Page 11 of Tainted Love

“I’m a killer who took the night off to play cards with you.” She twitches at the word. “Show me your hand, Lucy Vaughn.”

She inhales a deep breath while I stare at the cards pressed against her small, rising chest. Finally, she tosses them down and my eyes fall to the floor.

A straight flush. Hearts.

My jaw drops. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Lucy smiles and raises her glass to her pink lips. “Do you have any twos, Mr. Hart?”

Chapter 3

Lucy

“Well, I must say, Ms. Vaughn. You’ve impressed me.”

I grin behind my drinking glass. “And I must say, Mr. Hart… you’ve disappointed me.”

Dante stares at me with narrow eyes and I look at the fire to keep from getting entranced again. How long has it been since we sat down here? An hour? Two? If the empty whiskey bottle and the large stack of cash next to my knee are any indication, it’s been a long while.

“Poker hasn’t always been my game,” he admits.

“Oh, you don’t have to make excuses for yourself.” I chuckle. “I certainly won’t.”

He presses his lips together, but his wondrous blue eyes show no annoyance at all. It’s almost sickening. “Where did you learn to play like this?” he asks.

I shrug. “My father taught me.”

He shakes his head. “No, your father is in gambling debt up to his eyeballs. He never wins. This came from somewhere else…”

“The rules I learned from him,” I say. “The rest… well, watch a man make the same mistakes repeatedly and you tend to learn from them yourself.”

Dante nods and leans back against the edge of the fireplace. I pretend not to notice his gaze tracing a line from my toes to my neck and down again. The heat of the fire strikes my face, blending with the stiff drink to tamper with my resolve.

Who is this man anyway? Stunning blue eyes. Strong physique. Handsome as fuck. How did a man like this end up working for the worst crime family in all of Chicago?

“Dance for me.”

I blink. “What?”

“Dance for me,” he says again. “Please.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t work for free.”

He shrugs. “I’ll pay you.”

“I doubt you’d appreciate it, Mr. Hart. You don’t exactly seem cultured.”

“I might surprise you.”

My toes twitch. “There’s no music.”

“Imagine it,” he says, leaning forward. “Please, Ms. Vaughn. Just one dance.”

I bring my glass to my lips and take a healthy sip. The alcohol trembles my throat, dulling my nerves but my heart keeps skipping.

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