Chapter 19
Who knew that the harder you paddled, the more likely it was for your craft to flip over? Sienna did—now. She had no idea why she’d agreed to this hare-brained idea of his. It certainly couldn’t be that in some hidden place inside herself, she was secretly wanting to give him a chance. Perish the thought!
She had gone all out, declaring full-on war. But even though she had two oars at her disposal, and he was struggling with one, alternating sides as he rowed to avoid going in circles, he still managed to gain on her by the sheer power of his superior upper body strength. Desperate not to lose, she became frantic, and as soon as the canoe had started rocking, she knew she was a goner.
Into the water, in full view of all the diners on the balcony, who had responded with sardonic applause when Max had leaped out of his canoe to get to her. The pond had been ornamental, and so the water was only chest deep, and still he gallantly offered her a hand and escorted her, dripping and cursing, to the shore.
Teach her to wear white to a lunch date at a country club, she thought peevishly. Her linen suit was ruined. There wasn’t a dry cleaner in the world who could rescue it. Which set her off on another round of colorful cursing, to which Max had laughed heartily.
Now they were back at her townhouse, getting cleaned up. Max had produced a duffel which he swore he kept handy for emergency traveling, and which held a full change of clothes, but she couldn’t help wondering if his canoe challenge was as impulsive as it had seemed, or if he had packed clothes as a backup plan.
Either way, they were both clean and reasonably dry, and she watched as he entered her living room. He was fresh from showering, hair damp and sticking to his head, long eyelashes clinging together. She felt that familiar longing again, that desire to touch his cheek.
She’d lost, and he’d won the right to stay over for the night. Would she be able to prevent herself from giving in and touching him? Did she want to?
He leaned against the door frame and grinned. “So, what do you want to do now? Seeing that I have won your delightful company for the rest of the evening.”
“Not whatyouhave in mind,” she shot back, still stinging from the knowledge that he’d whupped her good.
He rounded his eyes, looking almost excruciatingly innocent. “What could I possibly have in mind? I promised you I would be a complete gentleman. Unless, of course, you’d rather I become the devil.”
That sounded attractive, but she was way too pissed off at herself for losing, and him for beating her, to even entertain the thought. “Let me tell you what,” she heard herself say, “I’m not liking how things went down today. I think you had an unfair advantage because you’re way stronger. A match between us should be a battle of wits, not brawn. How aboutIpropose a game?”
He feigned disinterest. “Nah. I think I’ve played enough games for the day. I’m happy with my win.”
“You haven’t heard the terms.”
He came closer, brows lifted. “Okay, beautiful Sienna, what are your terms? And what game do you desire to play?”
She lifted her chin. “Five-card stud.”
He looked mildly surprised. “Really now. I hadn’t pegged you for a gambler.”
“I’m not.”Not anymore,she thought. Max didn’t need to know about the seven months she’d spent working as a croupier on a cruise ship in the Bahamas. “I may have dabbled a little.”
“Well, you could say I’ve dabbled myself. And if we do play this game,” he lowered his voice seductively, “what would we be playing for?”
She took a deep breath.All or nothing,she said to herself. “Same as before. One night together if you win, but this time, we agree to spend it in bed. If I win, we go our separate ways.”
He scoffed. “You call that a bet? I’ve already won! If you want to challenge me, you need to bring more to the table.” His face took on a devious expression. “How about this? If I win, I have you for a week. Sharing a bed, sharing our meals, or company, and our lives—for seven days.”
She gave him a dirty look, irritated that he’d upped the stakes, but gave in. “Okay. Let’s see how much of a gambler you are. Because I’m in a mood to put a hurting on you.” She hurried to the drawer of her credenza to find a new pack of cards.
An hour later, Sienna looked down in dismay at her dwindling pile of chips. Max was not only a good player, he was rash and brutal. He bet wildly, snatched up every opportunity to back her against the ropes, and scooped his winnings towards himself with relish every time he won a hand, which was often.
He was not a gentlemanly player: as a matter of fact, he was a horrible opponent, taunting, crowing, and generally looking smug. He did his best to undermine her confidence by snorting loudly when she placed a bet, and asking sweetly whenever she upped the ante, “You sure you want to do that?” Half the time, she had to restrain herself from winging a $100 chip at his forehead.
And now, it had all come down to a single play, and she had to decide whether to see him or fold. He was super-sweet in his victory, wheedling with her to give in. “Malheureusement, mon ange,it’s not looking very good for you.”
“Hush. I’m thinking,” she snapped, frowning down at the cards, trying to see the unseeable.
“Tell you what,” he proposed, “if you concede now, you can keep all the chips. Just admit that you’ve lost.”
“I don’t want your stinking money.”
“Neither do I. All I want is to enjoy my victory.”
She scowled harder at her paltry, miserable cards, but could see no way out. Irritably, she folded. “Fine. I concede.”