I looked at him sharply. But of course he had. He was trying to fix things, trying to create a future for the company my brother had almost run into the ground. Of course he needed the details of exactly how that had happened, other than Stuart's penchant for gambling. Speaking of which, "Do you count cards, Brogan?" I asked the question that had crossed my mind several times since I found out Stuart had lost our company to him in a poker game.
He paused, a frown furrowing his brow, but then answered, "Yes."
Surprised, I turned my body toward him. "I didn't think—"
"You didn't think I'd admit to it after winning De Havilland Enterprises from Stuart in a card game? Why not? It's not as if I even work at it. It just comes naturally. I think it'd be more effort not to count cards."
"Is it really fair to gamble then? Isn't that—"
"Cheating? I don't believe so. But maybe we disagree."
Did I disagree? Not exactly, I guessed. He was only using his God-given talents. Still, if Brogan hadn't contributed to Stuart's downfall, would he, could he have eventually turned his life around? Or was I the fool for continuing to hope for that? By continuing to bust my own ass to keep our heads above water so he didn't have to? In truth, maybe Stuart had been headed for ruin with or without Brogan's involvement. Take care of your brother, Lydie.
"Will you show me?"
"Show you?"
"How you count cards."
He frowned, tilting his head, his tongue running over his teeth, just as the landscape lighting flickered on below, casting him in an aura of gold and drawing my attention to the blue of his eyes. Funny, in his office that day, I had described them to myself as icy, but I'd never thought them icy before then, and I didn't tonight. It was said eyes were windows to the soul, and if it was true, that soft, soft blue spoke of things I was almost frightened to acknowledge. And God, he was breathtakingly handsome—his masculine beauty was almost painful to look at because it made me want to possess him, and I didn't think that was wise. It hadn't been then, and it probably was less so now. "We'd have to play a game for me to show you."
"All right."
He nodded his head toward my room. "Let's go inside." I followed him off the widow's walk. The night was closing in, the sky turning a deep, twilight blue as the first stars appeared.
Brogan placed the wine bottle and his glass on the top of the dresser and I followed suit. "I'll go get a deck of cards." He left the room, and I sagged down onto the bed. What I should probably tell him was that I was going to sleep. But I didn't want to sleep. I wanted company. I wanted his company.
He returned a few minutes later, having changed into a pair of jeans that rode low on his lean hips and a black T-shirt that showcased his broad shoulders and muscular chest, and he was wearing his glasses. I sat up on my knees, and he joined me on the bed, sitting on the very edge. He'd grabbed our wine glasses and handed me mine. I took a sip and set it on the bedside table. He placed his on the wooden bench at the end of the bed.
Without a word, he took the cards out of the box and shuffled them effortlessly, his eyes remaining on my face as his hands fanned and folded the cards as if by magic. I couldn’t help laughing softly. He raised a dark brow.
"What are we playing for?"
I gave him a wry smile. "You've already bankrupted my family. Plus, it would be a fool's bet on my part. You just admitted you count cards."
"I wasn't talking about betting money."
"What then?"
He shrugged. "Truth or dare."
"You'd end up getting all my truths and dishing up all the dares."
"How about if we play a game completely based on luck then? I'll still count cards, but it won't offer me any rewards. I'll just know what's coming. Winner gets to choose whether he or she wants a truth or a dare from the other."
"I thought in truth or dare the loser got to choose what they were willing to give up."
"I've never thought that was very fair. Why should the loser get to choose their fate?" His smile was lazy.
I thought about it, sucking on my lower lip. My heart was thumping at a quickened pace, and I wasn't sure I wanted to admit that what I felt was . . . excitement. I wasn't sure about the dare part, but I wanted Brogan's truths. This was my chance to get a few. "Okay."
He simply nodded, fanning the cards out once more and folding them back together. He placed them on the bed and nodded to them. "Cut?"
I did and then he picked them up and began dealing. "What are we playing?" I asked.
"War."
I raised a brow. "I thought we'd already played war."
He chuckled. "Oh no. Those were just the battles, Mo Chroí." But he tilted his head and looked up at me in that sweet, teasing way he'd done when we were teens that had always made my stomach do somersaults. It still did.
I watched him as he dealt the cards, noted the very slight scruff already on his jaw despite that he'd been clean-shaven that morning, the way his inky black lashes created shadows on his cheeks, even under the lenses of his glasses, the strong line of his jaw, the slight cleft in his chin, the way he held his mouth in that rigid way. And yet, I knew how soft it could be, the warmth of his lips, exactly how his tongue tasted—that exotic male spiciness that spoke to everything feminine inside of me. I wondered if he tasted the same everywhere, wondered at the flavor of his most intimate skin. I felt wetness pool in my underwear and achy pressure settled between my thighs at my own thoughts.