The Winning Hand

  Then he stepped onto the rooftop garden and saw her. She was sitting at one of the tables, her big, elfin eyes wide and intent on his grandfather’s face. Their heads were close together, like conspirators, he thought, and wondered what the hell was going on between them.

  She looked so … fragile, he decided, so slimly built with those pretty, ringless hands clasped together like a schoolgirl’s. She’d worked a foot out of one strappy sandal, and was waving the shoe by a single strap hooked around toes painted a soft shell pink.

  The image that flashed through his mind of nibbling on those pretty toes and working his way up those slender legs had him muttering a curse.

  Lust, something he normally accepted and enjoyed, was currently driving him mad.

  Irritation still simmered in his eyes as he stepped through the palms and up to the table. Daniel leaned back, beamed and wiggled his eyebrows. “Well, there’s a likely lad. Want some coffee, boy?”

  “I could do with a cup.” Because he knew Daniel well, Mac didn’t trust him a whit. He scraped back a chair, straddled it and met his grandfather’s cheerful gaze. “What’s going on here?”

  “Why, I’m having breakfast with this pretty young thing, which you’d be doing yourself if you weren’t slow-witted.”

  “I’ve got a casino to run,” Mac said shortly, and turned his sharp eyes to Darcy. “Did you get some rest?”

  “Yes, plenty, thank you.” She jolted when Daniel thumped his fist on the table.

  “God Almighty, boy, is that any way to greet a woman in the morning? Why aren’t you telling her how pretty she looks, or asking her if she’ll take a drive with you this evening?”

  “I’m working this evening,” Mac said mildly.

  “The day a MacGregor can’t find time for a sweet-eyed woman is a sorry day. A sorry day, indeed. You’d like a drive, wouldn’t you, lass, up into the hills in the moonlight?”

  “I—yes, but—”

  “There.” Daniel thumped his fist again. “Are you going to do something about this, boy, or do I have to hang my head in shame?”

  Considering, Mac picked up the cigar smoldering in the ashtray. He studied it thoughtfully, turned it in his hand. “And what’s this?” Lifting his brow, Mac smiled thinly at his grandfather. “This wouldn’t be yours, would it, Grandpa?”

  Daniel’s gaze slid away. He studied his own fingernails intently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now—”

  “Grandma would be very displeased if she thought you were sneaking cigars behind her back again.” Idly Mac tapped the ash. “Very displeased.”

  “It’s mine,” Darcy blurted out, and both men turned to stare at her.

  “Yours?” Mac said in a voice that dripped like honey.

  “Yes.” She jerked her shoulder in what she hoped was an arrogant shrug. “So what?”

  “So …” Mac’s teeth flashed in a grin. “Enjoy,” he suggested, and handed her the cigar.

  The challenge in his eyes left her little choice. Defiantly she took a puff. Her head spun, her throat closed, but she managed to muffle most of the cough. “It’s very smooth.” She wheezed as she choked on smoke.

  Her eyes teared as she gamefully puffed again. Mac had to resist an urge to tug her into his lap and nuzzle her. “I can see that. Want a brandy to go with it?”

  “Not before lunch.” She coughed again, felt her stomach pitch. “Your grandfather—” She coughed, blinked away tears. “Your grandfather and I were discussing business.”

  “Don’t let me stop you. Done with this?” He picked up a slice of her bacon. He bit in neatly then grinned. She was turning a very interesting shade of green. “Put that down, darling, before you pass out.”

  “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “You’re a rare one, Darcy.” Adoring her, Daniel rose. He tipped up her chin, kissed her full on the mouth. “I’ll get started on that business we were speaking of.” He sent his grandson a glowering look. “Don’t shame me, Robbie.”

  “Who’s Robbie?” Darcy asked dizzily when Daniel strode off.

  “I am, to him, occasionally.”

  “Oh.” She smiled. “That’s sweet.”

  “You’re going to make yourself sick,” Mac muttered, and took the cigar from her fingers. “I didn’t think you’d do it.”

  She let her reeling head fall back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  With a sigh, Mac picked up her water glass and held it to her lips. “Did you really think I’d rat on him? Come on, sip a little. The smoke’s made you punchy.”

  “It’s not so bad. I kind of like it.” She turned her head to smile at him. “You wouldn’t have told? About the cigar.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered. My grandmother knows he sneaks them every chance he gets.”

  “I wish he were my grandfather. I think he’s the most wonderful man in the world.”

  “He likes you, too. Steady now?”

  “I’m fine.” She studied what was left of the cigar as it smoked in the ashtray. “I may just take it up.” But she drank the water again to cool her throat. “He shouldn’t have teased you that way, about taking me for a drive.”

  With a few deliberate taps, Mac put out the cigar. “He’s decided you suit me.”

  “Oh.” The idea wound through her mind, then warmed her heart. “Really?”

  “The MacGregor’s fondest wish is to see all of his grandchildren married and producing babies. And the more he has to do with it, the better. He actually arranged for my sister, and two of my cousins to meet men he’d specifically picked out for them.”

  “What happened?”

  “In those cases, it worked, which only makes him more difficult to control. He’s on a streak. And just now …” He angled his head, skimmed his gaze over her face. “He’s decided you’ll do for me.”

  “I see.” She supposed the quick thrill and sense of glee was inappropriate. But it was very hard to control the curve of her lips. “I’m flattered.”

  “So you should be. I am, after all, the eldest grandchild—and he’s a fussy man when it comes to family.”

  “But it irritates you.”

  “Mildly,” he admitted. “As much as I love him, I’ve no intention of going along with his grand schemes. I apologize if he got you out here this morning to put ideas in your head, but I’m not looking for marriage.”

  Her eyes went wide and dark. “Excuse me?”

  “I suspected, when I was told the two of you were together up here, that he’d been planting seeds.”

  The warmth that had settled inside her iced over and went rock hard. “And, of course, someone like me would be fertile ground for such seeds.”

  Her tone was so quiet, so pleasant, he missed the flash. “He can’t help it. And your name being Wallace put a cap on it. Strong Scot blood,” he said with a grin and a burr. “He’d consider you tailor-made to bear my children.”

  “And since you’re not in the market for a wife or children, you thought it only fair to nip in the bud any ideas he might have planted in my vulnerable mind in that area.”

  He caught the underlying frost in the tone now. “More or less,” he agreed, cautiously. “Darcy—”

  “You arrogant, self-important, insulting son of a bitch.” She sprang to her feet so abruptly the table jerked. The water glass toppled over and crashed on the tiles as she stood vibrating with temper, her fists clenched and eyes blazing. “I’m not the empty-headed, dim-witted, needy fool you seem to think I am.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” More than a little wary, he got to his feet. “That’s not at all what I meant.”

  “Don’t stand there and tell me what you didn’t mean. I know perfectly well when I’m being considered a corn-for-brains moron. You’re not the first who’s made that mistake, but I swear to God, you’re going to be the last. I’m perfectly aware that you don’t want me.”

  “I never said—”

  “Do you think I don’t know I’m not your type?”
Furious, she shoved the chair into the table, and sent another glass crashing. “You prefer big-busted showgirls with eight feet of leg and yards of hair.”

  “What? Where the hell did that come from?”

  Straight out of her dream the night before, but she’d be damned if she’d tell him. “I don’t have any delusions about you. Just because I would have slept with you doesn’t mean I expected you to sweep me off to the altar. If all I wanted was marriage, I could have stayed exactly where I was.”

  She still looked like a fairy, he noted, one who could—and would—spitefully turn an incautious man into a braying jackass. “Before you break any more glassware, let me apologize.” He put a restraining hand on the back of the chair before she could jam it into the table again. “I didn’t want my grandfather to put you in an uncomfortable position.”

  “You’ve accomplished that all on your own.” Mortification mixed with temper to send her color high. “It may surprise you to know that I asked Daniel to meet me here this morning, and—though it may crush your outrageous ego—it had nothing whatsoever to do with you. It was a business meeting,” she said rather grandly.

  “Business?” He squinted against the sun. “What sort of business?”

  “I don’t believe that’s any of your concern,” she told him coldly. “But since you’ll undoubtedly harass Daniel over it, I’ll tell you. Daniel has agreed to be my financial advisor.”

  Intrigued, Mac slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. “You asked him to handle your money?”

  “Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”

  “No.” Hoping to cool her off a bit, he smiled and inclined his head. “You couldn’t do better.”

  “Precisely.”

  And he, Mac thought, couldn’t have done any worse. “Darcy—”

  “I don’t want your apology.” Her voice glittered with ice. “I don’t want your excuses or your pitiful reasons. I believe we both understand perfectly well the status of our relationship.” She snatched up her purse. “You can bill me for the cost of the glasses.”

  He couldn’t stop the wince as she stormed off, slapping her way though the palms. He had both feet up to the knees in his mouth, he decided, grimacing at the sparkle of shattered glass on the tiles.

  Getting them out would be the first problem, he thought.

  The second problem would be a great deal more complex.

  Just how was he going to deal with the fact that the woman who had just ripped the skin off his hide utterly fascinated him?

  Chapter 8

  For the next two days Darcy concentrated on her writing. For the first time in her life, she decided, she was going to do what she wanted, when she wanted. If she wanted to work until three in the morning and sleep until noon, there was no one to criticize her habits. Dinner at midnight? Why not?

  It was her life now, and sometime during those first furious hours, she realized she was finally living it.

  She was going to miss Daniel, she thought. He’d returned East the day before, with a promise to keep in close contact on the investments he was making for her. He’d issued an open invitation for her to visit his home in Hyannis Port.

  Darcy intended to take him up on it. She’d grown very fond of the MacGregors. They were warm, generous and delightful people—even if one particular member of the clan was arrogant, insulting and infuriating.

  He actually thought sending her flowers was going to make up for it. She sniffed as she glanced over at the lush arrangement of three dozen silvery white roses she’d instructed the bellman to place on the conference table. They were the most beautiful flowers she’d ever seen—which he undoubtedly knew, she thought, hardening her heart as she sat at the desk.

  She hadn’t acknowledged them, or the sweet basket of button-eyed daisies that stood perkily on her bathroom counter, or the vase of stunning tropical blooms that graced the bureau in the bedroom.

  The roses had come first, she remembered, tapping her fingers on the desk. Barely an hour after she’d stormed back into her room after the conversation with Mac, the bellman had knocked on her door. The note with them had been a smooth apology she’d easily ignored.

  It was no one’s business but hers that she’d tucked the card away in her lingerie drawer.

  The daisies had come the next day, with a request that she call him when she had a moment. She’d tucked that card away too, and had ignored the request—just as she’d ignored his insistent knocking at her door the previous evening.

  This morning it was birds-of-paradise and hibiscus with a much pithier request.

  Damn it, Darcy. Open the door.

  With a short, humorless laugh, she turned on her laptop. She would not open the door, not to him. Not the literal door of her room, or the metaphorical door to her heart. It wasn’t simply mortifying that she’d allowed herself to fall in love with him, it was … typical, she thought, and clenched her teeth.

  Pitiful, lonely woman meets sophisticated, handsome man and tumbles face-first at his feet.

  Well, she’d picked herself up now, hadn’t she? He could send her an acre of flowers, a ream of notes, but it wasn’t going to change a thing.

  She had her direction now. As soon as she completed the draft of her book, she was going to a Realtor. She intended to buy a house—something big and sand colored that faced the open mystery of the desert and the majestic ring of mountains.

  Something with a pool, she decided, and skylights. She’d always wanted skylights.

  Settling here had nothing to do with Mac, she told herself. She liked it here. She liked the hot winds, the sprawling desert, the pulse of life and promise that beat in the air. Las Vegas was the fastest-growing city in the U.S., wasn’t it, and reported to be one of the most livable?

  It said so in the glossy hotel guide on her coffee table.

  Why shouldn’t she live here?

  When the phone rang she merely scowled at it. If it was Mac thinking she was the least bit interested in speaking to him, he could think again. She ignored the call, rolled her shoulders once, then dove back into the story.

  * * *

  Mac prowled his office restlessly while his mother scanned the printout of bookings for the next six months. “You’ve got a wonderful lineup here.”

  “Mmm.” He couldn’t concentrate, and it infuriated him.

  He’d only wanted to warn her about his grandfather’s tendency for plots and schemes. For her own good, he thought, moving from window to window as if to improve his view. And he’d apologized repeatedly. She didn’t even have the courtesy to acknowledge it.

  He’d come close, far too close, to using his passkey and circumventing the control on her private elevator. And that, he reminded himself would have been an unforgivable invasion of her privacy and a breach of his responsibilities to The Comanche.

  But what the hell was she doing in that suite? She hadn’t had a meal outside of it since that breakfast on the roof. She hadn’t stepped foot in the casino, or any of the lounges.

  Sulking. It was so unattractive, he decided, and sulked a bit himself.

  “It serves me right for trying to look after her,” he muttered.

  “What?” Serena glanced over, then shook her head. She knew very well she’d had only the stingiest slice of her son’s attention for the past hour. “Mac, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Do you want to see the entertainment schedule?”

  She lifted her eyebrows and waved the printout. “I’m looking at it.”

  “Oh. Right.” He turned to scowl out the window again.

  With a sigh, Serena set the papers aside. “You might as well tell me what’s bothering you. I’ll just nag you until you do anyway.”

  “Who’d have thought she could be so stubborn?” The words exploded out of his mouth as he whirled back. “If she can be this damn perverse, how the hell did she get pushed around so much?”

  Serena hummed in her throat then, crossing her legs, settled back. Wome
n rarely ruffled Mac, she mused, and took it as a very good sign. “I assume you’re talking about Darcy.”

  “Of course, I’m talking about Darcy.” Frustration simmered in his eyes. “I don’t know what the hell she’s doing, locked in that suite day and night.”

  “Writing.”

  “What do you mean, writing?”

  “Her book,” Serena said patiently. “She’s trying to finish the first draft of her book. She wants to have that done before she starts querying agents.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she told me. We had tea in her suite yesterday.”

  It took monumental control to keep his mouth from falling open. “She let you in?”

  “Of course, she let me in. I talked her into taking a short break from it. She’s a very disciplined young woman, and very determined on this. And talented.”

  “Talented?”

  “I persuaded her to let me read a few pages of the book she’d finished last year.” Serena’s lips curved up into a pleased smile. “I was impressed. And entertained. Does that surprise you?”

  “No.” He realized it didn’t, not in the least. “So she’s working.”

  “That’s right.”

  “That’s no excuse for being rude.”

  “Rude? Darcy?”

  “I’m tired of the silent treatment,” he muttered.

  “She’s not speaking to you? What did you do?”

  Mac set his teeth and shot a withering look at Serena. “Why do you assume I did anything?”

  “Darling.” She rose, crossing over to lay a hand on his cheek. “As much as I love you, you’re a man. Now, what did you do to upset her?”

  “I was simply trying to explain The MacGregor to her. I came across them with their heads together, and Grandpa started in on why didn’t I take this pretty young girl for a drive in the moonlight. You know the routine.”

  “Yes, I do.” Daniel “Subtle” MacGregor, she thought with a windy sigh. “Exactly how were you trying to explain him to her?”

  “I told her he wanted his grandchildren married, settled and producing more little MacGregors, that it appeared he’d picked her out for me. I apologized for him, and explained that I wasn’t looking for marriage, and she shouldn’t take him too seriously.”

  Serena stepped back, the better to stare at her firstborn. “And you used to be such a bright child.”

  “I was only thinking of her,” he retorted. “I thought he was setting her up. How was I supposed to know she’d asked him to meet her on business? I admit I put my foot in it.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “I apologized, several times. I sent her flowers, I’ve called—not that she’ll answer the damn phone. What the devil am I supposed to do? Grovel?”

  “It might be good for you,” Serena murmured, then laughed as he hissed at her. “Mac.” Gently she cupped her hands on his face. “Why are you so worried about it? Do you have feelings for her?”

  “I care what happens to her. She stumbled in here like a refugee, for God’s sake. She needs someone to look out for her.”

  She kept her eyes level on his. “So your feelings for her are … brotherly.”

  He hesitated just a moment too long. “They should be.”

  “Are they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Loving him, she skimmed her fingers back into his hair. “Maybe you should find out.”

  “How? She won’t talk to me.”

  “A man who has both MacGregor and Blade blood in his veins wouldn’t let something like a locked door stop him for long.” She smiled, kissed him firmly. “My money’s on you.”