Raw Heat

  “Could be,” he said, and she watched a muscle clench in his jaw. “But Emma, you can’t.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, the ache in her heart driving so deep she feared it would stop it. “Except that I am. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, sighing as he stared idly at her empty water glass on the nightstand. If he didn’t admit to feeling the same, she would feel as empty as that glass.

  “If I could turn everything off like you—” she began, but he cut her off, his voice sharp.

  “I don’t turn everything off. Fuck! I only wish I could do that. I’ve never been able to. And I’m not sure this should be a conversation for us to have right now, when you’re vulnerable.”

  She couldn’t let him off that easy. “I feel no more vulnerable now than I did an hour ago, or even a week ago. I’ve been vulnerable since this whole fucking thing started, don’t you realize that?”

  “Emma—”

  “Don’t Emma me like I’m some stupid kid you’re trying to reason with. You did this. Consequences, Damien, remember? You harped at me about them when I came to you about Benjamin’s debt, didn’t you? Well, here are your consequences: I’m falling for you now. You took me away from everything I knew, gave me a glimpse into a whole new world, and now you’re telling me I can’t have it, can’t have you. Why didn’t you know this would happen? Why didn’t you realize I never stood a chance against you?” The crack in her voice was that ache finally ripping her heart to pieces. He sat still as a statue, not looking at her, not responding, employing that horrible trick he had of making her want to fill his silence with words.

  “But you don’t care, do you? You don’t have to care. That’s what you do, ruin people’s lives; who gives a shit, fuck ’em if they didn’t know better. It’s bullshit, Damien, but congratulations. You’ve gotten what you wanted all along. You’ve beaten me. Fuck you.” She stabbed her finger into his chest to punctuate her last words, then scrambled off the other side of the bed, her knees shaking as she tried to stand.

  What did she do? Where did she go?

  She felt small, and lost, and so fucking stupid, when less than half an hour ago she had been flying somewhere up above heaven.

  Somehow, through it all, she’d forgotten that she was dealing with the devil.

  Chapter Twenty

  He let her rage at him, taking her fury, knowing he deserved every bit of it. No sense in arguing, because he had none. No sense in reasoning; she was beyond it and besides, he had no reasons beyond his own blind selfishness. When at last she fled into the bathroom and slammed the door, he sighed and stood, walking to the wall of windows to gaze out over the city that had given him everything—and now quite possibly had taken it all away.

  Of course, it wasn’t the city’s fault; it was all his.

  He couldn’t hear her, but he’d seen her upset and he could imagine her. Tears streaming, hands shaking, bottom lip trembling. The last thing he’d wanted to do was break her, but she was right. He should have seen it coming all along. He had, he’d just been so wrapped up in his own desires that he’d been careless with her fragile heart.

  She wasn’t as tough as she liked people to think.

  There was no response when he tapped on the closed door. “Emma. You can come out. I’m going to go downstairs, all right? I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Text me if you need anything.” It was idiotic, and he wished he had more to say, but there wasn’t anything that would make her feel better. He needed a drink. And maybe a little blackjack.

  It was a gambler’s paradise, where one could sell his soul over and over amid the flashing lights and jubilant crowds. Various games and machines rang out their musical tunes, getting drowned out under the conversation and occasional shouting, the Friday-night crowds as thick as the cigarette smoke in the casino. He played some blackjack, up five grand within twenty minutes, then headed over to the craps table, where he’d stood eyeing the shooter for a few minutes when the group of girls from the elevator materialized beside him. Damien thought he’d smelled them before he saw them.

  “Where’s the girlfriend?” the brunette asked, the one who’d been eye-fucking him in the elevator.

  “Up in the suite,” he said, barely giving her a cursory glance, but aside from her perfume, he could already smell the liquor on her breath.

  “Oh, the suite. High roller! I’ve always wanted to gamble and I’m here for my twenty-first birthday. But I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe you could give me a few tips.”

  Two months ago, he would have taken her back to his room and given her more than a tip. A waitress brought him the Jack and Coke he’d ordered only moments before the girls had shown up, and he gestured toward the craps table with the glass. “It’s not really my game.” He’d played a lot of street craps as a kid, and had been deadly. He’d simply never felt the same affinity with the dice as he had with the cards, but craps was definitely an exciting game to watch.

  “What is your game?”

  “Hold ’em.”

  “Ooh, I’d love to watch you play.”

  He gave a shrug. “Tune in tomorrow. I’m playing the main event over at the Rio.”

  “Oh my God, seriously?” She turned to her friends and squealed that bit of news while he watched the shooter hit seven and crap out to a chorus of moans and a couple of shouts from the don’t-pass betters.

  “See, I have no idea what just happened,” the girl said.

  “He rolled a seven. His objective was to roll a ten before seven came up. Some bet that he would do it and lost. Some bet that he wouldn’t, and won. In a nutshell.”

  “Ohhh,” the girl said, as if she totally understood everything about the game now. “My name is Reagan. And you are?”

  “Damien.”

  “Your girlfriend lets you roam around down here by yourself? I don’t think I’d let you out of my sight.”

  She had big, pretty blue eyes. Paired with her dark hair, it was a combination he was usually a sucker for. But he knew in that moment it would never catch up with fiery red and inquisitive hazel. Already he was bored by her banality, her mindless flirting. He took a drink and almost sighed with relief as it burned its way down to his stomach. “Yeah, I should probably go check on her. Have a good night, Reagan. Happy birthday.”

  She looked as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing, but he walked away without another glance.

  Now what? He didn’t really want to go to the room yet before Emma had had time to cool down. So he stopped at the roulette wheel, and before long he had made his buy-in for the main event tomorrow.

  Why didn’t you realize I never stood a chance?

  Every time the agonized question echoed through his mind, the knife twisted a little more in his gut, but she had it wrong. It had been himself he was worried about. So much that he’d tried to keep her separate, to have her without having her, because if anyone was going to come out of this relieved when it was over, it was supposed to be her. She wasn’t supposed to be the one to fall. Never in a million years had he thought she would. Not his practical, funny, feisty Emma. He didn’t like seeing her this way and knowing that he’d done it. He wasn’t this much of a sadist.

  Fuck it. He went back up to the room, remembering the sweet way she’d climbed him in the elevator and begged him once they got to the room. The way she’d melted away to somewhere he couldn’t reach when he was inside her. When he opened the door and stalked inside the suite, she was lying on the sitting room couch, but she jerked up to a sitting position as soon as she heard him.

  Her breathing picked up, but she kept her face turned resolutely away from him. “Damien, I want to go home.”

  “No.”

  That brought her around, eyes wide with shock, mouth hanging open. “Excuse me?”

  “The bet’s still on.”

  “Fuck the goddamned bet! I don’t care anymore. I don’t give one single shit about it. I don’t want
your money, and I don’t want my dumbass brother to see a penny of it either. We’ll be just fine without you. I wish I’d never met you. I wish I’d never stepped foot in your fucking office.”

  “You don’t want feelings for me, Emma.”

  “You’ve damn sure got that right. I don’t want them, but I have them. But please spare me the ‘I’m no good for you’ lecture, if that’s what you’re talking around to. It’s insulting. Just tell me the truth. Tell me you don’t feel the same and you did all of this to be a selfish asshole. I mean, it’s not even your fault, I guess, you were only being you. I was the colossal dumbass who thought maybe it would mean something more.”

  “Please spare me your fucking victim mentality,” he snapped back. “Need I remind you that you chose this? You knew the stakes yet you came here anyway, and don’t stand there and pretend it wasn’t because you wanted something from me, too. I didn’t force you, but the mistake I did make was trusting that you were mature enough to handle this. By the way, Emma, never once have I said I don’t feel the same.”

  That gave her pause just as she looked ready to open her mouth and rail on him some more, and it was an admission he hadn’t wanted to make. Running a hand through his hair, he took a breath and stared at the ceiling for a moment before he continued. “I feel the same. What that means for us . . . I don’t know. It isn’t exactly something I wanted either.”

  “You can walk away from it?” she asked, sounding small and lost. “Because I don’t know if I can. I don’t know how.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I could walk away if that’s what’s best for you.”

  “I hate other people thinking they know what’s best for me. Don’t ever do that.”

  “What I do know is that we’ve had a long day. I’m tired. You’re tired. I don’t think it’s a good time to be making any serious decisions about the future.”

  “I can’t leave this unsettled anymore. It’s been eating away at me.”

  He knew the feeling. God, he had an even longer day tomorrow. He didn’t need this weighing on his mind. “What do you want? Right now, this minute, Emma, tell me. Where do we go from here?”

  “I want you. We can figure the rest out later.”

  “Do you still want the money?”

  “Why are you asking me that?”

  “I think it’s pertinent.”

  “Tell me you aren’t standing there accusing me of being a gold digger. What do I have to do, give up the money to continue our relationship?”

  “I didn’t say any of that. You’re always thinking the worst of me. I asked a question.”

  She clamped down on her words for a moment, seeming to consider her next ones carefully. “Don’t we still have a deal? You’re the one who’s all about seeing these things through.”

  “When I first walked in here, you said you wanted out and you wanted the bet called off. Have you changed your mind?”

  “You said I couldn’t get out, so it’s a moot point. Look, Damien, I’m here. Whatever. Fuck me or don’t, believe me or not. I’ve told you how I feel, and I guess I’m not going anywhere until you’re done with me. But try to remember that I have a fucking heart.”

  “I’ve got one, too, Emma. It beats just like yours.”

  “Then why do you hide it?”

  “You mean aside from shit like this? Let me think.” She winced at his sarcasm, and he wanted to kick his own ass. He was exhausted, mentally, physically, and emotionally, and if they kept on like this, he was going to end up setting her off again. “I think we need a time-out. Let’s get some sleep.”

  But he tossed and turned all night, and he didn’t think she fared any better. At last, he dozed, but as soon as the sky began to lighten behind the Vegas skyline, his eyes were open. At eleven A.M., he had to go down and face some of the best poker players from all over the world who’d come here to battle it out for the championship he’d taken home last year. He should be concentrating, cementing his strategy, but he felt like his fucking brain was mush. His head hurt. His heart hurt. A couple more hours of sleep was a possibility, but he knew he would feel worse than if he got up now and grabbed some coffee.

  Dread settled thick and heavy over him as he trudged into the bathroom to shower. Normally if he had a bad feeling like this, he didn’t play. But that was at home. This was Vegas, and Vegas didn’t give a fuck how you were feeling. There was no room to be off his game with these guys. Some of them had beaten him before—he was no stranger to losing, contrary to what many thought—and some of them he’d beaten every time. Some of them he’d never played before. Some were mouthy and would try to get under his skin. Some were nice guys but could do the same in their own sly, artful ways.

  The hot spray rained down on him, but it didn’t clear out many of the cobwebs. He needed to figure out something to do with Emma, because if she had all day to sit in this hotel room and think, there was no telling what she’d be ready to hit him with when he got back tonight. Chances were he would be too tired to discuss it then, too.

  He hoped he wasn’t well and truly fucked.

  * * *

  As soon as Emma opened her eyes, she wanted to tell him she was sorry, but when she turned over to see if he was awake, he was gone. Absolute stillness and silence met her when she lifted her head and looked around; she couldn’t hear him moving around in the bathroom or anything. Beyond the windows was a clear, bright, warm Vegas morning.

  She picked up her phone from the nightstand: no messages. The clock read nine twenty-seven. Had he headed over to the tournament already?

  Disappointment sat like a rock on her chest. He could have at least woken her to tell her he was going and given her a chance to wish him luck. Whenever she thought about last night, embarrassment roared in her face. She never liked behaving like that; she never meant to behave like that, but he always seemed to bring it out in her. Now he was going to his competition thinking she hated him, when nothing could be further from the truth. She was just so damn confused. Her need for him was the one thing, the only thing she was sure of.

  A notepad on the desk caught her eye as she was walking past to head to the bathroom. Picking it up, she focused her bleary eyes on his strong black handwriting.

  Emma,

  I know you were tired so I let you sleep. Expect a visitor or two sometime today, and have fun. I’ll be thinking of you. Meet me at Nobu at six. I’m having dinner with friends but I want you with me.

  Wear a skirt.

  Love,

  D

  Visitors? What in the hell had he pulled now? Despite herself, she smiled. Always trying to take care of her. She went to shower and get ready for whatever he had in store.

  The knock on the door didn’t come until almost noon, and she approached it cautiously to stare through the peephole. Immediately she recognized Savannah and threw the door open. “Hi!”

  “Emma! How are you?” She rushed in to give Emma a quick hug, then stepped back to introduce the shorter blond girl who was with her. “This is Rowan, my sister-in-law. Twice over.”

  Rowan laughed and gave her a hug, too. “Nice to meet you! We were going shopping today and Damien told us you were here.”

  “So there’s no way we’re letting you hang out by yourself all day,” Savannah said. “Come with us.”

  “Thank you,” said Emma, so grateful she felt the prick of tears behind her eyes. “I didn’t know what I was going to do.”

  “Well, now you do. Let’s go!”

  On the ride down in the elevator, Savannah asked the question Emma had been dreading, but she supposed it was better to get it out of the way. “How are things going?”

  At least she felt like she could be honest with these women. “I have no freaking idea.”

  Rowan laughed and nudged Savannah with her elbow. “I told you.”

  “I know. Sorry, Emma. Damien keeps everyone in the dark, so we were discussing the fact that you’re probably just as much in the dark as we are.”

  “He?
??s . . . so closed off.”

  “I know. Mike says he’s always been that way, but the older he gets, the worse he gets. Mike hasn’t even met you but he hopes that you’ll be really, really good for him.”

  She thought about the scene last night and was horrified when tears burned behind her eyes. No. She would not cry in front of them. She would not. But she couldn’t keep the quivering out of her voice. “I don’t think I am.”

  “Oh, honey,” Rowan said, stepping toward her. “What happened?”

  “He made me so damn mad last night. We had a terrible fight. This morning he left without waking me up, and now I’m afraid I’ve messed up his head for his tournament, and what if he does poorly? He’ll hate me.”

  “Whoa, hold up,” said Savannah. “He’ll be fine at the tables, trust me. It’s a zone he slips into. I guarantee you he’s not thinking about anything else right now, and that’s okay. Like Mike with his fighting. I don’t come into it. He goes out there and does what he has to do. It’s a part of him that’s his alone.”

  What part of her would be hers alone if she gave him everything like she was so willing to do? The elevator doors opened and the girls filed out. Emma followed them because they seemed to know where they were going. “When is Mike fighting?”

  “Tomorrow night. We have the weigh-in tonight. He’s a bear because he’s been cutting weight. I told him I couldn’t be around him today.”

  Rowan rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. It took me ten minutes to drag you away from him this morning.”

  The happiness shining in Savannah’s eyes as she smiled was a beautiful thing, but it made Emma feel infinitely sad. She would like to look like that someday. She would like to look that way over Damien’s mean ass.

  “You and Damien are coming tomorrow, right? I think he told Mike he has the night off.”

  She nodded. “I’m sure we’ll be there.”

  “Good. I’m a nervous wreck. I need the support.”

  Rowan gave Savannah a brief side hug as they walked. “It’ll be okay.”