by Katy Evans
“I’m here,” I mouth.
“You never left.” He taps his chest near his heart.
“Wow. Did you see that?” someone in the groupie section squeals. “I wish he looked at me like that.”
I don’t even turn around to see who said what.
I don’t have competition.
It’s just me and Cullen. His love surrounds me as I find my place in the crowd, a seat where I can watch him do his thing.
As soon as I’m settled, I’m gaping at him and feeling his love firing right back at me.
I’m dying to kiss him, dying to hold him, dying to be in his bed.
Dying to be completely his all over again because when I’m dying, that’s when I feel most alive.
Stop, Wynn. There will be time for fantasies to play out later.
For now, he’s about to win the biggest tournament in the world. I feel it in my veins. I see the shark sharpening his fins as he mentally circles the other players around the table.
He’s about to strike.
He’ll take the title and the bracelet and the money . . . and then he’ll take and devour me.
I finally come to terms with the misery I’ve felt over the last few days. I may have been in Chicago, surrounded by my belongings, but I wasn’t here with the man I love. I wasn’t where I’m supposed to be.
Cullen has somehow, in many sweet ways, become my heart and home.
* * *
Hours later, there are four players left and the commentators are making predictions as they call for a fifteen-minute break. Lucas Ingram has the lead. Cullen is in second. The short stacks belong to two unknowns, players who probably don’t stand a chance now, if the commentators are correct in their predictions.
I wait for Cullen at the ropes and as soon as he clears them, he’s in my arms, not caring who watches as he sweeps me against him and delivers a scorching kiss. As our lips meet, part, and gravitate together again, I can’t believe we ever spent one night apart.
“Cullen.” My face must be as red as summer roses.
“You look great,” he says, breathless. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d . . .”
“I missed your plane.”
“The pilot called to tell me.” He frames my face and looks at me tenderly. “You’re a sight for tired eyes.”
“Cullen, I’m so sorry. I’m a coward. I . . .”
“Shh . . .” he whispers across my lips. “When I look at you, I see a strong and beautiful woman. These eyes don’t see a coward.” He waits a second and says, “You’re here and don’t owe me an explanation . . . for anything.”
His words are telling. He must have some inclination, some knowledge of why I’m late.
“There aren’t any secrets between us, Cullen.”
“Right . . .”
“Emmett was there.” I’m ashamed to admit as much because I missed my plane because of my ex. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation.” He looks unmoved. “How’d that go?”
“I’m here.”
“You are.” His eyes twinkle.
“And I told him . . .”
“What did you tell him?”
“Can you give me a minute?” I look up at him and my heart skips a beat. My pulse quickens. My legs go weak. “I want to get this right.”
“You. This.” He nods at the final table. “We’re perfect.”
“Then I want to perfectly tell you that I wanted to be here from the minute you left me. I need to say . . .”
There’s a two-minute warning. The players shuffle by us and Cullen grips my hand. “Later. We’ll have all the time in the world.” He kisses my temple and leaves me standing there alone.
Mike is at my side. “I had my doubts.”
“What’s that?” I’m so mesmerized that I don’t take my eyes off Cullen.
“I never thought Playboy would settle down, love somebody. And then . . . there you are. You’re good for him, you know.”
“He’s better for me.” My words didn’t come out like I’d intended.
“You’ve got that right. He plays better, acts better, wins better—more—and I like you in his life.”
I reclaim my seat and think, I like me in his life too.
THE FINAL TABLE
The third and fourth place winners are quickly eliminated and it’s back and forth, the lead going to Lucas then Cullen then back to Lucas.
“Want to cut a deal?” Lucas asks.
“Best deal I see is for you to go all-in right now.” That’s a bluff. If Lucas goes in, Cullen will fold.
Given the look on Mike’s face, I suspect he knows the same.
Lucas narrows his eyes and folds.
Cullen doesn’t show his hand.
The commentators are whispering into the microphone, bantering back and forth as if no one can hear them. Thanks to soundproof glass, the players can’t. The crowd seems interested.
I turn to Mike when I catch part of their dialogue. “So Cullen can buy Lucas out?”
“If a deal was brokered, they worked it out on the break. Cullen won’t cut a deal when it’s down to two.” Mike seems sure. “If a deal was cut, you probably heard about it.”
During the break, Cullen and I reconnected. I wasn’t thinking about poker. Cullen wasn’t talking to anyone but me.
I lean forward and focus on Cullen as he makes swift moves, inching his chips forward before tossing in a few extra ones to signal a raise.
On the board, there are three nines.
“Pretty.”
“Unless Lucas is holding the fourth one,” Mike says. “Don’t think he is. He keeps looking at his cards.”
Lucas raises.
Cullen folds.
“Not how I saw that one playing out,” I say.
Mike shrugs. “You probably read him better than most, but here? He’s a different player. His game face at the final table isn’t the one you’d see in a cash game.” He studies my expression then says, “Cullen has ten million reasons to remain unreadable.”
“That’s a life-changing sum.”
He grins. “Second place isn’t too shabby at seven and a half.”
I don’t respond. I think Mike wants me to react in some way.
“With you here, I’m sort of surprised Cullen’s staying in. He could take the money and run. All Lucas really wants is the title.”
“Maybe he wants the bigger payday, too,” I say. “The difference in first place and second isn’t a few pennies on the dollar.”
He laughs. “No, it sure isn’t.”
Cullen pushes his cards back at the dealer and frowns. He folds the next three hands and Lucas seems agitated. The next hand Cullen gets, he plays.
The crowd is antsy. The commentators feed that angst by saying, “Something tells me we may be watching the final hand, Boz.”
Boz shakes his head. “This isn’t the end.”
Only it may be.
Cullen is on his feet. He’s all-in.
I stand, waiting and watching, hoping. If I were an emoji, I’d be a couple of praying hands right about now, I’m so nervous.
Cullen lifts his chin and winks at me as if to say, either way, he’s got this.
And I’ve got him.
No one else is in the room. It’s just me, Cullen, and everyone else now fading away.
“I love you,” I mouth.
His smile is wider when he mouths back, “I know.”
Damn him.
Only I like it. His confidence is sexy and pure.
I laugh and wait, hoping Lucas will do this, call him so we can get on with it.
He stands, sits, stands again.
“What do you think he’ll do, Boz?” The commentators begin again.
“Based on how the kid has been playing, I think we’ll see him call. He’s thinking about it . . .”
“We used to be able to see the hole cards,” Mike says. “After there was some speculation about how easily that information could be passed
to those playing, the rules changed.”
“We don’t need to see.”
“Player has it?”
“Yes. Want to place a side bet?” I say.
“No way.” He shakes his head. “Cullen would kill me if I bet against him.”
“Yep. You’re probably right.” I’m worried. “You think Lucas has it?”
“Kid has been on a roll and you’re Cullen’s biggest distraction.” He pauses. “Hard to predict this one.” He nods then and whispers, “Here we go . . .”
The adrenaline fires and feeds the waiting crowd when Lucas moves all-in and joins Cullen to watch the cards fall.
“I can’t see Lucas’s hand,” I say quietly, the nerves knotting in my belly.
“You don’t want to,” Mike says.
The dealer turns the river card in a smooth and theatrical manner. Before it falls, it’s so quiet, I’m almost sure we’ll hear the card land on the felt. The crowd across the room has better visibility and they’re on their feet, cheering like mad.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new world champion! Cullen Carmichael succeeds at drawing Lucas out with his pocket kings, but they weren’t enough to keep Carmichael from the bracelet. His queens found a match on the turn and river! Say hello to the new world champion . . . the best poker player in the world . . . Cullen Carmichael!”
“Unbelievable!” Mike says, whooping and hollering, high-fiving the others around him.
Cash is dumped on the table.
Cullen and Lucas embrace, slapping backs. Lucas is photographed with his millions before moving aside so Cullen has the same opportunity.
“Come on,” Mike says, dragging me around to the private exit. “We’ll meet him on the other side.”
I send a text to Oliver.
He did it! He won! Can you bring Adam downstairs?
We’re here at the arcade.
Meet me at the tournament entrance?
On our way now.
I pick up my pace. “Hurry, Mike.” I can’t wait to see Cullen’s face. He’ll be thrilled to see his son.
A few minutes pass before Cullen approaches from the left. Adam is at my right.
“Everything is perfect.”
When Cullen sees us, I realize my word choice doesn’t adequately describe this moment, this tournament, his world . . . Cullen and his son . . . it’s pluperfect.
We’re better than perfect. We’re all here, together.
* * *
We take Adam to Casino Kids, a new arcade with a casino-spin to it. We eat pizza and play games, win prizes and have a blast. At the end of a long night, we return to the hotel. I watch Cullen and his son and my heart is near bursting.
“Dad. I want to see you more. I wish it could be like this.”
“I know, son.” He rumples his hair, pulls him into his arms, and rubs his knuckles on his head. “I’m working on it. Would you like to come to Vegas and live with me . . . and Wynn?”
Sensing the seriousness in his voice, I let my heart soar and devour the moment of belonging. That sense of worth and family and being a member of something bigger than myself, it’s like . . . well, it’s like all my dreams are falling into place at once.
“Mom won’t ever . . .”
“I’m coming to an arrangement with your mother. You can see her for half the year, and the other half, you’re ours.” He pulls me into his arms, still focusing most of his attention on Adam.
He grins. “You will win,” he says.
“He wins a lot,” I say, wondering if I should’ve remained neutral as I slip away from Cullen’s arms.
Cullen smiles, his eyes warm as sunlight. “I missed you. Come here, champ.” He grabs the back of his neck and steers him into the room. “We’ll need to fly you back home tomorrow.”
“I don’t want you to,” he adamantly says, his voice breaking.
Cullen pauses, looking down at him. “I’m sorry it has to be like this for now. I promise you I’ll do everything in my power so you can spend more time with me.” He pulls his son into his arms and Adam nods. I cry silent tears as I watch them. Cullen’s jaw tightens as he guides him to bed and tucks him in.
When Adam finally falls asleep, I watch Cullen stare at his son from the doorway. I’m still crying as quietly as I can. I step out of the room, hurry to our bedroom for tissues, aching to make it better for them both.
I sense a presence in the room and spot Cullen’s wide frame in the shadows.
His voice is thick and raspy. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being here.” He takes a few steps forward. “For bringing him here.” He keeps closing the distance. “For being you.” He reaches me, tugs me closer and pulls me into his arms, his lips in my hair. “For being mine.”
“I’m yours,” I whisper into his shirt. “All yours. You don’t even know—”
When I tip my face back, he kisses me softly, and I wrap my arms around him. “It’s like . . . right here? I could not want for anything more,” I admit. “I want you. I want Adam. I want Vegas and Chicago. I want everything.”
“I won’t have my woman wanting for anything.” He pecks my lips, my jaw in his palms. “I’m building a hotel on the Strip soon. I’m fighting Sondra for custody of Adam. I don’t want to take my son away from his mother, but I want him to have a father, and I want him to have you.”
“I would love to be his stepmom . . . or . . . I mean . . .” I start blushing.
“You know it’s happening,” he says softly, his eyes twinkling, “Just let me ask you the right way.”
I shake my head as if to clear off this wonderful, heady daze I’m in. “When I was very young, I always thought that I’d do anything possible to find the One for me. Anything. I’d sell my soul. Move to Vegas. And now . . .”
“And now?”
“And now I realize, I was right.” I grin up at him, laughing. “I’ll have Pepper watch the Fifth Street Gallery and maybe I can open one here—”
“As many as you want.” He boosts me up.
My arms fly around his neck. “I won’t be easy but—”
“We can handle hard. You and me. Just don’t ever quit me.”
“Me? I would never fold when I’ve got a winning hand.”
EPILOGUE
TOP PAIR
Cullen
Seven months later
I wake up at my Vegas place with one thing on my mind.
It’s not that unusual now that Wynn and I live together. The only thing different about this morning and the previous one is the empty space beside me.
In the next room, I hear Wynn’s high-pitched voice and a tap tap tap against the floor. Is she dancing?
Amused, I toss a pillow behind me and wait as she parades back and forth, squealing a little louder . . .
“Seriously? Oh, Pepper, that’s fabulous! I can’t wait to tell Cullen!” The place goes silent and then she says, “Right. That’s perfect! We’ll do it.”
“Come here and share,” I growl at her when she hangs up, meaning a whole lot of one thing and a little of the other.
Of course I want to hear her news but I also want that little tigress arching under me, moaning in my arms as I drive into her and show her just how much I can’t wait to make her my wife.
She sashays by our double bedroom doors and holds up a finger, shooting me an impish grin. I groan and stretch. When she passes our room again, I hold up the sheet so she can see what she’s doing to me.
Close proximity without the first touch is like sipping coffee without caffeine. The need is there but fulfillment is out of reach. I shift my arms and link my hands behind my head.
“Tell you what . . .” Her voice fades as she slips out of sight again and I realize she’s still on the phone.
I make a mental note to send Wynn’s assistant a token of my appreciation. She keeps the ball rolling at Wynn’s gallery so I can keep my lucky charm beside me.
As I contemplate a gift card or basket of wine, Wy
nn bounds inside our bedroom and tumbles across the bed. I see a blue-white blur as she rolls over, places her phone on the nightstand and peers up at me as if to say, “Come and get it.”
I charge at her, pinning her beneath me in one second flat.
“Good morning.” I peck her lips and she immediately attempts to pull my button-down shirt down that sexy body of hers to her thighs. “Oh no you don’t.” I catch her wrists and lift her arms above her head, smothering her lips in a kiss that’s meant to lead somewhere.
She sighs into my kiss, taking it like it’s all she wants, then she pushes me back. “Cullen! Hang on! I have something to tell you.”
“It can wait.” I’m already worked up. Hell, this girl works me up without any effort at all. I nibble her earlobe and stare down at the beautiful woman that recently said “yes” when I asked her if she could take me on for a lifetime.
“You’re insatiable!” She giggles.
“Then sate me,” I say, inching down. “Have I ever told you how hot you look in my shirt?”
“Many times.” Her body responds and she bucks underneath my lips, and I get the feeling this little move was meant to throw me aside. “But that’s gonna have to wait. THIS is important.”
“It sure is,” I tease, walking my fingers higher up her thigh.
Her hands land on my shoulders and she yanks me forward. This is Wynn’s typical signal when she really wants to fight me off. But it’s anything but a turnoff.
“Five minutes?”
Her smile could stop traffic but I don’t want it to stop me.
I persist until her hand lands on mine. “Your five minutes spin into two hours, Cullen.”
“Some women would find that irresistible.”
“I find it irresistible.” She pecks my lips as I prop up on my shoulders and look down at her. “But you have to hear this first.”
“I can do first. That means there’s more to follow.” I sigh and roll to my back and like it even better after she straddles me. I grip her hips and drag her closer to my cock.
I’m playing but love it when she blushes.