Page 19 of Below Deck Billionaire
He’d revealed to them what he hadn’t been willing to admit to himself – he was seriously into Tiffany Wainwright. And they were going to be relentless.
Theo’s gaze slid to Tiffany looking all cool and controlled andyou can’t touch thisin her collared white and red pin-striped blouse, the long sleeves ending in broad cuffs at her wrists, the bodice tight. Her dove-grey, narrow-strapped vest skimmed around the outer curve of her breasts to button just under them, framing their fullness to perfection.
Finishing off the ensemble, a large bowtie the exact colour of the pin-stripes nestled against her throat at the juncture of her two collar points.
And Theo wanted nothing more than to reach across and tug it open.
He recognised it as the uniform worn by all female croupiers on any of the Oceanós cruise ships. No wonder so many men lost money at their tables. Hell, had he known that Tiffany looked this damn good in it, he’d have found it impossible to resist staying a night or two on theHellenic Spiritjust to sit down at her table.
Despite his one-and-done rule.
‘She’s a real treat,’ he murmured, his gaze meeting hers. A treat he wanted to steal away to his suite, tear away her wrapping and gnaw on at his leisure.
A barely discernible lift of her right eyebrow told Theo she knew exactly what he was thinking before her gaze slid to Rufus. ‘Well, gentlemen, why don’t you head over to the bar and grab a drink and I’ll get you set up with some chips.’
‘Mmm,’ Fabian said, winking at Theo. ‘Bossy, too.’
Theo narrowed his eyes at Fabian, who merely smiled. Bastards were going to have a lot of fun at his expense. After all, who knew better than good friends how to really push buttons?
Although not, as it turned out, as much as Tiffany in that damn tie.
‘I think,’ Irving announced, looking around, ‘this is giving martini vibes.’
With a ceiling covered in red and black balloons, cocktail glasses full of red and black dice and thick gold rope looped to form an official-looking VIP section, the saloon had been transformed.
‘Shaken not stirred,’ Ben agreed heartily. ‘Is that possible, Kelly?’
Behind the bar, Kelly smiled. ‘Shaken, stirred or dirty as you please. Everything is possible.’
Theo meandered to the bar with his friends as Kelly served drinks and they boasted about their prowess at the table and the wins they’d had, but Theo was far too distracted to be paying much attention to the smack talk. Tiffany had stepped out from behind the table to reveal the skirt of her uniform, which should surely be illegal anywhere on sea or land.
It wasn’t that it was short because, coming to just above her knee, it clearly wasn’t. Or that she was poured into it although, God help him, she wore it like a second skin. It was the way she walked in it as she paced back and forth between tables, swinging her hips in that way men didn’t.
Purely subconscious but utterly female.
And how it flared out from the cinch of her waist to encase an ass a man could hold on to and thighs he could happily drown in. Thighs that belonged in a Rubens painting.
Then there were her calves and the way her six-inch, black, fuck-me stilettos set them off, the muscles bunching and loosening with every footfall, the action almost as mesmerising as the swing, swing, swing of her hips.
‘What do you reckon, Theo?’
Dragging his attention back to the bar, he faced five – six, if he counted Kelly, who also seemed to be picking up the vibe he apparently couldn’t stop putting down – amused expressions waiting for his response. With no idea what they’d been talking about, he quickly scanned their faces and took a punt. ‘I agree,’ he said with a nod.
Everyone laughed as Hugo handed him his martini. ‘Good guess.’
* * *
Three hours later, the evening was winding down with just Rufus and Theo holding chips as they played another round of poker. Aside from the undercurrent buzzing between her and Theo, Tiffany had enjoyed herself immensely. With only six people to worry about and keep track of at the table, it was the easiest croupier job she’d ever done, especially with the increasingly tipsy Englishmen placing wilder and wilder bets.
It had been like taking candy from a baby.
Theo’s friends were funny and charming, and it was evident from their camaraderie and their stories how close they were. They teased each other mercilessly and it was interesting seeing Theo in a different light as he laughed at the shared anecdotes.
She’d already seen the playboy who had shamelessly flirted with her at the wedding making no secret of his attraction. She’d seen the boss. The singular alpha one who had ordered her off the boat, the egalitarian one who had eaten with the crew and the off-the-clock one who had told her about hispappou. And now she was seeing him as the uni friend, and the clear affection these men held for him – not because of his money or his rep or his bloody great superyacht, but because of their shared history – told her more about him than any night spent between his sheets.
About the kind of person he was. And hell, if that didn’t sit far too pretty in her brain.
‘Waiting on you, sir,’ Tiffany prompted Rufus, even though she knew he had a hand full of rubbish and Theo was sitting on three kings.
