Page 92 of Tainted Blood
My breath catches.
“If you want it, that is,” he adds, leaving his next words hanging.
If you want me…
With trembling fingers, I deal us both aces, and then I “draw” my way to a cool twenty-one without hesitation.
He tips his head back and laughs, chucking his seventeen across the table. “I fucking knew you were bluffing. Dios mío, you’re good!”
“First rule of counting cards,” I tell him, fighting another smile. “When someone accuses you of being a hustler, always distract them with innocence.”
“Give me your hand.”
I do as he asks, my stomach fluttering as he slips off my old ring and replaces it with a diamond that’s so much more than Hope.
“Do you like it?” he inquires.
“Very much... What shall we play for next?”
He flicks me a wicked smirk. “Your panties.”
“What?” I sputter.
I watch his mocking gaze trail a line of heat all the way down to my pussy. “The way you keep fidgeting, muñequita, tells me what’s happening underneath your dress is pretty fucking similar to what’s been happening in my pants since you walked into this room. I want to see if I’m right.”
We’re interrupted by a beep from his phone, still lying discarded on the bar counter.
“Well?” he asks, not even glancing at it. “Do we have a deal, or not?”
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth, ignoring the fire in my cheeks as I reach for the first card from the shoe. He can toy with me all he likes, but there’s no way I’m taking my panties off and handing them over, just like that. His ego is way too big already.
“Are you flying back to me, firebird?” he murmurs suddenly, putting his hand on mine.
I shoot him a look from underneath my lashes. “Can I still keep my job? If I come back, I don’t want any of this macho, cartel, barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen bullshit—”
“Of course, you can still keep your job,” he says, sounding mildly offended that I'd even question it. “I know how important it is to you.”
“And I still want to see Edier and Sam anytime I like without you throwing a shit fit.”
“Is this a fair exchange, or a fucking landslide?” he mutters.
“And I’m redecorating your apartment because it’s not a goddamn lair. Your soul is not as black as you think it is, Santi Carrera.”
His dark eyes gleam. “What color is it, then?”
“Haven’t decided. I’ll let you know in the morning.”
“That implies you’re staying over tonight?”
“Are you going to let me play this card or not?” I say, losing my cool.
“Be my guest,” he says, smirking as he finally releases his hold on my hand.
As predicted, I draw the Ten of Clubs.
As predicted, his second card is the King of Spades. Making his total a good twenty again.
I bite my lip, preparing to revel in his disappointment when I trump him with the Ace of Hearts, as I toss the final card of the game onto the table. But the smile is instantly wiped off my face when I look down to see the Six of Spades.