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  Andros’s chin rose. “I thought you weren’t charmed. Was that not true?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not.”

  “Yet you mention his name. Tell me, how can I trust you when you lied to me about the phone and purse? You said you fell asleep and when you woke you thought you’d left it somewhere. And when I enter, it is here.”

  “It wasn’t. I checked.”

  “How would it disappear and reappear?”

  “I don’t know. Mitchell and I both thought it was missing. He took me back to the club to see if it was there. We called the taxi company.”

  “So Mitchell is involved with your deception?”

  “No, not deception,” I corrected. “I asked him to give me time. I didn’t want to disappoint you.” I went to the handbag. Opening it, I pulled out the receipt. “I was afraid this was gone. I knew you’d be angry.”

  “Remove your sweater.”

  My steps stuttered backward as I pushed the receipt back into the handbag. “Excuse me?”

  His chin rose yet his expression was granite and unchanging. “My orders don’t require explanations nor contemplation.”

  I lifted my fingers to the row of buttons that ran from the neckline to the hem. “I just don’t understand.” Tears prickled the back of my eyes. The dread I’d felt at his unexpected arrival came back to life as I did as he’d warned against. I contemplated.

  What were his plans?

  While my fingers began to unfasten, my eyes closed and I considered my options. There were none. I couldn’t escape the hotel room and definitely not Chicago. It wouldn’t matter if I could. I wouldn’t and Andros knew that.

  Tugging the length from the waist of my slacks, I exposed my bra.

  Was I exposing more?

  Were there visible signs of my union with Patrick last night?

  I couldn’t think about that possibility as I removed the sweater and laid it upon the bed.

  “Lovely.” Andros’s compliment was overflowing with saccharine, artificial sweetness. “Turn around.”

  One breath in. I swallowed and complied.

  When I had made a full circle, he again spoke. “Tsk. That won’t do. Remove your bra too.”

  “Andros...please. I don’t know what you want.”

  In two steps he was in front of me, staring down. “But you do. I told you.”

  My fingers fumbled with the clasps behind my back. I unfastened the clasps and began pulling the straps from my shoulders and down my arms. Once it was free, Andros took it from my grasp and inspected the lace. I wanted to ask what he was doing and why he was doing it.

  I didn’t.

  “You are a beautiful woman, Madeline. No wonder Marion Elliott is interested.”

  Knowing better than to cover myself, I kept my arms at my sides. “I’m not. I’m not interested in Marion Elliott. Please believe me.”

  “What happened with your purse?”

  My skin was now flushed with goose bumps as Andros’s timbre slowed. It was an ominous precursor I’d learned to heed. “I don’t know. I don’t. I searched for it this morning when Mitchell woke me. I couldn’t find it. There was no other explanation than that I’d lost it last night. We went to the club. I spoke to Veronica. You can ask her. I was there. I was worried about the chip receipt and my place in the tournament if the purse couldn’t be found. She provided me with a new receipt. It’s in my coat pocket. I can show it to you.” My sentences were coming faster and faster as each one left my lips.

  I turned toward the bedside stand. “Maybe...” I searched for any possibility. “Maybe the maid found it when she cleaned the room.” My eyes widened. “Yes, that makes sense. I thought I searched thoroughly, but maybe I didn’t. Maybe it had fallen. Yes, under the bed. I was too upset to check as thoroughly as I should have done. It’s here. That’s all that matters.”

  Andros came closer, his stare again zeroed in on mine. The tips of his fingers skirted my cheek, sending cold chills down my spine. The chills scurried like tiny insects avoiding a known threat. His touch continued to move, down my neck and to my shoulder. All at once, his fingers entwined in the length of my ponytail and yanked my head backward. The ceiling disappeared as his face materialized within inches of mine. “Is that all that matters?”

  “No,” I managed to answer. “I’m sorry I didn’t find the purse.” Tears were now escaping my eyes. “Andros, please. I have the tournament.”

  “It’s true.” His free hand again went to my cheek. “Perhaps not such a visible reminder of who you belong to.”

  “I don’t need a reminder. I’ve been here as you said and with Mitchell. I know who.” The words churned my stomach as another name came to mind, one I tried unsuccessfully to forget. It was the name of a man who didn’t need to show his strength in ways like this.

  “Tell me.”

  “You. Andros. It’s you.”

  He released my ponytail, giving instant relief to my scalp.

  “Turn around, Madeline. I want your hands on the bed.”

  The relief evaporated as I complied, my mind a mix of what was to come. My breasts were exposed, but I was still wearing my slacks and boots. He hadn’t instructed me to remove them. This wasn’t sex.

  Or maybe?

  My breathing caught and blood ran cold as I heard Andros unlatch his belt.

  “It pains me to need to do this.”

  My head fell forward as I prepared for what was to come.

  “Your slacks.”

  Standing straighter, my fingers trembled as I unlatched the thin belt and the button and lowered the zipper. Before they fell, I looked up. “Andros, please.” It was then I realized his belt was in his grasp, fully removed from the loops, yet his trousers were still fastened.

  As crazy as it sounded, there was instant relief knowing this wouldn’t be sex.

  Would it have been?

  Sex was consensual. Whatever Andros planned was about power. Rape was also about power.

  I turned and placed my hands back on the bed allowing the slacks to fall to the carpet, revealing my panties as I prayed for one lash.

  Who does that?

  Who had I become?

  One was sustainable.

  “Six,” his one-word sentence sent shivers scurrying down my spine.

  “Six?”

  “The number of calls you missed.”

  The knowledge added to my dread.

  Six.

  Could I take it?

  I had but not before a public appearance.

  I held my breath, my muscles growing taut even knowing that the tenseness would make it worse.

  My eyes closed and lip disappeared between my teeth as I prepared for the strike. I wouldn’t beg any more. I wouldn’t display the emotion he sought. Andros’s power wasn’t innate; people gave it to him by submitting to his demands. I’d given him all I could. There was nothing left. I braced myself.

  Silence prevailed. Until it was sliced open by the split-second whistle. My body tensed.

  The leather landed on the bed near my hand.

  “Stand up, Madeline.”

  With my entire body trembling, I stood. This time he cupped my chin as his thumb wiped away tears from both cheeks. “I believe you.”

  “Oh...” I released the breath I’d been holding.

  His hand came to my shoulder. “Tonight...you will answer.”

  It wasn’t a question; nevertheless, I replied, “Yes, Andros, I will answer.”

  His touch disappeared. “Dress.”

  Nodding, I reached for my bra. As I fumbled again with my shaking fingers, Andros tapped my shoulder, turning me, and clasped the latches. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “Your honesty earned your reprieve.”

  I pulled up my slacks and began buttoning the sweater.

  “And Mitchell, for his role?” he asked.

  “Are you asking me?”

  “Yes, my dear. If the blame doesn’t lie with you, where does it lie?”

  “
Not with him.” I couldn’t believe my words. Less than twenty-four hours ago I had threatened to kill him myself and now I was defending him. “Me before him,” I said, feigning strength I knew was lost. “I asked him for time to find it to avoid disappointing you. The blame lies with me.”

  I tucked the sweater back into my slacks and fastened the belt. “Thank you for believing me.”

  “I have a job for you. Tell me you will not let me down, not again.”

  “No, of course, Andros. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Very good. I’ll have food delivered. Shower and prepare yourself for the tournament.”

  Andros went to my closet and opened the doors. As he did, the light within shone down on the rack. He hummed aloud as his large hand grazed over the dresses within, all very expensive and purchased with his money. Reaching for a long black silk one with the tags still attached, he removed it from the closet.

  “This will do.”

  I’d only tried it on once. It was one of the most sought-after fashions of late. I took the hanger, reading the tag: Sinful Threads. I didn’t say a word as I ran my hand over the luxurious silk.

  “And your hair, wear it up. And the emerald jewelry...” He lifted my chin. “Yes, it will match your eyes.”

  My nerves were frayed as I worked to suppress my trepidation. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Who, my dear. New information has come to light. The question isn’t what but who.” His fingertip came to my lips. “I want you to be you. This will be your favor to me. This will work to my benefit.” Again he caressed my cheek. “He won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

  Patrick

  As I entered Club Regal, for the first time since seeing Madeline last night, my mind was not on her but on the job at hand. I agreed with the Sparrows—there was something brewing that needed to be squelched.

  That being said, I wasn’t thrilled about spending my night counting cards and calculating the odds. That wouldn’t be all I did. I would also watch my opponents. The way the tournament worked was advancement came through winnings, not gross but net for the night. The initial stack was subtracted at the end of play.

  I could win every pot at my assigned table and still not make the cut. The accumulated earnings had to be substantial in order to rank in one of the top eighteen spots for the night.

  Each night began again.

  Yes, I would start with a substantial stack of chips as did everyone else. What mattered was the difference at the end of the night. I wasn’t certain of the amount of earnings Madeline had accumulated the first night. When enough players end up in the red, even a small margin of profit can be enough.

  That was what I was going for tonight—enough.

  I told myself that tonight’s play was only the first step. I needed to win enough to make it to the top eighteen and whether it was egotistical or not, I wasn’t concerned. My concern was focused elsewhere.

  Hillman especially.

  It would be interesting to see how Antonio reacted to my presence, not only as an overseeing figure, but as a contender. I didn’t give a shit how he or anyone else felt. I wasn’t present to make friends.

  That wasn’t completely true. I cared about Madeline, and from our brief encounter earlier this afternoon, I knew that she wasn’t happy.

  What I couldn’t figure out were her comments about her chips.

  I had too many things to consider. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t learn more tonight. If I didn’t discover my answers here at the club, I sure as hell would tonight back in her hotel room. I still had her key and planned to use it.

  The two of us needed to talk, and I needed answers.

  After leaving my outer coat at coat check, I adjusted my suit coat and tie and entered Bar Regal. Near the center of the connecting rooms, a man in a tuxedo tickled the keys of the grand piano filling the air with melodies. The music was subtle yet lively, the perfect backdrop as the evening’s festivities moved into high gear. Not everyone present was here for the tournament. No, Bar Regal as well as the cigar room and restaurant were filling to capacity. After all, it was Friday night.

  “Mr. Kelly,” a woman’s voice came from behind me.

  Turning, I grinned as one of the hardworking managers of Club Regal came my direction. “Ms. Standish. It’s nice to see you.”

  She leaned in and kissed my cheek. I politely returned the gesture. While she was a woman older than I, she was attractive with her short blonde hair and unusually high cheekbones. She was also vital to the running of this club.

  “Mr. Kelly, please call me Veronica.”

  “Veronica,” I repeated, not offering her the same informality. As part of the Sparrow upper regime, formality had its place.

  Her expression turned serious. “I want you to know that I hold no ill will about your entering the tournament.”

  “That’s nice to hear.” I wasn’t certain why she would. After all Hillman had been afforded the opportunity. Instead of saying that, I added, “I do realize it’s unusual.”

  She forced a smile. “Creating this situation was our doing, not yours. We opened the door. I just hope it won’t reflect poorly upon Club Regal when it’s time to bid on future tournaments. I’m certain Mr. Sparrow would not be happy if we were unable to attract the high rollers.”

  “Veronica, I’ll be happy to let him know of your concern. Since my entering the tournament was his idea, I’m sure he won’t mind that you’re second-guessing his decisions.”

  “No,” she answered quickly. “That isn’t...” Her hand came to my sleeve. “I respect Mr. Sparrow’s decisions as does Mr. Beckman. Your entry isn’t the one I’m concerned about.”

  Hillman’s?

  Why?

  I peered over her head and around, wondering if we were being overheard. “If you have something to tell me, something you believe Mr. Sparrow should know, please feel free.” I leaned closer. “Perhaps a more private venue is recommended.”

  She shook her head as her lips pursed. “I have nothing more to say. As it is, I’ve said too much. I trust you, Mr. Sparrow, and your associates to make it right, to keep things as they are. It’s been nice since—”

  “Veronica,” Ethan Beckman said overenthusiastically as he joined the two of us. “Mr. Kelly, welcome.” For only a microsecond, he sent Veronica a silencing glance before gratuitously gesturing around the bar. “Please, Mr. Kelly, relax before the tournament. Dinner, drinks, or whatever you’d like is on the house. Nothing but the best to help calm the nerves. We hope you enjoy your tournament play this evening.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “My nerves are fine. However, when it comes to hospitality, Ms. Standish had just offered me the same.”

  “She did?” he asked, looking between the two of us.

  A waiter passed by with a plate of steaming shrimp scampi. “Yes,” I went on, “she was telling me about the shrimp scampi.” I lowered my voice. “I’m dying to know the secret ingredient, but it seems she won’t tell me. I will have to give it a try and see if I can figure it out for myself.”

  “Yes, you must,” Veronica said with a nod.

  Beckman’s head bobbed. “Very well. I didn’t mean to interrupt the two of you.”

  “No, not at all,” I replied. “As I said, I’m looking forward to a bite to eat before the real fun begins.”

  Beckman gestured again toward the bar where there were a few empty seats. “You’re welcome to sit at the bar, or if you’d prefer, Mr. Kelly, I will be happy to secure you a table in the steak house.”

  “The bar is adequate,” I said.

  He walked with me to an empty stool and motioned to the bartender. “We want to make you happy.”

  “Thank you, Beckman. I’m confident you will.”

  It wasn’t my happiness he was concerned about. It was Sparrow’s.

  Taking a breath, I lifted myself up to a stool not far from where I’d been earlier today.

  “Mr. Kelly,” the bartender, a young man, said. �
�What can we get for you tonight?”

  Before I could answer, my interest was diverted to a tall table in the adjoining room, near the piano. It wasn’t the table or even the piano that demanded my attention. It was the presence of the most beautiful woman I knew or had ever known. In her hand was a glass of white wine. Tonight’s dress was black, sleek and shiny like her hair. The way the dress hugged her curves was vaguely familiar. It wasn’t the dress but the person beneath who had me enthralled.

  I’d held those curves last night. Simply the thought of it made my circulation reroute.

  This wasn’t the time or the place.

  Yet I couldn’t look away. Like a model on a runway, she had my full notice. Her raven dark hair was not down as it had been last night, but piled high on top of her head with ringlets near her cheeks. Around her neck was a large necklace, the mounting made of a dark metal, and the stones shining emeralds. It complemented her dress and showcased her vibrant green eyes.

  Widening my focus, I noticed the man at her side. I recognized him from last night’s play.

  Why was Madeline having a drink with Marion Elliott?

  “Mr. Kelly?” the bartender repeated, “may I get you a drink?”

  “Blanton’s, neat.”

  “Very well. Would you like anything else?”

  The raven-haired beauty by the piano. I didn’t say that. “I’ve heard wonderful things about your shrimp scampi. I’d like a salad first with your house dressing.”

  After I’d given my order, I found my attention pulled back to Madeline and her companion, Marion Elliott. As my mind filled with more questions, I had a stark realization. Marion Elliott was on the Sparrow radar. Madeline being with Elliott would put her on the same radar. It was a place I didn’t want her to be.

  Madeline was a gambler, a poker player. Whatever was happening did not involve her. It couldn’t.

  Utilizing the reflection of the large mirror behind the bar, I searched the room for Mitchell Leonardo. I hadn’t had the opportunity to research him, not with others on two. Nevertheless, my gut told me that he was present to watch over Madeline. While I also got the feeling that she wasn’t one of his biggest fans, he seemed to have a job with her.