Chapter 15

The windows of Mac Maven’s Denver office sparkled—a rare sight in winter. The brass doors shone like Colombian gold, and even the elevators gleamed. Everywhere Jill turned, her reflection mocked her, from her puffy eyes to her chalk-white face. Getting out of bed this morning hadn’t been easy, but she’d pushed herself through the pain.

She turned her phone off in the elevator and chucked it into her enormous gold leather bag, smoothing down her belted navy cashmere sweater and sand-colored pencil skirt. Her legs still felt like rubber bands, so she locked her knees. Her two-inch tan boots were throwing off her balance, but she hadn’t wanted to wear flats. She hated getting slushy snow inside her shoes.

The elevator doors opened, revealing a plush room with burgundy walls and caramel leather furniture. The arresting woman seated at reception seemed like she belonged at a blackjack table rather than in an office. Her long blond hair hung in happy, snake-shaped curls.

“Ms. Hale, welcome. Mr. Maven’s been expecting you. I just have something for you to sign first.”

Jill took the fancy pen and scanned the confidentiality agreement. It was pretty straight-forward, so she scrawled her name. The woman took the clipboard and led Jill down a glass hallway. When they reached the walnut double doors, the woman knocked softly and gestured Jill inside.

Mac Maven stood as she entered, a smile transforming his GQ-handsome face. His thick, black hair, dark brows, and lashes hinted at mystery. His jade green eyes held wisdom and watchfulness. The dimple in his chin altered his dark presence when his smile reached full tilt. Charm mingled with confidence. She admired the package like she did a sleek sports car—stunning, but not something she’d buy off the lot. She could feel him drawing her in even as he took her hand in a warm clasp.

“Jill Hale. Welcome. It’s good to finally meet you in person.”

Her brow rose as she gazed up at him. She was a tall woman, but he was taller. She appreciated height in a man. He didn’t make her feel like Jillie the Bean Stalk, as the kids used to call her at school.

“Do tell,” she replied smoothly.

His well-defined lips curved. “You’re young, hip, and smart. Serious about business, but not the kind who needs to wear Ann Taylor to prove it. It’s not your market anyway.”

“You’re right.” She took the red leather chair he pointed her toward. Her cursory scan took in his office. Navy walls. Brass lamp fixtures. Gleaming wood. And a mixed bouquet in a crystal vase. His desk was organized, but had plenty of paper on it. There was no doubt he was a working CEO. “Dare isn’t the Ann Taylor type. I’m not sure whether to be impressed or curious about your knowledge of women’s fashion.”

He laughed, sitting across from her and not in his tan leather office chair. “It’s all part of the game. The details people show me—how they dress, what they smell like—well, they’re as critical as their tells.”

She’d seen her share of poker movies. She knew what a tell was. “So you can ‘tell’ lots about me from how I dress?”

He tilted his head to the side. “You’re tall but you wear high heels. My instinct is you’re comfortable with your height. Your face is too open and honest to be the kind who likes to lord it over men. The navy sweater and pencil skirt are conservative. The belt adds a hint of couture, telling me you keep up with trends.”

He pointed to her feet. “Your boots are well worn at the heel. You feel comfortable in them and wear them frequently. You didn’t buy new shoes for our meeting although some might have.” His assessment continued up her body, but not in a creepy way. “Your jewelry is bold and a bit funky, conveying a larger than life personality.”

She fingered Jemma’s amethyst necklace, which she’d worn for luck. Damn he was good.

“You’ve decided to embrace your unique style by leaving your very curly red hair as it is and not straightening it. That signals an ease with who you are—not surprising in someone so successful for being so young.”

“You make it sound like more than it is. I own a coffee shop in a small town.” Amidst all this splendor, her accomplishments seemed meager.

He gave a throaty murmur. “And you’re modest. You have one of the most successful places in an increasingly attractive small town nestled in the mountains. You cater to the college crowd, the long-time residents, and the Californians. Your eclectic menu and space appeal to everyone, including families.”

He steepled his hands. “That’s not easy to do. You’ve made it more than a coffee shop, and by keeping your doors open until midnight, you catch the student crowd before they collapse into bed. Few people can make a place that opens at six in the morning and closes at midnight such a success. And all from a college business plan.”

Her palms started to sweat, so she placed them on her legs. This game was becoming too reflective. His skills were top-shelf, and she didn’t like being read so well. “That’s your homework talking. You didn’t get that from studying my outfit.”

“You’re right. But I can also tell you didn’t get much sleep last night. I’d like to think you were excited about this meeting, but there’s an inner somberness that suggests a personal struggle. Whatever that may be, I’m sorry.”

Her stomach twirled like a baton thrown by the marching band. “I think that’s enough. Shall we get on to business?” She’d like to know what was behind all this secrecy for starters.

The silent regard he gave her made her want to squirm. He was like a wizard looking into a crystal ball. She drew in a deep breath, but didn’t look away. “So, now that I’ve signed your papers, what do you want with me?” It had better be worth her while.

His smile beamed again. “You don’t intimidate easily.”

Funny how much bolder she felt in the business world. Brian’s ex intimidated the crap out of her. “No.”

Standing, he tagged his coat off an elegant pineapple coat rack. “Good. Let’s go to lunch, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

The devilish waggle of his eyebrows made her want to salsa as she followed him to the door. “I can’t wait.”

Suddenly the excitement of something new made life seem less bleak.

***

Her brother’s impending arrival gave Peggy a momentary sense of connection to her sane, adult self. Keith was going on his third sick day. She was losing her mind.

And the tickle in her throat was starting to burn like hellfire, making her wonder if brimstone was around the corner.

She missed the antiseptic smell of the office. The mustiness of the old case files she read when she didn’t have anything hot going on. She’d resorted to listening to the police scanner while Keith watched another Disney movie. How many ways could they animate something? Would they ever run out of singing animals? She was convinced she’d never see an R-rated movie again, something with curse words like “fuck” and “damn” and hot sex between two writhing, gorgeous bodies.

Today was not a good day in Mommydom. Perhaps if there had been a Daddy Prince to bring home takeout and give her a break, she’d be in better shape when Tanner arrived. As it was, the seconds were ticking by as slowly as Keith’s toy turtle moved.

She leaped off the couch when the doorbell rang. Her sainted brother was finally here. She could leave the sickroom and slink off on her own, shedding her mommy-nurse skin like the proverbial snake for a few hours. Thank you, God!

Tanner pulled her in for a hug. “You going nuts yet?”

“I could do an ad for Planters. Mixed Mommy Nuts. How about it?”

He ruffled her unbrushed hair. “It’ll probably end up on the cutting room floor. How’s he doing?”

“About the same. This cold’s dug in deep.”

He pulled out a file. “Diversion for the deranged. A buyer’s list of new properties in the last six months. Have fun.” Tanner headed in the direction of the Disney song blaring on the TV, Kill the Beast.

She caressed the pages like they were a secret treasure map. Work! Something to engage her mind. Oh, the pleasure tickled her tired soul.

“You sound like you’re coming down with it too,” he called over his shoulder.

“No way. I’ll make it eat lead. I can’t get sick.” True, but her throat flamed like a charbroil grill.

She bounced her way to her office like a kid who’d received a new kite, her legs losing their rubbery lethargy.

She unbound the file, and her finger traced its way down the list. The eighth property had a business name, Four Aces Incorporated. It was a conditional sale—odd for residential listings. The house stood at the foot of the mountains with several acres of land and a hefty square footage.

Her police gut quivered like a divining rod. She’d start there. A simple Internet search gave her what she was looking for. Four Aces owned and built high-end boutique hotels. Their additional attraction gave her a jolt. Poker? She scratched her head. That explained the business name. The president and owner was Macalister Maven. A company promoting gambling would definitely opt for a confidentiality agreement.

She switched to her specialized background software, which allowed her to run people at home. His profile appeared. Born in Atlantic City to Carol and Len Maven, who’d divorced five years after he was born. Single. Never married. A younger sister named Abigail. Attended Princeton for three years before dropping out. Joined the professional poker circuit at twenty-one. Won the World Series of Poker tournament at twenty-five and twenty-eight.

The list of other tournament championships was endless and eye-widening.

He’d started Four Aces at twenty-nine, building four boutique poker establishments in the southwest. Each of his small, exclusive hotels showcased an upscale night club and a swanky restaurant run by an acclaimed chef. There was poker—and only poker. No loud, garish slot machines. No craps or blackjack tables.

He didn’t fight the big boys, one article noted. Maven created an exclusive venue for the poker enthusiasts, a group that was growing in leaps and bounds across the country. She had no idea the interest in poker had swelled like a balloon ready to burst. There was a seriousness here that went beyond the poker nights she’d experienced—the kind people played with red, white, and blue plastic chips for pennies, nickels, dimes, and oh, a quarter if you wanted to get real dangerous. Peggy chuckled at the thought.

Maven was as much the allure as the venues. He played frequently enough to draw fans and opponents. His estimated worth had her blinking a few times to make sure her vision hadn’t been permanently damaged by too much Disney.

He had a few speeding tickets, clocking in at NASCAR limits. So he liked the fast lane when he wasn’t at the table. She had the VIN numbers for the six cars he owned, a mix of expensive classics and top-of-the-line racers. Great, he loved cards and cars. Could he be any more stereotypical?

She clicked on his properties, marveling at the designs. Not what she’d expected. Classy. No flashing lights or fountains. And surprise, surprise, lots of squeaky clean windows. Weren’t gaming establishments supposed to blot out the light? Stop time?

The room prices were highway robbery. She clicked on the spa service list and sighed. She didn’t understand the whole hot rock massage thing, but right now, her body moaned for some serious pampering. Clearly she was at the end of her rope if she had a flash of digging up rocks in her backyard, boiling them in her spaghetti pan, and asking Tanner if he’d put them on her body. Get a grip, McBride.

Her eyes narrowed at all the styles of poker offered at his hotels. She’d heard of five-card stud and Texas hold ‘em, but Omaha and Razz were new. His places boasted poker packages for different player levels and poker types, mostly stud and Texas hold ‘em. There were a few discreet mentions of Mac Maven playing in his hotel-sponsored tournaments with dates.

Not Macalister, but Mac.

Her famous intuition put the puzzle pieces together. She’d bet her bottom dollar Mac Maven wanted to open something in Dare.

He had a house in each of the four cities where his businesses were located, plus one in Denver, where he kept his office. That was a little too close for comfort. He’d bought land here, conditionally. Did that mean he had an inside track on something new? Or an ace up his hand-tailored sleeve? Jill, what in the hell have you gotten into?

She crumbled Tanner’s file. She didn’t want gambling in Dare. She was a deputy, so she knew the kind of crap it generated. Drunk and disorderly. Fraud. Violence. Prostitution. People spending their last paychecks gambling, going from poor to poorer. This was so not going to happen. She was raising her son here. This was her new home.

A memory surfaced of her dad drinking and playing cards while they struggled with rent and food. Sometimes he’d swing his arm out and catch her in the cheek if she asked if he’d won when he hadn’t.

She shook off the past and clicked on a blue link with Mac’s name on it. A picture popped up. Her mouth went dry as an unexpected punch of attraction socked her in the gut. His coal black hair was cut about an inch longer than his skull, curling over a strong forehead. The dark eyelashes were about as shocking as the stoplight green eyes, which made a woman think yes, go as opposed to no, stop. The nose seemed like a poetic afterthought between high, rugged cheekbones, and his ruby chiseled lips kept him from looking like bruiser. The strong chin had a dent in the middle, transforming him into a charmer.

Having studied perps for years, she thought she was pretty good at reading people. She saw a lot of things in this man. Power. Control. Confidence. Will. And a smoldering sexuality he appreciated, but wouldn’t exploit.

The deputy and mommy in her slid away from the shore of her consciousness with a tide of new awareness. The woman inside cried out, a faint echo after a lengthy silence. Well, hello there, handsome.

Her body grew warm as those eyes seemed to stare deep inside her. He would know what to do with a woman. He’d enter forcefully and drive deep. The thought almost made her moan.

The tide came back in. The deputy and mom returned, pushing the woman back out to sea like flotsam. Disgusted, Peggy forced herself to breathe out the jittery desire racing up her spine.

She would have to talk to Jill about this situation. Maybe she didn’t know Maven’s game. Damn, he was smart, she had to admit. Jill was an asset. She could bring the town along. Was that what he wanted from her?

Cop reason prevailed. She’d have to see what the local laws said about gambling and how she could use them against this man. Keith called her name from downstairs, his voice hoarse from coughing. She stood, praying she wasn’t going to sound like that in a couple of days. Hadn’t Keith had a sore throat before whooping all over the place?

“Coming, honey.”

Her mommy persona snapped more firmly back into place. Time to take care of her most precious gift.

Maven was not bringing gambling into her town.