Page 2 of Burned in Stone
His gaze locks on mine. Sharp. Direct. “Loser tells a secret.”
A secret. The word hangs between us, heavy with unspoken things. My secrets are jagged, sharp-edged, and best left buried. The idea of sharing one with him, even a small one, sends a shiver down my spine.
“That’s a dangerous game.”
“I’m a dangerous man.” He doesn’t look away, and there’s a heat in his eyes that makes my mouth go dry. “Question is, are you brave enough to play?”
I should say no, finish my drink, wish him goodnight, walk home to my quiet apartment where I can pretend the sight of his hands on those cards doesn’t make me imagine them on my skin.
Instead, I hear myself saying, “OK. Deal me in.”
We slide into a worn leather booth, our whiskey glasses leaving damp rings on the dark wood. Cash shuffles the deck, hands moving with easy rhythm. The soft riffle of cards is the only sound besides my breathing. He deals five to me, five to himself,his eyes gleaming with challenge. And damn if that look doesn’t make me press my knees together.
I lift my cards. A pair of jacks. Not bad. I discard three, pulse ticking at my throat. He slides over replacements. I peek. Nothing. Jack high.
My smile falters.
“Read ‘em and weep,” I say, trying for bravado as I spread the cards.
Cash just chuckles, a low, rumbling sound. He lays his own hand down. A full house. Aces over kings.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, leaning back against the leather.
He gathers the cards, his movements slow and deliberate. “A deal’s a deal, angel. Time to pay up.” His eyes drift from my face to the messy auburn curls tumbling over my shoulders. “Let’s start easy. That hair color. Is it yours?”
The question is so mundane, so unexpectedly intimate, it throws me. “You think I buy this in a bottle?”
His gaze turns molten, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “Just wondering”—his voice drops an octave—”if the fire runs all the way through.”
There it is. The familiar territory of sex and attraction—easy, safe, something I know how to navigate. He wants to get me naked. That I can give him. It’s the rest of me, the messy and damaged parts, that nobody really wants anyway.
Heat rushes up my neck. A traitorous blush I can’t control. My mind goes blank, floods with images—his hands tangled in my hair, his mouth everywhere. I take a sharp breath and force thethoughts away. Then I meet his gaze like I’m not already halfway undone.
“I think that’s the kind of secret you’ll have to earn through action, biker,” I manage. “Not just from the luck of the draw.”
That smile of his doesn’t waver. “Who says it was luck?” He leans forward, closing the small space between us over the table. “Maybe I just want to know you.”
Cash’s gaze drops from my face, making a slow, deliberate tour down my throat, over the swell of my breasts beneath my fitted Devil’s T-shirt, before lingering on the curve of my hips. It’s the kind of look that should make me want to shrink, to cover up. For years, every curve was a sin, every pound a failure cataloged by a man who shamed every bite I took.
But I’m not small anymore. I’m forty pounds heavier than the ghost he tried to starve me into being. My hair is a riot of red curls he would’ve made me iron flat. This body is mine—built on whiskey, pizza, and freedom—and for the first time in my life, I’m not ashamed of it.
At least, not of my body. The rest of me—the broken pieces I left behind in Ailington, the woman I used to be—that is staying buried. I didn’t drive seventeen hours with everything I owned crammed into the back of my car just to dig up the past for a man with pale green eyes and a killer smile. No matter how much he makes me want to.
I lift my chin and meet his stare head-on. “Shuffle the cards, Treasurer.”
He chuckles again and gathers the deck, his knuckles deliberately brushing the back of my hand as he collects the last card.
“Another round, another secret.” His voice drops to a low hum that strokes my nerve endings. “You sure you’re ready for that, angel?”
“I’m more ready than you know.”
He deals again, my heart giving a hopeful leap when I pick mine up. Two pairs. Queens and eights. A damn good hand. I lay them down with a triumphant smirk.
“Pay up, biker. Time to spill a secret of your own.”
He barely glances at them. Without a word, he slowly turns his own cards over. Four of a kind. Fours.
My mouth falls open. “No way,” I breathe, narrowing my eyes. “You’re cheating.”
