The Winning Hand by Nora Roberts

toward each other.”
    “Maybe you haven’t looked closely enough. I find you very appealing, physically.” He watched her blink in surprise as he slid a little closer. “Fresh,” he murmured, giving in to the urge to cup a hand at the back of her slender neck. “And lovely.”
    He saw her gaze flit down to his mouth and return, startled, to his eyes. He heard the little rush of breath shudder through her lips. It was tempting, very tempting, to close the slight distance, to complete the circle she’d spoken of. But she trembled under his hand, a trapped bird not entirely sure of her wings.
    “There,” he said quietly. “That shut you up. Nervous now?”
    She could only move her head in short, rapid nods. She could all but feel his mouth on hers. It would be firm and hot and so clever. The fingers at the back of her neck had stroked some wild nerve to life. She could feel it careen through her, bumping her pulse to light speed.
    The dawning awareness in her eyes, the flicker of panic behind it had his fingers tightening briefly on her nape. “You shouldn’t dare a gambler, Darcy.” He gave her neck what he hoped was a friendly squeeze before easing back. “Dessert?”
    “Dessert?”
    “Would you like some?”
    “I don’t think I could.” Not with her stomach muscles in knots and her fingers too unsteady to hold a fork.
    He smiled slowly. “Want to try your luck?” When she swallowed, he added, “At the tables.”
    “Oh. Yes. I think I would.”

    “What should I play?” she asked him when they walked into the noise and lights of the casino.
    “Lady’s choice.”
    “Well.” She bit her lip, tried to keep her mind off the fact that he had his hand at the small of her back. It did no good to tell herself she had no business thinking of him that way. “Maybe blackjack. It’s just adding up numbers, really.”
    He ran his tongue around his teeth. “That’s part of it. Five-dollar table,” he decided. “Until you get your rhythm.” He led her toward a vacant chair in front of a dealer he knew to be both patient and personable with novices. “How much do you want to start with.”
    “Twenty?”
    “Twenty thousand’s a little steep for a beginner.”
    Her mouth dropped open, then curved on a laugh. “I meant dollars. Twenty dollars.”
    “Dollars,” Mac said weakly. “Fine—if you think you can stand the excitement.”
    When he reached for his wallet, she shook her head. “No, I have it.” She pulled a twenty out of her bag. “It feels more like mine this way.”
    “It is yours,” he reminded her. “And at twenty, not a hell of a lot’s going to be mine again.”
    “I might win.” She slid onto a stool beside a portly man in a checked jacket. “Are you winning?” she asked him.
    He tipped a beer to his lips and winked at her. “I’m up about fifty, but this guy.” He gestured toward the dealer. “He’s tough.”
    “You keep coming back to my table, Mr. Renoke,” the dealer said cheerfully. “Must be my good looks.”
    Renoke snorted, then tapped his cards. “Give me a little one, pal.”
    The dealer turned up a four. “Your wish, my command.”
    “There you go.” Renoke waved a finger over the cards to indicate he’d hold with nineteen. When the dealer held on eighteen, Renoke patted Darcy’s shoulder. “Looks like you brought me some freshluck.”
    “I hope so. I’d like to play,” she added.
    “Changing twenty,” the dealer announced and shoved the bill into a slot with a clear plastic box. Darcy neatly stacked her four five-dollar chips. “Bets?”
    “Put a chip on the outline there,” Mac instructed.
    The cards moved quickly, slipping out of the shoe and snapping lightly on felt. She was dealt a six and an eight, with the dealer showing ten.
    “What do I do now?”
    “Take a hit.”
    She tilted her head, looked up at Mac. “But I’m beating him, and a ten would put me over, wouldn’t it?”
    “Odds are his down card is over two. Play the