The Gambler (10 page)

“Is that a challenge?” Her voice rose with excitement.

“Sure, if that makes you happy. I’d prefer to call it a worthless endeavor.” 

She closed the computer and handed it to him. He set it on the nightstand, worried he’d stolen her playfulness, but while she wasn’t bursting with happiness, she wasn’t frowning either.

He started to slide closer to her, but there was a knock at the door. Libby stiffened, her body tense with anxiety, and Noah slid off the bed. “I’ll check and see who it is.”

He peered through the peephole, and was surprised to see a hotel employee with a room service tray. “You must have the wrong room,” he said, opening the door. “We didn’t order anything.”

The older man dressed in black pants and a white long-sleeved shirt paired with a black bow tie cleared his throat. “Compliments of the hotel. For your wedding night.” His eyes shifted to Noah’s crotch, but he abruptly lifted his gaze and held out a tray with a bottle of champagne, two plastic cups, and a piece of shriveled angel food cake.

Noah tried to hide his grin as he took the tray.

“Is it true?” the man asked. “Did she . . . you know?”

Noah gave a quick glance over his shoulder before turning back and lowering his voice. “Yeah, she’s vicious in bed. I can show you the foot-long scar if you like. It’s still pretty fresh.”

The man’s eyes widened and he turned around, muttering, “No thank you, no thank you,” before hurrying down the hall to the elevator.

Noah carried the tray into the room and kicked the door shut behind him.

“A foot long?” Libby commented with raised brows. “I’m sure there’s some psychological delusion of grandeur there.”

Noah grinned as he set the tray on the dresser, trying to think of things other than his exaggerated twelve inches and the woman on the bed. His T-shirt wouldn’t hide much. “How about some champagne?”

Her smile fell. “Champagne is for celebrating and there is
nothing
to celebrate.”

“I disagree.” Noah twisted off the cork and quickly filled the plastic cups, then carried them over to the bed and sat down, one leg still dangling off the side. “Here.”

She refused to take it. “No. I told you we have nothing to celebrate.”

“Of course we do. How about the fact you dodged a bullet today? You could have married a man you didn’t really love, but you came to your senses at the last minute.”

He held it out to her again and she reluctantly took it this time. “That doesn’t seem like something to be proud of.”

He looked her in the eyes. “It took guts, Lib. Do you know how many people would have just stood there and gone through with it?”

Some emotion washed over her face, but it passed too quickly for him to register. She looked up with a smile. “How about we celebrate the fact I haven’t kicked you in the other ball . . . yet.”

He burst out laughing. “I’ll drink to that, although I resent the tacked-on
yet.
”

She clacked her glass against his, then took a healthy gulp.

He took a sip of his own champagne and said, “Looks like we’ll need more of this.” He got up and grabbed the bottle and the cake, setting the bottle on the nightstand before sitting down again. “Do you want the cake?”

“Angel food?” she asked. “Doesn’t sound appropriate for either one of us. You and I are more like devil’s food, don’t you think?” Her teasing tone removed the sting.

“Maybe it’ll be a good influence on us.” He picked it up off the plate and held it up to her mouth.

Hesitation flickered in her eyes for a few seconds, but she leaned forward and took a bite. She grabbed the cake out of his hand and held it up to him, lifting her eyebrows playfully.

As she held the cake in front of his face, he realized why she’d held back for a moment. Without realizing what he was doing, he’d reenacted the cake part of a wedding reception.

She put the cake on the plate, then finished off her cup of champagne. He grabbed the bottle and poured more for her.

“What do you want to do?” he asked. “Watch some TV? Go to sleep?”

“TV. I don’t think I can sleep.”

He reached for the remote and clicked on the TV, scrolling through the channels until he found an episode of
Friends.
The goal was to put her at ease. They’d watched plenty of movies together at her apartment, and sometime he’d sit behind her and rub her back. “I’ll rub your back if you like.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, turn around.”

She drank the rest of her champagne and handed him the cup before scooting closer.

“Why don’t you lay your head on my legs, close enough for me to reach your back.”

“Okay.”

She maneuvered so that she lay sideways, her head resting on his upper thighs. His hand rested on her back. It should have been no big deal; they’d watched TV on her sofa before, but never this intimately.

He stayed still for a moment, letting her relax on him before he began to rub over her T-shirt, shifting slightly so she couldn’t see his arousal at the sight of her sexy legs and barely covered ass. She sighed with contentment and soon her breathing evened, her body sagged into his, and he realized she’d fallen asleep.

To his surprise his arousal faded, shifting to something deeper—the need to make sure she felt protected and comforted. He realized even if
she
made a move, he would turn her down. That so wasn’t his style, but he didn’t want to blow their chance on what she could potentially see as a one-night fling.

The episode ended and he turned off the TV, then tried to decide if he should disturb her to turn off the light.

She shifted slightly, then lifted her head to look at him. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep.”

“It’s okay, I’m tired too.” He reached up and flipped the switch, flooding the room with darkness.

She scooted off him but stayed close. “Noah? Can I ask you a favor?”

“Anything . . . well, except for buying you tampons. A guy has to draw the line somewhere.”

She laughed. “You’re safe there . . . for now.”

He grinned in the dark. “What’s your favor?”

She paused, and when she finally answered, her voice sounded unsure. “Will you hold me?”

He didn’t answer, just rolled onto his side and reached for her, pulling her back to his chest, bending his hips back in case touching her aroused him again.

She put her hand over his. “You’re the only one who stood by me today.”

The thought sobered him. How could that be? He was the least responsible of all of her friends. He instinctively pulled her closer. “Oh, Lib. I’ll always be there for you. I promise. I’m sorry I said I wasn’t coming. If I’d kept my original flight yesterday, maybe I could have helped you change your mind.”

Her head rubbed against his chest as she shook it. “No. You couldn’t have. I was sure I knew what I was doing.”

The sadness in her voice wrecked him. “It’s over. Tomorrow is Libby Day and we won’t mention any of this at all, okay? Just fun.”

“Okay.”

Soon her breath evened again, and he drifted off to sleep too, wondering if this was what contentment felt like. If it was, he knew he wanted it with her.

Libby woke facing Noah, their legs intertwined. For a few moments she was confused and horrified. Had she had sex with him? But the thought barely had the chance to form before she remembered everything. He’d only held her.

She’d slept in a bed with Noah and he hadn’t made a move on her. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or insulted. She settled on disappointed—another surprise. But sex with Noah was bound to ruin everything, she reminded herself. Yesterday he’d proved himself to be a loyal and supportive friend. She couldn’t let her hormones screw that up.

She untangled herself, making him stir, then propped herself up on one elbow. “Good morning.”

“What time is it?” he muttered, keeping his eyes closed.

“I don’t know. I can’t see a clock.”

“Go back to sleep,” he grumbled. “Whatever time it is, it’s two hours earlier in Seattle. For me, it’s like the middle of the night.”

“It’s not the middle of the night. The sun’s out.”

Groaning, he rolled over and looked at the clock on the nightstand, then groaned again.

“So what time is it?”

“9:13.” He didn’t sound very happy about it.

“I’m hungry.”

He lay on his back, looking up into her face. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. “You’re worse than Tortoise.” Then his eyes widened. “Hey, where
is
Tortoise?”

“Did you seriously think I was irresponsible enough to leave my dog alone overnight?”

“Well, no.”

“Liar.”

He looked relieved when she laughed.

“He’s with my friend Steph. She treats him like a little prince.”

“I miss him.”

That surprised her . . . then it didn’t. She’d adopted Tortoise while Noah was in town—they’d gone to the dog shelter together—and he’d teased her to no end about the name she’d given him. But he’d grown attached to the animal too, and often asked about him, as infrequent as his calls had become these past weeks.

“Hey,” she said, giving his arm a shove. “Why haven’t you called me very much over the last month?”

“That’s a two-way street, Libby.”

It was true. She’d pulled away from him after telling him about her engagement. She realized now it was because his disapproval had smarted. Even though she hadn’t intended to go through with the wedding, she’d known all along he was right about marrying Mitch.

“None of that,” he said, pulling her close again. “Yesterday happened in a vacuum.”

It hadn’t, not really. But it was nice to pretend it was true. “Maybe so, but today has its own very real problems.”

He frowned. “What problems could you possibly have on your special day?”

“Remember? The only thing I have to wear is a wedding dress.”

“Hmm . . . I see your point. Should I go out and pick up an outfit for you?”

“Are you kidding?” she asked in mock horror. “I don’t care to spend my special day dressed like a hooker.”

He leaned to the side to catch her gaze. “I’m slightly insulted by that.”

“Only slightly?”

“Well, I admit, it’s a legitimate concern.”

She lifted her eyebrows in mock surprise. 

“I have a pair of sweatpants in my bag. You could wear those.”

“So I’m going to pair your sweatpants and T-shirt with my white beaded shoes?”

“Only so we can go out and find you something more suitable to wear. Unless you want to go in the buff. Or in your dress.”

“Sweatpants it is.”

“Thought so.”

She hopped out of bed and grabbed her bra from underneath the wedding dress on the chair, then slipped into the bathroom and closed the door. She was in the process of putting her bra on under Noah’s T-shirt when she saw his toothbrush on the counter.

Oh, God. She’d been talking to him with morning breath. She could get a toothbrush while they were out shopping, but she didn’t want to go that long. Looking over her shoulder, she turned on the water and grabbed his toothbrush, quickly putting toothpaste on the bristles. She’d been brushing for half a minute when Noah knocked on the door and pushed it open a crack. “Are you decent?”

“Uh-huh,” she said with the toothbrush in her mouth.

He opened the door the rest of the way and stared at her in the reflection in the mirror for a moment, his forehead wrinkling. “Here’s the pants.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled, still brushing.

His mouth dropped open. “Is that
my
toothbrush?”

She pulled it out and spat in the sink. “Yeah.”

“Oh, my God!” he said in horror. “That’s
disgusting.
”

“Come on,” she said, cupping water into her hand and slurping it into her mouth. “You’re telling me that you’ve never shared a toothbrush with someone before?”

“Absolutely not. Now that thing is covered in your germs.”

She rinsed off his toothbrush under the running water. “It’s no different than kissing.”

“But at least I get something out of kissing. What am I getting out of this?”

She turned around to face him, lifting her eyebrows in a playful manner. “My charming personality
without
halitosis?”

Something happened in his eyes then, the annoyance shifting to something she didn’t recognize, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. “Just remember paybacks are a bitch.”

A grin spread across her face as she stalked closer to him and rested her palms against his chest. “Am I supposed to be scared, Noah McMillan?”

His eyes narrowed. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

His tone was teasing, but the combination of their proximity, their playful banter, and the suggestive words he’d just uttered sent an unexpected wave of heat coursing through Libby.

That was the thing. She
wanted
to find out what he was capable of . . . .

Her hands were still on his chest, but her fingertips were on fire now. She inhaled sharply, trying to make sense of the war being waged in her head. Her body demanded she grab the back of his head, pull his mouth to hers, and drag him to the
very
available bed less than ten feet away, so they could have what she was sure would be the most amazing sex of her life. But her head commanded her body to stop. She had too much to lose with a spontaneous fling. It wasn’t worth the risk. Even if she let herself think they might have the potential to have something long term, she had a hard time ignoring what was plainly written in her palm. She was destined for a man who was creative. She was certain an engineer who worked in an office didn’t qualify.