Unquenchable Cravings: Gamble on Love: Hard to Catch Series, #1

By Natasza Waters

A Warrior's Challenge series crossover.

In Code Name: Nina's Choice, we briefly meet Steven and Moira Porter. Who are they? Years before, fate rolled the dice. What starts as seduction, ends in adventure.

During a business trip to Las Vegas, Steven Porter's attention is drawn to the woman sitting at his blackjack table. When synchronicity and irony join hands to box him into a corner, it's a cat and mouse game as he tries to hide his identity from Moira. Within four days, she ignites an unquenchable craving, and he's faced with the decision of his life: Treat her like the other women in his past or gamble on love.

An evening that begins with sizzling glances from the hottest guy Moira has ever seen, sets off warning bells. Her friends encourage her to enjoy a quick fling in Sin City. Saying goodbye isn't the problem, but being responsible for Steven's death might be.

Unquenchable Cravings: Gamble on Love is the second edition of the book formerly titled Too Grand for Words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Natasza Waters
• Release date: Dec 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9780995259867

Natasza Waters

Natasza Waters debuted her first romance novel in 2011 for readers who enjoy a cup of romance with a twist of steam. After majoring in English, Natasza's life altered course. After thirty-four years of service in the Coast Guard, a few crow's feet, and deeper laugh lines, she now spends her days crafting stories. Readers can look forward to romance, action, and suspense in her award-winning novels.

Book preview

Chapter One

Moira Viterra’s hips brushed beneath her little black dress as she crossed the lobby of the Grand Palms Casino, the newest, most go-to place on the Las Vegas strip. As she approached the gaming area, two young men stared at her as they leaned against a slot machine.

With his eyes glued to her legs, one whistled and said, Bomb—shell, in a husky voice as she passed by.

Giving them a sideways glance and a sly grin she drawled, Sex—change.

Yeah, right! He laughed and nudged his buddy.

Being a smartass was an art form she’d honed over the years. Somewhere, she had a T-shirt to prove it.

Stepping from the terrazzo tiles onto the casino’s brightly patterned carpet, she gazed at the sea of faces before her. A menagerie of people blended together in a palette of low-cut dresses, body parts dripping with jewelry and suits. Aftershave and perfume mingled with a hint of smoke. Temptation and excitement hung in the air while cheerful tunes teased from a thousand slot machines. Coveting their gaming tables, hopeful gamblers clucked together, exchanging money for chips, looking for Lady Luck.

Her youngest officers vibrated with excitement when they gathered in the lobby of their hotel a half an hour ago. None of them had been to Las Vegas before. The bright lights and overpowering aura of the city had them in its clutches within seconds. Moira remembered her first experience in Sin City—awe-inspiring, but that was many years ago. Her crew ranged between twenty-one and thirty-four, but she still worried about them.

Use your heads. I’m not bailing any of you out of jail. Of course, her warning landed on deaf ears.

Viva Las Vegas, Moira, they’d chorused back, bulleting from the massive lobby of the Morocco Hotel, leaving her to stand alone on the gleaming sea of marble tiles. Obviously, she was on her own tonight.

She scanned the immense playing area of the Grand Palms while the snappy, commandment-crushing advertisement, What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas churned in her mind. Five years had passed since she’d last been here, and a few new billion-dollar casinos covered the desert sand, this being one of them.

She joined the colorful portrait of sounds and sights, eager to find a seat. Against her better judgment, she wore her new shoes. Though she’d stopped wearing sexy high heels and short dresses a long time ago, she hadn’t been able to resist the little black dress in the women’s fashion shop at the mall.

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. With her feet aching already, she squinted. These damn shoes were definitely staying.

Peeking over shoulders and eyeing the different dealers, she kept moving until she found a blackjack table with one empty chair left on the end. Her stomach tightened with excitement, but refusing to show it, she slid onto the cushioned seat ready to take on the dealer. He gave her a perfunctory nod as she settled in.

She casually checked out her table companions. When her gaze locked with the man sitting in the anchor position, her heart skipped a beat. He watched her with eyes the color of polar ice. Wide shoulders filled the tan suit jacket he wore, and a chocolate brown dress shirt covered his broad, well-defined torso. More than noteworthy, he was centerfold worthy.

She gave him a passing smile while wiggling to get comfortable in her chair. Digging in her purse, she plucked five one-hundred dollar bills out, and slid them across the green felt of the table. As the dealer exchanged her money, she took the chance to check out the rest of the players. She gave a friendly nod to the woman next to her. With a bad dye job and breasts popping out of her blouse, the woman trumped her by a few years.

How ya doin’, honey? the dye job said with a thick Southern twang.

Good, thanks. Looks like you’re doing all right, eh? She noted the pile of chips in front of the woman.

It’s a struggle. At least the booze is free, she said, taking a long sip of the syrupy brown liquid in her glass.

A man with a cowboy hat tipped high on his head and fingers stained by hard work, sat in the middle position. Howdy, ma’am, he said, Hope you brought lots of luck with you tonight. We ain’t getting much.

Maybe that’ll change, she said, nodding her thanks to the dealer who pushed three piles of chips her way.

A young couple who looked barely twenty-one took the other two seats.

Moira’s gaze drifted toward the anchor position again.

The house always wins, Mr. Handsome said.

His gaze scorched a hole through her chest, constricting it into a tight ball. Not tonight.

He picked up his drink and tipped it her way with a nod. We’ll see, he replied with a grin.

Fingering his pile of chips, he turned his attention to the activity in the pit behind the dealer. The sharp angle of his jaw and the evening growth shadowing his face burned a lasting portrait in her mind. Her eyes strayed to his sizeable hands, resting on the table. This man was a force of nature, a rare one. You could expect to see anything in this town, but she hadn’t expected him.

The snap of the cards caught her attention. She realized she’d been staring, and put her attention back where it should be. Placing her bet, she waited for the deal.

He’s a friggin’ masterpiece, isn’t he? the dye job whispered out the side of her mouth without looking up.

Her eyes darted to her neighbor. There was no point in lying. Yup.

* * * *

Before Moira had brought her crew to Vegas, she’d vowed there would be no restraining herself—monetarily at least—on this trip. The Coast Guard had given her a profession, and she had given them her life. Before she knew it, twenty-three years had blown past since the phone call that said, You’re hired. She lived a simple life, working, puttering in her garden, and spending what time she had left on her other hobby.

When the spring bulbs popped out of the ground, she’d decided her crew needed a vacation. Her newest officers had worked hard learning their trade. Before the busy summer season started, she wanted to acknowledge their diligence, so she’d arranged the trip to Sin City. The farthest place—without being surrounded by water—they could get to for a reasonable price.

The dealer flipped her second card, and the queen of hearts landed on her seven. She didn’t have a lot of faith in her hand with the dealer showing a ten. Not a good start, she thought. With a snap of precision, the cards landed in front of each player. The dealer waited for their hand signals to stay, hit, double down, or split. Waiting her turn, her gaze drifted to the end of the table.

Sitting back in his chair, Mr. Handsome ran his fingers through his dark blond head of hair. He wore it longer than a businessman, making him appear relaxed, maybe even a bit rebellious. The dealer slipped a two onto his ten—not good. He turned his attention to her while motioning for another card, which busted him. She raised a brow in empathy as his chips were swept away.

The cocktail waitress couldn’t stop herself from returning at least three times to check on Mr. Handsome’s drink in the short time Moira had been there. Balancing the tray on one hand, the young woman lightly touched his shoulder with the other. The girly cadence in her voice punctuated the loud drum of chips clicking together and conversations from the surrounding tables.

How’s your drink, sir?

He nodded. I’m good for now.

As a perfect size two, legs reaching all the way to her armpits, and a globe of bouncy blonde curls surrounding big blue eyes, the waitress joined the ten thousand other beautiful women in Vegas who catered to thirsty men.

Over the years, Moira had developed many skills into second nature. Most importantly, the ability to read the intonations in people’s voices to know if the distress they were declaring was genuine. But in this case, it was easy to hear what the waitress might as well have been saying, Come get me after my shift so I can screw your brains out. And he probably would. Heck, she probably would if she were a man.

Although she tried to ignore him, Moira couldn’t help appreciating his high cheekbones and rugged jaw. He had to be a model and, no doubt, shallow as a puddle, she surmised.

The waitress continued to take orders. Excuse me—

The gal wrote down someone else’s order. When she looked up, Moira smiled at her, but the young woman quickly turned her gaze elsewhere. Parched and pissed off, she watched the waitress leave.

After a few hands the waitress delivered a tray full of drinks. About to leave again, Moira’s hot table companion captured the gal’s attention.

The beautiful woman at the end of the table would like a drink, he said, motioning to her, looking straight into Moira’s eyes.

The waitress finally acknowledged her existence with a cool stare.

Merlot, please. Good thing this young lady didn’t work for her, because a lecture would be forthcoming on professional—Wait a minute—did he just say beautiful woman?

The waitress nodded lazily as if bored with her order, and departed with an exaggerated sway of her hips. She gave Mr. Handsome a grateful nod.

The click of chips and swoosh of cards continued for a few hands, then a new dealer came on duty.

Someone had scrawled Carlos in big letters on his nametag. His Latin-American genes had nowhere to hide—betrayed by his swarthy skin, dark eyes, and shiny black hair. Laugh lines trenched deep creases around his mouth and eyes.

A big, toothy grin preempted his greeting. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Carlos. He nodded at each of them. And I’m here to take your money—ahem, I mean good luck.

Nothin’ but blackjacks for me, honey, the bad dye job said with her thick Southern drawl.

Ma’am, ya’ll know I’ll do my best, he said, mimicking her accent.

Everyone cracked a smile.

Watching the young couple whose lips couldn’t stay unattached when they weren’t playing their hands, drew Moira’s attention. The girl swirled her wedding ring around her finger. Always touching the band and darting glances at her hand.

Okay, kids—break it up, Carlos urged. This lady here can’t stand much more of that, he said, pointing to her. She’s going to have to rent an X-rated video and go to bed early tonight if you keep it up.

Her eyebrows arched with the comment. What? She laughed but her cheeks burned with embarrassment. No, I think it’s sweet. The couple looked at her with pearly grins. Did you two just get married? They both nodded. I hope you have a long, happy life together. She paused. Learning when to say something out loud and when not to, is a good idea, too. She pursed her lips and turned her attention to Carlos, who lifted his shoulders as if innocent of her charge.

Mr. Handsome waved the waitress over. Are you kids staying in the Grand Palms? he asked.

They both nodded.

The waitress didn’t waste time answering his signal. Yes, Mr. Porter.

He pulled a pen and paper from his inner jacket pocket and scribbled a note. Deliver this to the front desk.

The waitress nodded. Yes, sir.

Moira wondered what he was up to.

My gift to you, he said to the young couple. I assume you’re in a regular room?

They nodded again.

Your room is being upgraded to a suite.

Wow, thank you, the groom said shaking his hand.

Mr. Handsome nodded and the young couple quickly collected their chips and vacated the table.

Moira now new Mr. Handsome was actually Mr. Porter, and if he had the ability to upgrade the kid’s room then he either had a good heart or a thick wallet. That was awfully kind of you, she said.

His heart-stopping gaze landed on her. Glad you approve.

Chapter Two

––––––––

Carlos teased each of them in turn and then started all over again. They laughed so much people couldn’t help but be drawn to their table. At midnight, she and Mr. Porter remained, he anchored at one end, she at the other. The seats between remained full, but most of the faces had changed as the evening wore on.

Lady, we’re gonna hit the next century before you decide, Carlos jibed.

Still chuckling from his last joke, her attention dropped to her cards. Hey, I’m thinking, she said in self-defense.

God, she’s got the case of the giggles. Bring this woman more wine, he yelled.

Fine, hit me.

It’s tempting, he said with a dry tone.

Everyone at the table burst out laughing.

Shud-upppp. She chuckled, giving him a saucy look. Mr. Porter’s eyes lit with humor, then he did something she didn’t expect—he winked at her.

A rush of excitement raced through her chest. Yup—attractive beyond belief. She wondered how he’d managed to become even hotter looking after several hours. Copious amounts of wine had helped. Immediately, she gave herself a hard mental slap, grinding the heated thoughts out of her head.

Hey, did ya see that? Carlos asked, quickly raising his eyebrows like Groucho Marx.

She had, but she wished he hadn’t.

Ya know what that means? Carlos asked.

No, what? she said, laughing already. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Mr. Porter, but she could feel his eyes on her.

He likes the lady behind ya.

What? She swung around instantly.

Carlos’s face broke into an enormous grin. Ah, you’re too easy.

Keep feeding me wine, and I might be, she scoffed.

I’m just kidding ya, he said, chuckling. He shuffled the cards and gave her a sideways glance. What’s your name, ma’am?

She eyed him with good-natured suspicion. Moira—why?

Because he’s dying to know. He glanced at Mr. Porter, his lips curling into a smile. Just doing my duty, sir, being a good host and all.

Mr. Porter’s lids slid to half-mast. No problem, Carlos, you did me a favor. I was wondering myself.

Her chest tightened for the umpteenth time. She concentrated on her cards instead of looking his way, and resisted the overwhelming urge to squirm in her chair.

I don’t see a wedding ring on her finger, Carlos noted, so everyone could hear.

Her voice low, she warned, Carlos, I don’t think matchmaker is in your job description. Deal the cards.

Yes, ma’am. He darted a look at Mr. Porter, who gave him a slow, shallow nod.

She sat back in her seat, toying with her chips while Carlos reshuffled his eight decks. In the last year, she’d changed more than she had in her entire life. Not only had she reached a milestone birthday and left her thirties in the dust, but her life’s compass had stopped spinning. Her dials, for the most part, had finally set a true course. She lived her life by her standards and her timeline now.

After cleaning up the mess of her short-lived marriage, she was in no hurry to let some guy toss his socks in her laundry. Being single can be lonely, married to an asshole—far worse.

She peeked at Mr. Porter from under her bangs. Just like her ex-husband she thought. Endowed with rugged good looks and an abundance of masculine presence, he obviously could have any woman he wanted.

Their cocktail waitress thankfully went off duty, and a new one took over. Moira watched as Mr. Porter stopped the gal and whispered something.

Yes, sir. She offered him a beautiful smile and walked away in her spike heels and high cut body suit, showing half her firm young ass.

Moira sighed.

They continued to play, and her chips grew to a healthy mound of a thousand dollars.

Lord, you have horseshoes up your butt tonight, little lady, the guy two seats over said, loosening his tie. A light sheen of sweat lay on his brow. She hoped he wasn’t playing with his rent money.

She gave him a friendly grin and shrugged as the dealer turned a four to go with the four, three, and ten she’d drawn. It’s all about guts and luck, isn’t it?

Must be hard sitting on that chair with those horseshoes hanging out your backside, Carlos said, throwing the decks into the shuffler. You’re going to get me in trouble. The house is supposed to win, ya know.

Eh? Laughing, she swirled the last red drops of wine in her glass. I think the owner of this place can afford to part with a thousand dollars, she mused.

I think he can, too, and he wouldn’t mind losing it to you—since luck be a lady tonight.

Moira recognized the low, sensual tones belonging to Mr. Porter. She peered at him as his head tilted, and a small, sexy smile crossed his lips. Her gaze dropped to the table, her smile dissolving. Hard assed with sharp corners maybe—lady, definitely not.

The waitress set her drink down, and Moira gave her a healthy tip. She took a sip and blinked. The velvety, red liquid lingered like silk on her tongue. The Merlot was smooth but bold, and different, she thought. Her brow lifted a little in surprise as her eyes strayed to her sexy table mate. He slowly and oh so sensually caught her stare. The ballast in her stomach shifted abruptly. For a casino this large and noisy, it shrunk to an incredibly small size—just their table, and just his smile. What the hell was he looking at her like that for? No more wine for her.

All night, she’d expected a woman to show up and throw her arms around Mr. Porter, laying claim to the man who looked far too comfortable in his own skin. For a split second, she imagined being in those powerful arms and his perfect, rugged face gazing at her. Wrong, wrong, definitely no more wine, she admonished herself.

As the evening meandered along, she lost count of the times when the seat next to him had been taken by a beautiful woman. She half considered whether there might be a lineup in the bathroom, and when one struck out, she’d tag the next one to try her luck.

This must be her, Moira thought as a voluptuous blonde-haired woman, standing no less than five-ten, sat her sleek body, glittering in a sequined dress, beside him.

Hi, handsome, the blonde greeted. I’m not very good at cards. Think you can share some pointers and luck with me tonight?

Mr. Porter dropped his bet on the table next to his ace. He darted a quick look at Moira. She toyed with her thumbnail, pretending her cuticle was more interesting, and trying not to laugh at the line about half a dozen women had already tossed his way tonight.

I think all the luck is at the other end of the table, he said.

The blonde’s smile tightened. Well good for you, dear.

The woman’s eyes had gone from soft and gooey to fire breathing dragon in a nanosecond. Moira snorted and threw down her bet. The woman only played a few hands then left.

Carlos pushed some cash down the slot in the table from a newcomer. Strikeout number four hundred and fifty-two, he said in a voice only loud enough for her to hear.

She burst out laughing, knowing exactly what he meant. Carlos craned his head at her and grinned. Mr. Porter looked up at them, and she immediately put her attention on the chip she toyed with.

Obviously, other women sensed what she had—an aura of hot and sexy. A woman couldn’t help it when her primordial DNA crawled out of the sludge of her heart to say, Good specimen, go for it. But she knew, and every cognitive fiber told her sludge to get real. Playing cards was fun, but watching the drama unfold around him was an added benefit.

Eventually, each woman’s attempt to attract Mr. Porter flamed out. They’d leave, but it didn’t take long for another one to saunter in and take her position. Like sharks, they swirled around this poor man. He had to be used to it, being an alpha male. They especially knew their luring abilities. It was what made them so damn cocky.

She worked with nothing but, and they had a way of pissing her off immediately. The hair would rise on the back of her neck, and her hackles went up every time a dominant male tried to treat her like she had no brains or skill. She’d earned her title as one of the best in her field. She’d be damned if some new officer with a set of gold rings on his cuffs tried to flaunt his "I’ll be telling God what to do next, but you’ll do for now" attitude.

Mr. Porter most likely fell in with the rest of his ilk. She liked the table and didn’t want to move, so in typical Moira Viterra fashion, she’d enjoy the scenery until Lady Luck said it was time to move on.

The position next to her changed watch. Her uncanny knack of sensing trouble perked up, and something told her it had just sat down beside her. An overpowering waft of aftershave struck her nose as the newcomer swayed in his seat. If the aftershave wasn’t bad enough, the smell of rye on his breath made her eyes water. Carlos dropped a second ace in front of her. She considered her options, then threw down her extra bet and split her cards. She knew it was better to ignore whoever had sat down next to her. He smelled like trouble.

* * * *

Steven Porter sat comfortably as his chips dwindled, paying more attention to the sweet woman who, thanks to Carlos, he knew was named Moira. When Carlos made fun of her, she took it in stride and laughed harder than anyone. He enjoyed the look on her face when he had the waitress bring her the best Merlot in the casino. Entranced, he watched as she brought the glass to her lips. Only a woman who knew what she liked would recognize the wine he’d ordered, and she had.

He scanned the tables around him. Strawberry daiquiris, margaritas and sickly sweet drinks sat by the hands of all the twenty-somethings.

Moira wasn’t twenty, but she certainly had the market cornered on unique.

He glanced at the guy who’d taken over the chair beside her. A big kid with dark features and a gold chain dangling down his exposed chest swayed in his seat. He looked like the college football type—big, but not so brilliant. He watched as the young man turned his head to look at Moira, interest radiating on the guy’s face. Too busy watching the activity around her, she didn’t look at him.

Keee-ute, he heard the guy say to her, but she didn’t acknowledge him. Steven grinned because Moira didn’t think he was talking about her.

Hey, beautiful, the young stud said. She turned her head toward him and just as quickly looked away, obviously thinking he was talking to someone else. You, beautiful, I’m talking to you.

Steven watched as the first flicker of irritation rippled his temper. Obviously, the overgrown kid had too much to drink already. He looked at Carlos, who watched the newcomer as well, then rolled his eyes.

Sweetheart, I have to buy you a drink, he slurred.

Her brows rose beneath her bangs. No, thanks. I’ve got one already. I’m good.

Ah, come on, baby, you’re just too sweet. Hey, he said, lowering his voice, I like older women.

Older huh? she replied.

Steven stopped the grin before it rolled onto his lips. She probably wanted to cuff the rotten kid for that remark.

Sir, would you like to buy in? Carlos asked, drawing the young man’s attention away from her.

I’ll take three hundred, dude.

Steven read her expression, and it said, How fast can you lose three hundred bucks at a twenty-dollar table? If the guy didn’t lay off and settle down, he’d do something about it. He didn’t want her to leave.

Hey, babe, the drunk called to the waitress. Get me a rye and whatever this nice piece of ass is drinking. Maybe she’ll let me get into her pants if I loosen her up. He laughed at his own crude joke as he swung his head to look at Moira.

The waitress wrote it down and turned away with a better her than me expression on her face.

The kid leaned his body into Moira. Ya can’t ignore me all night, babe. I’m sitting right beside ya. He reached up and ran his fingers along her bare shoulder. I think you and I should go back to my room. You older ones always appreciate a good ride. What da-ya say?

If the kid didn’t take his hand off her, Steven would make sure he’d never use it again, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let him talk to her that way. Giving Carlos a look, he pushed himself up from the table.

Carlos’s gaze followed him. He looks pissed off, and that’s one man who you don’t want angry. If the kid gets out of this alive he can consider himself lucky, he said to the man in a business suit sitting in the middle position.

The man turned to look at him as he passed behind. He’s a helluva big guy, he muttered to Carlos.

Kid doesn’t stand a chance, Carlos said, shoving a new deck into the shuffler.

Moira brushed the drunk’s sticky, plump fingers away and glared at him. Her eyes narrowed as a dark storm brewed in their depths. Listen, Boy Wonder, I’m old enough to be your mother, so pipe down and play cards.

Ah, I get it, the stud said, rolling his head. You’re one of those frigid bitch— Steven’s hand came down hard on the kid’s shoulder. What the fuck? The young man twisted then stopped when he saw the look on his face.

Are you bothering my girl? Steven growled from his six-foot-four advantage. He knew he was a wall of a man. He hoped the kid’s vision was still good enough to see it, too. I wouldn’t do that if I were you, friend. Play nice or leave. His gaze swung to Moira. Why don’t you take my seat. Up close, he realized how amazingly engaging her eyes truly were, even though they were round with surprise.

The kid swiveled his head to look at her.

Thanks. She recovered quickly. He doesn’t like it when someone calls me a bitch, she said, playing along.

Moira slid off her seat, her hand gently brushing Steven’s arm as if she knew him. He forgot about the kid for a second, his anger receding under her warm gaze.

What the fuck, man, the guy growled, his stance stiffening.

He put himself between Moira and the drunk. If the kid wanted to take a swing, he’d take the hit. Maybe, you should go play somewhere else, pause for the cause, ya know, he suggested as he took a step back, giving the young man a chance. The guy swayed a little, looking at him, sizing him up. Worse yet, he was probably seeing three of him. Steven jerked his head, indicating it wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.

Yeah, guess so, he slurred. Sorry, man—really, your wife’s a looker. He patted him drunkenly on the arm, scooped up his chips, and stumbled into the crowd.

When Steven turned, Moira stood behind him, laughing.

That poor kid must really have blurred vision. She raised her hand in the air for a high five. And thank you, she said, smiling, her green eyes sparkling with amusement.

He reached for her hand, but instead of slapping it, he curled his fingers around hers. He wasn’t laughing either. There was nothing wrong with the kid’s eyesight. All night he’d watched her. He couldn’t help himself. Her face was exceptionally sweet, and said so much more than she did. He had sensed something different about her as soon as she’d sat down. When she smiled, the warmth always reached her beautiful eyes.

From his vantage point, towering over her, he appreciated her perfect hourglass figure. Her breasts only showed demurely from the form-fitting little black dress she wore. A silver dolphin necklace sitting enticingly between her rounded curves told him she was everything he wasn’t used to. Nothing about her said brash or overstated. She was genuine. But he didn’t miss the fact that the look in her eyes became nervous with his touch.

He let her hand slide from his grasp until only the tips of their fingers touched, and then the warmth vanished. Sitting back in his seat, he could still feel the tingle. Those bedroom eyes peeking through her bangs made his heart skip a beat. Wild desire swarmed inside him at the sound of her sensual voice. Who was this woman?

Carlos, can I leave my chips here? I really need to find the ladies’ room, Moira asked.

Carlos looked over at her. It’s pretty busy. We’re not supposed to—

Save her seat, he ordered, settling down in his chair.

Yes, Mr. Porter. She blinked at the quick exchange. I’ll take care of your chips, Moira, Carlos said.

She nodded. Thank you.

He played absentmindedly with his short stack, while her voice lingered in his mind like an echo. Most of the women who’d made a play for him tonight were more his speed. Moira had an exotic aura about her, and she didn’t play coy. She didn’t giggle. She didn’t flirt. To him, that was like waving a red cape in front