The Winning Hand, Page 8

  She was just unwrapping a new blouse when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Clutching the blouse, she stared at Mac as he stopped at the top of the suite.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. I thought everyone had gone.”

  “I stayed,” he said simply, then crossed to her. He glanced down at the blouse she continued to hold in white-knuckled fingers. “Nice color.”

  “Oh. Yes. Your mother picked it out.” Feeling foolish, Darcy relaxed her fingers and turned away to hang the blouse in the closet. “I was so rude, leaving that way. I’ll apologize to everyone.”

  “There’s no need for that.”

  “Of course there is.” She spent several seconds adjusting the shoulders of the blouse on the padded hanger as if their evenness was of monumental importance. “It’s just that everything seemed to hit me all at once.” She went back to unfold slacks, then repeated the procedure, lining up the edges of the hem perfectly.

  “That’s understandable, Darcy. It’s a lot of money. It’ll change your life.”

  “The money?” Distracted, she glanced back, then fluttered her hands. “Well, yes, I suppose the money’s part of it.”

  He angled his head. “What else?”

  She started to pick up a box, then set it back on the bed and wandered to the window. It still felt odd to stand there against the glass, with a world she’d only begun to touch spread like a banquet at her feet.

  “Your family’s so … beautiful. You have no idea what you have. You couldn’t. They’ve always been yours, you see, so how could you know.”

  She watched the signs of the casino across the street, beckoning, daring, inviting. Win, Win, Win.

  It wasn’t so terribly hard to win, she thought. But it was much, much trickier to keep the prize.

  “I’m a watcher,” she told him. “I’m good at it. That’s why I want to write. I want to write about things I see, or want to see. Things I’d like to feel or experience.” She lifted her hands to rub her arms, then made herself turn back to him. “I watched your family.”

  She looked so lovely, he thought. And so lost. “And what did you see?”

  “Your father playing with your mother’s hair when they sat together in the lounge last night.” She saw the confusion in his eyes and smiled. “You’re used to seeing them touch each other—casually, affectionately, so you don’t notice when it happens. Why would you?” she murmured, swamped with envy. “He put his arm around her, and she leaned into him, sort of …” Eyes half-closed, she moved her body as if yearning for another. “Settled into the curve because she knew exactly how she’d fit there.”

  Darcy closed her eyes, laid a hand over her own heart as she brought the scene back into focus. “And while he talked to me, he toyed with the ends of her hair. Tangled them, combed them through, wound the strands around his finger. It was lovely. She knew he was doing it, because there was a little light in her eyes. I wonder if it takes another woman to recognize that.”

  She opened her eyes again and smiled. “I never saw my parents touch that way. I think they loved each other, but they never touched that way, that easy and wonderful way. Some people don’t. Or they can’t.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “I’m not making sense.”

  He could see it himself, now that she’d painted it for him. And she was right, he realized. It was so much a part of his life, a part of his family, he didn’t notice it.

  “Yes, you are.”

  “It’s more—it’s all of it. Everyone piling in here a little while ago. You were part of it again, so you couldn’t have really seen it. The way your grandfather hugged your mother. So strong and tight. For that instant she was the center of his world, and he of hers. And more, when she sat on the arm of his chair. He laid his hand on her knee. Just put it there, to touch. It was so lovely,” she said quietly. “The way she and your uncle argued about where to have dinner, and laughed at each other. All the little looks and pats and the shorthand of people who know each other, and like each other.”

  “They do like each other.” He could see that her eyes were overbright again, and reached out to touch her hair. “What is it, Darcy?”

  “They were so kind to me. I’m taking money from them, a lot of money, but everyone’s drinking champagne and laughing and congratulating me. Your mother put her arm around my shoulders.” It made her voice break, forced her to fight to steady it. “It sounds ridiculous, I know it, but if I hadn’t gone up right then, I would have grabbed on to her. Just grabbed on and held. She would have thought I was crazy.”

  Lonely? Had he thought she was lonely? He understood now the word didn’t come close. “She would have thought you wanted a hug.” He slipped his arms around her, felt her tremble lightly. “Go ahead, grab on to me. It’s all right.”

  He eased her closer, pressed his cheek to her hair. He could feel her hesitation, the battle of emotions that had her standing very still. Then her arms came around him, wrapped tight. Her breath came out on a long, broken sigh.

  “We’re big on grabbing in my family,” he told her. “You won’t shock any of us if you take hold.”

  It felt so good to press up against the strong wall of his chest, to hear the steady beat of his heart, to smell the warmth of his skin. Closing her eyes, she let herself absorb the comfort of his hand stroking gently over her back.

  “It’s just so foreign to me. All of this. All of them. You. Especially you.”

  Her voice was husky and low. Her hair was soft under his cheek and fragrant as a meadow. Affection, he reminded himself as her slender little body molded to his, not lust. Friendship, not passion.

  Then she turned her head as if to sniff his neck and need stirred restlessly.

  “Better now?” He started to ease away, but she clung. His lips brushed her temple, lingered. He held her, let her hold him and told himself it was only because she needed it.

  “Mmm.”

  The dress had thin straps crossing over the smooth flesh of her back. His fingers began to trace along them, under them. She moved in a long, catlike stretch under the caress, jangling his brain.

  It was the only excuse he had for the fact that his lips trailed down her face, found hers and plundered.

  He forgot to be gentle. She was pressed against him in the stream of sunlight, all gold and soft and willing. The kiss demanded surrender, and she gave it, flowing into his arms like heated wine, her mouth yielding under the assault of his as if it had only been waiting. Had always been waiting.

  Her mind was spinning in slow, expanding circles that spiraled up toward something desperately wanted. The strength of him, the power of those arms that wrapped possessively around her was desperately exciting. Knowing she was helpless against him made her quiver, yet she gloried in the power of him.

  This was need, she thought wildly. This, finally this. A wild burst of light and energy and raw nerves. The thumping heart, the racing pulse, the explosion of heat.

  Thrilled, she gave herself to it, to him.

  In one strong stroke, his hands slid down her back, over the curve of her bottom, lifting her, pressing heat desperately to heat. His mouth swallowed her gasps, greedily, ravenously. He could imagine himself filling her, buried in her, taking her where they stood and driving into her until the hot ball of frustration broke free and gave him peace.

  He caught himself as his hands gripped those delicate straps over her back, at the point of rending. He looked down into her eyes, wide, unseeing and still swollen from tears.

  He set her aside so abruptly she staggered, scalded her with a look when she crossed her hands over her heart as if to hold it in place.

  “You’re too damn trusting.” The words whipped out at her, but the lash was for himself. “It’s a miracle you survived a day on your own.”

  God, my God, was all she could think. Was the blood supposed to burn like this? It was a wonder her skin didn’t burst into flame. She lifted her fingers to her mouth where her lips continued to
tingle and ache. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

  He’d come close, dangerously close, to ripping off her clothes, shoving her against the wall and taking her without thought or care. Now, he thought, she was standing there, staring at him out of eyes filled with arousal and—worse, much worse—trust.

  “The hell I won’t.” He said it roughly, hoping to save them both. “You don’t know me, and you don’t know the game, so I’ll tell you, don’t bet against the house. The house always wins in the end. Always.”

  She couldn’t catch her breath. “I won.”

  His eyes flashed. “Stick around,” he challenged. “I’ll get it back. And more. More than you’ll want to lose. So be smart.”

  His hand whipped out, cupped the back of her neck firmly. He wanted her to cringe. If she did he’d be able to resist all the things he wanted to do. “Run away. Take the money and run far and fast. Buy yourself a house with a picket fence and a hatchback in the driveway and shade trees in the yard. Because my world isn’t yours.”

  She almost shuddered at his words. But if she did, she’d prove everything he said was true. “I like it here.”

  His lips curved into something between a smile and a sneer. “Honey, you don’t even know where you are.”

  “I’m with you.” And that, she realized with a fresh and towering thrill, was all she really wanted.

  “You think you want to play with me?” He angled his hand at the back of her neck to bring her to her toes. “Little Darcy from Kansas? First raise and you’ll fold your cards and scramble.”

  “You don’t scare me.”

  “Don’t I?” He damn well should, he thought. And he damn well would, for her own good. “You haven’t even got the guts to risk having some jerk back home find out where you are. You’d rather sneak out of your own town like a thief instead of taking a stand. Now you think you can play with the high rollers?” With another short laugh, he released her and turned to leave. “Not bloody likely.”

  His words were a sharp slap of shame to an exposed cheek. She winced from the blow but steadied herself. “You’re right.”

  He stopped at the top of the stairs and turned back. She was still standing by the window with her arms wrapped tight around her body, her eyes lit with a passion that contrasted sharply with the defensive stance.

  He wanted, quite desperately, to go back, gather her close again and just hold. Not simply because she needed it, he realized with something akin to panic. Because he did. Outrageously.

  Her breath came out in one explosive puff. “You’re absolutely right. How do we do it?”

  The images that careened through his mind had him taking careful hold of the banister. “Excuse me?”

  “How do we inform the press? Do you just give out my name, or do we have to do something like a release or a press conference?”

  The combination of shame and irritation he felt was lethal. He took a moment, rubbing a hand over his face as he searched for control. “Darcy, there’s no point in rushing into that.”

  “Why wait?” She stiffened her spine. “You said that it was going to leak shortly anyway. I’d prefer to have some control. And I can hardly expect you to have any respect for me if I continue to hide this way.”

  “This isn’t about me. It’s long past time you started thinking not just for yourself, but thinking of yourself.”

  “I am. And it is about me.” Odd, she thought, how saying that, realizing that, felt so calming. “It’s about taking a stand, not being pushed around, pressured or maneuvered. I might not be a high roller, Mac, but I’m ready to play my hand.”

  She turned, moving quickly before she could change her mind, and picked up the bedside phone. “Do you call the press, or do I?”

  He studied her another moment, waiting for her to fold. But her eyes stayed level, her jaw remained set. Saying nothing, he walked to her, took the phone out of her hand, then punched in an extension.

  “This is Blade. I need you to set up a press conference. We’ll use the Nevada Suite. One hour.”

  “I pushed her into this.” Behind the service entrance of the Nevada Suite, Mac shoved his hands into his pockets and watched as Caine briefed Darcy on the press conference.

  “You gave her breathing room,” Serena corrected. “If you hadn’t run interference, she’d have been dropped straight into the media days ago. Without time to settle and prepare.” She gave her son a quick, supportive pat on the arm. “And without one of the top lawyers in the country beside her.”

  “She’s not ready for this.”

  “I think you underestimate her.”

  “You didn’t see her an hour ago.”

  “No.” And though she wondered what had passed between Darcy and her son, she resisted prying. “But I’m seeing her now. And I say she’s ready.”

  Serena linked an arm through her son’s and studied the woman listening attentively to Caine. Darcy had topped the yellow sundress with a short white jacket. It was a smart look, Serena decided. Simple and sunny.

  The girl was a little pale, she mused, but she was holding her own.

  “She’s going to surprise herself,” Serena murmured. And you, she added silently. “Caine’s going to be right there with her—and all of us are here, backing her up.”

  Justin slipped through the heavy door, nodded to his son, laid a hand lightly on his wife’s shoulder. “We’re set. The natives are a bit restless. Do you want me to make the announcement?”

  “I’ll do it.” He watched the way his mother’s hand lifted to lie over his father’s, the way their bodies brushed. The unit they made. It was something so natural to both of them, he realized he wouldn’t have noticed, or would have taken it for granted. Until Darcy.

  “I haven’t appreciated you enough.” He covered their joined hands with his. “Not nearly enough.”

  Justin frowned thoughtfully as Mac walked to Darcy. “Now, what was that about?”

  “I’m not sure.” Serena smiled, a bit mistily. “But I like it. Let’s go keep The MacGregor distracted so Darcy can get through this smoothly.”

  Darcy was terrified. Everything Caine had told her was already jumbled into mush in her head. Pride kept her rooted to the spot even when her imagination conjured a picture of herself running like a rabbit.

  Her heart drummed hard staccato beats in her head as Mac came toward her.

  “Ready?”

  Time to stop running, she told herself. “Yes.”

  “I’m going to go in, give them a brief rundown, then you’ll come in and field some questions. That’s all there is to it.”

  He might as well have told her she was to perform a tap dance while juggling swords. But she nodded. “Your uncle explained how it works.”

  “The girl’s not a moron,” Daniel barked. “She knows how to speak for herself. Don’t you, lass?”

  The bright blue eyes demanded confidence. “We’re about to find out.” She squared her shoulders and walked to the side door to peek out. “So many.” Her stomach did a painful lurch as she scanned the dozens of faces in the ballroom. “Well.” She stepped back. “One or a hundred, it’s the same thing.”

  “Don’t answer anything you’re not comfortable with,” Mac said briefly, then stepped out.

  The noise level rose with rustling movements and speculative murmurs as he climbed the short stairs to a long platform.

  Confidence, Darcy reflected, watching the way he moved, the easy way he stood behind the dais and spoke into the microphone. His voice was clear, his smile easy. When laughter broke out among the gathered reporters, she blinked.

  She hadn’t heard the words, just the tone. She understood he was setting a casual and friendly one.

  It was so easy for him, she thought. Facing strangers, thinking on his feet, being in control. The sea of faces didn’t have his nerves jangling, the shouted questions didn’t shake his poise in the least.

  “Okay?” Caine put a hand to the small of her back.

  She drew in a b
reath, held it, let it out. “Okay.”

  Attention shifted in a wave when she stepped out. Cameras whirled as photographers jockeyed for a better angle. Television crews zoomed in. A barrage of questions was hurled at her the minute she stepped up to the mike. She jolted a little when Mac reached down to adjust it for her.

  “I—” Her voice boomed back at her, making her want to giggle nervously. “I’m Darcy Wallace. I, ah …” She cleared her throat and struggled to dredge something coherent out of the jumble of thoughts in her mind. “I hit the jackpot.”

  There was laughter, some appreciative applause. And the questions shot out too fast to separate one from the other.

  “Where are you from?”

  “How do you feel?”

  “What are you doing in Vegas?”

  “What happened when …”

  Why? How? Where?

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice frayed around the edges, but when Mac moved closer, she shook her head fiercely. She would do this, she promised herself. And she would do it without making a fool of herself. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I’ve never talked to reporters before, so I don’t really know how. Maybe it would be better if I just told you what happened.”

  It was easier that way, like telling a story. As she spoke, her voice steadied, and the fingers that had gripped the edges of the dais like a lifeline relaxed.

  “What was the first thing you did when you realized you’d won?”

  “After I fainted?” There was such quick laughter at her answer that her lips curved up in a smile. “Mr. Blade gave me a room—a suite. They have beautiful rooms here, like something out of a book. There’s a fireplace, and a piano and gorgeous flowers. I don’t think it all even started to sink in until the next day. Then the first thing I did was buy a new dress.”

  “Lass has a way with her,” Daniel announced.

  “She’s caught them.” Serena beamed approval. “She has no idea how charming she is.”

  “Our boy’s taken with her.” Daniel wiggled his eyebrows when his daughter sent him an arched look. “See how he hovers over her, like he’s ready to scoop her up and cart her off if anyone gets too close. He’s smitten.”

  She wasn’t quite ready to give him the satisfaction of agreeing. “They’ve only known each other a few days.”

  Daniel merely snorted, then leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “And how long did it take you to catch this one’s eye?” He jerked a shoulder toward Justin.

  “Slightly less time than it took me to realize you’d maneuvered us together in the first place.”

  “Married thirty years now, aren’t you?” Unrepentant, Daniel grinned. “No, don’t thank me,” he continued, patting her cheek. “A man’s got to look after his family, after all. They’ll make pretty babies together, don’t you think, Rena?”

  She only sighed. “At least try to be subtle about it.”

  “Subtle’s my middle name,” Daniel said with a wink.

  “Good job.” Caine gave Darcy a congratulatory embrace the minute the door closed behind them.

  “It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.” Relief flooded through her. “And now it’s over.”

  “It’s just beginning,” Caine corrected, sorry to put that doe-on-alert look back in her eyes. “Mac will keep them busy for now,” he said, nodding as his nephew went out to bat cleanup for the press.

  “But I told them everything.”

  “They’re always going to want more. And you can expect dozens of calls requesting personal interviews, photos. Offers for your life story.”

  “My life story.” That, at least, made her laugh. “I barely had a life before a few days ago.”

  “The contrast is only going to add fuel. The tabloids are going to play with this, so be prepared for speculation that you were directed to Vegas by psychic aliens.”

  When she laughed, he guided her at a quick pace toward the service elevator. He didn’t want to frighten her, or dull that bloom of success, but knew she needed to be prepared.

  “The calls to offer you tremendous investment opportunities are going to start, too. Financial advisors, legitimate and not, are going to camp on your doorstep. The stepsister of the cousin of the kid who sat behind you in first grade is going to try to hit you up for a loan.”

  “That would be Patty Anderson,” Darcy improvised with a weak smile. “I never liked her anyway.”

  “Good girl. Do yourself a favor. Don’t answer the phone for a couple of days.