Read The Devil's Own Chloe (Bistro La Bohème Series) Online
Authors: Alix Nichols
She
moved as close to him as their chairs allowed.
“Now
relax and do exactly as I say.”
Amanda
glanced at Kes, but he had already turned his full attention to the cards.
* *
*
For
the next hour, they played in near silence. The few times Amanda tried to
strike up a conversation, Kes shushed her with a smile and a whispered
“counting for two here, remember?”
And
count he did.
Amanda’s
job was easy: she hit when he said hit, stood when he said stand, and split her
cards when he said split. Their chip stacks kept growing until Kes laid his
palms on the table and mouthed to her,
Stop
.
She
gave him a puzzled look. “Now?”
He
nodded and then tipped the dealer. “I’m going to call it a night.”
“But
we’re winning. Please, you can’t stop now.”
“Oh
yes, I can.” He leaned to whisper in her ear, “And so should you before they
ask us to back off. Besides, this deck is becoming too hot.”
She
hesitated. The seven hundred euros she’d won wasn’t the amount she’d been
hoping for when she jumped on the train at Saint-Lazare. It would hardly solve
her problems . . . but it would pay her mortgage next month. In
spite of the alcohol in her system, Amanda knew she would’ve lost half her
savings tonight had it not been for Kes. Continuing to play without him would
be unwise.
“What
about that drink you promised me?” he asked.
“Sure.”
She stood and smoothed her dress. “Lead the way, maestro.”
He
took her to the bar where they climbed onto tall barstools and ordered their
drinks. The voucher cocktail was as bad as Kes had predicted it would be.
Amanda winced at its candy taste and pushed the glass away.
“How
about a mojito?” Kes asked. “It’s one of their more decent concoctions.”
She
nodded.
As
he passed her the glass, their fingertips brushed.
Amanda
couldn’t help noting how pleasant that contact was. Actually,
pleasant
was an understatement. It was electrifying.
Easy,
girl. No one-night stands, remember?
“So,
what is it like, the life of a gambler?” she asked.
“I’m
not a gambler. Well, not in the usual sense, anyway.”
“Oh,
yes?”
“I’m
a card counter. I’ve made a decent living from it for five years.”
“How
old are you?”
“Twenty-six.”
“So
you see this as a job?”
He
nodded. “That’s exactly how I see it. I have a job that I like and am good at.”
She
felt a sharp pang at his words.
Aren’t
you lucky?
“What’s
wrong, Amelie?”
“Nothing.”
She gave him one of her fake smiles. “And what about five years ago—what
was your occupation then? Palm-reading or playing the accordion in the métro?”
He
smirked. “So tactful and unprejudiced. Have you applied for sainthood yet?”
“You
didn’t answer my question.”
“If
you were trying to imply those are common Gypsy occupations, you’re wrong. At
least, as far as the French
Gitans
are concerned.”
She
arched an eyebrow.
“Gitan
men are typically itinerant vendors or metalworkers,” he said. “My dad, for
example, deals in scrap metal. Some are lumbermen. The women are usually
artisans or peddlers. In the fall, everyone is a grape picker. We don’t engage
in the trades you mentioned.”
“Oh,
I didn’t realize Gitans were the Gypsy elite. Please forgive my ignorance.”
He
moved a little closer and flashed her a toothy smile. “I see you’re determined
to insult me. But here’s the thing—I’m not easily insulted.”
“Is
that so?”
“We
Gypsies are a thick-skinned lot.” He shrugged. “Can’t afford to be touchy.”
She
blushed, suddenly embarrassed. Had she been too rude? She had, but not out of
prejudice. Well, not only out of prejudice. She was trying to drive him away so
she wouldn’t have to make tough decisions when they finished their drinks.
Still,
he didn’t deserve her spite—he
had
just saved her from aggravating
her already precarious financial situation.
“I
was impressed with your memory and your mental arithmetic,” she said, offering
him the olive branch of a sincere compliment.
“At
school, I was good at math.”
“Did
you go to college?”
He
shook his head. “I hadn’t even considered it.”
“Why
not?”
“For
one, a college education isn’t something my family believes in. And
then . . . I stumbled on this book at a flea market when I was
seventeen.”
“What
book?”
“
The
Blackjack System.
I read it in one day, reread it three more times, and
then practiced with my cousin.”
“Couldn’t
you practice online?”
“I
did that, too. But the system works only with a finite number of decks on the
table and a human dealer.”
“I
see.”
“I
couldn’t wait to turn eighteen so I could go to a casino and put my skills to
the test.”
“And
it worked?”
“Not
immediately, but with time I got better. You see, the beauty of blackjack is
that luck isn’t the decisive factor. Luck determines the cards you’re dealt.
But it’s your knowledge and skill that determine how you play them.”
“Are
you really making money on this?” She narrowed her eyes. “Like, regularly?”
“I’ve
made a good profit in almost every casino I’ve played in. Except the ones that
figure out too quickly I’m counting cards.”
“So
what happens once Deauville Casino figures you out?”
“They’ll
ban me, and I’ll move on to play elsewhere.”
“And
when every casino in France has banned you?”
“I’ll
play in Belgium, Switzerland, Italy, Germany, Spain,
Portugal . . . Or I’ll go to Vegas and then to Asia. The world
is big.”
“So
that’s your life plan?”
“You
could say that.”
She
drained her mojito.
He
beckoned to the bartender and then turned to Amanda. “Any food allergies or
diet restrictions?”
“No.
Why?”
“We’ll
have two cold cuts and cheese plates, please,” he said to the barman.
When
they swallowed the last slices of spicy chorizo, Kes asked matter-of-factly,
“My hotel or yours?”
Oh
Lord.
There it
was—decision time. But wait a minute. Why was she even considering it?
She didn’t do one-night stands. She wasn’t that kind of girl. What she needed
to do was wish him good night in her poshest accent and leave.
It
was the only reasonable move.
Except . . .
she wasn’t being reasonable tonight. Right now, she was curious and thrilled.
Her heart fluttered with anticipation. She all but drooled over the juicy
exotic fruit that was this man. Just this once she itched to be wanton. After
all, her reputation in that department was so unnaturally pristine it was
begging for a stain.
And
just like that, Amanda made up her mind: she was going to bed with Kes, the
gambler she’d met a few hours ago.
He
bit into his last pickle. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.
Do you?”
“Believe
it or not, I’ve never had a boyfriend.” His eyes crinkled with amusement. “I’m
a virgin that way.”
She
chuckled.
He
broke into an infectious grin before adding in a more serious tone, “No
girlfriend at the moment, either.”
“Do
you have a condom?” she heard herself ask.
He
blinked and then nodded. “Yep—in my room. My hotel then?”
“Only
if it’s decent.”
“As
decent as it gets in this town. I’m staying at Royal Barrière—it’s the
building next door.”
Was
his being at the same hotel as she was a sign, a green light of sorts? She
could sneak out and go to her room as soon as the deed was done—a perfect
setup for a hassle-free, controlled bit of fun. If she were ever going to have
her first one-night stand, there wouldn’t be a better occasion.
He
must have seen the outcome of her expeditious debate on her face because he
took her hand and led her from the bar.
End
of Excerpt
Alix
Nichols is an unapologetic caffeine addict and a longtime fan of Mr. Darcy,
especially in his Colin Firth incarnation. She is the author of the bestselling
Bistro La Bohème series.
At
the age of six, she released her first romantic comedy. It featured highly
creative spelling on a half dozen pages stitched together and bound in velvet
paper.
Decades
later, she still loves the romance genre. Her spelling has improved (somewhat),
and her books have made Amazon Top 100 lists, climbing as high as #1. She lives
in France with her family and their almost-human dog.
Connect
with her online:
Blog:
http://www.alixnichols.com
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/AuthorAlixNichols
Twitter:
twitter.com/aalix_nichols
Pinterest:
http://www.pinterest.com/AuthorANichols
Goodreads:
goodreads.com/alixnichols