Socialite's Gamble

Hell.

Aidan swiped a hand through his short hair as a line of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. A woman’s laughter drifted across the room. The sound husky, sexy. Cara. He made a fist with the hand that had held the nape of her neck, his body recalling how silky smooth her skin had been, how the sinuous length of her had fit so damned perfectly against him. How the taste of her had been so damned fine.

‘Mr Kelly?’ The croupier recalled his attention back to the cards. ‘The bet is now with you.’

Ruthlessly reinstating his ironclad powers of concentration Aidan breathed deeply and tuned Cara Chatsfield and everyone else out. He had a good hand. A winning hand. And unless he was mistaken about Ellery’s tell, he didn’t.

With only the Korean furniture magnate, who had already bowed out of this round, left at the table after five hours of play, Aidan decided it was time to go in for the kill. Especially since he could feel his lack of sleep creeping up on him. Better to preserve what energy he had left for more pleasurable pursuits than this one.

‘I’m all-in.’ He shoved his pile of chips into the centre of the table amidst gasps from the small crowd that had gathered around.

Martin Ellery looked back at him through eyes gone a little wild. A pretty normal reaction when earlier he’d stupidly used his company as collateral to buy extra chips and he had little left to show for it.

The man was staring down the barrel of absolute ruin and Aidan was holding the gun. And he couldn’t have felt better.

Finally, after years of watching his father fade away before his eyes, Aidan was going to enjoy watching this bastard squirm.

Ellery’s upper lip twitched almost imperceptibly but Aidan didn’t know if that was because he was scared or angry. Cara’s soft words about going easy on Ellery came back to him and he ruthlessly shut her voice out. She had nothing to do with this. Nothing.

Minutes ticked by as Ellery contemplated his move and the small, fascinated crowd pressed closer.

‘Come on, Ellery,’ Aidan snapped. ‘Call or fold.’

Ellery stared down his nose at Aidan and pushed the rest of his chips forward. ‘I’ll raise you.’

Aidan snorted. He gave the man’s meagre chips a cursory glance. ‘You’ll need more than that to stay in the game, old man.’

‘You’re a bastard, Kelly.’

‘Actually, I had a father.’ Aidan’s tone hardened until it could have decimated granite. His heart shrouded in ice. ‘Now, correct me if I’m wrong.’ He frowned as if confused. ‘But you’ve already staked your business, the family cattle station and the company jet. So what else have you got up your worthless sleeve, old man, that you could possibly raise me with?’

Someone gasped but Aidan didn’t care. His attention firmly focused on the wounded animal in front of him.

Ellery swallowed, the full import of Aidan’s intentions registering on his pale Botox-heavy features and Aidan felt victory course through his veins like a caffeine rush. This was what he had waited so long to achieve. Martin Ellery on the ropes. A smirk crossed Aidan’s face as the moment of truth neared, his gaze lazy and predatory as he watched the older man. ‘Come on, Ellery,’ he drawled. ‘What else you got?’

Ellery’s gaze briefly shifted to the bar and his face took on a smugness his situation didn’t warrant. ‘I got something, Kelly. Something I know you want.’ His gaze cut to Cara Chatsfield, who was now looking across at them, her lower lip caught between two straight white teeth. ‘I’ve got her.’

Aidan felt his brow furrow. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘A night with Cara Chatsfield. That’s what I’ll raise you with.’

Aidan’s first thought was that a night would be nowhere near enough with Cara Chatsfield.

His second wasn’t so pleasant.

Ominously the events of the evening crystallised in his mind like ducks lined up at a shooting range. The Chatsfield socialite running into him at the airport, his hijacked limousine, her request for him to go easy on Ellery. That kiss. Had it been to distract him?

Another glance towards the bar revealed that she was still looking his way. Her eyes wide, and from where he sat it looked like her breathing had suddenly grown shallow as if in anticipation of later on. Give the girl an award, he thought acidly, she certainly knew her game.

Aidan’s gut knotted and the word fool ricocheted inside his head. Yes, he’d bet that kiss had been nothing more than an attempt to throw him off his game, and it very nearly had.

Anger surged through him. Anger that he’d almost been played.

‘Meet me later. After the game,’ he’d said like some eager beau.