Chapter 1
He won me in a card game.
I know, that sounds crazy. It sounded crazy to me, too. If I hadn't had more than my share of fine champagne, I might have even slapped him in the face when he told me. But instead I stood there like an idiot, letting a stranger tell me things that should have made me blush. The odd thing was, though I'd never met him, I knew him instantly.
My stupid boyfriend, Jim, had been betting at poker, as usual. He'd been drinking copious amounts of beer too, as usual. But instead of the regular poker night with his friends from work, where the stakes involved rarely went over twenty dollars, tonight he'd found himself in a 'real' game, and was in way beyond his ken.
Amelia, my one and only truly rich friend, was throwing one of her gala bashes, complete with a veritable Who's Who list of local celebrities, wealthy business people and movers and shakers in the community. As a reporter who covered the local scene, I was familiar with a lot of them, if not personally, at least by face and name.
Amelia favored 'themes' and tonight apparently the theme was roses. Inside her lovely spacious home, everything was draped in reds, pinks, yellows and whites. There was a huge ball made entirely of roses hanging from the chandelier. The scent of the lush flowers was overpowering, rising from vases all throughout the large living and dining rooms. All the 'beautiful people' were either draped attractively over the furniture, or out in back swimming in the huge pool or soaking in the hot tub.
Jim was somewhere in the bowels of the house, at his card game, and Amelia was busy being a hostess. I had stepped out by the pool to get away from the crowd, wondering, as I usually ended up wondering when I went to these shindigs, what I was doing there.
I was smoking a cigarette and thinking about what I'd tell Amelia as I made my early 'graceful' exit. I was deciding if I felt sober enough to drive, and decided that I did. Jim, who had come with me, could find his own way home. To his own apartment. I suddenly realized, or more accurately, admitted, something which was already clearly written on the proverbial wall. Jim and I were history. We were just about to figure it out, if we hadn't already.
A deep sexy voice shook me out of my reverie.
"Nauseating habit, that."
I looked around and saw a GQ kind of guy, with dark hair and eyes. He was wearing a silk shirt, casually open at the neck, tucked into black jeans over black boots. His skin was tan, offset nicely against the pale lemon color of his shirt. He was in good shape, but not from a gym. It was the kind of long lean sinuousness that comes from skiing and playing tennis; from steering your sailboat or hiking in the Himalayas . He looked sleek and as if something was coiled inside of him. Something sexy and possibly dangerous.
In a word - he was gorgeous.
I was probably staring at him like an idiot. Pointedly, I took a long drag on my cigarette, trying to look cool and bored. It was so passé of him to criticize my smoking.
"Excuse me?" I said slowly, in my best freeze-them-in-their-tracks voice, daring him to continue.
"Smoking. It makes me sick. You'll have to quit now, you know."
"And why is that?" I asked, annoyed that this stranger, no matter how drop dead gorgeous, was harassing me about smoking; my mom and Jim did it enough.
"Because I just won you in a poker game, and I like my girls to taste sweet."
I laughed then, realizing he was just having me on. Using a very creative pickup line, I supposed. Still, I found myself intrigued, and as I mentioned, a little lacking in the judgment department, courtesy of alcohol.
"Sounds like Jim really got desperate, huh?"
"He sure did, sweetheart. And I'm here to collect on his debt." He came near and leaned in close to me. I could smell his scent, something between cinnamon, lemon and musk, as he bent down and kissed me lightly on the cheek. "You're mine, Zoë," he whispered in my ear.
This was too much. I backed away from him, ignoring the whoosh of electricity that had whipped through me when his lips touched my face. Just then I saw Jim coming outside. He was looking around, probably for me. With relief I rushed over to him. "Jim, what have you been telling this guy? He claims he won me in a poker game! What is going on?" Jim came over and hugged me. He smelled of beer and sweat. Nervous sweat.
"I know this is nuts, Zoë. I didn't think he'd win! I swear, I had the perfect hand. And I was going to win back the $2,500 I'd lost and then some - "
"$2,500! What, are you out of your fucking mind? You don't have that kind of money! Don't you know, Jim, you don't bet more than you can cover! Now you're telling me you lost $2,500? Because if you think you're going to borrow it from me, you've got another thing coming--"
Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome had come up to us. He intervened, his voice smooth and suave. I wanted to smack him; to tell him to mind his own business. Jim stepped back slightly, as the man said, "No, Jim doesn't owe me $2,500. I forgave him the debt, conditionally of course. I don't need his money. I want something else he has." He looked at me, a slow smile curving up his face, his eyes sparkling in the torches set along the poolside.
I turned to him, and said, suddenly engaging in the game, "Oh, what might that be?"
He held out his hand, smiling, and answered, "My name is David. David Turner. Jim here made a very unusual bet. He bet you, my dear. And I'm here to claim my prize."
I didn't take his hand. Instead, I pulled Jim by the arm and got him out of earshot. Any trace of a champagne high was gone, and I felt a curious knot in my stomach. "Jim, what the hell is going on? Who is this guy, and how dare you bet me in a card game! You can't bet something that doesn't belong to you! And, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not property! I'm a person!"
Jim was sweating, more than the warm summer night would warrant. He looked anxiously over that David fellow, who was looking out over the pool, where several very scantily clad sweet little things were romping in the water.
I turned back to Jim, waiting for his explanation. "God, Zoë, I had too much to drink, and I wasn't thinking very clearly. He kept harping on you. Like, how gorgeous you were, and how hot, and wondering who had come in with such a babe. I was so fucking sure I had it made! I was so sure I had the winning hand, I swear to god.
"But I was $2,500 in the hole, and even if I won the hand, I'd still be out some serious bucks. So when he said, I'll see your hundred, but I have a better idea. How about a night with your gorgeous girl friend, and we'll call it even? Well, how could I refuse? I was so sure I'd won, that it was just academic. It was a joke! I had no idea he was serious!"
Jim went on, his expression pleading, "I know it's nuts, but maybe you could humor him a little or something? Let him buy you a drink, maybe? I don't know." I didn't answer. I just stood there fuming at him. The man had tried to sell me in a card game!
He went on, his voice now a whine. "Please, Zoë. I know I'm a total jerk, but to tell you the truth, I don't know what to do! I don't have $2,500, and somehow he doesn't look like the kind of guy who will say to forget it.
"Listen, all you'd have to do is spend a couple of hours with him. What do you say? Please? I'll never ask anything of you again after this, I swear!" Then Jim did the one thing that got to me. He started to cry! The poor pathetic boy started to tear up, and he was wringing his hands. I remembered that once I had actually thought I loved the guy, and he did look so miserable standing there.
And it wasn't as if this David fellow was disgusting. He was obviously rich, and totally handsome, and apparently found me attractive! It was kind of flattering, in a sick way. I said, "All right, Jim. I'll let the man buy me a drink. But just for the record, this is the last thing you'll ask of me, because as of now, we're through."
It was as if he didn't hear the last part, or didn't care. At any rate, all he focused on was that I said I'd do it. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" he cried, catching me up in a big bear hug. "Just an evening. And you have my cell number. Just call me if you need me."
Yeah, like he'd come running to save me while I was being raped. I would say, 'Excuse me, please stop raping me a minute so I can call my useless ex-boyfriend, Jim.' I glanced over at my would-be rapist. He was looking at us now, and he smiled that slow smile again. He didn't look like a rapist. He looked like a serious babe.
Jim faded away, and I walked slowly over to the man who had won me in a bet.
"You handled that well," he remarked, grinning. "Got out of the relationship without all the usual tears and fights. And now, instead of staying at this lavish, but between us, rather dull party, you get to spend an evening with me."
"I get to, eh? Well, no offense, but you are awfully sure of yourself."
He cocked his head at me, and gave me a look that sent shivers right to my core. I hoped he hadn't noticed. Who was this guy? Instead of responding directly to my taunt, he said, "Have you got a car, or would you like to ride with me?"
Like I would really get into this stranger's car! "I have my own car. What did you have in mind?"
"You can follow me."
"To where? I don't really want another drink, to tell you the truth." My head was starting to ache slightly, as the champagne worked its poison through my system.
"My house. It's not far from here, actually."
"Sorry. I don't go to strange men's houses."
He gave me that look again; the one that seemed to bypass my brain and go right to my soul. "You know me already, Zoë. And I know you. I know what you want, and what you need. Poor Jim hadn't a clue. And I imagine none of your other boyfriends did either. That's why such a lovely sexy woman is still unattached at the ripe old age of twenty-eight. Am I right?"
"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean," I said haughtily, though something inside me was responding to whatever secret language he was speaking. He looked at me again, saying nothing.
Instead he began to walk away. Confused I called out, "Hey! Where're you going?"
"To my car. It's out front. You can follow me. Say your good byes to our lovely hostess, and meet me in the driveway. Take your time; I'll wait." I considered protesting again; refusing, but it was no contest. The man, if nothing else, had me very intrigued. And truth to tell, I didn't really think he was dangerous or would harm me if I went to his house. Something in his eyes told me I was safe.
Besides, I had Jim's cell phone number.
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