'Dozens!' she lied, smiling at him brilliantly. Damn it, she would get a response from him. She half turned in her seat, draping her elbow over his hand on the chair-back so he could see how the clever slit in her square bodice parted tantalisingly with the movement. 'Your staff obviously know how to take care of a winner!'
While everyone else's attention had been riveted on the dance and bounce of the ball over the red and black pockets, Jack was grimly amused to notice that his novice high-roller didn’t seem to give a damn what was happening on the table. Whatever game she was playing, it obviously wasn’t motivated by avarice.
‘I, on the other hand, am an expert at consoling the losers,' he said suavely, 'which you must admit is by far a more challenging task. I look forward to your comments on my technique.'
She glared suspiciously at the hand he held out.
'Why should I?'
'Because, ma chère, I'm afraid your luck just changed infinitely for the worse. You just lost your entire thirty thousand francs.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
NEARLY nine thousand New Zealand dollars!
Elizabeth glared over at the man dealing with the gold-foiled top of a champagne bottle in the small but luxuriously equipped kitchen. It wasn’t the first time Jack had invited her into his suite of rooms, but it was the first time she had been reckless enough to accept. Normally she would have been gazing around intently, curious to see how he lived, but at the moment she couldn’t care less.
If she had known what her chips had been worth she never would have thrown them away with that last, stupid bet. Why, with that much money she might have been able to bribe somebody into forgetting their loyalty to Hawk Hotels long enough to help her. As it was she was left with Plan A which, having got her this far, was rapidly losing its angry momentum.
'You might find it a little breezy outside on the veranda at this time of night, so why don’t we just sit in here with the french doors open ...?’
Elizabeth took the glass that Jack handed her and inhaled the heady burst of bubbles as she followed him over to the deep-cushioned white leather couch that faced the dark, quiet bay. Although the casino and hotel disco were still open there was no sight or sound of activity at this end of the grounds. They might as well be alone together on a desert island, Elizabeth thought nervously as she sank into the thick cushions. She expected Jack to sit down beside her but instead he chose the far end of the couch, his body angled towards her. He had shed his jacket and the black tie dangled freely from one point of his loosened collar, his white shirt unbuttoned just enough that she could see the beginnings of the dark pelt of hair that covered his chest.
The light from the standard lamp behind him threw half his face into shadow and the half that she could see clearly was darkly saturnine, and her misgivings increased. He had seemed perfectly receptive a few minutes ago when she had accepted his offer of a champagne consolation prize for her spectacular losses. When she had realised that he intended her to have it at the casino bar she had pinned on her best pout and suggested somewhere a little more private.
A brief spark of fire had glowed in the silver eyes. 'How private is a little more?' he had murmured, his hand firm on her waist as he guided her away from the roulette table, his thigh brushing hers as they navigated the crowd.
‘I... there's something I need to talk to you about...' She thought the little stammer was a nice touch, and through her long, dark lashes she gave him the kind of glance calculated to fan that silver glow into a smoulder. ‘It's rather... awkward and I'd prefer to keep it just between the two of us.'
The hand on her waist, by accident or design, slipped from her hip to rest on the bare skin at the base of her spine, and Elizabeth nearly went through the roof at the warm friction of his palm.
'Would my office do?'
Of course he would have one, even though he didn’t seem to spend any time there. The hotel he managed ran so smoothly that there was bound to be mountains of behind-the-scenes work, particularly for someone like Jack whose lazy public persona existed in tandem with a private man whose former profession had trained mind and body to be extremely exacting and disciplined in everything he did.
'Well.,.' She balked at the idea of trying to seduce Jack's unwitting assistance in an environment where he was used to being on his mettle. She needed him relaxed and completely off-guard. ‘It's very personal. I don’t think I'd be comfortable with a desk between us...' she said coyly.
'Of course.. .my place it is, then,' he had responded with smooth alacrity. 'And fortunately I already have champagne on ice...'
Elizabeth sipped the bubbly as she contemplated her nervous dilemma. How did you seduce a man without letting him seduce you...especially one as attractive and sexually confident as Jack Hawkwood? If women were throwing themselves at him all the time—as seemed to be the case—he must be extremely blasé and unlikely to easily lose his head. And how did you seduce him without actually seducing him? For she had no intention of opening that particular Pandora's box of problems for herself. It was he who had to be out of control, not her...
Jack let the silence stretch out nerve-rackingly before he rescued her from her quandary by asking softly over the top of his glass, 'Well, Beth, what is this awkward personal matter that you wish to talk about?'
‘It's about why I came to the Isle of Hawks...' She looked down at her champagne and idly stirred the bubbles with one finger, thinking that she really should have had the hotel beauty salon do her nails at the same time they'd swept her hair into the sophisticated pleat that had suited her mental image of a vamp. She sucked the sparkling droplets from her finger, looking up just in time to see Jack's tongue touch his upper lip as if he was imitating her action in his thoughts. She flushed, the pretty speech that she had rehearsed all evening evaporating from her head.
'Uncle Simon—I—
he's-'
'A private detective?' offered Jack helpfully.
'You know.' Relief swept through her as her suspicions were confirmed. She wasn’t betraying anything that wasn’t already discovered. 'You probably know the rest of what I'm going to tell you, then.'
'Probably,' he agreed mildly. 'And what I don’t know I can make a fairly accurate guess at, but I'd like to hear it in your own words.'
Of course he would. He wanted to rub her nose in her foolishness. She tilted her chin proudly and gave him the edited highlights of the Corvell case, including the initial mix-up at the airport, without mentioning how reluctant a participant she had been. However, she had reckoned without his wicked sense of humour and infuriating intelligence.
‘If your uncle thinks you're a good example of a cloak-and-dagger operative,' he commented drily when she finally petered into silence, ‘It's a wonder his agency hasn’t gone belly up by now. You couldn’t have drawn more attention to what you were doing if you'd worn a neon sign. You, ma chère, have got a lot to learn about covert operations—'