The One Who Got Away. Jo Leigh

the end, they’d both win.

      The next round went by in a blur, but since the dealer busted, they both won.

      The woman sitting to his left smiled. “Where are you two from?”

      Before Taylor could speak, he nudged her lightly with his elbow. “Home base is London.”

      “Really?”

      He turned slyly to Taylor and gave her a wink before facing his neighbor again. “Yes.”

      “You don’t have a British accent.”

      “We’re trained not to.”

      She blinked. “Oh.”

      “I’m James,” he said, holding out his hand. “And this is Jinx.”

      He heard Taylor cough, which he assumed was a cover for laughter. She didn’t know that this was a game he played frequently, making up some ridiculous persona when the truth would have done just as well, but less amusingly.

      “I’m Sarah,” she said. “I live in the Valley. That’s in Southern California.”

      Ben nodded. “Ah, yes. The heart of the pornography industry.”

      Sarah’s cheeks reddened. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

      “Of course not.”

      “I work for a post-production house. But not that kind.”

      “Fascinating.”

      The cards went out again, and until the payout, the conversation ebbed. Taylor took the opportunity to elbow him.

      “What are you doing?” she whispered.

      “Having fun,” he whispered back.

      “So you fancy yourself Bond, eh?”

      “Hey, I could have called you Pussy Galore.”

      “I would have decked you if you had.”

      He grinned. “Hey, she was a real character.”

      “Only a man would say that was a real character.”

      “Sir?”

      He looked up at Angel, waiting for him to hit or stand pat. His cards, a six and five, were a surprise. He doubled down, and she hit him with a king. Twenty-one.

      Taylor didn’t say anything, just gave him a smile. But as the rest of the hands were played, he felt something at his ankle. It was Taylor’s foot. She’d slipped off her shoe, and was using her bare toes to tease him. It worked.

      He glanced at her, but the smile had become a sly grin, and her gaze had shifted to Angel, watching her shuffle as if it mattered.

      Ben said nothing, just enjoyed the feeling of her toes. He’d never been a foot man, but at the moment, he could understand the impulse. It wasn’t easy to stay still, and not touch her thigh and run his hand over that smooth skin. The image of her on his bed, naked, him holding her by the heel as he studied her pink painted nails, took hold of him and didn’t let him go until Angel coughed.

      He picked up his cards, a ten and a seven, then slipped them under his ten-dollar bet. He didn’t give a damn if he won or not. The only thing that mattered at the moment was the woman next to him.

      Just as he was about to suggest they leave, a waitress came by. She was young and pretty, as were all the cocktail waitresses in the hotel. Taylor turned to her. “I’ll have a Bloody Mary,” she said. “He’ll have a martini. Shaken, not stirred.”

      He laughed. The waitress jotted the orders without so much as a blink, then got the rest of the drink orders. So Taylor liked his game.

      He faced Sarah. “Are you here by yourself?”

      She shook her head. “I’m with three friends from work.”

      “And they are…?”

      “At the pool. But I burn so easily, it seemed kind of dumb.”

      “This is more interesting,” he said. “You can learn a lot about people by watching them gamble.”

      “Really?”

      “See that man at the Wheel of Fortune?”

      She followed his gaze and nodded when she saw the portly fellow standing next to his stool, feeding a bill into the machine. He didn’t look as if he was having a very good time. In fact, his heavy brows furrowed to match his scowl, his scalp, bald all the way back to the crown of his head, was beaded with sweat. His light cotton shirt was stretched across his ample beer belly, and there were large circles of sweat under his arms. He ignored the pull lever, pushing the maximum-bet button with the palm of his hand. As the wheels spun, his lips moved. Probably a prayer, and then a curse as he got nothing, nothing, nothing.

      “He isn’t having much luck,” Sarah observed.

      “No, it doesn’t appear he is. You know that every time he pushes the button, it’s two dollars.”

      “Oh.”

      “And since we’ve been watching him, he’s pressed that button what, twelve times? That’s twenty-four dollars. He was standing there before we sat down.”

      “Whoa, that’s a lot of money.”

      “He’s not holding a bucket, so no winnings.”

      “Yikes.”

      “Indeed. What else do you see?”

      While Sarah studied the scene, he turned to Taylor. “You realize, of course,” he whispered, “you’re not going to get away with this unscathed.”

      “What?” she asked, batting her eyelashes like the soul of innocence while she inched her toes up his calf.

      “Whatever you had planned this afternoon? Cancel it.”

      Her cheeks became pink and the gaze that met his was full of anticipation and excitement. “I don’t know,” she said. “I have to meet my mother.”

      “Meet her later.”

      “You presume, Mr. Bowman.”

      He looked at her for a long moment. Then he leaned over so his lips were an inch from the soft shell of her ear. “I’m going to make you beg for mercy.”

      She inhaled sharply, grabbed her cards with trembling fingers.

      Sarah, to his left, said, “Hey.”

      He held back his grin as he turned to his young friend. “Yes?”

      “He’s got a whole bunch of glasses stacked there. And he’s kind of swaying,” Sarah said.

      “Which means?”

      “He’s toasted. And scared. He’s lost a whole bunch of money and he’s trying to win it back.”

      “Excellent.”

      “Cool.”

      “It pays to be observant.”

      It was Sarah’s turn to grin. “Like seeing that you two aren’t from London at all. That you’ve been playing footsie for about ten minutes, and that while I’m not positive your name isn’t James, it sure as heck isn’t Bond.”

      Taylor laughed. Angel grinned, and it wasn’t because she’d dealt herself twenty-one.

      “Very good, Sarah. If you ever get tired of post-production, you’d make a good detective.”

      She smiled, mightily pleased with herself. “Is that what you really do?”

      He held out his hand. “Ben Bowman, Private Detective.”

      She shook his hand, but her gaze went to Taylor. “Are you a P.I., too?”

      “I’m a paralegal, which isn’t half