was light, as though he wanted her to know he wasn’t making any assumptions. It made her want him even more.
“You haven’t lost money to me yet,” she said with a grin and tugged at his sleeve. “Come on.”
CILLA TOSSED DOWN a handful of dimes and nickels. “I’ll see your quarter, raise you thirty cents and call.” They sat on the couch in her room, cards on the upholstery between them. The French doors that led to the atrium balcony were open, bringing in the tranquil sound of falling water from the indoor fountains. A ceiling fan stirred the air, making the silk at her neckline flutter just a bit.
For the hundredth time, Rand pulled his thoughts back to the game and laid his cards down. “Eights and fives.”
Cilla set down three jacks. “You are mine, baby, all mine,” she crowed, and her eyes held a hot look of triumph. “That’s five hands in a row.”
“You never told me you were a cardsharp. Are you sure you weren’t the one headed to Vegas?” If he was on a losing streak, it was because the way she’d curled those long legs underneath her, rucking up her dress just enough, played hell with his concentration. Of course, the remains of the vodka tonics on the coffee table might have a bit to do with it, as well.
And the fact that they were both wondering how and when and where they’d make the jump. Not if, though. Not if.
“A card hustler? Me? I’m just trying to give you the authentic experience,” she told him, scooping up the last of his small change.
“By cleaning me out?”
“Exactly, sugar.” She reached out to give his cheek a little pat. And in reflex, his hand came up to trap hers in place. Cilla froze, her eyes widening just a fraction. Surprise? Arousal? Rand curled his fingers around hers, moving them to his lips, watching her steadily. For a moment, they stared at each other, the question asked, the answer given, the knowledge of where they were going naked in their eyes.
When he released her hand, she stayed absolutely still, then she went back to shuffling the cards.
Rand looked at her in puzzlement. “What are you doing?”
“Getting ready to deal.” She split the deck in two and snapped the cards together. “You’re not afraid of another hand, are you?” Her eyes were bright with excitement.
“I’m out of change. You’ve broken me.”
“Good thing you didn’t make it to Vegas.”
“Consider yourself lucky that I’ve been on a down streak. I’m usually a winner.”
“Big talk,” she sniffed, snapping the cards together again. “Why don’t you prove it?”
“I told you, no more money.”
“We could keep a tally on paper.”
“That’s not poker.”
A smile lurked in her eyes. “You could put it on your credit card.”
“I’m sure you’d love that.”
Cilla spread her hands, and shrugged. “Well, the house doesn’t play for free. Of course, we do have one other option.”
“Yes?”
“You want stakes that mean something, I think we can arrange it.” She did smile then, a slow bloom of promise.
Something deep inside him began to thud in response. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
Her eyes held a flare of recklessness. “Your clothes.”
CILLA SHUFFLED the cards, excitement making her hands tremble just a bit. Rand sat shirtless, his skin gleaming gold in the light. Even though she’d seen him that afternoon in just swim trunks, he somehow seemed more naked now, his skin all the more bare for the contrast with his wheat-colored linen slacks.
They’d gone past the easy pickings. Her Manolos had been off before they’d ever started, and now Rand’s Top-Siders lay nearby. Watches, jewelry, it was all on the coffee table. She’d done well the first few hands, but more recently Rand had been winning steadily.
She was beginning to run out of clothing.
Pushing the deck together, Cilla set it out for Rand to cut. When she reached out to pick up the stack, he captured her hand.
And heat zoomed up her arm.
“What are you doing?” she asked faintly.
“Just checking to see if you had any cards up your sleeve.”
Her heart began to beat again. “It’s a sleeveless shift.”
“Can’t be too careful.” He ran his fingertips up the fragile skin on the inside of her forearm. Arousal whispered through her.
“Five-card draw,” Cilla said, her voice a little shaky, and dealt.
Rand just watched her. He fanned his cards out and gave a small smile. It could mean he had something, it could mean he was bluffing, Cilla wasn’t sure. If he had tells, she’d yet to figure them out.
Then she looked at her own hand and very nearly sighed. Three queens, a nine, and a four. She’d hold on to her ladies and take her chances with the rest, Cilla thought, tossing the other two cards down. “Two for the dealer,” she said aloud. “And you, sir?”
“I’ll take three.”
Cilla raised an eyebrow. “Three cards for the desperate man in the corner,” she said, and tossed them to him, giving herself two new cards before picking up her hand. Jubilantly, she saw that she’d drawn a pair of aces. Full house. She kept her face wooden and looked at Rand.
“I’ll call,” he told her.
Cilla laid down her hand. “Full house, read it and weep.”
“Not quite.” He put his own cards down, revealing a hand full of tens. “Four of a kind.” His smile was impudent. “Looks like I win.”
She cursed.
“Pretty salty language for a lady.”
“That full house would have won me the last three hands.”
“Timing is everything.” Rand settled more comfortably on the couch, putting his hands behind his head. “Guess you should