A Whole Lotta Love Page 2

  “Margarita, please.” Maggie nodded at the bartender. “The dealer over there said to give you this.” She pushed the slip of paper across the bar.

  “Yep. That’s good. Donnie likes to make his guests happy.”

  “His guests?” Maggie raised her eyebrows.

  “He’s the owner. Donnie Cartwright. This place belongs to him, lock, stock and slot machines.” The man mixed things and worked magic with salt around the rim of a glass. “Says it’s his dream come true.”

  “Ex-Marine?” Maggie glanced back at the large man with the short hair and military bearing.

  “Lady, there’s no such thing as an ex-Marine.”

  Maggie noticed the broad shoulders of the bartender, the ironic gaze he was giving her and a tattoo barely hidden by his sleeve.

  She nodded in acknowledgement and raised her glass. “Semper Fi.”

  Deuce slid onto the stool beside her with a muffled groan and she turned to look at him. “So what brings you here besides the urge to get neutered by a handicapped senior citizen?” Maggie sipped her drink.

  “Beaver. I’m just a sucker for this place—anyplace that’s on a road named Beaver Canyon. I love Beaver. Been a fan of Beaver for most of my life. In fact, if it wasn’t for Beaver…I wouldn’t be here today.”

  “Cute, real cute.” She laughed, she couldn’t help it. It was funny and the margarita was going down very smoothly.

  “I’m just here to try my luck. What the hell, it’s a nice place. How about you?” Deuce asked the question casually.

  “Pretty much the same.” She looked at his leg. “You’re wet.”

  He followed her glance. “Yeah. I feel like a fire hydrant outside a dog show.” He shook his leg and a few drops splashed free. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’ll dry off.” She sipped some more and licked the salt from the rim of the glass, enjoying the bite on her tongue. “You live in this area?”

  “Hell, no. Does anyone? It’s a long way out of anything resembling a town.” Deuce looked around the casino at the gamblers. “I doubt there’s too many locals playing. Gotta be tourists. Let’s take you, for example…”

  Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Let’s not and say we did.”

  A small trio struck up some music at the rear of the room, and a few couples moved to the tiny dance floor. Deuce smiled. “Okay. But I’ll bet you’re a good dancer.”

  “Bet, huh?” Maggie smiled back. “What’s the bet?”

  “Hmm. I’ll bet you another drink that if we dance you won’t step on my toes once.”

  Maggie snorted. Some gambler. She could win that one with her eyes closed. “You’re on.”

  He slid from his stool and held out his hand and Maggie hesitated for only a moment before putting hers into it. “Just to make it formal, I’m Maggie French.”

  His fingers tightened around hers. “Deuce Wiley.”

  “You’re kidding.” She followed him to the small square of parquet flooring.

  “Nope. Daddy played cards. Mom lost a bet. I’m stuck with the result.”

  Maggie giggled. The little sound hid the rather breathless feeling that came over her as Deuce swept her into his arms.

  Instead of holding her hand in the usual position, he tucked it into his palm and pulled it close to his chest, letting his other hand heat the small of her back. She felt surrounded, protected and strangely content. She let her own hand rest comfortably on his shoulder and snuggled in to enjoy the dance.

  And win the bet while she was at it.

  Maggie always won her bets or she didn’t take them.

  They swayed to the music, and she let herself relax, closing her eyes, allowing her head to rest lightly against Deuce. He smelled good, all man and aftershave with a dash of “Eau de Cocktail” seeping in from his damp jeans.

  Their thighs brushed as they moved, and he leaned forward, just touching her head with his lips. “Looks like I’m gonna owe you that drink.”

  Maggie nodded a little, feeling her hair rub over his shirt. “You did bet.”

  “True. And you didn’t say no.”

  “I like to win.” She swallowed. “Can’t help it.”

  His chest rumbled beneath her ear as he laughed. “Me too. I won first place at a belching contest last weekend. The trick is the beer and eggs. If the beer doesn’t make you belch loud enough, the smell of the eggs makes the other guy—well, you can guess.” He smiled. “Sorry. Too much info, but yeah. I like to win too.”

  Deuce thought about those words as he cuddled this delicious armful of woman, letting the music flow over them. He did like to win. At everything. Especially cards, and that was the main reason he was here at the Last Resort.

  He’d been quite honest with Maggie up to a point, since he was the child of a confirmed card player, and had cut his teeth on a short deck instead of a teething ring. Poker was as natural to him as breathing, and the soft whoosh of cards being dealt across a green baize table had orchestrated most of his life.

  He hadn’t mentioned the tournament. Or the fact that he knew, just knew, he’d be heading out after the big game with half a million or so, less taxes, tucked in his wallet.

  But that was for tomorrow—tonight was for him. And her, if things went according to the plans his cock was busy making right at this moment. The mission was simple. In the room—naked, fucking until morning, a thank you and a kiss goodbye—leave. Oh, and remember to take a leak before the tournament.

  Like a well-used deck of cards their bodies melded together, shuffling into one tidy package with scarcely a ripple. Her soft spots nuzzled his hard spots, one of which was getting harder by the minute. She was warm, smelled good, liked blackjack and had a pair of the most awesome breasts squished against him.

  What more could he ask?

  If she had a sixty-inch plasma TV and a dash of nymphomania, he’d propose right now. And she was a gambler too, responding to the challenge of a bet and the excitement of winning. Yep. His kind of woman all around. Her butt was “all around” he noticed, as his hand slid a little lower and splayed across her nicely shaped ass. Hubba, hubba.

  She sighed as the music ended and it was time to peel herself from his chest. Shit.

  “You owe me a drink.”

  He looked into her eyes and a little tingle of anticipation ran up his spine. Or maybe it was the dampness from his wet pants leg. He didn’t know and didn’t care. “Did you think I wouldn’t pay up?”

  She grinned. “Nope. I’d make your life a misery if you welshed.”

  “I don’t think anything you could do to me would make my life a misery.” He still held her in his arms, even though the music had stopped and the dance floor was emptying.

  “Let’s hope we don’t have to find out,” she whispered. Her gaze lowered to his lips and she absently licked her own.

  Fuck. She had a nice tongue. Perfect for licking all those tender areas. Like his ear or his groin or the base of his ever-growing cock.

  He was lost. He leaned forward and kissed her. Like the consummate professional he moved directly… and banged his nose into her eye.

  Maggie blinked a few times as he moved in to try again. She braced herself for his mouth, but was surprised when he just brushed her lips with his. His light touch sizzled on her skin and she wanted more. Wanted to taste him. She moaned a little, then opened her mouth, inviting him inside.

  He responded, tugging her close and quickly burying his tongue deep against hers, his tart sweetness mixing with the remnants of her margarita, salt and him. It was really coooool…

  But crap, they were in the middle of an almost empty dance floor.

  With regret, she pulled back. “Umm. Nice. Thank you.”

  He chuckled. “Thank you? That’s a first. Women don’t usually thank me for kissing them.”

  “They should,” she muttered. Shivers still ran through her. Damn, the guy knew how to kiss.

  “Huh?”

  “I was thanking you for the dance, idiot.
” She choked down what seemed a bad case of lust, forcing a grin. “And I think I could use that drink you promised.”

  Deuce nodded. “Yeah.” She saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed too. “C’mon. I have a bet to pay up. Is it hot in here or is it just me?”

  No comment.

  They made their way back to the bar, which was getting busier by the minute as the evening wore on. Several busloads of tourists had arrived, to judge by the incredible amount of high-tech camera equipment dangling round the necks of a lot of the customers. The noise was incredible and Deuce had a tough time getting the order for their drinks over to the bartender.

  He did his best sign language effort. “I figure I’ve either ordered us drinks or asked for a hand job.”

  Maggie grinned. “Either way you’ll be getting something.”

  Waitresses rushed about laden with trays, looking harassed and being harassed, and handling it all with their usual efficient dignity.

  “Wouldn’t catch me doing that.” Maggie watched as one woman neatly removed her breast from the grasping range of an overweight man in a large cowboy hat while serving him and his buddies another round of beers.

  “Me neither.” Deuce nodded.

  “I don’t think it’s quite the same,” laughed Maggie.

  “Oh no?” Deuce looked toward to a handsome croupier who was barely avoiding getting his ass grabbed by several women standing near the bar. “I don’t think I could do that kind of dancing for long.”

  “I take it back.” Maggie shook her head.

  A loud cheer from the nearby roulette table made everyone’s head turn, including some of the people heading that way. A crowded bar, loaded trays and a cheering distraction—it was a recipe for disaster and, once again, Deuce took the brunt of it.

  Two men, eager to see what the fuss was about at wheel, shoved past a waitress. She stumbled, tripped on a camera strap that a tourist had left sticking out from under his chair and her tray of beers went flying.

  The resultant cascading shower of liquid caught Deuce fair and square in the middle of the chest. This was no dampened jeans leg, this was a full-on dousing. He sputtered and gasped as his shirt soaked up some of Milwaukee’s best.

  Maggie bit her lip trying not to laugh. Dear God, the man was a walking spilled-drink-magnet.

  “Sheeeeit.” He stared in disgust down at his shirt, waving away the napkins several helpful people were thrusting at him. “They ain’t gonna help. This shirt’s toast. I always liked it too. It brought me luck.” He sighed.

  “Is it working?” Maggie lifted an eyebrow.

  “Don’t know yet. From the looks of things the only thing getting wet is me.”

  “Wanna bet?” Maggie blushed as she realized she’d said that out loud. Whoops. “You’d better go change. And soak that thing. Maybe the stains will come out.” It had been fun and she regretted ending the evening on such a damp note.

  Deuce lifted his head and looked at her. “I don’t want to leave you here alone…”

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. I probably won’t stay long anyway.” She saw the expression in his eyes turn hot and wondered what was coming next.

  “I have an idea. You like to gamble, right?”

  “Um…yes?”

  “Okay. Here’s the bet.” He rummaged in his pocket for a quarter, produced it with a flourish and wiped it clean of beer gunk, slapping it down on a small table. ”Toss of the coin. Heads, I go change and you go wherever it is you’re planning on going.”

  “And tails?”

  Deuce smiled. That particularly nice, I-think-my-panties-are-going-to-get-seriously-wet-if-he-keeps-that-up smile. “Tails—you come to my room with me while I change.”

  Maggie stared at him and then at the quarter. She was no fool and knew damn well where this could lead. And she also quietly admitted to herself she wouldn’t mind. Not one bit.

  It would be strictly an act of random fate. Her sex life for the next few hours would totally dependent on the flip of a coin. She grinned. The odds were a shitload better than the ones she’d been working with lately. What had she got to lose?

  Or, more accurately, what had she got to gain? She looked at Deuce. He was really cute. He had a fabulous smile, he smelled good when he wasn’t wearing alcohol as a cologne and that sure wasn’t a stack of poker chips making a nice bulge in the front of his jeans.

  Hell, yeah. “You’re on.”

  Deuce picked up the quarter and sent it spinning into the air.

  ~~~~~

  The elevator doors slid quietly shut, enclosing Maggie and Deuce in their own private sanctuary. It was quiet, just the two of them, the sounds of the casino replaced by some soft unidentifiable music and the sounds of their breathing.

  Deuce rocked a little, from his heels to his toes, and started to whistle along with the song. The tension in the enclosed space seemed to grow as did something she felt could well be desire. She’d have rocked herself if she’d thought of it, but settled for nervously running her hand up and down her purse strap. The movement did nothing to ease her growing arousal.

  Her heart pounded, a pulse in her throat hammering as she watched the numbers above the door increase and felt the little tin box they were sharing lift up through the building to its destination—Deuce’s floor.

  She swallowed and moved slightly. “Deuce—”

  “Look, I—”

  They both broke off, paused and tried again, only to speak on top of each other.

  Maggie laughed. “Sorry, you first.”

  “No, you go ahead.” Deuce’s lips were curved into a grin. “Ladies first.”

  Maggie took a breath. “I just wanted to say—um, how do I say this?” She fought for the right words. “I don’t—I’m not—”

  “Hey.” Deuce leaned over and raised his hand, putting one finger beneath her chin and turning her head so that he could look into her eyes. “Having second thoughts?”

  He was gentle, his touch warm, his smile friendly. Maggie watched his face, her gaze returning to his eyes as they rested on her. He was watching her, her expressions, not roaming over her body as if he’d already stripped her naked. It was comforting and reassuring.

  “No, no second thoughts.” That was true. Deuce had walked into a little place inside Maggie’s head and made himself at home. She liked having him there. “It’s just that I don’t want you thinking I’m some kind of—of—party girl.” Her shoulders shifted a little. “I don’t do things like this. Meet a man and then go to his room with him, all in one evening. Hell, I’m not even dating anyone right now.”

  She closed her eyes against the heat she could see rising in his. “I’m not a woman who hooks up at the drop of a martini, Deuce. I like you. I enjoy being with you and if we go ahead with this, explore this together, I think it’ll be fun. But basically I’m just a regular gal who’s being kinda crazy tonight.” She lifted her eyelids and found him even closer, his finger still beneath her chin, gently stroking the soft skin he found there.

  “You think I don’t know that?” He lifted his arm and slowly encircled her, pulling her against him, neatly avoiding the wet patch on his shirt. “This isn’t like me either. I may act all macho and confident but inside I’m nervous just like you. In everyday life, I’m a monk.”

  “Huh?”

  “Okay, I’m not a monk. They have to get up too early, shave their hair and the outfits look like they itch. Too much of a sausage-fest with all those guys anyway.” His hand slid to cup her cheek. “I’m a Sunday school teacher.”

  Maggie blinked. “You are so not.”

  “Hmm…dammit, you found me out. I’m a god of sensual pleasure banished to Earth for making the other gods jealous.”

  That was greeted by an amused snort.

  Deuce grinned. “Would you believe I’m a porn star? Perhaps you heard of my film name, Mr. Tripod?”

  “Uhh—nope.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Hell. No fooling you, is there?” His fingers moved
softly upward, tangling in her hair. “I’m a famous hair stylist with salons across Nevada.”

  Maggie laughed aloud.

  “You have very nice hair, by the way. A few split ends here and there, but nothing a good deep conditioning wouldn’t solve.” He paused, then put his hand on his hip. “Come to think of it, my personal assistant Bruce would be heartbroken if he could see me now. I may have forgotten to mention it—but I’m gay.”

  The elevator doors slid open at that inopportune moment, allowing the two older ladies waiting outside to overhear Deuce’s comment.

  One woman’s mouth pursed into a pout. “I always knew the good ones were either married or gay. Didn’t I tell you, Rhonda?” She dug her companion in the ribs with her elbow.

  “What a shame.” Rhonda lowered her glasses and peeked at Deuce.

  Maggie sputtered as Deuce grabbed her arm and led her out into the corridor. She glanced back over her shoulder at the women stepping into the elevator. “He’s not gay. Not the way he kisses.” She winked.

  “Go get him, girlie. Even if he is, I reckon you can change his mind.”

  Deuce hurried her away as the doors slid shut. “Hmm. I’m gonna have to give that one some thought.”

  Chapter Three

  He slid the card key into the slot, waiting for it to turn green, all the while aware of Maggie standing behind him. His shirt stuck to his chest, his jeans were uncomfortably tight and Deuce swore beneath his breath as the damned lock refused to work.

  “Goddamn stupid piece of—”

  “Oh for chrissake, here…let me do it.” She wrenched the card from his hand, slid it downward and clicked the door open. Then smirked.

  Deuce narrowed his eyes. “Don’t say a word. Not a frickin’ word, okay?”

  Silent as the grave, Maggie strolled into the room. Her eyes danced with mirth, but wisely she kept her mouth shut.

  He let the door slam closed behind him and grabbed a fresh shirt and jeans from the closet. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time.” She walked over to the small table in the generic hotel room and idly picked up the deck of cards that sat next to the water glass and the telephone notepad. As Deuce headed into the bathroom he saw her lay out a hand of solitaire.