Her High-Stakes Playboy. Kristin HardyЧитать онлайн книгу.

      4

      WAS IT HER IMAGINATION OR was there more devilry in his smile? “Sure.” He slid his handful of hundred-dollar chips into the pocket of his jeans.

      Cosmopolitans, Gwen discovered as she rose from the table, had more of a kick than white wine. Her heel caught in the carpet as she slid off the stool.

      “Whoa.” Rennie caught her as she stumbled. “Here, why don’t you grab my arm?”

      “That’s very gallant of you.” His bicep was a solid swell under her fingers. The contact shivered through her. He wasn’t built lightly at all, she realized as he tucked her hand against his body. The guy had some very real muscle. Her imagination instantly conjured up images of washboard abs and cannonball shoulders.

      “Just call me Sir Galahad,” he said. “So, where do you want to go?”

      “Let’s find a nightcap.”

      “You sure? We’ve been drinking for the last two hours. Have you had dinner?”

      Gwen thought back but couldn’t remember. “Something on the plane, maybe.” He was an inch or two taller than she was, even in her spike heels, she realized. There was something alarmingly cozy about him standing there holding her hand against him protectively.

      He looked down at her a moment and considered. “How about if we go to the Reef Bar. Maybe we can get some food there. Trust me, you’ll be happier tomorrow.”

      The bar was dark and yet lit with an aqua luminescence from the aquarium that took up one wall. Tropical fish made bright flashes of color amid rocks and waving green fronds. Music played in the background, but there was no crowd and no dance floor.

      Quiet and dark was perfect for her purposes, Gwen thought as they took seats off in a corner. Or maybe not. The tabletop was about the size of a dinner plate, she realized. By the time she’d scooted onto her high stool, she found herself much, much closer to him than she’d anticipated. Close enough to find herself staring at that enticing mouth. Close enough to find herself noticing the way the aqua light reflected off his cheekbones. He really was gorgeous, she realized, not to mention sexy as hell.

      Okay, reality check. Getting distracted was not good. She was here only to try to track down Jerry. Recreation with Rennie—one of the bad guys—was out of the question.

      On the other hand, she’d do what was necessary to accomplish her purpose.

      A waitress appeared, dressed in the bikini top and sarong uniform of the bar. “What’ll it be, folks?”

      Rennie studied the drinks card that sat on the table. “An Anchor Steam for me,” he said. “And an order of potato skins.”

      “Sorry, guys, kitchen’s closed. If you want food, you’ll have to go to the coffee shop.”

      “Let’s stick here,” Gwen said quickly. No way did she want to go to a bright and noisy coffee shop. Anyway, Nina would probably sniff at coffee. She’d want a real drink. “How about a Courvoisier?” She wasn’t exactly sure what Courvoisier tasted like, but she liked the idea of swirling a brandy glass.

      His eyes were very dark in the dim light as he studied her. “My name is Del, by the way.”

      Gwen leaned closer to him. “What?”

      “My name. It’s not Galahad, it’s Del.”

      “Del?” All the fun evaporated in an instant. She stared at him. “Wait a minute. You’re joking, right? I thought your name was Rennie.”

      He shook his head. “’Fraid not.”

      Disaster, Gwen thought. It was a disaster. This was supposed to be Rennie, her conduit, the one who was going to lead her to Jerry. If he wasn’t, then she was back to square one, no better off than she’d been when she’d walked into the casino. Worse, because Rennie had been around there somewhere. Now where was she? No lead, no closer to finding the stamps. Instead she was stuck here with him while the true Rennie was still out in the casino somewhere. She struggled to master her disappointment.

      And ignore the small, sneaky sense of relief that lurked underneath.

      “So, where’d you get the idea I was—who was it—Ronnie?”

      “Rennie. That’s what the dealer called you.”

      He looked at her, mystified.

      “Before I sat down,” Gwen clarified. “I thought the dealer said something like ‘You always win, Rennie.’”

      She watched the answer dawn. “Ah. She was joking around with the other dealer.”

      “Which other dealer?”

      “The one who left when you came up.”

      “Was that her name?”

      He shrugged. “I don’t know. It sounded like a nickname.”

      “What did she look like?” Gwen asked sharply, thinking back. But she’d fastened so quickly and completely on him that everyone else was a cipher. She cursed under her breath. “I can’t picture her at all.”

      “Does it matter?”

      He was looking at her attentively—way too attentively. Relax, she told herself. “No, it’s no big deal. I was just surprised.” So how willing would the staffers be to help her find Rennie? And would she be back on shift the next evening? Maybe a quick conversation with the other dealer would help. Then again, Gwen didn’t want to make Rennie suspicious.

      “Boy, you’ve got some serious wheels turning in that head of yours,” Del commented. “Not that it’s not an entirely gorgeous head, but if I were Rennie, I’d be a little scared.”

      He’d leaned back to watch her, the frank curiosity on his face more than a little alarming. She needed to defray that, pronto. Flirt, Nina, flirt.

      Gwen traced a pattern on the tabletop with one fingertip and sent him a look of promise. “Who cares about Rennie or whoever? You’re here and I’m here, that’s all that matters.”

      The amusement was back in his smile as he leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table, putting him disconcertingly near. “I suppose. You’re holding out on me, though,” he added conversationally.

      Alarm surged through her. “What—what do you mean?”

      A beat went by. “Your name. You know mine, I don’t know yours.”

      “Oh.” She almost sighed with relief. “Nina.”

      “Nice name. So what brings you to Vegas, Nina?”

      “A couple days off. I wanted to get out of town.”

      He watched her for a moment, his mouth curving in a way that suggested he could see more than she wanted. “Searching for people named Rennie?”

      Gwen flushed. “No. I just wanted a break.”

      “From what?”

      “Oh, life.” That much was true. She thought of the restlessness that had plagued her of late. “You know, you get tired of being stuck at home.”

      “Where’s home?”

      “San Francisco.”

      Genuine pleasure slid over his features. “No kidding? That’s my stomping grounds.”

      “Really? Small world. What are you here for?”

      “I’m doing a series on poker. I’m a sportswriter for the Globe.”

      “You’re a journalist?” Gwen asked faintly. That was all she needed—a curious