Too Grand for Words (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (2 page)

“Lady, we’re gonna hit the next century before you decide,” Carlos jibed.

Still chuckling from his last joke, her attention dropped to her cards. “Hey, I’m thinking,” she said in self-defense.

“God, she’s got the case of the giggles. Bring this woman more wine,” he yelled.

“Fine, hit me.”

“It’s tempting,” he said with a dry tone.

Everyone at the table burst out laughing at the old joke.

“Shud-upppp.” She laughed, giving him a saucy look. Mr. Handsome’s eyes lit with humor, then he did something she didn’t expect—he winked at her.

A rush of excitement zipped through her. Yup—attractive beyond belief. She wondered how he’d managed to become even hotter looking after several hours. Of course, the copious amounts of wine had helped. Immediately, she gave herself a hard mental slap, grinding the heated thoughts out of her head.
Don’t go there, Moira,
she berated herself.
Keep in control.

“Hey, did ya see that?” Carlos asked, quickly raising his eyebrows a couple times.

She had, but she wished he hadn’t.

“Ya know what that means?” Carlos said.

“No, what?” she said, laughing already. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Mr. Handsome, but she could feel his eyes on her.

“He likes the lady behind ya.”

“What?” She swung around instantly.

Carlos’s face broke into an enormous grin. “Ah, you’re too easy.”

 
“Keep feeding me wine, and I might be,” she scoffed.

“I’m just kidding ya,” he said, chuckling. He shuffled the cards and gave her a sideways glance. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

She lifted one brow with good-natured suspicion. “Moira—why?”

“Because he’s dying to know.” He glanced at Mr. Handsome, his lips curling. “Just doing my duty, sir, being a good host and all.”

Mr. Handsome’s lids slid to half-mast. “No problem, Carlos, you did me a favor. I was wondering myself.”

Her chest tightened for the umpteenth time. She concentrated on her cards instead of looking his way, but it didn’t help. Damn, if she didn’t have the overwhelming urge to squirm in her chair. She resisted, trying to appear calm.

“I don’t see a wedding ring on her finger,” Carlos noted, so everyone could hear.

Her voice low, she warned, “Carlos, I don’t think matchmaker is in your job description. Deal the cards.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He darted a look at Mr. Handsome, who gave him a slow, shallow nod.

She sat back in her chair, toying with her chips while Carlos reshuffled his eight decks. In the last year, she’d changed more than she had in her entire life. Not only had she reached a milestone birthday and left her thirties in the dust, but her life’s compass had stopped spinning. Her dials, for the most part, had finally set a true course. She lived her life by her standards and her timeline now.

After cleaning up the mess of her short-lived marriage, she’d vowed never to get involved again. Being single can be lonely, married to an asshole—far worse.

She peeked at Mr. Handsome from under her bangs. Just like her ex-husband she thought. Endowed with rugged good looks and an abundance of masculine presence, he obviously could have any woman he wanted. That was the last thing she needed, not that he should have looked twice at her, but he had been, all night.

Their cocktail waitress thankfully went off duty, and a new one took over. Moira watched as Mr. Handsome stopped the girl and whispered something. She heard the girl say, “Yes, Mr. Porter.”

They continued to play, and her chips grew to a healthy mound of a thousand dollars.

“Lord, you have horseshoes up your butt tonight, little lady,” the guy two seats over said, loosening his tie. A light sheen of sweat lay on his brow. She hoped he wasn’t playing with his rent money.

She gave him a friendly grin and shrugged as the dealer turned a four to go with the four, three, and ten she’d drawn. “It’s all about guts and luck, isn’t it?”

“Must be hard sitting on that chair with those horseshoes hanging out your backside,” Carlos said, throwing the decks into the shuffler. “You’re going to get me in trouble.” He glanced at Mr. Handsome. “The house is supposed to win ya know.”

“Eh?” Laughing, she swirled the last red drops of wine in her glass. “I think the owner of this place can afford to part with a thousand dollars,” she mused.

“I think he can, too, and he wouldn’t mind losing it to you—since luck be a lady tonight.”

Moira recognized the low, sensual tones belonging to Mr. Handsome. She peered at him as his head tilted, and a small, sexy smile crossed his lips. Her gaze dropped to the table, her smile dissolving. Hard assed with sharp corners maybe—lady, definitely not.

The waitress set her drink down, and Moira gave her a healthy tip since she hadn’t had to ask for it. She took a sip and blinked. The velvety, red liquid lingered like silk on her tongue. The Merlot was smooth but bold, and different, she thought. Her brow lifted a little in surprise as her eyes strayed to Mr. Handsome. He slowly and oh so sensually caught her stare. The ballast in her stomach shifted abruptly. For a casino this large and noisy, it shrunk to an incredibly small size—just their table, and just his smile. What the hell was he looking at her like that for? No more wine for her. She’d never trust a man again, especially one who appeared so comfortable in his own skin
.

She kept expecting a woman to show up and throw her arms around Mr. Handsome. For a split second, she imagined being in those powerful arms and that perfect, rugged face turning to greet her. Wrong, wrong, definitely no more wine, she admonished herself.

He had to be married or have a girlfriend who fell into the
Miss America
category. She couldn’t count the number of times during the evening when the seat next to him had been taken by a beautiful woman, and okay, maybe some slutty ones, too. She half considered whether there might be a lineup in the bathroom, and when one struck out, she’d tag the next one to try her luck.

This must be her, Moira thought as a voluptuous blonde-haired woman, standing no less than five-ten, sat her sleek body down beside him.

“Hi, handsome,” the blonde said. “Think you can share some luck with me tonight?”

Mr. Handsome dropped his bet on the table next to his ace. He darted a quick look at Moira. She toyed with her thumbnail, trying to pretend it was more interesting.

“I think all the luck is with the beautiful woman at the end of the table tonight.”

The blonde’s smile tightened. “Well good for you, dear,” she said, gazing in Moira’s direction.

The woman only played a few hands then left.

Carlos pushed some cash down the slot in the table from a newcomer. “Strikeout number four hundred and fifty-two,” he said in a voice only loud enough for her to hear.

She burst out laughing, knowing exactly what he meant. Carlos craned his head at her and grinned. Mr. Handsome looked up at them, and she immediately put her attention on the chip she toyed with.

Obviously, other women sensed what she had—an aura of strength, assuredness, and power. A man like him brought out a woman’s carnal side. He radiated a primal temptation that called silently to the opposite sex. She knew the type. A woman couldn’t help it when her primordial
DNA
crawled out of the sludge of her heart to say, “Good specimen, go for it.” But
she
knew, and every cognitive fiber told her sludge to “get real.” She observed him with a scientific eye. Unfortunately, science gave way to sludge, and she had to admit if he stood on a marble pedestal, he’d pass for a Greek god.

Eventually, each woman got the picture and left, but it didn’t take long for another one to saunter in and take her position. Like sharks, they swirled around this poor man. He had to be used to it, being an alpha male. They especially knew their luring abilities. It was what made them so damn cocky.

She worked with nothing but, and they had a way of pissing her off immediately. The hair would rise on the back of her neck, and her hackles went up every time a dominant male tried to treat her like she had no brains or skill. She’d earned her title as one of the best in her field. She’d be damned if some new officer with a set of gold rings on his cuffs tried to flaunt his “
I’ll be telling God what to do next, but you’ll do for now
” attitude.

Mr. Handsome most likely fell in with the rest of his ilk. He wanted a woman between the sheets first, and if he wanted to keep her, he’d expect her to change. She’d learned that the hard way, and she’d never fall into the trap again.

The position next to her changed watch. Her uncanny knack of sensing trouble perked up, and something told her it had just sat down beside her. An overpowering waft of aftershave struck her nose as the newcomer swayed in his seat. If the aftershave wasn’t bad enough, the smell of rye on his breath made her eyes water. Carlos dropped a second ace in front of her. She considered her options, then threw down her extra bet and split her cards. She knew it was better to ignore whoever had sat down next to her. He smelled like trouble.

* * * *

Steven Porter sat comfortably as his chips dwindled, paying more attention to the sweet woman who, thanks to Carlos, he knew was named Moira. When Carlos made fun of her, she took it in stride and laughed harder than anyone. He enjoyed the look on her face when he had the waitress bring her the best Merlot in the casino. Entranced, he watched as she brought the glass to her lips. Only a woman who knew what she liked would recognize the wine he’d ordered, and she had. He scanned the tables around him. Strawberry daiquiris, margaritas and sickly sweet drinks sat by the hands of all the twenty-somethings. Moira wasn’t twenty, but she certainly was beautiful.

He glanced at the guy who’d taken over the chair beside her. A big kid with dark features and a gold chain dangling down his exposed chest swayed in his seat. He looked like the college football type—big, but not so brilliant. He watched as the young man turned his head to look at Moira, interest radiating on the guy’s face. Too busy watching the activity around her, she didn’t look at him.

“Keee-ute,” he heard the guy say to her, but she didn’t acknowledge him. Steven grinned because Moira didn’t think he was talking about her.

“Hey, beautiful,” the young stud said. She turned her head toward him and just as quickly looked away, obviously thinking he was talking to someone else. “You, beautiful, I’m talking to you.”

Steven watched as he felt the first flicker of irritation inside him. Obviously, the overgrown kid had too much to drink already. He looked at Carlos, who watched the newcomer as well, then rolled his eyes.

“Sweetheart, I have to buy you a drink,” he slurred.

Her brows rose beneath her bangs. “No, thanks. I’ve got one already. I’m good.”

“Ah, come on, baby, you’re just too sweet. Hey,” he said, lowering his voice, “I like older women.”

“Older huh?” she replied.

Steven stopped the grin before it rolled onto his lips. She probably wanted to cuff the rotten kid for that remark.

“Sir, would you like to buy in?” Carlos asked, drawing the young man’s attention away from her.

“I’ll take three hundred, dude.”

Steven read her expression, and it said, “How fast can you lose three hundred bucks at a twenty-dollar table?” If the guy didn’t lay off and settle down, he’d do something about it. He didn’t want her to leave.

“Hey, babe,” the drunk called to the waitress. “Get me a rye and whatever this gorgeous woman is drinking. Maybe she’ll let me get into her pants if I loosen her up.” He laughed at his own crude joke as he swung his head to look at Moira.

The waitress wrote it down and turned away with a
“better her than me”
look on her face.