Jack of Hearts by Heather Macallister

Author:Heather Macallister
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BelleBooks Inc.
Published: 2014-06-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

ANNOYINGLY CONFIDENT, Conner flipped over his hand, fanning it out, never glancing at Laurel’s cards.

The cards had been exposed for a few seconds, yet still their eyes held, daring each other to be the first to look.

Laurel heard the observers murmur. Mentally she prepared herself. Win or lose, she must act as if this hand were no more important than any other hand. As if losing didn’t mean that all the money Adam had given her was gone.

She hadn’t even looked at the check. The amount of chips the check bought had been intimidating enough.

The longer she waited, the more attention she drew. Laurel dropped her gaze to the cards spread out on the table.

Her pulse pounded in her ears.

Four twos. Four measly twos.

But they were good enough to beat her lovely full house.

“Too bad, little lady.” Dimly, Conner’s words registered.

Little lady. Her father’s nickname for her. If she allowed herself to, Laurel knew she’d feel ill. Instead, she lifted a shoulder, calling on every bit of her acting ability. There must be no shakiness in her voice, no jerkiness in her movements. “Pity.”

A dark form appeared beside her. Jack. Laurel forced herself to smile up at him. “Ready to leave?”

“Nope. Play these.” Jack spilled a cup full of red, white, and blue chips onto the table in front of her.

“Thought I might get to play you tonight, Hartman.” Conner’s heavy-lidded eyes watched Laurel stack the chips.

Jack shrugged. “Some other time.”

“When?”

Jack seemed bored. “Check with me next week. I’m staying at the Marklands’.”

“I’ll do that.” Conner threw a challenging look at Laurel, which she met with an expression as studiously bored as Jack’s.

She quickly tossed a chip into the pot for the ante, and the deal began. She didn’t want to play with Jack’s chips. What if she lost those, too?

Jack set another glass of cranberry juice beside her. “You’re doing fine,” he whispered. “I would have played the hand exactly the way you did.”

“You would have lost,” Laurel whispered back.

“That’s right.”

His unconcern calmed her as nothing else could have.

When it was her turn to bet, she was ready.

“I WON, I WON, I won!” Laurel leaned back into the lush padded interior of Jack’s car, hugging herself. “Jack, why didn’t you tell me winning feels this way?”

“What way is that, Laurel?” Jack’s tone sounded flat, as if he wasn’t happy for her. Winning was supposed to be the whole point of coaching her in poker strategy—wasn’t it?

Laurel inhaled and thought about how to describe the happiness bubbling through her. The thrill almost matched her excitement when she got the part in the sorority horror film and thought she was finally launched in her career.

She felt invincible. At long—very long—last, luck was on her side.

She turned to Jack. “Right now, I feel I can do anything.”

Jack nodded slowly.

“Was it like this for you when you played?”

For an endless moment, Laurel thought he wouldn’t answer her. “Yes.” The word seemed dragged from him. “But strictly speaking, you didn’t win all that much.

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