Page 112 of A Forgotten Promise

He reaches into his inner pocket and drops a small box on the table. “Sit down, Saar.” He doesn’t say please, but the tone is pleading. Tired. Like he has had enough of our dynamic.

Was I wrong? This is not a game but perhaps a peace offering?

And the obedient girl in me—I guess some habits aren’t as easy to break—crosses the room and sits opposite from him on the other loveseat.

“Let’s play.” He gestures to the table.

It’s a deck of cards he retrieved from his pocket. “You carry cards around?”

“This club provides anything.”

“And you want to play cards?”

He raises his eyebrow. “Or you can suck my cock.”

“Fuck you, Cormac.” I stand.

He chuckles. “Come on, one game. If you win, I’ll get the marriage certificate in the morning.”

That stops me. “Why should I believe you?”

He gestures to the seat and pushes the deck toward me. “You just have to take the leap.”

I came here to blackmail him into marrying me. But this may be easier. I sit, my eyes glued to him.

His gaze holds mine hostage, and I wish I could know what he is thinking, but the man is unreadable.

“Can I choose the game?” I ask.

“Sure.”

“Blackjack?”

I need skills, not luck with this card game, and blackjack is probably my safest bet. But I need something else. I hug myself, rubbing my upper arms.

He nods and then frowns. “Are you cold?”

“A bit.” I shrug.

Corm takes off his jacket and comes to wrap it round my shoulders. I slip my arms into his long sleeves. Not ideal, but it will do.

His warmth envelopes me through the fabric he’s just shed, and I revel in it for a moment. His scent is now strong and distracting.

I shuffle the cards, the familiar motion calming my nerves. His gaze on me remains sharp and unyielding. This feels like a test. Why cards?

Focusing on my breathing, I will my hands to stop trembling. I cut the deck and deal the cards. “What if I lose?”

“You will have to find another way to get your trust fund.” He shrugs and loosens his tie.

“Can’t wait to get rid of me, darling?”

He picks his cards but doesn’t look at them, piercing me with his eyes. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and I fidget in my chair. The air between us fills with tension—the good and the bad kind.

I can’t rip my gaze away from his lips. He smirks and looks at his cards. I pick up my hand. A five and a six. Not even close to winning, but I don’t need luck. I have skills.

“Hit or stay?” I keep my voice calm while my heart thrums in my temples.

I enjoy playing cards, but only when I know the stakes. Something tells me the damn marriage certificate isn’t it. Or, at least, it’s not the endgame.

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