placed them facedown on the table. As he rose, he pointed to the hand. “Don’t anyone try to mess with that, I know what I have.”
“An unhealthy distrust of your relatives is what you have,” Georges commented. “Philippe’s blunt warning wasn’t meant for you,” he told Gordon. “He thinks we cheat. In reality, he’s not that hot a poker player.”
Gordon nodded, finding himself completely at ease in this company of men. It was a pleasant feeling, one he wasn’t accustomed to.
Philippe waved a hand at Georges. “I don’t cheat,” he declared as he opened the door. Turning, he was surprised and not a little pleased to see Janice standing there.
Her eyes were blazing. And there was something very stirring about the image she presented. “Did I forget something?”
“Yes,” she snapped, not waiting to be invited in. “Decency.”
He closed the door behind her. “No, I’m pretty sure I stocked up on that the last time I was at the store.” She wasn’t smiling. “What’s the matter?”
By now, she was no longer thinking rationally. God only knew how much Gordon could have lost. “How could you?” she demanded.
Philippe hadn’t a clue. “How could I what?”
She gritted her teeth. Without her experience of plucking Gordon out of precarious situations, she might have thought Philippe was innocent. “How could you invite my brother to your poker game?”
Philippe shoved his hands into his front pockets. Eventually this was going to make sense. He just had to be patient. “Pretty easily, actually. I said something like, ‘Gordon, want to come to a game I’m holding tonight?’ And he said yes.”
She struggled to keep her voice down. She didn’t want to embarrass her brother in front of other people, but she certainly didn’t want to have to bail him out any more than she was already doing.
“This isn’t funny, Zabelle,” she told him in a low, firm voice. “Gordon’s got an addictive personality. He doesn’t do anything in half measures.” She was rambling, she thought and reined herself in. “I can’t go into details, but this is really a very bad thing. You have to cut him off.”
Philippe still looked like the soul of innocence as he asked her, “You want me to cut off his colored toothpicks?”
About to shout “yes” she stopped and stared at him. “Colored toothpicks?”
He nodded, taking her arm. Thinking he was going to usher her out, she pulled it away. “That’s what we play for. Colored toothpicks.”
She wasn’t about to be distracted. There had to be more than that. “But they represent something, don’t they?”
Philippe nodded. “Well, yeah.”
To his credit, Zabelle didn’t even try to lie about it. Although that didn’t change the bottom line. “Gordon can’t afford it.”
Very complacently, Philippe placed his hands on her shoulders. That he was so calm only infuriated her further. “Janice, calm down. If he’s the big loser, he has to wash the big winner’s car or clean the big winner’s barbecue grill. Something along those lines.”
The fire went out of her eyes. “What? You don’t gamble for money?”
He shook his head. “We play for things, chores mostly. Playing relaxes us and it gives us a chance to get together.” He took a breath. Maybe she’d feel better if he explained a few things to her. Ordinarily, he didn’t like getting personal, but he made an exception. “My father was a professional gambler and he ‘professionally’ lost almost everything my mother worked for. I don’t even play the slot machines in Vegas. I don’t believe in real gambling, but this is just harmless fun, a way to knock off steam, get the adrenaline to kick in without any risk.”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, feeling somewhat foolish now. “Really?”
He laced his hand through hers. “Really.” He nodded toward the dining room. “Come see.”
“No, that’s okay,” she demurred. But he was already bringing her in.
Like a boy caught by his mother after curfew, Gordon looked both surprised and uneasy to see her. “What are you doing here?”
Before she could say anything, Philippe was quick to explain. “Janice thought she forgot one of her tools. I wanted to introduce her to you guys—in case any of you lugs has a remodeling job you want done.” Turning to her, he confided, “All of them are as handy as dried out paste.”
Georges merely laughed. “You should talk. At least I know what to do with pointy objects.”
Just standing there, listening to the exchange, she could feel the love in the room. It made her envious and long for a childhood she’d never had.
As Philippe introduced her to the other members of his weekly poker game, Janice was acutely aware of the way her brother was looking at her. As if he knew why she was really there. It wasn’t because of some so-called imaginary tool she’d left behind. She wanted to check up on him, as if he were twelve and she was his mother.
It was all there in his face: annoyance at her unexpected invasion, hurt at her lack of trust. But damn it, could he really blame her? After all he’d put her through? She only had his best interests at heart.
The introductions over, Janice pressed her lips together and mustered a smile that took in all the men gathered around the oblong table.
“Sorry, I didn’t know I’d be barging in on a poker game. Please, go back to playing.” Her eyes met Gordon’s briefly. “I was never here.” She glanced at Philippe. He made a move to follow her as she backed away from the table. “I can see myself out.” Again, her eyes shifted toward her brother. “See you at home, Gordon,” she added as she retreated.
Despite what she’d just told him, Philippe followed her out of the room.
She felt just awful for raising her voice and accusing Philippe of taking advantage of her brother. She wouldn’t blame him if he decided to terminate their contract. But before she could tender an apology, something that never came easily to her, Philippe took her by the arm and drew her over to the side.
“Listen,” he began softly, “I’m sorry I stirred things up for you.”
God, when he looked at her like that with those green eyes of his, she caught herself thinking that she could forgive him for just about anything.
Get a grip, Janice. He’s the guy you’re working for right now, nothing else. Is that clear?
Clear as mud.
“It seemed harmless enough at the time,” Philippe was saying to her. She struggled to focus on his words and not his lips or his eyes. Not exactly easy, given their proximity. “I got the feeling earlier today that your brother’s struggling with a lot of problems and I thought this might help him blow off steam. It does me.”
What kind of problems did Philippe have, she wondered. From everything she’d seen, he led a perfect life.
After a beat, she found her tongue and discovered that it really wasn’t glued to the roof of her mouth. “You don’t have to apologize to me.”
The grin was quick, so was the all-but-lethal shot to her gut. “Well, apparently I do. I don’t know if you realized it or not, but there was steam coming out of your ears when you got here and I think you left a perfect replica of your knuckles on my door.”
Okay, so she’d overreacted. Big time. She wasn’t the kind to try to bury a mistake. When she was wrong, she was