Mistress for a Month

CHARLES glanced across the card table at an unusually quiet Renée, then sidewards at a very grim-faced Rico, and wondered what on earth had happened between those two during the past week. They’d been in good form last Friday night, hitting off each other with their usual savage but highly entertaining wit.

But tonight was a different story entirely. Tonight they were both tight-lipped and tight-fisted. The pots so far had been small, the betting abysmal. Neither Rico nor Renée seemed interested in trying to out-bluff each other the way they usually did. Rico was particularly dull. Even when he had a fairly good hand, he didn’t raise the stakes to his usual daring degree.

All in all, it was turning out to be one of the most boring poker nights Charles had ever sat through. He would much rather have stayed home with Dominique. Frankly, he couldn’t wait for the evening to end. Yet it was only ten-twenty. At least they’d be stopping soon for supper.

‘It’s your turn to deal, Charles,’ Ali reminded him. ‘We’ll make this the last hand before supper.’

‘Good,’ Charles said.

Rico agreed. All he wanted to do was finish this torture and get out of here. With a weary-sounding sigh, he started picking up the five cards Charles had dealt to him. The first was the queen of hearts. The second, the jack of hearts. When the third turned out to be the king of hearts, his own heart gave a little flutter. When the fourth proved to be the ace of hearts, his heart ceased to beat altogether.

Holy hell!

At that point, mathematical probability told Rico all he could seriously hope his last card to be was one more heart of any kind, giving him a flush. Or possibly a ten—again of any suit—completing a straight. To think that it could possibly be the ten of hearts, completing a royal flush, was a million-to-one chance. He’d heard of it happening but never seen it, let alone experienced it personally.

His fingertips clipped the edge of the table as he went to pick up his last card. Renée’s eyes immediately flicked his way. Before Rico could think better of it, his head turned and their gazes connected.

It was the first time he’d looked straight at her all night, other than when she’d first walked into the presidential suite right on eight o’clock, looking elegantly sexy in cream woollen trousers and a pale green twin set.

He had been thinking about her constantly since last Sunday’s fiasco, wondering what to do about his escalating frustration. And he’d come here tonight, still not sure what action to take. His body’s immediate and involuntary response to just the sight of her had swiftly made up his mind.

This was going to be his last night playing poker with the merry widow. Charles and Ali would have to find someone else. He would opt out of the racing syndicate as well. On top of that, he aimed to leave Sydney and go overseas for a while. He’d been offered the opportunity to take his show on the road to Italy. He intended to do just that. He had to get right away from this scene before he self-destructed.

His decisions, though sensible, had depressed him, and the evening’s card-playing so far had passed in a fog. But the four cards he now held in his hand could not help but set the adrenaline flowing in any poker player.

This time, when he looked at Renée, his excitement was not of the sexual kind.

Her smile, when it came, startled him. Was it an apology? A peace offering?

No, he swiftly realised. It was far too wry, and knowing. Clearly, she had sensed his sudden tension, and was waiting to see his reaction to his last card. Rico noted that she was already holding all five of her cards, so she knew the state of her own hand.

How cold-blooded, and clever she was!

His eyes dropped away from hers, but he felt her watch him closely as he picked up his fifth and last card.

Did he manage to hide his reaction? He believed so, but every internal muscle he owned stiffened with the effort of keeping his hands still and his expression poker-faced. After all, how often did you pick up the one card which gave you not just a great hand, but also an unbeatable one?

Unbeatable!

His heart thudded heavily in his chest as he battled to remain outwardly composed. Blood pounded through his temples. His mouth went dry.

‘How many cards do you want, Rico?’ Charles asked him somewhat impatiently.

Quite deliberately, he hesitated, before relaxing back into his chair and adopting an attitude of overconfidence. This was not how he usually acted when he had a really good hand. His aim in adopting such a manner was to confuse his opposition, to convince the others he was bluffing, otherwise they would all fold and he wouldn’t win a single cent.

And what a criminal waste that would be!

‘I think I’ll sit on what I’ve got,’ he said, tone smug, mouth twitching at the corner.

Ali frowned over at him, dark eyes puzzled. Rico smiled back at him, thinking that he would enjoy taking a few thousand of Ali’s oil-rich millions off him. The trouble was Ali was no fool. He rarely lost much at the card table. Would he smell a rat and fold, regardless?

‘So Enrico is alive tonight after all,’ Ali murmured, and discarded three cards. Charles dealt him three more. Unfortunately, Ali didn’t look thrilled with what he picked up, which meant he probably wasn’t going to take part in the betting, no matter what he thought Rico was up to. Ali wouldn’t have shown his disgust if he’d been planning on bluffing.