Her High-Stakes Playboy. Kristin Hardy

very well know Jerry, and if he did, he could just lead her to him. And that was enough to make him her new best friend, she decided as the dealer going off shift walked away.

      Gwen sat down next to Rennie and slid some twenties across to the dealer.

      “Change a hundred,” announced the current dealer, an ample redhead with laugh lines liberally marking her middle-aged face. She slid a stack of chips across the table and used the paddle to push Gwen’s money into the bill slot.

      Gwen studied Rennie out of the corner of her eye. His brown hair was a bit long on top, disordered, she imagined, by a long night at the tables. Even as she watched him, he ran a hand through it again, pushing it out of his eyes. He didn’t hunch tensely like the gamblers she’d seen at other tables or sprawl with exaggerated confidence. He just sat loose and relaxed, a glass of what looked like whiskey at his elbow, next to the stacks of chips that attested to a combination of luck and skill. He wore jeans and a pine-green shirt patterned in faded burgundy and gold. Clearly he’d chosen more for comfort than style.

      Then he turned toward her, and she understood why the dealers had been giggling with him.

      He looked as though his habitual expression was one of wry amusement. A startling green, his eyes held a glint of devilry that invited her to join in. His sideburns were just a bit long, making him look a bit like some nineteenth-century rake. A day’s worth of beard darkened his jaw.

      And his mouth…

      Adrenaline skittered through her veins.

      “Welcome to the fun house,” he said.

      The dealer shuffled the decks and refilled the shoe.

      Flirt, Gwen thought feverishly. Keep him talking. Nina wouldn’t be struck dumb by his looks. Nina would be enjoying herself. “You looked like you could use a little company.”

      “What I could use is luck. Did you bring any with you?” He looked her over.

      Gwen glanced at his stacks of chips. “You don’t look like you’re having any problems with Lady Luck to me.” Lady Luck probably fell for that killer grin just like every other woman he met. She couldn’t be thinking about that now, though. She had to strike up a relationship with Rennie—and fast. If she let him walk away, she gave up her link to Jerry.

      “Can I get you something to drink?” A waitress stood at Gwen’s elbow, tray in hand.

      What to choose, Gwen wondered. She’d prefer white wine, but that didn’t really fit with her profile. A martini, maybe? Or… “A cosmopolitan, please.” At the expectant look of the dealer, Gwen pushed out two five-dollar chips. Her natural leaning was to bet a dollar at a time. Nina, though, wouldn’t do anything by halves. Nina would take chances.

      With brisk efficiency the dealer laid the cards out. Gwen worked to concentrate. It wouldn’t do her any good to have found Rennie if she wound up broke and leaving the table in fifteen minutes. And she wasn’t about to put up another hundred. She’d already dipped into her savings account to finance the trip; she was going to make it last.

      Her hand held an ace and a two, for a soft thirteen. The dealer had a seven showing and Rennie had a four. He took a sip of his whiskey and tapped his cards to indicate a hit. Gwen couldn’t tell if the three he got satisfied him or not, but he didn’t bust. He took a sip of whiskey and glanced over at her with interest. “Waitin’ on you, darlin’.”

      Gwen tapped her cards, embarrassed to have been caught watching him. The seven she drew made her forget all about it, though. The dealer drew a nine and flipped over her hole card to show eighteen. Gwen’s surge of triumph was probably completely out of proportion to the fifteen dollars she’d won, but it was a good way to start.

      Rennie turned over his cards to show a four and a nine and gave her that devilish smile again. This time it sent a pulse of adrenaline through her system that had nothing to do with nerves. “Looks like you brought me that luck.”

      “Maybe I’ll stick around,” she said carelessly, picking up the chips the dealer slid her way.

      “Maybe you should.” He had a way of looking at her as though she were the only thing in his field of view that interested him, as though the game were irrelevant now that she’d arrived.

      Her cosmopolitan appeared at her elbow.

      He raised an eyebrow. “Girlie drinks?”

      “A woman’s got to do what a woman’s got to do.”

      “And I’m sure you do it well.” He lifted his whiskey and touched it to her glass.

      Cool and sweet, the drink slid down her throat easily.

      The dealer coughed. “Bets, please.”

      Gwen studied her bet circle. Aggressive but not foolish. She slid six five-dollar chips into the circle.

      Rennie gave her that look again, the one that said he knew exactly what she was thinking and it amused him. “Living large?”

      “Feeling lucky.”

      And her feeling was borne out when the dealer busted, leaving them both ahead.

      “So, you out here for business or pleasure?” she asked casually.

      “Business, but no reason it has to be all work. How about you?”

      “Pleasure. I was supposed to meet a friend named Jerry, but he had to bail.” This, of course, was his lead-in to talk about his own friend named Jerry, but he didn’t bite.

      Instead he just raised an eyebrow and pushed out a couple of chips. “A friend friend or just a friend?”

      Gwen flushed. “Just a buddy.”

      “His loss is my gain.” Rennie shifted in the chair. He had broad shoulders on what looked like a rangy build. That was all right—she liked leanly built men. He gave her a slow smile that had her stomach turning cartwheels.

      Gwen blinked. Wait a minute. Back up. This was not part of the program. It was one thing to flirt and convince him she was interested. It was another thing to do it so well she convinced herself. He was the enemy. She needed to remember that. Get close, sure, but keep her distance.

      The dealer flipped them a new hand with quick, economical motions. Gwen checked her hole card and tapped for another. Rennie did, too, but he took it too far and busted.

      “Bummer,” Gwen said, stacking her chips.

      “I thought I had enough breathing room.”

      “You know what Penn and Teller say—Las Vegas is powered by the Hoover Dam and bad mathematics.”

      He studied her and took a swallow of whiskey. “That’s a pretty cynical opinion for a player.”

      “I look at it as a challenge.” She tipped her glass to take a drink and found to her surprise that it was nearly empty.

      “And you like challenges?”

      “I think they make life a little more interesting.”

      “You don’t look much like the type who likes to be bored.” He pushed a short stack of chips into his betting circle.

      “How about you?”

      He gave her that smile again and her pulse bumped a bit. “I’m all for excitement.” He considered. “Then again, there’s something to be said for just hanging.”

      Gwen checked her cards. “Just you and your buddies. You know, whoever you’re here with?”

      “Not necessarily,” he answered, tapping the table for another hit. “My buddies can fend for themselves.”

      “Are they around?”

      He gave her an amused look as she moved to hold. “You seem awfully interested in my friends. A guy could take it kind of personally.”

      “I