Some Like It Hotter (Sweet Life in Seattle #3) (47 page)

“Also, what’s all this I hear about you playing poker?” Natalie asks, coming back over to her, wiping her hands on her white apron.

Lindsay’s pulse jumps, but she keeps her expression flat. “Um, what?”

“Anthony said there’s a fundraiser for the hospital that includes a poker tournament, and you’re playing in it. Is that true?”

“Oh, that.” Lindsay waves her hand. “Giovanni signed me up for it a while back, but I don’t think I’m still playing in it.”

Natalie seems mystified. “Why would he do that? You haven’t played poker in years.”

Lindsay takes a deep breath and realizes it’s time to finally tell her sister the truth. She only hopes it doesn’t upset her too much. “To be honest, that’s not entirely true.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s go talk about this in the office.”

Natalie’s brows go up, but she nods, and Lindsay follows her into the bakery’s back office.

“What’s going on?” her sister asks, closing the door. “I have a feeling I’m not going to like this.”

It’s now or never
.

“I didn’t know how to tell you, but I’ve sort of started playing cards. In Seattle last year, and then in Berlin too.”

“What?” Natalie stares at her. “You’ve been playing poker?”

“I supported myself with it in Berlin. It’s crazy, but I made twenty thousand in only a couple of months playing cash games.” Lindsay smiles helplessly. “It was unbelievable.”

Natalie looks pale. “But where is all that money? What happened to it?”

“Somebody stole it. Remember I was robbed?”

“All of it was stolen?”

Lindsay nods. “Pretty much.” And then she tells Natalie the rest of it, how Giovanni stepped in, and about their initial arrangement.

“My God.” Natalie sits down in one of the office chairs. “I always knew there was more to that story. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sorry,” Lindsay says quietly. “I know I should have told you everything. I never mentioned I was playing cards last year because I didn’t want to worry you while you were pregnant, and then things just snowballed from there.”

Natalie nods slowly, but Lindsay can see her sister is upset. She still looks pale.

Lindsay pulls up the other office chair and sits down, leaning forward. “I’m not like dad. I don’t blow my winnings. Believe it or not, I run a tight ship.”

“It’s a slippery slope though,” Natalie points out.

“Not for me.” Lindsay takes a deep breath. “When I first started going to some of the local poker rooms, I didn’t even play. I just watched the action. And you know what it felt like?”

Her sister shakes her head, her expression wary.

“Like home.”

Natalie blinks.

“I felt so comfortable. I spent most of my childhood around card games.” Lindsay licks her lips. “That’s one way I am like Dad. There’s something about it that calls to me. I enjoy testing myself.”

“I have to admit you always were drawn to it.” Natalie takes a deep breath. “I shouldn’t be surprised you’re good at it. You were a good card player, even as a kid.”

“I still have a lot to learn. I don’t know if I could ever be on a world-class level like Dad was or anything.” She reaches for her sister’s hand. “Please don’t be angry with me. I hated not telling you.”

“I would have tried to talk you out of it. You know that, right?”

“I know, and I think that’s the
other
reason I didn’t tell you.” Lindsay gives her a wry grin.

“Twenty thousand, huh?” Natalie considers this for a long moment. Finally, a smile tugs on her mouth. “Who were you playing against? A bunch of fish?”

“No.” Lindsay chuckles and pretends to act offended. “All right, I admit occasionally, but plenty of real card players too.” She tells her more about the poker scene in Berlin. “I haven’t played cards since I’ve been back, but I think I might check out some of the local games soon. Are you going to be okay with that?”

“As long as I know you have a handle on it.”

“I do. Absolutely.”

Natalie leans back in her chair and seems to reflect on all this. “Maybe you should play in that hospital tournament. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think it might be kind of fun to watch you play poker.”

Teaching the origami class the second time turns out to be just as much fun as the first. The children are enthusiastic, and Lindsay brings a wide mixture of samples to work from. She chats with a few of the nurses who were there last time as she walks around helping all the kids.

The problem is every time the door opens, her heart stops—and she’s not sure whether she’s relieved or disappointed when it isn’t Giovanni.

After the class is over and the kids have all left, she stays to clean up the scrap paper and to pack all her stuff away. She brought plenty of colorful paper and some of her favorite origami books. When she’s nearly finished, the door opens again.

The air in the room changes.

Her pulse jumps and when she turns, Giovanni’s standing there wearing light blue scrubs, breathing fast like he ran to get here.

She doesn’t say a word, though she can't stop herself from drinking him in.

“I’m glad I caught you,” he says, still catching his breath as he walks toward her. When he moves closer, she sees a strain on his face, the lines around his mouth have grown deeper. His eyes appear to be taking her in too, and when he’s directly in front of her, they’re both silent, gazing at each other.

A long moment passes. 

She knows exactly how to act, how to put the right expression on her face, the exact pitch her voice should be. She’s dealt with enough ex-lovers over the years to have perfected her technique.

“A surgery day, I see.” She motions at his scrubs.

“Yes.” He nods, still keeping his eyes on hers. “How was the class? I’m sorry I missed it. I was hoping to get here sooner.”

“It was great. A lot of fun.” Their eyes are still on each other, but she finally looks away. “I’m just gathering all my supplies. I need to head out since I have homework.” She turns and shoves the last two origami books into her backpack.

“That’s right. How is school going?”

“It’s good.” She zips up her bag. “I really should get going.”

He steps in closer and she freezes. She can smell him—clean sweat with a hint of adrenaline. It’s so familiar that, for a second, it overwhelms her. Her breath catches, and she’s surprised by the rush of desire she still feels for him.

He leans toward her, but he’s only reaching for her backpack. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”

They take the elevator to the parking lot. “I got some of my stolen money back from Dagmar,” she tells him on the way down.

“Really? That’s great. How much did you get back?”

“About eight grand.” She glances at him. “I plan to start looking for an apartment soon, and then I’ll be able to get my furniture out of your house. I can move it sooner if you need me to.”

He blinks, looking like he’s forgotten she even has furniture there. “Sure, there’s no rush.”

When they arrive at her red Mini, they both stop by the driver’s side door. She takes her backpack from him and gets her keys out. “I’d better get going.”

“How’s your finger?”

She glances down at her left hand. “It’s okay. Kind of itchy, actually.”

“May I see it?” He holds his hand out.

Lindsay hesitates, but then gives him her left hand. He takes it and lifts it closer. Her wound is a fresh pink scar at this point since he pulled the stitches out for her a while ago. His touch soothes her, even now.

As he gently examines her finger, she examines him. Her eyes roam over his handsome features, that sensual mouth, the little dip in each corner she’s always enjoyed licking so much.

A wave of intense longing comes over her. She misses stroking his jaw and the feel of those soft golden curls. The pleasure of touching him whenever she wanted to.

“It looks fine,” he tells her, still inspecting her finger. “I don’t see anything to worry about. How’s the sensation?”

“It doesn’t hurt, but it’s numb and tingles sometimes.”

He nods. “That’s normal. It takes a while for nerves to regrow. This time next year you’ll have a better idea of where you’re at.”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why did you tell Anthony I was playing in that poker tournament for the hospital?”

Giovanni looks at her with surprise. “Because I assumed you were. I’ve already written a check to stake you.”

“You have?”

“I wrote it right after I asked you about it. Before you . . . moved out.”

Lindsay considers this.

“You should play in it,” he says encouragingly. “It’s for a good cause.”

“Let me think about it.”

He looks down at her hand still in his, and his voice grows quiet. “I’ve decided to take your advice about talking to someone.” He runs his thumb gently across her knuckles. “A counselor.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I’m glad you told Anthony about everything too.”

“It felt strange to talk about it, but I’ve learned secrets can destroy you.”

She nods, but doesn’t say anything, her gaze dropping to where his hand is still absentmindedly caressing hers.

Neither of them speaks for a long moment.

“I should go now.” She tries to pull her hand back, but he still holds it.

“How are you?” he asks quietly. It’s not a casual question. She knows him better than that.

Lindsay licks her lips. She wants to tell him everything is wonderful, just perfect, but he’s too perceptive, and he'll see right through it. “It’s been harder than I expected,” she admits. “But I’m doing okay.” She tries to smile.

“It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“Unfortunately, it does.”

“No.” The blue in his eyes goes darker, so they’re almost violet. It looks like he’s struggling to say something, and when he finally does his voice is hoarse. “Just come back to me. Please come back 
home
.”

His gaze remains intense on hers.

Lindsay’s throat closes up. She knows how much it’s costing him to be this vulnerable. “I can’t,” she finally manages to say.

He jerks his head to the side, looking out at the parking garage.

“It’s better for both of us. You’ll thank me someday.”

“No.” His eyes flash back to her. “You’re wrong about that.” His voice is stronger now, certain. “I’ll never thank you for this.”

She pulls her hand away, and he releases it readily this time. “I know what I’m doing. And you
will
thank me.”

“No, and we both know this isn’t about your infertility or about whether or not you look like Olivia. It’s about your
fear
. That’s why you’re running, and that’s why you
always
run.” Giovanni snorts. “Remember? I’ve been there myself.”

A strange panic grips her, squeezing the air from her lungs. “I want a divorce,” she says, shaking all over. She feels him go still. “You said we’d divorce once our arrangement was no longer necessary.”

The emotion on his face is so raw it slices through her. Sharp and painful.
I stayed too long
.

His expression hardens. “I’ve said over and over again how you’re nothing like Olivia.”

She clutches her car keys, ready to flee.