The Highest Stakes of All

Craven Sara

The words seemed to tingle over her skin in some strange way.

She swallowed. ‘Is—is the game about to restart?’

‘Yes,’ he said, after a pause. ‘It is getting late and I think we should waste no more time.’

He stood aside courteously to allow her to pass, but Joanna hesitated, reluctant to reduce the distance between them by so much as an inch.

Eventually she forced herself to move, edging past him, eyes on the ground, hoping her anxiety had not been recognised. Because it might amuse him, and she remembered his smile only too well, she told herself, renewed unease quivering in her senses.

No matter how many signals I may get from Dad, she thought as she went back into the suite, I cannot come on to Vassos Gordanis. He disturbs me in a way that has nothing to do with his being the richest man I’ve ever met.

And it doesn’t involve him lusting after me, either, because he isn’t the one who can’t keep his eyes off me. He leaves that to the paid staff. Besides, I can usually recognise that response from men and I’ve learned to cope, if necessary.

Though not always with the greatest success, a small voice in her head reminded her, at least not in Australia.

I just know there’s something else about him, she told herself restively, pushing the unbidden memory away. Something that I’ve never encountered before, and can’t fathom. Some facet I don’t even want to know about.

Please, she thought passionately, releasing her pent-up breath. Please let it all be over soon, so I never have to see him again.

All the players had changed seats during the break, her father included, but to her dismay Joanna found she was once again stationed directly opposite Vassos Gordanis.

She reached for her glass, and gulped down some of the promised water, thankful for its refreshing chill against the dryness of her throat. And the ice was still intact, she thought, recalling his odd remark. It hadn’t melted too soon at all.

Don’t think about him, she told herself. Concentrate on the play.

She soon realised that her father’s forecast that the stakes would be getting higher was fully justified.

The first pot, won by the South African Hansi Dorten with a straight, was worth over three thousand dollars, and she was relieved that Denys had decided to fold when the draw did not improve his original pair of tens.

But in the next hand his cards yielded a spade flush. There was a flurry of betting, then Chuck, Hansi and one of the Frenchmen all folded. But Vassos Gordanis, Henri de Morvan and Denys did not, each of them continuing to call and raise until there were over twenty thousand dollars’ worth of chips in the middle of the table.

Joanna’s hands curled into tense fists. This was it, she thought. The amount they needed to get them out of here, and some to spare. Make or break.

A second later it was all over. Vassos Gordanis shrugged ruefully, and tossed his cards towards the dealer, and Henri de Morvan followed suit.

Joanna watched Denys rake the chips towards him, her heart somersaulting. She had to bite the inside of her lip to stop a sheer grin of exultation spreading across her face. Because she didn’t want any of these people, least of all the dark man sitting opposite, to know how much this mattered. How vital this was for her future. For everything.

She put her hand on her father’s arm, pressing it warningly. Stop now, she urged silently. It’s a big enough win, so make an excuse, cash in your chips and we’ll get out of here.

But Denys was already selecting chips for the next game.

‘Denys.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper, her fingers tightening on his sleeve. ‘Why don’t we call it a night now—and celebrate?’

He glanced at her impatiently, ignoring the pleading in her eyes. ‘Don’t be silly, sweetheart. Your magic is working, and I’m on a winning streak, so we’re going nowhere.’

But you promised, she wanted to cry aloud. You promised—you know you did….

And remembered too late that he’d sworn once before that she would never again have to use her eyes, her smile and her young body to divert another man’s attention from the game, and how soon his word had been broken.

Or she would not be here, half-dressed, at this moment.

She sat, almost sick with fear, while the hand was played, but all the others folded after the draw this time, leaving Denys with another two thousand dollars to add to his winnings.

He sent her a triumphant wink as he prepared for the next game.

‘Third time lucky, darling,’ he muttered.

Then make this the last, Joanna implored silently. Please—please, Daddy. Quit while we’re ahead.

I’ve never felt like this before, she thought. When he’s been as confident as this, I’ve been right there with him. But maybe I’ve never been quite so disillusioned with my life before.

Yet in her heart she knew that wasn’t it. That ever since Persephone had arrived in the bay and her father had announced his plans her every instinct had been screaming in warning.

And nothing that had happened since had done anything to reassure her.

She had learned to show no emotion, so her face was still, her eyes shuttered and her hands clasped loosely again in her lap as she saw Denys had been dealt a pair of kings and a pair of nines, with a small club as his fifth card. He discarded the club, asking for one, and received in return from the dealer the king of diamonds.

Three of a kind and a pair, Joanna thought, her heart beginning to pound. Full house. Good—but good enough? I just don’t know.

The two Frenchmen folded quickly, but Hansi Dorten and Chuck briskly pushed up the betting, with Vassos Gordanis and Denys matching each call and raise.

Joanna reached for her glass and swallowed the remaining water as the pile of chips in front of her father began to diminish with startling speed.

‘I’m out,’ Chuck said wryly in answer to the South African’s call and raise of five thousand.