Never play with your heart, kiddo. Only a sucker plays with his heart. Even if you win, you lose.
Her father had said those words to her a million times growing up, but she’d still had to learn the hard way. Once, she’d played with all her heart. And lost—everything.
Don’t think about it. But in spite of her best efforts, the memory brought a chill of fear. She’d been so determined to leave that life behind. What if she’d forgotten how to play? What if she’d lost her gift? What if she couldn’t lure the men in, convince them to let her ante up without money, and get the cards she needed—or bluff them into believing she had?
If she failed at this, then... Bree felt a flash of sweat on her forehead. Running for the Mainland might be their only option. Or, since they had no money or credit cards and it was doubtful they’d even make it to the airport before they were caught, swimming for the Mainland.
She exhaled, forcing her body to calm down and her heart to slow. It’s just poker, she told herself firmly. Your heart is cold. You feel nothing.
Bree went all the way down the long, air-conditioned hall. A large man weighing perhaps three hundred pounds sat at a polished oak door.
She forced a crooked smile in his direction. “Hey, Kai.”
The enormous security guard nodded with a single jerk of his chins. “What you doing here, Bree? Saw your sister take off. She sick or something?”
“Something like that.”
“You working in her place?” Kai frowned, looking over her dark, tight jeans, her black leather jacket and black stiletto boots. “Where’s the uniform?”
“This is my outfit.” Her voice was cool as she stared him down. “For poker.”
“Oh.” His round, friendly face looked confused. “Well. Okay. Go in, then.”
“Thanks.” Forcing the ice in her voice to fully infuse her heart, she pushed open the door.
The private room for the villa residents had a cavernous ceiling and no windows. The walls were soundproofed with thick red fabric that swooped from a center point on the ceiling. The effect made the room glamorous and cozy and claustrophobic all at once. To Bree, it felt like entering the tent of a sheikh’s harem. But as she approached the wealthy men who were playing at the single large table, if there was a stab of fear down her spine, she didn’t feel it.
She’d succeeded. She’d turned off her heart.
There were no women players. The only females in the room stood in a circle behind the men, smiling with hawkish red lips, wearing low-cut, tight silk gowns. At the table, she saw the dealer, Chris—what was his last name?—whose eyes widened with surprise when he saw her.
The four players at the table were Greg Hudson and three owners she recognized: a Belgian land developer, a long-mustached oil man from Texas and a short, bald tycoon from Silicon Valley. But where was the arrogant stranger Josie had mentioned? Had he already quit the game?
Whatever. It was time to play.
In her black leather jacket and jeans, Bree pushed through the venomous, overdressed women. Without a word, she sat down at one of the two empty seats at the table around the dealer, beside Greg Hudson.
“Deal me in,” she said coolly.
The men blinked, staring at her in shock that was almost comical. One of the men snorted a laugh. Another frowned. “Another cocktail waitress?” one scoffed.
“Actually,” Bree said with a grin, “I’m with the housekeeping staff, and so was my sister.”
The men glanced at each other uncertainly.
“Well, well. Bree Dalton.” Greg Hudson licked his lips, looking at her with beady eyes in his florid, sweaty face. “So. Did you bring the hundred thousand dollars your sister owes me?”
“You know we don’t have that kind of money.”
“Then I’ll send my men to take it out of her hide.”
Bree’s knees shook beneath the table, but she did not feel fear. Her body might feel whatever it liked, but she’d disconnected it from her heart. Crossing her legs, she leaned back in her chair. “I will play for her debt.”
“You!” He snorted. “What will you wager? This game has a five-thousand-dollar buy-in. You could scrub the bathrooms of the entire Hale Ka’nani Resort for years and not have that kind of money.”
“I offer a trade.”
“You have nothing of value.”
“I have myself.”
Her boss stared at her, then licked his lips. “You mean—”
“Yes. I mean you could have me in bed.” She looked at him steadily, feeling nothing. Her skin felt cold, her heart as frozen as the blue iceberg that sank the Titanic. “You wanted me, Mr. Hudson. Here I am.”