The Gambler - Raquel Belle Page 0,153
all the good it did him. A shiver wracked her body—more from the memory that her father was no longer living than from the cold. The mystery man briefly stepped out of the dark and draped his jacket around her shoulders. His movement was swift, and the garment engulfed her before she’d even realized what was happening. Shocked, she stared at the jacket, and missed the chance to get a look at his face before he stepped away again.
“Thank you,” she said. A spicy, masculine scent wafted over her, and she couldn’t help inhaling deeply. Goodness, mystery man smelled delicious.
“You’re most welcome. Black sheep of the wealthy,” he said. “I like it. I suppose it describes me as well.”
“Does it? Are you going to introduce yourself? Maybe you could step out of that dark corner so I can get a look at you?”
Seconds of unused silence thickened the air. “I came out here for one reason—Black Sheep—to not be seen.”
Her lips twitched at the new sobriquet. “I know why I’m out here. Why are you hiding, fellow Black Sheep?” She got the impression of him smiling, and wished she could see his face.
“I got tired of listening to the same meaningless shit as you did. Needed some fresh air.”
Abby leaned against the wall, resigned that she wouldn’t see what he looked like anytime soon, so she sipped from one glass while she held out the other in offering. “I haven’t touched it yet, I promise. And I haven’t spiked it either.”
She didn’t think he’d accept, but a hand, nearly twice the size of her own, reached out and plucked the glass from her fingers. She caught a glimpse of bronzed skin.
He laughed. “Thank you. I’m going to go out on a limb and trust you, Black Sheep.”
She grinned. “If you hate this scene so much, then why did you come? You could have simply written a hefty check and stayed home.”
“You could have done the same.”
Yes, but then, she wouldn’t get the opportunity to meet Damian Coldwell and initiate the intricate series of events needed to bring him down. Clearing her throat lightly, she shrugged. “I, uh … I was invited by a friend ... but he didn’t show.”
“A lover?”
The way he purred the word lover made her gut clench. Was it possible to be attracted to someone based only on the sound of their voice and a glimpse of their hand? Abby shook her head. She needed to get laid, and fast…if that was all it took to tip her boat. “That’s hardly any of your business, fellow Black Sheep. You won’t even tell me your name.”
“Touché.”
“You haven’t answered my question. Why did you come to this event?”
“Ironically, I felt it appropriate to show my face.”
“Why? The organizer of this shindig didn’t even show, so I doubt you’d be charged for not showing up.”
There was silence again, and Abby swore she could feel his eyes on her. She should’ve been creeping out, but fascination won over. What color were his eyes? Were they warm? Piercing? He had to have sexy eyes to go with that sexy voice.
“Are you acquainted with the organizer of this ... shindig?” he asked.
Abby could barely stop the wave of hatred that rose up in her at the thought of Damian. She’d hoped to make the bastard’s acquaintance, but now maybe she’d throw away the plan to charm him into bed and just kick his ass instead. Wishful thinking of course. The pictures she’d seen of the man presented a physically imposing creature. “Damian Coldwell? No. Never met the man. But, he’s a pompous ass, if you ask me.”
“Is that so?” The mystery man asked. “What an unkind thing to say about someone you’ve never met. How can you possibly know he’s a pompous man? It would seem he cares about others…seeing that he founded a charity to feed less fortunate children.”
Abby scowled. A big Coldwell fan much? Maybe mystery man wasn’t so nice after all. “Two words, slave labor.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Well I’m just throwing it out there, but from what I hear about Damian Coldwell, I wouldn’t put it past him. Feed the hungry children. Sounds like they’re doing something nice on the surface doesn’t it? Well, what if the hungry kids are just people in a sweatshop in some jungle making sneakers. Doesn’t sound so nice after you dig a little deeper, does it? Rich guys get a break on their taxes and Damian gets to sell handbags or whatever that cost the price of a candy bar and retail at the price of a house”
“Are you seriously comparing Coldwell to someone who uses slave labor?”
“Of course not. Not even he can be that bad. You’ve completely missed my point. At first, one would say, oh, wow these rich people are so nice to children. But after finding out more about this whole thing, it's revealed that they’re still selfish monsters.”
“So, beneath Damian Coldwell’s philanthropy, he’s still a selfish monster?”
Abby shrugged and brought her glass to her lips. “You said it, not me. It’s just an example.”
A roar of laughter made her breath hitch. No way was she turned on by a stranger’s laugh. Yes, she was. Good god ...
“You’re an interesting woman, bonita pelirroja. And terrible for any man’s ego it appears.”
Abby’s heart flipped. Pretty redhead. He called her a pretty redhead. She understood that much from her limited, Spanish vocabulary. He was Latino? But she detected no trace of an accent. Still, the stranger’s ranking went up several notches on the hotness meter. There was nothing hotter than a man who could whisper sweet nothings in a woman’s ear in a romantic language. Before she could swoon or throw out a witty comeback, a thunder of applause sounded from inside.
Over the microphone, the announcer sang, “It’s time to hear from the man himself, Damian Coldwell.”
Abby craned her neck to peer through the glass door. Coldwell was in the building. Still peering inside, she didn’t see her mystery man emerge from the shadows.
When she turned back around, she gasped, coming face-to-face with the man she hated and vowed to destroy. The face that she’d stared at for hours while researching everything about him online. She even had a picture of him pinned to the wall of her bedroom to throw darts at.
Damian Coldwell stood before her, all square-jawed, his eyes as dark as the night…staring back at her. She stepped back, a strangled sound of shock escaping her. No. No!
Abby was mortified. For one, she’d spent their entire conversation building some strange blind attraction to the man. Two, she’d unwittingly insulted him in person. All hopes of seducing him—not to mention her plan—were dead. She’d ruined everything.
Damian’s lips curved into a smile. His eyes danced with humor, which surprised her. “If you’ll excuse me, Black Sheep. This pompous ass has a speech to give. Good chat though.” He sauntered to the door, downing the rest of the champagne she’d offered him.
For a while, Abby stood frozen and gaped at his broad back disappearing into the crowd. “Oh, my God,” she gasped, clutching the lapels of the jacket around her shoulders. His jacket. With an irritated growl, she shrugged off the garment and eyed it with disgust. At once, the cold night air sent a shock through her system, and she cursed. Taking a quick moment to gather herself, she glided back inside.
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