Playboy Bachelors. Marie Ferrarella

Janice felt her skin tingling.

      Get a grip, Janice. You’re supposed to be boiling mad, not a bowl of mush.

      By the time she arrived at Philippe’s door, Janice was completely worked up. Instead of ringing the bell, she knocked. Pounded was more like it. The door had taken the place of her brother’s head.

      Inside, Alain peered at his brother over a hand that would have gladdened the heart of a professional gambler.

      Slim fingers folded the cards in his hand. Alain raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You expecting someone to come break down your door, Philippe?”

      “Not tonight.” The pounding continued. He sighed, folded his cards and 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.