Claiming My Untouched Mistress. Heidi RiceЧитать онлайн книгу.
lost. But I had to go through with tonight’s game.
Before I had a chance to handle the visceral fear at the thought of facing Allegri with so much at stake, a deep voice reverberated down my spine.
‘Joe, Matteo tells me all the players have arrived.’
I swung round and came face to face with the man who had haunted my dreams—and most of my waking hours—for months, ever since I’d begun working on this scheme to free our family from debt. To my shock, Allegri was even taller, broader and more devastatingly handsome in the flesh than he had been in the numerous celebrity blogs and magazines I’d been monitoring.
I knew he was only thirty, but the harsh angles of his face, and the unyielding strength of muscle and sinew barely contained by the expensive tuxedo, made it clear that the softness and inexperience of youth—if he had ever been young or soft—had left him long ago. Everything about him exuded power and confidence, and a frightening arrogance. No, not arrogance. Arrogance implied a sense of entitlement beyond one’s abilities. This man was fully aware of his abilities, and was ready to use them with complete ruthlessness.
His vivid blue gaze flickered over my face—and one dark eyebrow raised a fraction of a centimetre. The tiny tell vanished as soon as it had appeared. His intense gaze took a quick tour down my body. The provocative dress became instantly transparent while at the same time squeezing the air out of my lungs, as if the thin satin had turned to cast iron and was tightening around my ribs like a piece of medieval torture equipment.
Unlike the looks I had experienced from Carsoni and his men over the last year though, Dante Allegri’s perusal didn’t cause revulsion but something much more disturbing. A heavy weight sunk low into my abdomen and sensation prickled over my skin as if I were being stroked by an electric current. His attention was exhilarating and enervating, pleasurable and painful all at the same time. My reaction shocked me, because I couldn’t seem to control it. My thighs trembled, my breasts swelled against the bodice of my medieval torture equipment and it took an effort of titanic proportions to stop my breathing from speeding up.
‘That’s correct, Dante,’ Joseph Donnelly replied to his boss. ‘This is Edie Spencer,’ he added, wrenching me out of the trance Allegri’s presence had caused. ‘She’s just arrived and is hoping to play you tonight.’
I winced at the amusement in Donnelly’s tone, my panic increasing to go with the inexplicable aches all over my body. As if it wasn’t bad enough that I had tossed myself into the lion’s den tonight, I had decided to poke the lion with that foolish boast.
Allegri didn’t look particularly impressed as his intense gaze roamed over my face.
‘Exactly how old are you, Miss Spencer?’ he asked, addressing me directly for the first time. His English was perfect, the accent a mid-Atlantic hybrid of American and British with barely a hint of his native Italian. ‘Are you even legally allowed to be here?’ he added, and I bristled at the condescension. It was a long time since I’d felt like a child, let alone been treated like one.
‘Of course—I’m twenty-one,’ I said in a show of defiance that probably wasn’t wise, but something about the way he was looking at me—as if he actually saw me—and the disturbing conflagration of sensation that look was setting off all over my body made me bold.
He continued to stare at me, as if he were trying to see into my soul, and I forced myself not to break eye contact.
The noise from the main floor of the casino, as Europe’s billionaire elite tried their luck at roulette and vingt-et-un, faded to a distant hum under his intense scrutiny—until all I could hear was the thunder of my own heartbeat thumping my ribs.
‘How long have you been playing Texas Hold ’Em, Miss Spencer?’ he asked at last, mentioning the variety of poker all professional players favoured.
With five ‘community’ cards turned face up in the middle of the table, and two ‘hole’ cards dealt face down to each player, Texas Hold ’Em required the greatest amount of skill in calculating probabilities and assessing risk as you formed your hand from your two ‘hole’ cards and the five ‘community’ cards, and the least amount of dumb luck. And that’s where my system came in. I had developed a mathematical formula to assess the betting behaviour of the other players, which would give me an advantage as the game went on. But if I was spotted using the formula I would be in trouble, just like players who were caught counting cards when playing Black Jack.
Once the casinos figured out how to spot those players they were banned for life, their winnings forfeit—even though what they were doing wasn’t strictly speaking cheating. I couldn’t risk either of those scenarios.
‘Long enough,’ I answered, forcing myself to pretend a confidence I didn’t feel.
My mother had been right about one thing. Appearances were everything now. If I wanted to win, I couldn’t show this man a single weakness. Appearing confident and in control was as important as being confident and in control. In fact, letting him believe I was over-confident would also work to my advantage—the ultimate double bluff, because then he would underestimate me.
His devastating face remained impassive, but the glitter of heat in his irises and the tiny tensing of his jaw, which drew my eyes to a scar on his upper lip, suggested that my cocky statement had hit its mark. I would have felt more triumphant about his reaction if that quickly masked tell hadn’t increased the weight in the pit of my abdomen by several hundred pounds—and the prickle of awareness coasting over my skin by several thousand volts.
What was happening to me? I had never had a response like this to any man.
‘I guess we’ll see about that, Miss Spencer,’ he said, then turned to his casino manager. ‘Escort Miss Spencer up to the Salon, Joe. Introduce her to tonight’s other Millionaire Club players.’ He glanced at his watch, all business again, even though the vibes coming off him—of heat and animosity—were turning my legs to jelly.
‘I need to speak to Renfrew but I’ll be up in thirty minutes,’ he added. ‘We can kick off then.’
‘You’re joining the table tonight?’ Donnelly asked, sounding mildly surprised.
‘Yes,’ he said, that deep voice stroking the hot spot which had started to throb at my core. ‘I never back down from a challenge, especially one issued by a beautiful woman.’
It took me a moment to realise I was the beautiful woman, probably because the glare he sent me before he walked away suggested he didn’t consider it a compliment.
But as I was led away by the casino manager towards a bank of elevators, I couldn’t take my eyes off Allegri’s retreating back. His broad shoulders looked indomitable, and yet terrifyingly alluring in the expertly tailored designer evening suit. The crowd parted to allow his dark figure to stride through the room.
I had to win tonight, no matter what the cost—my family’s future depended on it. But as the inexplicable heat continued to throb at my core, my senses thrown into turmoil by that one brief encounter, I had the agonising suspicion I had already lost.
EDIE SPENCER WAS an enigma I couldn’t solve, and it was driving me nuts.
We’d been playing for over three hours now and I couldn’t figure out her system. I was even finding it hard to read her tells—those insignificant physical responses every player had which they were unaware of, but which made them an open book when it came to assessing their next move. And the reason why I couldn’t figure out her tells was as simple as it was surprising. I couldn’t concentrate on the game—because I was too busy concentrating on her.
While her winnings had been modest so far, they had been building steadily, unlike every other player at the table, who had the inevitable troughs that came with a game of chance. I’d managed to dispose of all but